Remembering 31st October 1984

Each time 31st October comes around, the newspapers are filled with advertisements commemorating Indira Gandhi, the woman who ruled our country from 1966 till 1984, with a break from 1977 to 1981. But for me, it always brings back memories of the riots that engulfed Delhi immediately after her assassination. And I, wide-eyed innocent of 17, was a witness.

I had joined the Delhi College of Engineering the previous year and was living in the hostel. The campus, a jewel like compact one, was in the heart of old Delhi, cheek by jowl with several age-old buildings such as the Dara Shikoh Library, the Residency, the Old Telegraph Office and Kashmere Gate. 31st October was like any other day at college and as autumn had set in, the playground was full at lunch time, not so much with players as students lounging around in the warm afternoon sunshine. Then the news gradually began filtering through – that Mrs Gandhi had been killed. This was confirmed through a radio broadcast that was heard at the Electrical Engineering Block and then it was decided that everyone could go home. The day-scholars left and then those of us in the hostel were left in the campus.

Just outside the campus was the Interstate Bus Terminus and shortly after five or so, we began hearing shouts and the sounds of great commotion. We went out and what did we see but several taxis belonging to Sikhs being set on fire. It was frightening to watch. The cries of those whose properties were being destroyed thus and the heartlessness with which the looters went about their task. The police stood and watched. Soon news reached us of similar acts taking place everywhere in the city. Someone had just returned from Connaught Place to report that several showrooms there had been looted and set on fire. By night, the acrid smell of burning tyres was all over Kashmere Gate. At 10.00 pm the power failed and was not restored till early morning.And in the silence we could hear every cry, every shout and every other indication of rioting in progress.

The next day,the hostel woke up to realise that supplies of food items were running low. The milk had not come. We managed on biscuits for breakfast and then by lunch, the mess staff (God bless them) managed to produce kichchdi. I can still remember the taste. It was heavenly. We were lucky. Outside, several families had been rendered homeless and lost all their savings. The rioting continued unabated. By midday, we had ‘visits’ by armed gangs who came, looked in at the gate and then left. Then someone felt that with at least two Sikh students still in the hostel, we were all at risk. The two boys cut their hair for our (and probably their) sake. And sure enough at night the gangs were back. The rumour spread that they were attempting to poison our water tank. But somewhere along the line the police decided to assert itself. A convoy of jeeps arrived at the hostel and the officers assured us of our safety. Outside, the army staged a flag march. A series of announcements was made through a megaphone that the army had orders to shoot at sight. That night we had boiled eggs for dinner.

The next day we found we had a surfeit of fruit, though very little of anything else. Just down the road was a juice shop run by a Sikh. His telephone was our connection to the world. That was from where we could call our parents, for a fee of course. The college hostel had no phone those days (can you imagine that?). This juice-shop owner had distributed sweets on hearing of the assassination and his shop was among the first to be looted. The mixer-blender was stolen but the fruit was just left to rot. Some enterprising souls had managed to bring them away and so we could keep body and soul together.

What I remember now is the eerie silence of the city. Even the birds and monkeys in the campus sensed that something was wrong and kept quiet. Doordarshan, which had declared mourning, was playing bhajans by MS Subbulakshmi non-stop. Some of my Punjabi friends wanted to know if the lady specialised in songs of lament! In between we had shots of the crowd at Teen Murti Bhawan where the body lay in state. Enormous crowds, the riots notwithstanding, had descended on the city to bid their leader farewell. But even then, the loss of so many innocent lives was hanging over the entire place.

It was the fourth day when some sense of normalcy returned to the city. We were allowed to go out of our campus and almost the first thing several of us did was to go to the Old Telegraph Office and send off telegrams to our parents informing them of our well-being. For once, the road leading to the telegraph office was completely empty. That meant I could read the inscription over the memorial arch that stood just before it. It had a bronze plaque showing two shells and a cannon and it read that this had been the place where the Magazine once stood. When the Mutiny broke out, the last telegram had been sent from the telegraph office here to Calcutta alerting everyone. Then the officers in charge of the Magazine had blown it up to prevent the gunpowder from falling into the hands of the mutineers. The explosion it was said, even shook Red Fort. Here I was, living through another Mutiny of sorts, and another explosion had shaken the city. I have since wondered as to how we, parents and children, stayed without communicating with each other for so many days. We just did not have a choice then. And I must say, to be with fellow students was to be like one family.

Mrs Gandhi was cremated, and they could have done it a lot sooner. Everyone it would appear was milking the situation for all it was worth. DD of course had nothing else to show. When the cremation was broadcast, we watched it in the common room and several students cried. I was quite surprised. Yes, it was a poignant moment but should it have claimed so many other lives in its wake?

But hats off to the Sikhs. Within days, the looted shops were back in business. And this community which has lost so much, repeatedly in history, had to build itself afresh. But there were several signs that life had been embittered. The cheerful smiles and larger than life welcomes were gone. There was sullen resentment but life had to go on. We could no longer use the telephone at the juice shop. College came back to normal after a week. A bearded professor now came clean shaven. He had been attacked on the assumption that he was a Sikh. He was never the same man again. Two students never came back to college. I have always wondered what happened to them. I think it was Rajiv Gandhi who rather callously said that the riots were only to expected for when a mighty oak falls, the ground will rattle. But what of those for whom it was the end of the world?

A storyteller’s centenary

1912 was when that Harikatha artiste supreme – C Banni Bai, was born. Here is a small tribute to that giant.http://www.thehindu.com/arts/history-and-culture/article2573794.ece

Mylapore

This is the second in the XS Real series.http://xsrealvibe.com/blog/?p=412

For some reason the lines on Rosary Matriculation and St Bedes have gone missing. But the rest is there.

A City is Born

This year, XS Real, a real estate company began an email campaign that highlights the history of various districts that make up Chennai. The first of these came out in September and is linked here- http://xsrealvibe.com/blog/?p=396

Ye olde Deepavali, Tambrahm style

I wrote this a couple of years ago for the in-house magazine of Chamiers, run by Mathangi Srinivasamurthi. Things haven’t changed all that much.

Nowadays Madras is called Chennai. Deepavali as it used to be properly called in olden time (not so long ago, how old you think I am) is now Divali. Perhaps it is representative of the changing trends in this, our city.

Last year I received an invitation for a cards party on the eve of Divali. To say I was surprised would be to put it mildly. Card sessions were always popular in the North where it is considered auspicious to lose money on the eve of Divali. But that they flourished outside Sowcarpet in Madras was news to me. Given my orthodox upbringing I had never learnt even one card game. Come to think of it, I cannot even shuffle a pack of cards and in those Math sums involving probability I needed counselling on what was an ace and what was a club etc. To me, the Queen of Hearts was a woman who made tarts that were stolen by a Knave. I called my friend and begged to be let off the card session, but my wife insisted and so we went and I made a fool of myself. I can in fact be called the Ace of Duds. However card parties before Divali are the rage in Chennai now.

To come back to Deepavali, time was when it was celebrated in Madras in the wee hours of the morning. Now we celebrate it by gambling and dancing into the wee hours, returning home with the milkman. Even in the old days we never slept the night preceding the festival and if we did it was invariably with the tailor. No, no, don’t get me wrong. It was just that we had no malls selling ready-made clothes and so all households bought yards of cloth from Binny’s and got them stitched. A favourite anecdote of my grandfather’s was of a corrupt brother-in-law in Government service who would order extra bales of curtain cloth for his office each year during Deepavali.

All brothers and even dads and uncles got the same designs and we all looked like a particularly badly assembled army regiment. The tailor would invariably take on more than he could chew, I mean sew and so we would all throng his doorstep the evening before the festival and return home late at night, triumphantly with the clothes. They would invariably be large and our tailor always consoled us by saying, “So what if it is large? You are growing children and soon the clothes will fit you.” Women fared better and got their stuff from Nalli’s.

The festival involved us waking up at an ungodly hour, like most Tambrahm events and also necessitated us taking an oil (ugh) bath. Apparently Naraka, stipulated this to Lord Krishna just before he was bumped off. And so we all endured the shikakai (no shampoo) falling into our eyes and turning them blood red and also feeling oily all over for the day. The new clothes, being all starchy, did not help. Crackers were burst before dawn, also as per the Naraka Standards. Then would come the bhakshanams (the savoury and the sweets- made at home and not bought from Grand Sweets) and we would fall on them. This would always lead to an upset stomach for which there was an antidote as well – the lehyam, which was a gooey, dark substance which tasted of flavoured mud but which magically put your system right.

By midday, Deepavali would wind to a close. The radio (and in later years DD) would always play “Unnai Kandu Naan Aada” from the movie Kalyana Parisu just to drive home the fact that it was Deepavali in case we had missed it. To make it clear to the meanest intelligence, they would play the happy and the sad versions and the latter would always cause some orthodox aunt or uncle to demand that the ungodly radio be switched off. Playing dirges on a happy day was simply not done. Wonder what they would say now when the channels bring special films all day long with murder and gore galore!

Doing the rounds of the homes of elders and getting blessed was de rigueur. If a newly wed couple was present it would be “talai deepavali”. Blessings would include the request for some “good news” from the couple pretty soon. Quite often the “good news” would be on its way or sometimes be present in person, a bundle of squalling humanity. Those were fertile times. Some of the younger uncles and cousins would under the guise of visiting someone far away push off to the theatres to see the latest Deepavali release. The others would fight for the latest Deepavali Malars, the huge tomes that all the Tamil magazines brought out for the occasion. These were so big and would change so many hands that they would return to the house only in time for the next Deepavali.

By evening, Madras would be dead. Or at least the Tambrahm side of it would be. No good event is celebrated after the lighting of the lamp in the evening was the motto. And as for lighting lamps all around the house, forget it. Why do we have Karthikai, would be the answer.

Wonder what happened to all that? Madras has changed and today the city speaks knowledgeably of Choti Divali, Dhanteras and so on. It is now a five day event, with the oil bath surviving amidst it all! Go for it Chennai is my verdict. One thing however has not changed. It always rains during Deepavali and keeping the crackers dry remains a challenge. The family would always reminisce about how Logu Atthangar (all households had a Logu Atthangar or an Ambi/Mani/Ramu Mama) would save the crackers for the next year if they became damp and then one day a spark landed in the storeroom… Logu Atthangar lived to tell the tale, but that is another story.

Carnatic Summer – 8 years and 6 reprints later

It has always been an accepted fact in my family that when it comes to business sense, someone up there blundered majorly in the creation of yours truly. My father had probably sensed this even when I was five for ever since I can remember he would begin explaining some transaction to me and then stop halfway with the remark “Oh you will never understand.” His view as often said to my mother in what he assumed was a whisper was that I was no good in these matters and it was all my mother’s fault of course. The old man brightened considerably when Sarada came into the family and ever since then has entrusted all matters of treasons, stratagems and spoils to her. Not to forget torts, malfeasances, barratry and soccage in fief. She, coming from a long line of lawyers, District Judges and at least one Chief Justice, has taken to all this like a duck taking to water.

To me, my lack of sound commercial sense was first illustrated when KS Padmanabhan of East West Books (Madras) Pvt Limited (now Westland Tata) met me in 2003 with the idea that I should write a book on Carnatic Music. My first reaction was that no one would buy it and he would probably handing them out as Christmas gifts for years to come. But Paddu was made of sterner stuff, though you wouldn’t believe it looking at his peaceful exterior. “Write,” he said. “And leave the rest to us.” And so it began. I said that I would like to write about these 22 great exponents and he agreed. This was in August 2003. I had just stepped off the dais at Tag Centre after a greatly applauded speech on Papanasam Sivan. It was my first there and I still consider it to be my best.

Anyway, I began writing. And wrote, and wrote. Somewhere along the line, I got so engrossed in it that I completely overlooked a major software project that was in the process of being executed in Jeddah. And from January 2004 onwards, the shit, having hit the fan, was continuing to remain there and shower everyone. The client, represented by its Finance Manager, a Palghat man who could shout abuse in five languages, was getting hot under the collar and from February onwards, I had to make regular trips there. Carnatic Summer, not that it was so called then, was for all practical purposes aborted. I had managed Ariyakkudi and Musiri, and that was that. At the end of a trip to Jeddah in March I came down with chicken-pox and that pushed the whole thing further into the horizon. Then in May, I made my longest stay in Jeddah. I was there for six weeks. And somewhere along the line, the project began to behave itself. The client became positively civil, offered me coffee every time and beamed on me. And I realised that time was hanging heavy on my hands, for I had little to do beyond lending a benign presence at meetings, pouring oil over troubled waters, shaking hands, encouraging my team to do its best and generally behave like a Constitutional Governor or Monarch. It was then that I decided to resume work on the book.

Reference material by the tonne was air-shipped from Madras by good friend Janaki of Sruti. Everyday the client (the top-ranking Sheikh) would smile and say that some more books had come for me. And every evening I would email a page or two to Ravi and Sridhar of Tiruvannamalai. The next morning the pages would be back after a careful read, with errors marked and howlers identified. By the time I returned in June 2004, the book was 90% finished, barring the chapter on the Alathoor Brothers. That was done a week later after a meeting with Sivasubramania Iyer’s elder son.

The book was published and slated for release on December 12th. MS Subbulakshmi died the previous night and we began the release function with a recording of her Maitreem Bhajata being played. Many in the audience (and it was a record turnout) were seen wiping their eyes. The book was released by Justice Prabha Sridevan and the first copy received by Sanjay Subrahmanyan. Mentor KV Ramanathan spoke on the occasion. Among the first things I did after the release was to go to Mukthamma’s house, prostrate before her recumbent form and present her with a copy. She was past recognising anyone but was able to understand that the book had a section on her.

Within a week Paddu was back. We were having lunch and he smiled in his usual slow fashion, his heavy eyelids half closed. “We have to have a reprint next week,” he said. I almost fell of my chair. He just smiled. Since then the book has gone into six reprints and is still going strong. Not bad for a work on Carnatic Music eh? I took the above photo last week at the bookshop in the airport.

I have often wondered as to what made the book do so well. Many have told me that one advantage with the book was that you could pick it up at any time and read a chapter from it. Others said it had a Stardust kind of style to it. A couple of relatives of two artistes called to express their anguish at what was written. But by and large family members and descendants were delighted. To me, two pieces of feedback were the most valuable. One was APJ Abdul Kalam telling me that he found it unputdownable and finished it in a night. The other was the sight of Manohar Devadoss being read out the book by his wife Mahema. It was amazing. That a near-blind artiste should be listening to the story, being read out by his quadriplegic wife moved me beyond expression. That it brought them happiness made me happy. And since then, Al hamdulillah as we Arabs say, I have continued to write.

My friend Malathi

Today, Malathi Rangaswami turns 80. A birthday party is being organised at her son’s house and I look forward to attending it. Malathi is among the many women friends I have, all of them as my younger son is fond of pointing out, above or nearing 80. Those who follow my writings will of course recognise her as the co-author of Four Score and More, History of the Music Academy, Madras. This was Malathi’s second book. The first one, was The Kasi Diaries, The Diaries of ND Varadachariar. NDV was Malathi’s father and he died very early, sometime in the 1940s. And he left behind his diaries, which were a few years ago edited and published, by Malathi and her two brothers Sampath and Kasturi. It was at the release of that book that I was formally introduced to Malathi. It was a Book Club event put together by S Muthiah where he spoke on NDV’s observations of Madras, my friend and mentor KV Ramanathan spoke on the political observations and I spoke on the musical elements. NDV was a close friend of several musicians and Veena Dhanam was his all-time favourite.

It was also at that book release that I made the acquaintance of Sita Varadachariar, Malathi’s mother. She was then in her early 90s and has since turned 100. Happily with us, she is still able to read books. When I once called at Malathi’s house, the old lady was reading the da Vinci Code and had quite a few insightful observations on the novel. She also regaled me with some unprintable stories about Carnatic musicians of the past. I am sure she must be as sprightly as ever, though frail.

Anway, Malathi is a chip off the old block too. She has for long been Secretary of the Music Academy and one of the group that stood by that institution when it fought several court cases. And so much taken up is she with the Academy that she made it the subject of her PhD thesis, which she completed successfully in her 70s! She is therefore Dr Malathi now. That was also how she became a co-author of the book on Academy.

I was initially very wary about the presence of a co-author and that too several years my senior. But it soon turned out to be great fun. She was so involved with the project. Many a discussion with the designer Deepa Kamath would go on till late into the evening at the Academy and Malathi would always be there giving her inputs. And if we needed a picture (Deepa would suddenly drawl out, “You know, I think we must have that Mark Twain-like musician’s picture here” by which she meant TV Subba Rao) and Malathi would already be on a ladder or getting the Academy Library Assistant Sathya to climb one and fetch some of the photos. And that was how the book was completed. The first picture in the book which showed the Congress President Ansari arriving in Madras, has NDV standing behind him. This was from Malathi’s personal collection. The book was a very exciting but a draining exercise and at the end of the launch, we just hugged each other.

Malathi incidentally, married TT Krishnamachari’s third son TT Rangaswami. Which meant that in her time she has met up with all the big wigs. There is a photo of a dinner party at TTK’s house in his biography, which has her with Nehru, Mrs Gandhi, Rajaji, MS and others. But she wears all that rather lightly.

A simple person who loves travelling, she has a fantastic dress sense, always impeccably turned out, never a hair out of place. Malathi has several friends and I am sure every one of them will be there today. So here’s to a great year my friend!

Automotive sector wakes up to traffic woes

Let’s face it – petrol is now sold at Rs.70 plus a litre. The Deputy Chairman of the Planning Commission has called for removal of the subsidy on diesel and that will mean pushing up prices further. Where does that leave the automotive industry?

For long, the automotive industry has been the favourite whipping boy when it comes to issues such as emission levels, noise and environmental pollution, and traffic. Yet, Chennai depends on the automotive industry like no other. After all, this is the ‘Detroit of India’ and, given the woeful inadequacy of our public transport infrastructure, the level of dependence on private means (read cars and two-wheelers) is at an all-time high. Still, it appears that this sector is as much aware as anyone else of the environmental problems its own products cause. That at least was the take at the 16th Asia Pacific Automotive Conference and Expo 2011 (APAC), organised recently by the Society of Automotive Engineers India.

Wise counsel was offered to the Government by way of what can be done. The industry recognises that, with rising aspiration levels, even those at the lower end of the income scale now aspire to possess private means of transport. This not only challenges the industry to provide vehicular solutions at various price ranges, but also throws up issues of how the public infrastructure, namely roads, can cope with the increased numbers of vehicles on road. And given the rapid pace of massive urbanisation, pressure is only going to multiply exponentially.

The industry is, therefore, calling for addressing communication at multiple levels – it is looking at combining technologies in mechanical, electrical and electronics – to provide mobility solutions, which probably means using virtual modes of travel, e-meetings and home offices so that people do not travel unless strictly necessary. The meeting also called for development of alternative fuels so that dependence on fossil fuels, with the associate issues of limited supply and environmental hazards, is eliminated. The meet further called for designing lighter and smarter vehicles which can adapt better to the prevailing traffic conditions. All this sounds good, but with India traditionally looking to the West for automobile designs, is any of this likely to happen in the near future?

Of more practical value was the emphasis placed on multi-modal means of transport that would seamlessly blend with each other. This has remained a pipe-dream in our city, with every new transport solution operating as an island. Even the much-touted Metro promises to be one such. In this context, it is a good thing that a powerful lobby like the automotive industry has called for integrated solutions with dedicated bus lanes, proper parking facilities, traffic management and, most importantly, urban planning. It was said that the automobile industry recognises these issues and is willing to take a leadership position and work with key non-governmental organi­sations that are involved in urban planning.

But with planning largely being a governmental prerogative, will it not be necessary to work with government agencies and departments as well?

The Mother of all Chambers of Commerce in South India – 2

From the early 1900s, the Chamber was to face a tumultuous period, which was to end only in the early 1950s. The first crisis it was to face was the collapse of Arbuthnot & Co, one of its principal members and several of whose Chairmen and Directors had also served as Chamber Chairmen, some of them several times over. Curiously, the Chamber chose to remain silent on the entire issue, even as the firm sank, thousands lost their savings and two other firms Parry and Binny barely managed to scrape through. But matters were to never be the same again. If the failure of Arbuthnot was to see the founding of the Indian Bank, the Chamber’s stonewalling was to see the creation of a rival representative body – the Southern India Chamber of Commerce, founded in 1909. This was soon perceived as being representative of Indian business interests as opposed to the Chamber, which was wholly British. Gradually the SICC was to rise in prominence and the Government heard its voice. The Madras Presidency had thanks to Sir Frederick Nicholson, already made a success out of co-operative banking. Arbuthnot’s failure also resulted in several Indians taking to commercial banking. The Chamber could only watch these developments.

The Arbuthnot crash had its ripple effects in the complete loss of confidence that British businesses had in themselves. Thus almost none of them was willing to invest in new businesses. In 1911, following Lord Curzon’s formation of a Department of Industry in Calcutta, the Madras Government became the first province to set up one on its own. Alfred Chatterton, then a professor at the College of Engineering, Guindy, was asked to head the Department. Chatterton was to repeatedly come into conflict with the Chamber which viewed all his activities with suspicion. It opposed the formation of Indian Aluminium, Indal, following the successful demonstration that Chatterton conducted of using aluminium for making vessels. This was a cheaper metal than compared to the conventional brass or copper. Later, Chatterton was to advocate fisheries, soap and pencil manufacture. Here too the Chamber objected claiming that the Government was interfering in matters better left to private enterprise.

Once again Chatterton was to prove successful. Sir Frederick Nicholson made a going concern out of fisheries, soap was begun at the Lalita Soap Works and the V Perumal Chetty family took on the pencil factory. The Chamber tried lobbying with the Government in Calcutta and London to get the Department of Industry closed and this was done temporarily. But a change of Government in England and the vociferous protests from the Indian members of the Madras Legislative Council saw its re-opening, and a knighthood for Chatterton. Sir Alfred’s next act was to successfully implement the chrome process for leather. This was trashed as being entirely unsuited to Indian conditions by GL Chambers of Chambers & Co and a prominent Madras Chamber member. But when Sir Alfred made a go of it, he was the first to adopt the technology and begin the Chrome Leather Factory in an area that would one day become Chromepet. Even today, a Chambers Colony commemorates him there though to Chatterton there are no memorials.

While these battles were being fought, the Morley-Minto reforms had come into effect, which opened up Central and Provincial Legislatures to some kind of representation. One seat was given to the Madras Chamber in the Madras Legislative Council and VG Lynn of Best & Co had the distinction of becoming the first member. In the Legislature, the Chamber member, representing truly British interests had to contend with the Indian interests of the SICC representative. There were occasions when they could act in tandem too – such as when the Rajaji Government brought in sales tax and also implemented prohibition!

The next crisis that the Chamber was to face was the formation in 1918 of the Madras Labour Union, the first of its kind in the country. This was primarily aimed at the Binny Mills and the Perambur Loco Works of the M&SM Railway. Both organisations were Chamber members and the body had to therefore bear the brunt of strikes through 1919 and 1920. That year, the employers decided to band together to represent their interests and under the chairmanship of (later Sir) Archibald Symonds of Binny, the Employers’ Federation of South India (EFSI) was formed. The EFSI was supported by the Chamber and that is a relationship that has endured. During the inter-War years, the Chamber, together with other British dominated Chambers of India, formed the Associated Chambers of Commerce (ASSOCHAM) in 1920. That was also the time when the Government of India Act of 1919 brought in diarchy. The Chamber was to gain two seats in the Madras Legislative Assembly. It was also in the inter-War years that the Chamber gave its counsel to issues such as expansion of the port, improving the operation of railways, extending telephone services in Madras Presidency, ushering in radio broadcast and facilitating air travel. It also helped in the amalgamation of the three Presidency Banks to form the Imperial Bank of India and it played a vital role in the setting up of the Reserve Bank of India as well.

In 1936, the Chamber celebrated its centenary. A dinner was hosted for over 200 people at the Banqueting Hall, with Governor Lord Erskine presiding. A commemorative volume on the Chamber’s contribution, put together by AA Hayles, then editor of The Mail, was released on the occasion. Though it was a select body of just 30-odd members, this was the Chamber’s apogee, for its power and clout extended everywhere from the Legislature to the list of holidays to be observed each year. But the Second World War was to change all that, though in the immediate short-term the Chamber members all did well. But war was to deplete the number of Europeans in the city and those that remained saw the writing on the wall – independence was nigh. It was therefore in 1944 that establishments that had till then been pillars of the Madras Trades Association now also became members of the Chamber. This included Simpson, Addison and Spencers.

When independence came, it was a fall of sorts for the Chamber. Several of its members – the railways, the Imperial Bank and some of the businesses of its members such mining, were all nationalised. The Chamber’s representation in the Legislature and the Corporation was taken away and it also lost its advisory role in countless other Government bodies. It had to make the transition to becoming an advisory outfit and this it did, over time. It protested repeatedly against blanket nationalisation, lampooned Government’s efforts in establishing a socialistic administration and fought hard against the abolition of the Managing Agency system, the bedrock on which most British businesses had survived and grown. But Government was not exactly favourable to the Chamber and its constituents and legislation went ahead.

The Chamber also Indianised. In the 1950s, S Anantharamakrishnan of Amalgamations Limited became the first Indian to be invited to be a part of the Chamber’s committee. In 1965 it elected its first Indian Chairman – AMM Murugappa Chettiar. The post of Secretary also went to an Indian in 1969 – CK Krishnaswami being the first incumbent. With an increasing number of Indians on board, the Chamber’s outlook changed. It was warmly supportive of the pioneering work done for the industrialisation of Madras State by K Kamaraj in tandem with R Venkataraman and C Subramaniam. It hailed the establishment of the country’s first Industrial Estate in Guindy in the 1960s. Gradually, names that we recognise today as leaders in Industry – Amalgamations, TVS, Murugappa, Ashok Leyland, Chemplast-Sanmar, Rane and others came to the fore in matters concerning the Chamber.

Through the 1970s and 1980s, the Chamber was a trenchant critic of such draconian acts as the Emergency, the MRTP and the FERA. While its protests were not heard, its expatriate membership rapidly declined as a consequence of these legislations and from 1975, it became almost completely Indian. Those were dark days for the Indian economy and the Chamber rather like Mr Micawber, kept the flag flying. By this time the city have several Chambers of Commerce and it was often confusing for a foreign delegation. This was when the Chamber pioneered the idea of a Consultative Committee of City Chambers of Commerce, with the Secretariat rotating among the various Chambers. The bleak power scenario saw the Chamber coming up with an innovative idea in May 1982 when 10 members banded together to suggest to the Government that they be allowed to set up a 110 MW captive power plant. A corporate entity – Southern Energy Development Corporation Limited (SEDCO) was created for this. By 1993 the idea had firmed up further. Coal was to be imported from Western Australia and the plant would be set up in Tuticorin. But the Government dragged its feet and with the privatisation of power being allowed from the late 1990s, the consortium faded with the companies each going their individual ways. SEDCO became a part of the Murugappa Group and now operates a gas turbine power station in Tiruvarur.

1986 was a year of celebration when the Chamber turned 150. Its second documentation- The Voice of Enterprise, a detailed volume on the history of the Chamber, written by R Tirumalai was released on the occasion. That was also the time when the Chamber for long the guest/tenant of Parry, shifted out and began a hunt for a home. That was to end in the 1990s, when it moved into its own premises at Karumuttu Centre.

With liberalisation, the Chamber has come into its own, facilitating several tie-ups, hosting seminars and training programmes. It continues to remain the voice of the top-ranking corporate houses of Madras city and Tamil Nadu state. To have retained that position for over 175 years is no mean achievement. This year it looks at skills development as its focus and is planning to build a training centre in the outskirts of the city. The founding fathers would have approved wholeheartedly.

Your Worship, can we look at these?

By the time this issue of Madras Musings reaches its readers, the elections to the city corporation will be over. The elections are being fought on party lines and what is saddening to observe is that not many candidates are standing on platforms that promise civic improvements. They are simply echoing the political manifestos of their respective parties, none of which has any relevance to the city’s administration. This is a major cause for concern.

This is the first time in the history of the Corporation of Chennai, which incidentally is the second oldest municipal body in the world, that elections are taking place for 200 wards. This is following the increase in the area that is being governed by the Corporation to include Greater Chennai in its ambit. The expanded area stretches to Sholinganallur in the south, Kathivakkam in the north and Ambattur in the west adding 5 more zones to the previous list of 10 zones. With the Corporation having been challenged in the past even with a reduced jurisdiction, are its councilors in any way equipped to handle the demands of an expanded area.

A record number of mayoral candidates – 32 in all, are in the fray. This is the first time in two decades that the Mayor will be directly elected by the people – a record 44.9 lakh voters selecting the candidate of their choice. But not many of the candidates even appear to be aware of the gravity of the election. There promises are vague to say the least. One has promised to uplift the poor, another has said that the city will become very clean. A third is asking for an opportunity to usher in the rule of Kamaraj who was never Mayor in any case. So where does this leave us?

We at Madras Musings have therefore drawn up a wish-list that the Worshipful Mayor ought to consider implementing when he/she takes office. Dare we say we hope for the best candidate to win?

1. Can we please have footpaths? It is high time that the requirements of the pedestrians are taken care of and their interests should not be sacrificed for those travelling on/in vehicles. Walking is healthy, clean and green.
2. Can we have restrictions on the number of new private vehicles that are being registered? Singapore, which Chennai has always tried to emulate with very little success, has long had this policy. Today our roads have reached a state where they cannot take any more vehicles.
3. Can we have stricter parking laws? It is high time we took stock of parking spaces that are available in the city. We cannot simply hope that cars, vans and two-wheelers will somehow manage. It is time we had clear parking lots and perhaps it is also the time for us to explore punitive parking fees to discourage unnecessary use of private vehicles even for short distances.
4. Can we hope to have a public hygiene campaign? How do we educate our people that defecating, relieving and spitting in public are not indicators of decent behavior? And arising out of that can we have more number of public toilets and can these be maintained well?
5. Can we hope for a census of trees in the city and a freeze on their being cut down to make way for roads? Can we have a proactive policy on tree pruning so that they do not get uprooted during storms?
6. Can we expect tighter monitoring of buildings under construction to avoid FSI violations and to ensure adequate parking facilities and fire protection? There is no point swinging into action after a disaster has occurred.
7. Can we make the city poster and grafitti free (after the Corporation election perhaps)? The present Corporation had taken steps to ensure this but these were observed more in the breach. Can we hope for real action?
8. Can we expect an integrated public transport plan that will involve trains, buses, the MRTS, the Metro and the Monorail? True, most of these are independent agencies but the Mayor will play a key coordinating role.
9. Can our waterways – the Cooum, the Adyar, the Buckingham Canal, the Otteri Nullah, the Mambalam Canal and others becoming anything other than gutters? Can we hope for a master plan for these waterways?
10. Can we expect garbage segregation at source? With tenders being called afresh for garbage clearance, this is the right time for getting our act together. And can we also look at safe disposal of garbage without taking recourse to landfills, marshes and plain burning?
11. And lastly, can we hope that once elected, our councillors and Mayor will sink party differences and objectively act on what is best for the city? They could well take a leaf from S Satyamurti’s book. During his tenure as Mayor in 1939 he got the Poondi Reservoir inaugurated. There was a demand from the Congress of which Satyamurti was a member, that he ought not to attend the foundation laying ceremony as the British Governor would be the Chief Guest. Satyamurti dissented and said that his role as Mayor necessitated his presence and went ahead. Can we hope for such individual courage?