Hemantha Kalam - 107 "Paradise Lost"

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.

[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 30^th 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