The exotic marigolds

I am no film critic. And with absolute geniuses like Bharadwaj Rangan around, why would I even have the courage to take up such a task? But last evening was something that will perhaps never fade from memory. The temperature being 43 deg C as it has been for over a week now, the wife and I (and as it invariably happens, the kids, the in-laws and an aunt) went off to see The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. And I dont think I have enjoyed a film more.

There is something about the world of the old that has always attracted me. And I am halfway there anyway, with weak back, sciatic legs and dim-visioned eyes. Couple all that with my love for heritage and you know that my life is inextricably bound up with kizha bolts. My closest friends, barring a few like Sanjay Subrahmanyan, Mohan Raman and the young Bhatt, are 75 plus. Let me see, there are VAK Ranga Rao (75?), KV Ramanathan (83) and S Muthiah (83). The average age has come down with people like S Rajam passing on. As for the women, Sarada has always been firmly of the view that my women friends were either dead or eighty plus.

And so, I enjoyed the Marigold Hotel. I think I understood where everyone came from. But what took my breath away was the top-class performance put up by all the veterans – Judi Dench, Maggie Smith and the rest. It was mind-boggling. There were emotional highs but there was plenty of humour too. And it ended happily, very much in the style of Jane Austen or perhaps more appropriately Dickens (for there is one death).

The Indian dialogues were poorly crafted (nobody speaks in English that way here) but the acting of Dev Patel and Lillette Dubey were very good. Dev Patel’s holding on to a crumbling heritage hotel hoping to make something out of it was of course something right up my street. I think this movie must be screened for all Government babus (PWD engineers in particular), MLAs and most private builders just to show them that heritage buildings can have happy endings, at least in films.

Food for thought. How does a British citizen get a job in India after coming here on (probably) a visit visa? And did they then come to Delhi and do penance at the Ministry of Home Affairs for getting their stay ratified? But Dickens never bothered with such things and nor must we.

Chennapuri Annadana Samajam

This article appeared in today’s Hindu – http://www.thehindu.com/news/cities/chennai/article3470044.ece

Chennapuri Annadana Samajam

Standing in a corner of Nyniappa Naicken Street is a handsome building from the 1890s. This is the home of the Chennapuri Annadana Samajam.

Famines appeared with alarming regularity in Madras Presidency right through the 18th and 19th centuries, with the worst being that of 1877-78. An estimated 2,00,000 people perished. Moogallur Cunniah Chetty was then just 15, studying at the Pacchayappa’s High School. The horrors he witnessed were never to leave his mind and he determined that when he had the means he would ensure food was made available to all. But he was no rich man’s son. Lack of financial means made him forego all ideas of college education and join the Telegraph Department in 1882 as a clerk. Yet he never gave up his dream of feeding the poor.

In 1890, he founded the Samajam. It began with the feeding on Sundays of eight blind persons at an eatery on Iyyah Pillai Street. By 1893, the owners of Lakshmi Vilasa Nataka Sala (aka the Walltax theatre on the eponymous road) allowed the feeding at their premises and the number of those fed increased to 15. Several businessmen and government officials living in George Town donated generously and soon it was possible to feed people twice a week.

The big break came when Rajah Sir Savalai Ramaswami Mudaliar, the powerful dubash of Dymes & Co and a great philanthropist in his own right, became a patron of the institution. Higher echelons of society began to interest themselves in the Samajam. The royal families of South India donated liberally and it was a proud day for Cunniah Chetty when thanks to the efforts of leading solicitor JRB Branson, the Gujarati magnate Lodd Krishnadoss Balamukundoss funded the construction of the Samajam’s permanent home. The Governor, Lord Wenlock, inaugurated the building on December 18, 1895. Governor Lord Ampthill became a patron in 1904 and remained so till his death in 1934.

It became possible to feed the poor everyday. Cunniah Chetty’s dream had come true. In 1914, he took premature retirement, so that he could focus on running the Samajam. By then, the institution had pioneered the concept of noon-meal schemes at 13 schools in the city. Food from the Samajam’s central kitchen was taken to all the schools. Cunniah Chetty’s services were recognised by the Government, which awarded him the title of Rao Saheb in 1925. In the 1930s, an orphanage was added to the Samajam. This was thanks to P. Chengalvaraya Chettiar, who succeeded Cunniah Chetty as secretary when the latter passed away in 1933. By the time the Samajam celebrated its diamond jubilee in 1950, it was housing 150 orphans and feeding over 600 people daily.

Today, such requirements have shrunk. But the Samajam continues its work, silently. In an increasingly commercial world, it remains a beacon of humaneness. It is perhaps no coincidence that the building is almost in the shadow of the Kandar Kottam shrine where Ramalinga Swamigal sang of “charitable Chennai”.

Dr S Ramanathan

This life sketch was written as sleeve notes for a CD released by Charsur Digital Workstation.

In the world of Carnatic music it is very difficult to come across a person who is a performer and a listener, a scholar and practitioner, a teacher and a student. Dr S Ramanathan was a personality who was all these and much more.

Born on 8th April 1917 at Tirukoilur to Subramania Sastri and Pattammal, Ramanathan had his initial training in music, from the age of seven, under Tirukoilur Ramudu Bhagavatar and Manalurpettai Subramania Dikshitar. He then joined the Music College in the Annamalai University in Chidambaram where he trained under a galaxy of stalwarts comprising Tanjavur Ponniah Pillai, TS Sabhesa Iyer, Sattur Krishna Iyengar, Madurai Subramania Ayya and ‘Tiger’ Varadachariar. He graduated from the college with the Sangita Bhushanam diploma. Post this, he also trained under Valadi Krishna Iyer for vocal music and Devakottai Narayana Iyengar for the veena and acquired proficiency in both fields.

From the very beginning it was clear that research held as much importance to Ramanathan as did a performing artiste’s career. He therefore pursued both passions. Initially he held a researcher’s position at the Tamil Nadu Sangeet Natak Akademi and later moved on to several Universities of India. He became Dean of the Music Department, University of Kerala. Throughout this period he also found time to perform concerts, mostly of the vocal variety.

Ramanathan then moved to the United States of America where he became visiting professor at several universities. At the Wesleyan he decided to pursue a doctoral thesis and along with Prof Jagannathachari did research on music in the Silappadikkaram, the classic work of the Sangam age. He was awarded a doctorate for this work, a rare example of a diploma holder qualifying for a PhD. His research on the use of 22 srutis in Karnatic music, as well as the Kudumiyamalai inscription, won him much praise. He gave many chamber concerts while in the US and was also given the unique opportunity to perform on World Human Rights Day at the United Nations in New York. Dr Ramanathan returned to India via teaching assignments in Malaysia and Taiwan and became Professor at the Music College in Madras. In the 1970s he moved to Madurai to serve at the Satguru Sangeetha Samajam. Later he also served as Director of the Tamil Isai Sangam.

Dr Ramanathan was well known for his lectures on a variety of subjects connected with music. Some of the subjects he offered lec-dems on were Allied Ragas, Syama Sastri, Muthiah Bhagavatar, Tyagaraja Ramayana, Prahlada Bhakti Vijayam, Pre-trinity Composers, Subramania Bharati, Framing of Pallavis and so on. But the one he was best known for was A Day with Tyagaraja. With such a wonderful choice of topic, he performed many times without it becoming stale. Once it would be a day where Tyagaraja had just composed Rama Ni Samanamevaru in Kharaharapriya; on another occasion it would be a day when a musician from North India had come to meet Tyagaraja who then burst into Dasarathi ni runamu in Todi. He even performed this lecture once in Telugu at the urging of an audience in Andhra.
Research being a life long abiding interest, Dr Ramanathan worked on the Divyanama Kritis of Tyagaraja, the Kavadi Chindu and also the songs of Subramania Bharati. In addition he also worked on folk songs of Tamil Nadu. He, along with B Rajam Iyer, worked on the Tamil version of Subbarama Dikshitar’s Telugu magnum opus, the Sangita Sampradaya Pradarshini. He also authored several books, papers and monographs on music.

Dr Ramanathan’s music was unique in many ways. He avoided the use of excessive gamakas and ornamentation and emphasised the use of straight notes. He preferred to present music as per the authentic patantharam of his Gurus. His voice was deep and had tremendous appeal. His veena playing was marked by purity of style. It would be no exaggeration to say that Dr Ramanathan sang or performed most for his own enjoyment and therefore there was no fixed or particular time for his music. In fact music dominated his thoughts to the exclusion of anything else.

Dr Ramanathan was generosity personified when it came to teaching. He never refused anyone and gave generously of his truly enormous repertoire. Among his students are P.Unnikrishnan, S. Sowmya, Savithri Sathyamurthy, Seetha Narayanan, Vasumathi Nagarajan, Sukanya Raghunathan (veena), Banumathy Raghuraman (veena/vocal), Vidya Hariharan (veena/vocal), Vanathy Raghuraman, Latha Radhakrishnan (violin/vocal) and Padma Gadiyar (veena). He also believed in encouraging youngsters and was seen on many evenings at Mylapore’s famed Sastry Hall, appreciating the music of newcomers and spurring them to greater heights. He was also one of the musicians who kept alive the tradition of the Margazhi Bhajans around the Mylapore temple after the passing of Papanasam Sivan. He was also one of the moving spirits behind the Sangita Samajam, Purasawalkam, Madras which used to organise 24 hr ‘Akhandam’ sessions where Tyagaraja’s songs would be sung without any repetition of pieces. His large repertoire was immensely useful in this.

Many awards came to Dr Ramanathan. The Tamil Isai Sangam gave him the title of Isai Perarignar in 1981. The Music Academy, Madras conferred on him the title of Sangita Kalanidhi in 1985. His conduct of the Annual Conference of the Academy that year has remained a reference point for presidents of annual conferences in all subsequent years. Dr Ramanathan was a composer and his song Bhavapriye Bhavani in raga Bhavani is often sung in concerts.

Dr Ramanathan passed away on 19th March 1988 after a battle against cancer. His last request was for his daughter Geetha Bennett to sing Dikshitar’s Abhayambayam (Sahana) and a creation of his own in Surati. He lives on in the memories of countless admirers not only of his music but also of his golden and generous nature.

What is to be done with space beneath flyovers?

That appears to be the heart of the ongoing debate in the city. With land becoming increasingly scarce on what were once broad public thoroughfares, a move to beautify the space beneath flyovers has run into controversy. On the one hand, there is a proposal to aesthetically enhance these spaces and also provide for some long-felt needs of public conveniences there. On the other hand, there is the view that the area ought to be utilised for car parking.

An NGO and a consulting agency have together submitted a proposal for better utilisation of public spaces. The aim is to make the use of roads an aesthetic experience. The idea is to use the space for toilets, cold drink vending stations, an art show or two and, above all, space for pedestrians to walk on. Steps will be taken to prevent illegal use of the area and preserve it as planned. There will also be spaces for cycle stands, parking facilities for police vehicles and ambulances, and the lighting for these spaces will be through solar power. The Corporation, it is learnt, has agreed to the proposal and plans to implement it on 70 roads and five flyovers.

The State Highways Department, however, begs to disagree. In its view the land below the flyovers belongs to it and, therefore, it is proposing the fencing off of these areas for its own use. It has even erected offices for its Projects Division below one of the flyovers. Making over these areas for public use will also hinder maintenance work, according to the Department.

A third body of opinion holds the view that the land ought to be given to vendors and small shops. This argument is based on the fact that when flyovers were erected, they took over the sidewalks, traditionally the space on which these traders thrived. While not disputing that the land belongs to the Highways Department, they feel that they ought to be allowed to use it, by way of compensation for what they lost.

And lastly, there are the ubiquitous car and two-wheeler owners who, in the absence of parking space in their own offices and homes, feel these should be made over for the use of parking vehicles.

In short, there is no dearth of opinions on the subject, all of them in conflict with each other.

It may be best that the spaces are handed over for utilitarian purposes, which could be pedestrian usage, public conveniences and parking of ambulances, police vans and private vehicles. Certainly, beautification is the last requirement, especially in a city like ours where the idea of what constitutes beautification is strange, to say the least. Secondly, our track record of maintaining such ‘beautified’ spots is not something we can be proud of.

After much fanfare in inaugurating these projects, we rarely tend to them afterwards. What we need is practical planning and then effective implementation. If that gets going, beautification can then follow.

A centenary of music conferences

27th May will mark 100 years of Carnatic music conferences, the first being Dr Abraham Pandithar’s Sangita Vidya Mahajana Sangam. An article appeared in The Hindu – http://www.thehindu.com/arts/history-and-culture/article3451531.ece

May 27th, 2012 marks the completion of a 100 years since the hosting of the first Carnatic music conference in the modern sense of the term. That event was not held in Madras but rightfully in Thanjavur, the heartland of South Indian Music and hosting it was a Christian practitioner of native medicine – Dr Abraham Pandithar.

Abraham Pandithar from Somerset Playne’s 1914 Southern India

Born in 1859, Abraham Pandithar had qualified as a teacher and he, along with his first wife Gnanavadivu Ponnammal joined the Lady Napier School in Thanjavur. By 1890 they had quit so that Pandithar could pursue the first of his two great passions – native medicine. Purchasing a large tract of land outside Thanjavur, Pandithar converted it into a farm for growing medicinal plants.
Named by him as Karunanandapuram, it was referred to as Pandithar Thottam by the locals. At his residence in the city of Thanjavur, Pandithar opened the Karunanidhi Medical Hall to which patients flocked. His Gorosanai pills in particular, became extremely well known not only in India, but also in the then Ceylon, Burma and the Strait Settlements. His pioneering work in the area was to be recognised by the Government which conferred the title of Rao Saheb on him in 1911, the year he married for the second time, his new wife being Bhagyammal.

Pandithar Thottam, pic by Suresh Gopalan

In 1912, the Governor, Lord Carmichael was visiting Thanjavur and a reception was hosted at the Pandithar Thottam. Pandithar’s second passion was music and he had learnt it formally from Dindigul Sadayandi Bhattar. Consequently, the reception to the Governor saw the attendance of several musicians such as Konerirajapuram Vaidyanatha Iyer, Tirukodikkaval Krishna Iyer and Harikesanallur Muthiah Bhagavatar. To this august gathering Pandithar placed his proposal that a formal music conference, a Sangam as he called it, ought to be held, to clear the air on various confusions concerning the theory of music. This was readily accepted and with the Setupati of Ramnad, the Sangita Vidya Mahajana Sangam as it was called, was all set to begin.

The inauguration took place at the Karunanidhi Medical Hall. The Hindu reported on the event in detail. “Our enterprising citizen, Rao Saheb M. Abraham Pandithar deserves to be congratulated on his taking efforts to advance the cause of Indian music as the first practical step in which direction he had managed to hold the first Conference of some musicians today” began the report of the Thanjavur Correspondent of The Hindu which was published on 28th May 1912. The meeting took place in the new press-room of the Karunanidhi Medical Hall. The press had been specially imported thanks to Sir Harold Stuart, Member, Governor’s Executive Council, Madras Government, for the purpose of publishing the deliberations of the conference.

Karunanidhi Medical Hall, pic by Suresh Gopalan

“A few minutes after the prescribed hour of 9.00 am, there were prayers in Sanskrit offered by Messrs Panchapakesa Bhagavadar of Tanjore and Muthia Bhagavadar of Tinnevelly” continued the report. Abraham Pandithar then went on to make his speech in which he listed the objectives of the Sangam – “to promote an academic interest in and to diffuse a knowledge of all that was best in the science and practice of Indian Music; to correct all conflicting motions in regard to Ragams and determine the precise and scientifically correct methods; to concert measures to the advancement of Indian music.”

Mayuram Veena Vaidyanatha Iyer, a disciple of Maha Vaidyanatha Sivan was asked to chair the sessions. After the morning session, “the conference adjourned for the members’ dinner and was to meet at 3.00 pm.” The afternoon session saw another unique development – a group photograph being taken, by “Messrs GPN Chandra & Co.” Pazhamaneri Swaminatha Iyer, “musician and violinist”, presided over the second half.

Sangita Vidya Mahajana Sangam, pic taken on 27th May 1912

The Sangam met six times, the last session being on October 24, 1914. Its deliberations were compiled and printed at Pandithar’s expense as the monumental Karunamirtha Sagaram. Pandithar’s pioneering effort was to reach the ears of Sir Tanjore Madhava Rao, Dewan of Baroda who in 1916 organised an All India Music Conference under the chairmanship of the Gaekwar of Baroda. Pandithar was an honoured invitee along with his daughter Maragathavalliammal.

Abraham Pandithar passed away in 1919 and was buried in his beloved thottam, next to the grave of his first wife. His second wife’s grave was to come up on the other side later. The garden was to become Muthiah Bhagavatar’s summer camp and it was here that he helped AJ Pandian, Pandithar’s son, set several church hymns to music. The road leading to the Karunanidhi Medical Hall was named after Pandithar.

Pandithar’s Sangam was to lay the blueprint for all music conferences that were to follow, including that of the Music Academy. The pattern is followed even now. The printing machine, on which Pandithar churned out his treatise, has miraculously survived and is today displayed at the Indeco Hotel’s artifacts museum in Mamallapuram.

Heritage Legislation – at last

We congratulate the Government for introducing in the Legislature a much-needed heritage conservation Bill that this journal and other heritage lovers have sought from 1999 following a focus on heritage in the City that began in 1977. While welcoming the Bill, we reserve our comments till we study it. Meanwhile, we trust that it offers an indisputable interpretation of heritage and doesn’t leave Government to view heritage depending on the exigencies of the moment. This kind of flip-flop attitude has in the past caused, and is due to cause, unless the Heritage Bill stops it, further damage to whatever is left in the city that can be classified as constituting heritage. We thus have an ironic situation where centuries-old monuments and buildings are being neglected while lakhs are being spent, in the name of heritage, on renovating recent structures that are already showing signs of structural weakness.

Take Rajaji Hall for instance. The Government had in 2008 announced a restoration package for this heritage structure located inside Government Estate. But then the new Assembly came along and though the restoration proceeded uninterrupted, the Hall was locked up. Last heard, its verandahs were filled with broken furniture from the various offices that were demolished to make way for the new Assembly. And its interiors were filled with files and papers belonging to some Government departments that have promised to shift them “in due course”. After the recent fire at Chepauk Palace and given our history of fires breaking out in historic buildings, stuffing Rajaji Hall with paper may not be the best of ideas.

Chepauk Palace’s fate is still uncertain. It is now more than two months since the three-man committee (whatever be the merits and demerits of its composition) came out with a report that recommended restoration of a mixed kind. While the debate on whether its verdict was correct or wrong can continue, what cannot be denied is that restoration and not demolition was the key recommendation. On the basis of that, the Government ought to have by now moved to inviting tenders, at least for consultancy. But nothing appears to have happened and the skeleton of the palace is exposed to the vagaries of Nature. Why this delay?

The Metrorail is a Juggernaut of a different kind, which regularly appears to find heritage structures and historic parks in its way. They appear to be made for each other and aiding this process of sacrificing the latter for the former is the CMDA which has continuously been coming up with creative interpretations of what constitutes heritage. After the P Orr & Sons episode, it is now the turn of Bharat Insurance Building. In response to a letter from INTACH reminding Metrorail that the building’s fate is sub judice and so no construction can be taken up there, Metrorail has stated that it only proposes construction within the compound and not within the building. It states that in its (and presumably CMDA’s) view, only the building is heritage and sub judice and not the compound space. Whoever has heard of such logic before? And what happened to the concept of a heritage precinct and the necessity to prevent modern construction within close quarters of a heritage building?

Even that concept may now be under threat. In a first of its kind (and it is ironic that our city which had many glorious firsts should also be in the forefront of such developments), the National Monuments Authority (NMA) has reportedly ruled that construction of Metrorail can come within 100 metres of the Hynmer’s Obelisk, popularly called the Yale Monument, in the Law College campus. It has declared that the structure, though more than 300 years old and ‘protected’ by the ASI, is of less importance and, in view of the importance of Metrorail, permission can be granted for construction within 100 metres of the Monument. All authorities are completely silent on what happened to the neighbouring Powney Vault, which presumably was flattened without any approvals. It would also appear that the NMA’s approval was a mere formality, for Metrorail had even two months ago put up barricades within 100 metres of the Yale Monument. What is also baffling is the complete silence of the ASI on this matter. It can only be interpreted that the decision had its full blessings.

Contrast all this with the way in which the Namakkal Kavignar Building is being handled. Everyone, from the ASI to the CMDA, is agreed that, though built in the 1980s, it constitutes ‘heritage’ and deserves restoration! And contrast this further with the fact that 300-year-old structures are not falling down despite fires and neglect, while this building repeatedly needs attention! That’s modern heritage construction for you.

Short and Snappy dated 16th May 2012

The crisis of domestics

The Man from Madras Musings was looking forward to going home and eating a well-cooked meal, made by a man from up north. It is quite amazing as to how nowadays most of the domestics are from up north. Wonder what happened to the ayahs and the rest from down south. Apparently, what with all the freebies that include television sets, very few feel like working for a living. In short, our State is a land of lotus-eaters who feed on milk and honey. And as for the younger lot, they much prefer working in software companies. Not that MMM is complaining. If they are capable, let them progress. Upward mobility is what counts.

But what MMM cannot tolerate is the variety that has no talent for the desk job and brings loads of expectations and frustrations to what they feel are lesser, or menial, tasks. This variety is hoping to get the salary and perquisites of a white collar job while not bringing even a degree of perfection to the task at hand. And that brings MMM back to the story that he began with.

Even as MMM opened his front door he could guess that something was amiss. The good lady, also known as She Who Must Be Obeyed, made it amply clear in word and gesture that the cook had been offended. And it was all MMM’s fault. Apparently the previous evening MMM had referred to the cook as a cook within earshot and this had upset the man. He considered the appellation of cook to be a pejorative and did not like to be referred to as one. It all reminded MMM of an old Hindi verse that lamented in the 12th Century that the farmer is not satisfied with farming nor is the beggar with begging. Things haven’t changed in all the intervening centuries.

It was not as though MMM had used the vernacular equivalent. It had been in the Queen’s English. MMM could not help thinking of the days when MMM’s grandparents could get away with referring to each one in their army of servants by even their caste names. MMM was never comfortable with that. But he had never anticipated anyone being upset with his/her professional appellation. The man clearly aspired for better things.

Having perpetrated a crisis, albeit unknowingly, MMM had to make amends. He was reminded of an uncle’s advice. “If in a hospital and needing good attention, refer to the nurse as doctor,” he said. MMM has now, therefore, drawn up a list of alternative titles for each of the domestics in his ostensible employ (in reality they all swear allegiance by She). The cook will henceforth be Nutritionist. The maid-of-all-work will go back to the Victorian era and will be an Abigail. The driver will be Pilot.

Games drivers play

Talking of drivers, a couple of friends poured forth their woes to The Man from Madras Musings. And ironically both incidents had to do with the convoys of political bigwigs.

The first story involved a driver ferrying two of his master’s young children. The car in which they were travelling came into collision with one of the outlying cars in a political bigwig’s convoy. Security men promptly surrounded the vehicle but the driver, showing remarkable agility, managed to jump out, leap into a passing autorickshaw and vanish to no one knows where. The younger child burst into tears but the older one had the presence of mind to summon his father with a phone call. MMM’s friend paid for the damages and all ended well, though what happened to the driver is a bit of a mystery. MMM fully expects to see him at a Formula 1 race pretty soon.

The second story involves a smart alec of a driver who after dropping his master at the airport was in a hurry to return home. On the way he found a convoy of cars escorting one of our VVVVVVVVIPs and decided to tag along. This was soon detected and he was apprehended and hauled up before the awful majesty of the law. When questioned he replied that his master lived but two doors away from the politician, and so he thought he could take advantage of the fact that all traffic signals were being ignored by the convoy. A tight slap stopped him in mid-sentence. He had in his nervousness forgotten to include all the honorifics and titles of the VVVVVVVVIP while referring to the person by name. That, in the view of the investigating officer, was a worse crime.

Traffic rules

Waiting for a signal to change to green gave The Man from Madras Musings ample time to reflect on the various kinds of vehicle users. The first category never waits at a traffic signal. This is usually the Government vehicle, often a police car. It can also be escorting a law-maker or a bureaucrat. Sometimes it can just be the driver of any one of the above. What is common to them all is their inability to wait. Urgency is their creed, such being the speed with which they push paper to and fro.

The second variety pauses momentarily, looks to see if there are any vehicles coming from the opposite direction and, if there are none, zooms off no matter what be the traffic signal. These are usually the S(pace) U(surping) V(ehicle)s, tourist taxis, buses and such like. The last named, if belonging to a corporate house, often sports a sanctimonious message to the effect that speed governors have been installed and if the driver is caught over-speeding, complaints can be made at a certain number which is never possible to read especially when the vehicle is over-speeding.

The third variety will wait for most of the duration when the lights are red. Just a few seconds before the green signal they tend to rush off, thereby causing the most havoc as they narrowly miss colliding with vehicles in the opposite direction.

Lastly, you have the lot that waits patiently no matter if there is no other vehicle in sight. They get roundly abused by everyone else, most often by those in vehicles behind. Sometimes the policemen also join in, berating these people for holding up traffic! Such is life.

When Tigers roamed Madras…

Today, if you mention the word ‘Tiger’ in Chennai, the chances are that most people would assume you were referring to the two-legged variety from across the Palk Strait. But there was a time when our own Madras, or at least its environs, had plenty of the four-legged originals, and not all of them in captivity.

Perhaps the first instance is recorded on the base of the monument to Governor Edward Winter, whose tenure in Madras was in the 1600s. The memorial, which is in St Mary’s Church, Battersea, has on its pedestal a carving depicting Winter wrestling with a tiger on the seashore (Fort St George, Madras by Mrs. Frank Penny, 1900). This was apparently no hyperbole, for a Latin inscription confirms that it was a true happening in Winter’s life.

Next, sample this. “A Detachment of the 1st Battalion of the 15th Regiment lay encamped at a village near Pollevaram hills. On the night of the 28th of December, a royal tiger came into the village and seized a bullock. After gorging on his prey, he retired to a house on the banks of the river, where he took up his quarters. Lieutenant Stuart being informed of it went with a Naig’s guard to the place, where they saw the monster stretched in the cottage! They mounted on the roof of the adjoining hut, and by removing the thatch of that where he lay, disturbed him and he went out! After a few turns, he sprang at the party and settled on the roof close to them, but an instantaneous discharge of two or three firelocks wounded him and he fell to the ground but immediately got up and made a second attempt, when finding his efforts ineffectual, he made off under a pandal adjoining the house he first entered and could not for some time be found…”

The story does not end happily, at least for the tiger. Stuart walked along the edge of the river (most probably the Adyar) and, at a point where the bank rose steeply by 20 feet, the animal sprang at him. Stuart somehow managed to avoid tumbling down the bank and stabbed the tiger with his bayonet. The sepoys accompanying him did the rest and Stuart was warmly mentioned in despatches. The incident is in the Madras Gazette, dated February 20, 1802.

The Literary Panorama (ed. Charles Taylor) of 1807 reports of how, on the 1st of October that year, “a royal tyger made its appearance in the cantonment at the Mount” in Madras. Given chase by those in the camp, some of the artillery men managed to aim at him. Injured by what is termed a “fuzli ball”, the animal was “much irritated” and, in crossing the Mount, managed to injure two natives, “one of whom is now lingering with lockjaw while the other was not materially hurt.” The tiger then crossed to “the outer Mount” where he was attacked by an “inconsiderate European armed only with a stick” for which he was rewarded by being torn across the face by the paw and severely bitten in the thigh. But he managed to survive. The animal, however, had no chance and received several more “fuzli balls”. Its carcass was brought triumphantly into the camp and on being measured its length from nose to tail was 10 feet, and in height it was 5 feet. Last heard, the villagers reported that another tiger “said to be the female associate of the above” was roaming in the vicinity.

Then there’s this from The Old Forest Ranger by Walter Campbell (1842): “A Madras sepoy was killed some years ago whilst measuring a tiger which had just dropped, apparently dead. The expiring brute struck at him, and fractured his skull by one blow of his tremendous paw.”

There is a record in 1812 of a party of officers, out shooting in the vicinity of Madras, who had sat down in the jungle to dine (no doubt in full dinner dress) when a tiger sprang from nowhere and made off with a young midshipman who was waiting at the table. The officers pursued the animal but when it laid its victim down prior to killing him they dared not shoot for fear of injuring the man instead of the beast. “On a sudden the hand of the midshipman moved lightly across the tawny side of his captor; and as the poor youth had hitherto lain motionless the horror-stricken spectators thought … this must be the last convulsion before death. The tiger fell ‘plomb down’ on the earth, and the midshipman leapt forward, waving his bloody dirk in triumph…The youth, it seems, took advantage of his position to draw his dirk, felt deliberately for the brute’s heart and thrust his weapon into it, up to the very hilt…” (The Guide to Knowledge by W. Pinnock, Vol IV, 1836).

Not so lucky was Captain R.M. Humphreys of Madras. “While hunting a tiger he ascended a tree, and on the tiger attacking one of the men, jumped down, when the infuriated beast sprang upon him and killed him on the spot.” (The Gentleman’s Magazine, 1835).

By 1878, tigers were considered such a menace in the Presidency (and not just in the city) that there was a reward of Rs. 100 for every tiger shot. Five years earlier, a Captain Caulfield was appointed ‘Tiger-Slayer’ of Madras Presidency and he applied any method possible from strychnine to shooting. This was a temporary assignment and, assisted by Inspector Mackenzie and A. Wedderburn, he managed to bring down the numbers significantly within the stipulated time period of six months. – Journal of the Fine Arts, 1878.

Tigers in captivity too were in Madras’s 19th Century news. Apparently, a large tiger was kept in captivity in the “bazaar in Triplicane”. Henry Davison Love, in his Vestiges of Old Madras, records the testimony of Capt. William Randall recorded during the trial following the strange death of George, Lord Pigot. Randall swore that while he was aide to Amir Ul Umrah, the latter frequently expressed a desire to do away with Pigot and asked Randall for advice. In reply, Randall, rather facetiously, suggested that the Amir ought to make a present of the tiger in the Triplicane Bazaar to Pigot and “if his Lordship was pleased to be intimate and familiar with the Tyger, he the Tyger, might sometime or other, accomplish the Business so desired.” The Amir perhaps did not get the joke for he commented darkly that Comaro, the Dubash of Benfield, “could attend to the task more easily” by slipping some poison into Pigot’s dinner!

The Illustrated Magazine of Arts, London (1854), noted that in Madras it was common for people to “take round a tiger for exhibition, with a sheep or another animal to display its strength upon”. This story originally appeared in A History of the Earth and Animated Nature by Oliver Goldsmith and Others, 1847.

As early as in 1835, the Calcutta Monthly Journal and Register had a detailed report on the post mortem done by Dr. Benza, Surgeon to the Governor of Madras, on a tiger that was kept at the menagerie in Government Park, Madras. The diagnosis was that the animal died due to “ulceration of the intestine caused by undigested bones of sheep”. Was the tiger in Government Park the forerunner of the other tiger which, together with a cheetah, began the Madras Zoo in 1854 at the Pantheon Complex? Clearly, by the late 19th Century, the tigers in the zoo had become a major attraction. “Having seen the tiger of the world at Madras, all the others are but shadows,” wrote Andrew Carnegie in 1879 (Notes of a Trip Around the World). “Such glaring eyes, burning like immense topazes in his head! His stripes were glossy black and his coat not that sickly tawny colour we are so familiar with but a light fiery brown.” Those of us who had occasion to see the animals at the same location (People’s Park) a hundred years later had a different view. The moth-eaten tiger was an anatomist’s delight, for you could count each of its bones. Today, the tigers are better off at Vandalur.

What chances would a tiger have today if it wandered into Madras? Not much. It would be run over by a lorry or bus before it crossed Pallavaram. Clearly the days of “fuzli balls” are over.

The Bombay Fornicator

Ever since I wrote that piece on clocks, I have been flooded with emails asking as to what I meant by the easy chair being called a Bombay Fornicator.

Well, the term was from the good old British Raj and not coined by me. Brewer’s Dictionary of Phrase and Fable describes the Bombay Fornicator as an Anglo-Indian term meaning a wicker chair with an extended footrest that’s long enough to facilitate sexual intercourse. (p.165, 18th Edition).

There is a lot on this on google. But anyway, I decided that a picture (or three pictures) is worth a 1000 words. So here goes:

The Bombay Fornicator at rest

The Bombay Fornicator with its legs spread

The Fornicator with its legs crossed

My guess is that it began life as a mere planter’s chair and its life changed when an enterprising Indian from Bombay (somehow you can’t imagine the oh-so-propah Brits thinking of it) realised that it had multiple uses.

Come to think of it, grandfather objected to anyone sitting on this chair! He was strongly Victorian.

The Trinity of Bhajana

Bhajana Sampradaya

“Chant the name of Govinda, for when the end is near, mere rules of grammar and prosody will not protect you” said Adi Sankara, in the opening lines of his work bhaja gOvindam.

From time immemorial, the concept of direct communion with Godhead has held universal appeal. The Bhakti movement strengthened the belief. During the times of the great saints such as Kabir, Nanak, Tulsidas, Meera and Surdas, congregations began to grow in strength. These men and women of God eschewed the high flown Sanskrit of the priests and began singing in everyday language. The gathering received the teachings of the savants in rapt attention and in complete bliss would begin singing of the glory of God, to the accompaniment of simple music instruments such as the EktAra, the cipla and the dhOlak.

Having gained ground in North India, bhajans made their way south with the arrival of the Mahrattas at Tanjore in 1676 AD. The entertainers who followed the rulers, from their native land were soon to find great fan following among the general public of the region. Language was not a deterrent, for bhajans involved the repetition of certain simple tenets and names of God, set in simple music that a chorus could sing. Over time, language barriers also vanished for bhajans came to be composed in southern languages too.

The Tanjore region became the bhajana tradition’s stronghold with the arrival of the bhajana sampradAya trinity, namely Sadguru Swamin, Bhodendral and Sridhara Venkatesa Ayyaval. The trio existed between 1684 and 1817 AD. Ayyaval who was the senior most is considered the father of the Bhajan tradition in South India. Born in Tiruvisanallur, Tanjore District, Ayyaval was a contemporary of King Shahaji I (ruled 1684-1712). He firmly believed in nAma siddhAnta, the principle of chanting God’s name and composed several simple songs for congregational singing. The test of his devotion came on a day when he had invited several Brahmins to his house in connection with certain rites to please his ancestors. As the ceremony was to commence, a starving person of a lower caste appeared at Ayyaval’s doorway and moved by his plight, Ayyaval offered him the food meant for the Brahmins. This angered the priests who refused to partake of food in his house unless he had purified himself by bathing in the Ganges, which of course was several thousand kilometers away. Ayyaval proceeded to the well at the back of his house and composed a hymn in praise of the great river. The waters of the Ganges flooded his well, enabling him to teach the Brahmins a lesson in equality of all before the Supreme. Ayyaval is commemorated till date at Tiruvisanallur, where the bhajana tradition is maintained.

Bhodendra Swamigal was the 59th pontiff of the Kanchi Kamakoti Pitham. He was a close friend and contemporary of Ayyaval. Bhodendral firmly believed in the efficacy of chanting rAma nAma as the answer to all ills. He was thus referred to as bhagavan nAma bhOdEndra. Bhodendral laid down the rules and methods of conducting bhajana. It is said that once a Brahmin lady while returning from Benares was forcibly abducted by a Muslim and had to cohabit with him for sometime. When she returned to Tanjore, her husband refused to accept her. The matter was referred to Bhodendral who asked her to utter the name of Rama and singing of him, to plunge into the waters of a lake. When she did so, a divine voice proclaimed her innocence. Bhodendra Swamigal is commemorated at his Samadhi in Govindapuram.

The youngest of this Trinity was Venkatarama Sadguru Swamin who hailing from Tiruvisanallur, set up the bhajana tradition at Marudanallur. Struck dumb while a child, he was blessed with speech by Bodhendra Swamigal. He later traveled far and wide bringing many into his fold. This included King Sarabhoji. Sadguru Swamin included in his repertoire several aShTapadis of Jayadeva and the Tarangas of Narayana Teertha. He introduced the usage of the tambura to keep shruti during the singing sessions. He is commemorated at Marudanallur where the Radha Kalyana Utsavam is held every year. It was at the Marudanallur Mutt that Papanasam Sivan got the inspiration for holding bhajan sessions, which he continued from 1921 every year till his demise in 1973, at the Mylapore Kapaliswarar Temple.

Over the years, bhajan has come to embrace a variety of deities. It is in fact the great unifying force for it includes everyone from the learned to the laity. Today it is most evident among the worshippers of Sai Baba, for the only form of worship that He asks for is the bhajan. It is simple in its appeal and emotional in content, thereby making it an effective method to communicate with God.