Hemantha Kalam – 98 “The 'Parambarais' of North Madras”

I was a boy of about eight or nine years old when one day my father came home early, took a bath and dressed casually, helped me dress like a dude (he always ensured that I was dressed like a dude – a habit that stayed with me, when I want to). Immediately I knew that he was planning to take me for an outing. Those days I was quite timid and preferred not to go out much. But then I realised much later that a day out with my father was always an education.

So, this time he said “come, let’s take a walk”. My father was tall and his stride was large. I was short, small and so my stride was very much shorter and I had to sprint a bit to catch up with my dad or he had to catch up with me by slowing up, which he used to do mostly. I am not reputed to be a great walker (except while schooling and on route marches).

After about 10 minutes of walk we reached the ‘Congress Grounds’ in Teynampet, Madras which was just three streets away from our home then. There, at the entrance, I saw the huge cut outs and wall posters announcing a wrestling match among the legends Dara Singh, King Kong, Ajit Singh and some lesser known wrestlers of the day. My father got the tickets (it should be rather just a ticket, in singular, as I was let in free, as I was just a boy). If my memory serves me right, the cost of the ticket per head was something like Rs.10 for a ringside view in cane/rattan sofas, Rs.5 for sitting in foldable chairs, Rs.2 for a gallery seat (made up of casuarina poles and wooden planks) and Rs.1 for standing and viewing. We found a vantage place in the makeshift gallery, where the view was reasonably clear for me.

When the bell rang and the game started first among lesser known wrestlers and then the renowned wrestlers, my father got involved rather animatedly like the frenzied mob all around us. I was scared each time there was a wrangle but slowly I too got drawn into the game. Trust any father taking his small son to wrestling and boxing matches like my dad did. But it gave me a closer look at the game – rather a ring side look at that! And that day onwards I had a deep respect for Dara Singh.

I don’t remember much of the boxing games as those used to take place mostly at the Nehru Stadium and/or at Kannappar Thidal (Kannappar Ground) near Madras Central Railway Station from where one may safely call Madras as North Madras. I think I remember watching the game of one of the renowned boxers of the day; one Mr. Bhakthavatsalam. Here also the initial bouts were between upcoming boxers first and then among the real pugilists of the time.

Both Nehru Stadium and Kannappar Thidal are landmarks of Madras that are still around. Only that the Kannappar Thidal has been handed over to Chennai Metro for dumping excavated material etc., while laying the Metro Rail transport in the city. While Nehru Stadium was mostly used for sports purposes, Kannappar Thidal was a multi-purpose ground that was being used for foot-ball games, boxing bouts and also circuses. Congress Grounds were also used for boxing bouts but very rarely though.

The Madras Boxing history should, perhaps, be at least a century old. It has thrived well mostly in the Tiruvottriyur and Choolai areas of Madras. The players were mostly fishermen or workers working as loaders, on odd jobs or in the Madras Port and thus not economically a well-to-do people.

The indigenous sport restricted the boxers to hit only on the face and nowhere else on the body. However, the British who had influence on their workers slowly taught them the British mode of boxing which allowed the pugilists to hit not only on the face but on the body too but only above the midriff. So the boxing matches used to announce the bouts as “Rosamaana Aangila Kuththu Sandai” (Ferocious English Boxing).

The boys and men used to continuously train under some renowned teachers and each teacher is a legend in his time. So between 1960s and the 1970s there appear to be at least four well known ‘Parambarais’ or clans (I prefer to use the word legacies) in North Madras area. First ones, apparently, were the ‘Idi Appa Naicker Parambarai’ and ‘Ellaiappa Chettiar Parambarai’. Idi Appa is a moniker as his punch used to be like a thunderbolt (Idi). Soon the name became Idiappa Parambarai.

Over a period, there came into being another couple of legacies called ‘Saar Patta Parambarai’ and ‘Chunnaambu Kulam Parambarai’. Saar Patta is the Moniker and the root is four knives (Chaar Pattaa Katthi) as the punch of the pugilists belonging to this legacy equalled the pain caused by four knives. This finally came to be known as Saarpattaa Parambarai. The Tamil Chunnaambu Kulam means Lime Pond or Lime pit. Historically it appears that, over a period, the Ellaiappa Parambarai and Chunnaambu Kulam Parambarai merged with the existing legacies and Saarpattaa Parambarai and Idiappa Parambarai became renowned as rivals and vied with each other for the honours to be the numero uno.   

It appears that as political connections grew and the bouts fetched money to the organisers and some winners only, many boxers found no significant wherewithal for themselves and began to stray waywardly. Some became the henchmen for moneylenders and a few of them even rowdy elements. It is sad when you come to know that a few boxers who had their sunshine days are reduced to sell vegetables in Choolai market these days.

Thus the recently released Tamil film ‘Sarpatta Parambarai’ piqued my intrigue and I wanted to see if I can relive my memories associated with these manly sports. I have to say with much satisfaction that the film did not disappoint me.

Though quite lengthy at 173 minutes (for, any film that is more than eight minutes it becomes difficult to hold my attention these days) and made as a period film (the 1970s) the picture is, indeed, a treat. One doesn’t get bored even for a minute. It is like a book that you do not feel like putting down. The screenplay is quite tight and I could easily relate with the context and the language of the conversation and dialogues.

Something interesting I found from the film was the use of some Telugu words by the members of the legacies; words like “Gelichiduven” (‘geluchu’ means to win, in Telugu), “pilaka” (in this context short form of Pilla kaaya, a word for a kid that is used in the bordering districts of Andhra Pradesh) and “Thotha” (to be pronounced as ‘thodha’ again a corruption for ‘Thodu’ in Telugu which means a companion).

When I tried to do some quick research I came to understand that as over a period of time these legacies were supported or patronised by political parties several hues were applied to the sport and there even has been an un-proclaimed ban on the sport. It was in those times that the interested kids were sent to Boxing trainers in Andhra Pradesh for training. This, in itself, was news to me as I never heard any news of boxing in Andhra Pradesh excepting in Hyderabad (now a part of Telangana) and Visakhapatnam. It was a surprise for me to note that there are several boxing coaching centres in Chittoor district of Andhra Pradesh bordering with Tamil Nadu. 

Coming back to the film, one has a satisfaction of watching a good film at the end and that everyone in the project did their best to excel. The picture also depicted the effect of emergency on boxing in Madras with many of them treated as political persons and jailed.

As far as I am concerned, the characters of ‘Dancing Rose’ and ‘Daddy’ would linger for a long time in my memory. Apparently there was no Dancing Rose in the history of Madras Boxing and it was adapted on the basis of Prince Naseem Hamed, a boxer of repute from UK. This was played by Mr. Shabeer Kallarackal who has performed with élan and it was a joy watching him don the ‘Dancing Rose’ role. It is said that Shabeer though had taken a reference of Prince Naseem Hamed, he introduced his own style of dancing in the ring which was quite pleasant to watch. So did Mr. John Vijay as the Anglo Indian ‘Daddy’. His way of speaking was just like the Anglo Indians, quite a few of whom I knew well.

I couldn't help noticing a couple of inconsistencies though. One is that the clock at the boxing ring lost its continuity during the bout between ‘Kabilan’ the protagonist and the ‘Dancing Rose’. At one point, the clock shows 5.04 minutes (at 1:15:19), next it shows 5.15 (at 1:16:04) and again after a few frames the clock goes back to near 5.05 (at 1:16:24). Apparently the clock has been inspired by ‘Dancing Rose’ that it also waltzes back and forth. Surely, when it is mentioned that there were only 30 seconds for the round to close, 10 minutes could not have elapsed. Apparently someone in the charge of continuity goofed on this. If possible the shot showing the clock at 5.15 could be removed. Similarly, on the one old red bus that was shown a few times, there also should have been the Tamil words “Pallavan Pokkuvaraththu Kazhagam” {Pallavan Transport Corporation (PTC as it was dearly referred to)}.

While these are but two tiny inconsistencies, the film overall was excellent. Not once would one feel that they are watching a movie but the actual boxing scenes and the background realities. Each and every member of the team toiled to that extent and succeeded well. That the film was made during the pandemic of COVID-19 and still withstood the impediments is a point to be lauded.

A good film well made. Congratulations to the entire team!     

My only regret is that it came at least five years late for me. Though it did help me to relive my memories (the transportation to the 1970s was complete), it deprived me of the pleasure to watch this film along with my dad. Had it been released in 2016, both of us could have reminisced together with my father’s memories put in for a good measure. And I have no doubt that he would have been regaled in watching the film.

So, until the next,  

Krutagjnatalu (Telugu), Nanri (Tamil), Dhanyavaadagalu (Kannada), Nanni (Malayalam), Dhanyavaad (Hindi), Dhanyosmi (Sanskrit), Thanks (English), Dhonyavaad (Bangla), Dhanyabad (Oriya and Nepalese), Gracias (Spanish), Grazie (Italian), Danke Schon (Deutsche), Merci (French), Obrigado (Portuguese), Shukraan (Arabic and Sudanese), Shukriya (Urdu), Sthoothiy (Sinhalese) Aw-koon (Khmer), Kawp Jai Lhai Lhai (Laotian), Kob Kun Krab (Thai), Asante (Kiswahili), Maraming Salamat sa Lahat (Pinoy-Tagalog-Filipino), Tack (Swedish), Fa'afetai (Samoan), Terima Kasih (Bahasa Indonesian) and Tenkyu (Tok Pisin of Papua New Guinea), Malo (Tongan), Vinaka Vaka Levu (Fijian)

 

Hemantha Kumar Pamarthy

Chennai, India