After writing on stories of
the streets in Chennai, in my previous blog, let me now write about a paradise lost, not
very far from Chennai (India) but just about 13 kms from the Central Railway
Station and about 12 kms from the Chennai Airport.
But we need to go back about
six decades to know more about this lost paradise.
During mid 1960s, my parents
were on the lookout for a small plot of land so that they could build a small
cottage for our family to live in. They could zoom in onto one,
about a kilometre behind the now Vadapalani Bus Depot. At the point of time of
the purchase of this plot, the Vadapalani Bus Depot was in the finishing
stages. So was the Kodambakkam Rail Over Bridge (ROB).
Most of the buses used to ply
only till the Vadapalani Andavar Temple and return to their respective destinations, from there. Beyond that, there were only two villages known to the general public – Saligramam and
Virugambakkam. From the bus stop at the Vadapalani Temple, those who needed to go
further to these two villages, either had to walk or wait eternally, for the
three buses that go beyond Vadapalani temple stop (routes 17B, 63 and 88) or if
you can’t wait, take a Jutka (a horse drawn carriage) that could normally take
about 4 people a trip comfortably or about 6 people by cramming them up a bit.
Jutka Photo by: Yours faithfully (On 20th June, 2014 at Kancheepuram, TN, India)
Beyond Saligramam, till Virugambakkam, there were Cinema
studios on either side of the road and beyond Virugambakkam only green fields, banana
plantations and other orchards. Our daily food needs, mostly, used to be
catered by hawkers from these villages - needless to say, farm-fresh.
Having been used to eat such
farm-fresh vegetables, I am not sanguine to buying vegetables in the modern
shops, unless compelled. Some of my colleagues laugh either in front of me or
behind me, whenever I buy vegetables on roadsides, near any farm, during my
visits on work.
For a long time, Arcot Road
(Now NSK Salai), was having hardly any traffic on the road beyond the
last studio and National theatre, about which we will discuss here in a little while.
Once I learned to ride a bicycle,
I used to pedal off on this traffic-less road till the Porur Lake, which was about
seven kilometres away from my home. Halfway through, there used to be a place
now known as Valasaravakkam with a small temple and its pond by the wayside.
The temple is still there and a pond still exists. There also was a Sumai
Thangi (In Tamil Sumai means load and Thaangi as it should be
pronounced, meant bearer) for the benefit of hawkers, travellers and other pedestrians with loads. There were
actually two of these structures; one behind the other. The front one was shorter so that
people can sit on them and the one in the back was taller so that people
carrying loads on their heads can simply move/push the load on to the stone
slab, even while standing, without any other person’s help. This was one of the beneficiary
structures in the society to help travellers, hawkers et al who were carrying
loads.
After bicycling for about
three kms or so, I used to stop here for a while sitting on the taller one and fantasising
that I was the king of the place. Once in a way, a bus used to pass and all the
passengers used to gawk at me. Today this Sumai Thangi is at the ground level
as, over the decades, the road kept on rising and only known people like me can go and
search for the stone. I will bet that hardly any native of Valasaravakkam today
would even be knowing of this.
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[The above is a crude Sumai Thangi whereas the one in
Valasaravakkam was well chiselled]
Picture Courtesy: https://harishmurugan.blogspot.com/2016/08/do-you-know-sumaithangi-kal-load-bearer.html
After reaching the Porur lake, I
used to park my bicycle and lie down on the sloping bank of the lake with my
feet submerged in the cool water. If one wanted heaven, it was then and it was
there.
Now, Kumaran colony, just
behind the Vadapalani Bus Depot, was also a paddy field laid out into plots
with five streets, in between the plots. At that point of time all the five streets were cul de sacs. Now I think two of the streets are connected to the Arunachalam Road. In fact, there was a very large farm-well between what today
are the third and fourth streets of Kumaran Colony. Over a period of time,
people stole all the bricks of the well and it became a not only a huge, but
also a deep water-pit and rainy season was always a danger to pedestrians, who were using a path going adjacent to the well, cutting across the empty plots of
Kumaran Colony. Only the difference in colour of the water used to caution them,
but in night times it was still dangerous.
My father’s plot was made out,
adjacent to this Kumaran colony, in a lovely coconut grove of 11.5 acres with
an approximate 1,000 plus coconut trees cultivated, more for the toddy, by a
gentleman called Dharani Singh Gramani (Late), in whose name there is a street
now connecting the Senthil Andavar Road in our colony and the
Nerkundram Pathai (to be pronounced as paathai, a Tamil word, meaning
way or a track). Our plot was almost at the end of the layout and in a corner, with all lanes around our house being cul de sacs. In fact, almost all
the streets in our colony are also cul de sacs being nemesis to naïve
thieves/robbers and petty criminals, who ventured to practice their business in
our area.
The layout, made in the
coconut grove, was named as Dhanalakshmi (Goddess of wealth) Colony and each
plot got an average of six to eight coconut trees as its share. Totally 92
plots were made in the layout with decently wide streets, unlike today’s
miserly alleyways. Plot 92 was where the southern film actress Silk Smitha (on whose inspiration the Hindi film 'The Dirty Picture' was made) lived and died.
Of course, some trees were lost even while making streets in
the colony. We, for our plot, could get 8 coconut trees as our share. My
parents wrestled with an architect for a design that would not need to fell or
harm the trees (or at the minimum, if at all) and finally could construct a tiny
house by sacrificing only two of the coconut trees, leaving six in our plot.
For a very long time, we had
these six trees till the wise government drew overhead high-tension wires, in a
residential area, running adjacent to our plot. The coconut fronds, after
drying, used to often drop from the trees onto these high-tension wires and
short circuiting the area’s power supply. The government, through the employees
of its agency, the Tamil Nadu State Electricity Board, constantly used to
reprimand us and called for our cutting these coconut trees, on the pain that
if we don’t, they won’t attend to power complaints in our house anymore. So,
unable to withstand the pressure and also the coercion, we had to lose four
more trees. So much care for the environment, even by a government agency.
My father planted a couple of
Andhra variety mango plants, and nurtured them along with these coconut
trees, which yielded fruits for at least three to four decades. And then one
tree suddenly died, reason for which we could not diagnose. In about a year or
so, the other mango tree also gently died, without hurting any life, person or a building, but falling across the street. The tree was so huge that traffic came
to halt from either side of the street for a couple of days. But the other residents of the streets around us, who were quite inconvenienced but also were the
beneficiaries of our mangoes periodically, were gentle with us and cooperated
by helping us remove the tree.
The long and short of it is
that our house, which was nicknamed as “Mara Veedu” (House of Trees)
which at one time boasted of six coconut trees, three mango trees, two neem
trees, one badam (desi almond) tree, one custard apple tree, several papaya
trees and many floral plants, today has just one coconut tree, one neem tree,
one badam tree, one custard apple tree, several banana and papaya trees.
Coming back to the original
story, there was a small patch of half an acre of land owned by an utter miser
called RJN (Late) opposite to our plot. In addition to this property, it was
alleged that he had properties in his native place and also a house, bang
opposite the AVM Studios on Arcot Road. Yet, I never saw him wearing a full set
of dress. He was always wearing a dirty towel (not even a shirt or sandals)
around his dirty body and that is how he used to commute too.
There was a hut in this
half-acre grove and a couple {of inter-linguistic, inter-caste living arrangement (even
in the mid-1960s)} who apparently, as per their story, ran away from their
parents and known society, to take shelter here, to be incognito. The guy was a painter and the
woman was a housewife and generally a loudmouth and a gossip monger. And they
had two little kids, if I remember well.
Excepting a couple of houses
in Kumaran Colony and a couple of houses in Dhanalakshmi Colony (we were the
second to construct a house in the colony, but since the owners of the first
house sold away and we stayed so far, we are now officially the first and pioneers
of Dhanalakshmi Colony) and a small lower-income settlement nearby, there were
hardly any other dwellings in the vicinity.
Having a bicycle was a luxury (and protecting such luxuries also needed skills). My father had a good bicycle
and the people in the low-income settlement nearby always held my father in awe
and high respect. When my father was electrocuted, most of the settlement was
at our house to inquire about his health and wellbeing. At that point of time,
if my father wished to contest elections, he would have won, hands down, as a
ward councillor.
Initially, there was no
electricity, nor roads, nor corporation water, nor sewage facilities in our entire area. But the
coconut trees in most of the vacant plots helped us immensely. Thanks to the
dry fronds from the coconut trees, we had abundant, year round cooking fuel,
free of cost. Everything else also had to be done naturally and the coconut trees covered us well, rain or shine.
For water, in the beginning,
we had a handpump which cranked off after a couple of years of use,
necessitating us to dig a proper dug well for water.
My dear father and I always
bathed on the platform around the well in the open air, under the sky, even in
rainy and cold seasons, with a competition till either of us was tired. Water
was so abundant. And what a pleasure it was. How I long for such baths with my
father again! Sigh, anyway, it is not possible as my father passed away and civilisation
has taken care and compelled that the well’s height had to be reduced to the ground level.
Since only a couple of houses
were in our coconut grove colony, the entire place used to be not only
picturesque, but also very cool. My friends were the children of the lower
income settlement and cowherds, giving me an opportunity to learn immensely on
equality, agriculture, cattle and dairy, nature and its ways.
In summers, we used to sleep
outside our houses on camp-cots and under the coconut trees.
The nearby areas were studios
and paddy fields. The present posh Horizon Apartments on Arunachalam Road,
Saligramam, are located in what once was a paddy field in cultivation.
In 1968, on a fine day, a
large hut was being put up, in a portion of this field, leaving me in awe and
wonder, as I did not understand what that large hut could be for. A month or so
later, one fine evening, a Cinema ‘Tent’ was inaugurated. It was named Padma
Theatre.
There were only three classes
of tickets. Floor class for 0.30 paise, Bench class for 0.65 paise and Cane
Sofa class for Rs.1,10. To sit in a cane chair there would be a symbol of wealth and
influence. I used to wangle bench ticket money from my father, but mostly used
to go only for the floor class, thus saving money for the next film.
Only re-run films used to be
screened here and that too only two shows – one in the evening from 6.30 pm onwards
and another by 10.00 pm onwards. Since most of the times, I used to walk from
school, had homework to be done, and also had to help my mother in taking care of my siblings and other household chores, I used
to prefer watching night shows and I used to go alone to the theatre cutting across the paddy fields in the pitch darkness braving snakes. I was all of 12+ years then.
The ‘theatre’ could not screen
daytime films as;
(i) apparently, they did not
have licence for the three screenings and
(ii) there were no walls to
the hut, to shut out extraneous light.
On one end, there used to be a
small building for the projection room and on the opposite end, a huge white
wall for the screen. Rest of the sides were open, so fresh air was always in
abundance. In summer, they used to hitch small portable fans to the poles supporting the
hut which would be a little relief, but there used to be rush for the places
near the fans.
Sometimes, drunkards, thieves
and other petty criminals used to sneak into the theatre and police searches for them also used to take place during the screenings, creating more excitement and
unprohibited news and gossip value in the area, the next day. What a fun? Today
all this action is missing.
Just near the corner of my
house, one student, who apparently was from an economically weaker family, used
to sell popcorn at 0.10 paise a packet. The boy used to be of my age. After
returning from school, he used to bathe and wear clean clothes, mostly a veshti
(dhoti) and a shirt.
After setting up his wares in
an attractive pyramid manner on the jute sack that he used to bring the popcorn
in, he used to start his business. He never used to leave the place till the
last packet was sold, all the time, even if mosquitoes were devouring him. In the
rainy season, he used to bring a large umbrella, but still used to continue his
business. Today, when I look back, I wonder what could have been his
compulsions and why I never got that idea to make money. I am sure that I
lacked the enterprise.
A couple of years later, when
the permit of Padma ‘Tent’ expired, they moved the tent a few feet and
reapplied for license under the name Sri Krishna ‘Tent’. A little away in a slowly
developing adjacent colony was another tent called Santhi.
The licences of these also expired after a couple of years and slowly these theatres vanished. But I easily saw hundreds of movies in these 'Tent' theatres.
A couple of
kilometres away on the main Arcot Road in Virugambakkam was the National
Theatre which always was my favourite. This theatre had ample space, even to
park cars if any patron brought one, but which seldom happened.
The premises were homely and
always clean. It had two gates at each end of the compound wall one for entry
and the other for the exit. The front yard used to remind one of a bungalow and
not a theatre. Unlike other theatres, this theatre somehow had a very calm ambience and in my opinion was a 'Gentle Theatre'.
This being a proper theatre, the comforts were better and
accordingly the costs were higher. I used to visit this theatre rarely as I was
still a dependent boy and could not afford the ticket prices.
This theatre is now National
Inox and located at the same place in Virugambakkam, and also housing a mall, but the old
feeling of visiting this theatre could not be relived in this new avatar and
the zest for watching a movie in the theatre is totally killed for me now.
L. V. Prasad (Late), the doyen
of Telugu films (Hindi film ‘Ek duje ke liye’ fame) had agricultural land
surrounding our colony, the main reason as to why almost all the streets in our
colony are cul de sacs.
With great difficulty, could
he be convinced to give land for one street to be opened, connecting our colony
to Arunachalam Road. He was smart enough to get his compensation for this
‘noble deed’ of his, by (i) getting the road named after him (ii) and
apparently in some other ways too, as alleged.
In the rest of the area,
surrounding our colony, he had a mango grove and paddy fields, taken care by a
family headed by one Mr. Mani. This Mr. Mani was who saved my father during his
electrocution (for more details on this, you may like to visit my blog
“Mrutyunjaya has compromised” on Hemantha Kalam at http://hemantha-kalam.blogspot.com/2018/07/).
We had a wonderful relationship
with Mr. Mani and his family members that we could get fresh organic farm
vegetables, greens and especially hand-picked mangoes for our pickles, from
their farm too.
Today there is no farm and
instead, a Colour laboratory has been set up by the owners and the entire land
is protected by a large and high stone wall all around.
Nearby to this farm, a
cooperative society used to operate by collecting pure and fresh milk, both
from cows and buffaloes. It
is here that I met my good friend dear Janab Basheer Ahmed Moosa, a sound engineer par excellence! It is also here
that I had to learn and use my marketing techniques on the milk distributing
guy.
The guy used to have a large clean
wide mouthed vessel (called Degsa now known more popularly as Biryani Handi) to collect milk from the cattle
owners and sell to the buyers. The society was actually playing a facilitating
role by buying the milk from the farmers for a slightly lower price but still
better for the farmers, selling to the buyers for a slightly higher price
making a reasonable and decent margin for the society to take care of the
expenses and a little profit.
The only issue for us was that
my younger brother was used to be fed only on the buffalo milk and the society
used to mix both the cow’s and buffalo’s milk in the vessel and sell only the
mixed milk. Though I knew which buffalo’s milk I needed, the society prohibited
me to buy directly from the buffalo owner. So, I had to cajole, convince and
get the specific buffalo milk, even while the society guy was collecting it and
before the milk is mixed with the other already collected milk. I was all of 13
years old.
Then, there was a medium sized
irrigation canal that connected to a small water pond called ‘Gangai Amman
Temple Pond’ and I used to accompany the cow herds when they used to take their
cattle for washing and for their own swimming. Since I did not swim and scared
to go home with a wet dress, I never ventured to learn swimming from them,
which I should have done, as today one of my only two regrets is not possessing
the swimming skill.
This irrigation canal slowly
started disappearing and, in its place, many dwelling units appeared there.
Today, what was once the irrigation canal is known as Rajangam Maththiya Veedhi
(Raajaangam Central Street). The Gangai Amman pond is not there anymore either.
I wonder whether it would be there on any map also now.
RJN’s half an acre of land,
under the nourishment of the couple, started yielding excellent coconuts and
started earning income for the owner. The harvesting day used to be filled with
a bit of commotion around. The land used to be covered with green lawn, and
which was always maintained well by the couple. It was an ideal place for
picnics.
But for some reason, RJN made
the couple vacate his land and sold off, to the second wife, of a well-known
film personality, who herself was an accomplished actress and singer of
yesteryears. After some ruckus within their own family, the land changed hands
and the new owner constructed apartments by cutting all the trees, not leaving even a few. Not only
that, the promoters completely laid concrete on the floor of the entire complex, so that the residents
will not be inconvenienced by the slush during the rainy season.
My father pleaded with them to
leave some land uncovered, so that water could be absorbed by the earth and the
water table will improve. They laughed at him and said who cares for an old man.
Little did they know or realise that the old man’s words (like other old people’s
as well) would be prophetic. Today, every time there are rains, it is these
apartments which are thoroughly inundated with flooding waters and in summer,
it is they who suffer most, for want of water.
Similar is the case with one
huge apartment complex on Arunachalam Road, constructed much against the neighbouring
local people’s will and which is now in dire circumstances, facing rebuilding.
The greedy developers have put the entire area into peril through not only
water depletion then, but now by all the pollution to be created while
imploding the high-rise buildings to be reconstructed.
Since our entire colony
started getting more houses only during the mid 1970s, till then staying in the
colony was a paradise.
Slowly the paradise started
giving in to new people of various and different mentalities. The whole place is
full of houses and apartments and hardly any tree can be seen. Our colonies are
being garlanded by the Metro transportation. Everyone has at least one car and
innumerous bikes.
Material facilities have cropped up! All
for a price. The area is surrounded by star hospitals, evidence of precarious
health and filthy rich people around. Highrise buildings ensured profits for
the developers, but depleted water levels for the neighbours.
Can see hardly any coconut tree in an area
of over 1,000 trees. Farm lands in the vicinity is a laugh.
We did not have any government facility
those days. But we were happier with the nature and the company of the innocent
neighbouring people, mostly living on the fringes, yet content. Today though
everything is available that money can buy, including crime in the area; what
about nature?
A paradise is lost – before my very eyes.
And I have been a useless mute spectator left to mutter to myself, like an old
guy that I have become, of all the good things that have gone by, never again
to return, unless there is an apocalypse and a resurrection, perhaps.
Remembering of our homecoming in the
colony on the 30th April, 57 years hence.
Until the next, I remain with,
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
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