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(ARCHIVE) Vol. XXI No. 1, April 16-30, 2011
 

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Avadhani in verse, first Tamil novel

The ladies still meet here

Try shopping for underwear in Chennai!

The dedication of the novel reads

Avadhani in verse, first Tamil novel
(By K.R.A. Narasiah)

When Vikram Seth’s novel Golden Gate in verse form was published, it did not occur to many that the very first Tamil novel too was written in verse form. It was by D.V. Sashiengar (spelling as used by him) and written as early as January 1875!

The novel was titled Athiyuravadhani or The Self-Made Man. It goes on to say in English “An original Tamil Novel, DELINEATING PICTURES OF MODERN HINDU LIFE  by Professor Sashiengar.” The book was printed at the Sreedhara Press (43 Irisappa Maistry Street, Madras). In Tamil it says “Chennapattinam Sridhara­muth­thiraksha Salai – 1875.”

Prathapa Mudaliar Charithram by Mayuram Vedanayakam Pillai, published in 1879, has long been considered the first Tamil novel. But that is in prose form. If Vikram Seth’s Golden Gate is considered a novel, then surely Iyengar’s Avadhani must also be considered a novel. In which case it becomes the first Tamil novel.

While widow re-marriage was spoken about in the early years of the last century, it appears from what has been implied in this novel that the author himself had got his widowed daughter remarried. Dr. J. Parthasarathy, a researcher (JP was a relative of M. Raghava Iyengar who, it appears, had a copy of this novel but could not locate it later) declares that the author spoke from his own experience.

The Athenaeum and Daily News, a daily from Madras during the period 1845-1885, had in its issue dated May 19, 1873 this statement by Sashiengar:

“I, Sashiengar, working as pleader in Travancore Court, belong to Thenkalai Vaishnava Brahmin  community. I was shocked to understand that my only daughter in her 13th year of age had been widowed. . . .”

It was also recorded that her remarriage was performed with the assistance of the Dewan of the Maharaja of Travancore. His novel’s central theme was widow remarriage.

On the day of the marriage, some antagonists tried to take the life of Sashiengar. When this failed, they, with the help of some influential citizens, persuaded Government to issue an order declaring Sashiengar an outcast.

Sundaralingam, another Sri Lankan researcher (Sundara­lingam, after working in Madras for BBC for some time, moved to Australia, where he passed away a few years ago), in an article in 1990, stated that the editor of the Athenaeum and Daily News had asked the Madras Government to redress the wrong done to Sashiengar. The Madras Government ordered an enquiry.

Sashiengar was one of the earliest to start a group advocating Hindu widows’ remarriage. This was long before G. Subramania Iyer (earlier of The Hindu and later of Swade­samitran) got his daughter Sivapriya remarried when widowed.

With widow remarriage as the main theme, Sashiengar wrote this novel in verse form, making the protagonist a medical practioner, whose own mother turns against him.

Sivapadasundaram, a Sri Lankan researcher who lived in Madurai and Madras, and Chitti Sundararajan, together researched for a book, The Tamil Novel – A Hundred Years, but they could not include Avadhani in their work as sufficient material was not available.

Eventually, Sivapada­sundaram was able to get a copy of the novel during a visit to London in 1990. A copy was available in the British Museum Library. The book was in crown size and had 100 pages, with the last page containing an errata of 15 words. Unfortunately, not much information on the author was available.

When I happened to come across these details in 1995, I asked Chitti if we could publish the novel. By that time Siva­pada­sundaram had left for London with his copy. I tried with some leading publishers in Madras. None of them was willing.

Eventually, the novel was published in its original form, through the efforts of Chitti, by a Coimbatore publisher (Vijaya Publications) under the title Adhiyur avadhani saritham.

The book has a 20-page explanatory note as Foreword by both Sivapada­sundaram and Chitti.  

The Tamil Heritage Foundation has digitised the book in its continuing and magnificent effort to put digital copies of rare books on the Net, a task mainly carried out by Subashini Tremmel from Germany and Dr. N. Kannan from Korea.

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The ladies still meet here
(By Sriram V.)

(Continued from last fortnight)

The Club had some characters on board. There was on the rolls a Mrs. Fernando
who, according to Mona Hensman, was “a pillar of club life. Quietly, humbly and ever so gladly she would take charge of our small children when we were busy with a tournament on a Friday, or our parcels when we came in from shopping, or make pickles and her famous brinjal curry for some occasion.” There was a manager, Subramaniam, who was the only man about the place – housekeeper, telephone operator, manager and clerk, all rolled into one. There were two ayahs – Pattu and Rajam – the former later becoming the soul of the canteen, doling out vadai-s and dosai-s. Savitri Rajan listed some of the colourful members – Lady Sankaran Nair with her dazzling huge diamond ear-rings, the graceful and charming Chin­namba, Maharani of Pitha­puram, Lady Mangalam­mal Sadasiva Iyer, known for her friendliness, simplicity and dignity, Lady Bazlullah’s humorous conversation, the Maharani of Travan­core in mystic and wonderful whites, great names in a princely galaxy such as Viziana­garam and Bobbili, Mrs. Krishna­­­swami Chetty, Radha­bai Subbarayan, Mrs. Alwar Chetty and Mrs. Kanakammal Sitapathi Iyer. She also included the fierce women of the Sriman Srinivasa Iyengar family, such as Janammal and Ambujammal, who were ardent freedom fighters and had been to prison for the cause.

Members of the Club playing badminton during its early days.

The Victoria Technical Institute was a beneficiary of the Club’s ladies. Lady Wright, Lady Todhunter and Mrs. Sitapathi Iyer served on its committee and the members manned the counters of the VTI on specific mornings, attending to the sales of laces and handicrafts.

Mary Clubwalla remembered her introduction to the Club shortly after she came to Madras as a bride in 1926. The first event she attended was an ‘At Home’ hosted by Lady Goschen at the Banqueting Hall. Her name was proposed in 1931 by Mrs. Ameen Khaleeli. On September 2, 1939, the Club members met to ponder over the announcement of the World War II. Mary Clubwalla was one of those present and she was to recollect that the Nursing Division of the St John’s Ambulance was formed at the Club. The members formed a division working the Air Raid Patrol Posts and they also served at hospitals. They took lessons in the use of fire-fighting equipment and trained other ladies in their use. The members attended to the needs of the sick and wounded soldiers and also ran canteens under the auspices of the Indian Hospitality Committee for the Armed Forces’ Welfare. Later, several of the Club’s members became active participants in Mary Club­walla’s Guild of Service.

The Ladies' Recreation Club building in its early days.

The war unfortunately saw the Club being turned out of its home, the Willingdon (as it was called) becoming a transit camp for soldiers. Mrs. A.A. Hayles, wife of the editor of The Mail, offered her home and tennis courts to the Club. Later, it shifted to Montieth Road, where it became a sub-lessee of the National Indian Association. At the end of the war, the Club hoped to regain its premises only to be thwarted by the Government, which made it the headquarters of the Prohibition Department. It was only in 1949 that the Club, after much lobbying, managed to regain its old home. By then, most of the European women had left, leaving it to the Indians to run the place.

Among the last celebrations was a Government House party organised by Lady Nye (wife of Sir Archibald, the last of the British Governors of Madras) for Christmas. “The gardens were tastefully illuminated and paths were laid out lit by concealed lights, through which children and adults wandered. One path led to the cave of a fairy; we had to cross a small bridge over a gurgling brook. At dusk, Santa Claus arrived in a Puss-moth amidst fireworks and the children shouted with pleasure and excitement, even we elders were entranced by the sight. Santa distributed presents according to sex and age groups,” wrote Satya Srini­vasan. By then, Christmas Day was an institution of sorts at the Club.

In the years after independence, the Club did much to foster an interest in sports among women. Badminton, snooker, carrom, tennis, table tennis and bridge were all encouraged and the members participated in state and national level sports championships and brought back trophies.

Members of the Committee with Lady Willingdon, the then President.

The golden jubilee of the Club was celebrated with gusto in 1961. But by then, a decline of some sort had already set in. The ‘men’s only’ clubs had begun relaxing their rules for membership and the raison d’être for the Club received a beating. Membership began to dwindle. In 1971, when the Club celebrated its diamond jubilee, an article in the commemorative souvenir revealed much. “Oh, where are the open shuttle court, the badminton court and the tennis courts?” wondered T. Satya Srinivasan. “Grass has grown over the first two leaving no trace of them; and the one tennis court which put up a losing fight has had a natural death and is at the mercy of the sheep, cows and dogs.” Sheelu Ranga­nathan, who played a vital role in the development of women’s cricket in the State, remembers resigning from the Club the day it was decided to scrap the tennis courts. “I was not interested in playing cards. You should have seen the grounds – full of trees and the three tennis courts,” she recalls. “And the old building – so big and airy”. It was also, to judge from photographs, filled with classic art-deco furniture.

It was perhaps reflective of changing times that, when Mrs. Madhuben Shah, wife of K.K. Shah, Governor of Madras in the 1970s, visited the Club, she remarked that surely such large grounds could be turned over to the slum clearance board and made into hutments for the poor! The Club shortly thereafter gave up the tradition of having First Ladies as its Presidents.

Little remains to be told. Contrary to the prayers of Hamsa Doraikannu (wife of the Manager of the Imperial Bank and better remembered today as the mother of cricketer C.D. Gopinath) that “Women may come and women may go, but let the LRC go on forever,” the Club fell on lean days in the 1980s. It is ironic that at a time when women were finding a space for themselves in several walks of life, the Club chose not to make much of the exclusivity, which had been the cause for its success, or to market it. The Willingdon Trust, largely guided by the Chettinad family, decided to develop the grounds and the sports facilities became the victims. A whole host of buildings came up on the estate.

The Club, however, still survives. As part of the new constructions, space was allotted on the ground and first floors of one of the buildings and it operates from there. Cards are the sole recreation now available. It also gives scholarships to needy students. However, it is a mere shell of its former self. But, as this is the centenary year, it is to be hoped that it will rejuvenate itself.

Afterword: It is interesting to note that two formidable women of Carnatic music owed their careers to the LRC. The first was C. Saraswathi Bai who shot into fame as the first woman Harikatha exponent after her maiden performance at the Club. It was thanks to Bangaru Ammal Venkatama­hipathi Naidu (wife of M. Buchi Babu Naidu) that she was brought to the Club. The second was D.K. Pattammal who in the early 1930s was asked to sing here and was given a purse.

(Concluded)

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Try shopping for underwear in Chennai!

Shopping for underclothes in Chennai is not the most exciting of Sunday activities, but it certainty comes close to it. There are few things that can match it for sheer entertainment and amusement as I found on a walk in Tiruvan­miyur and Adyar in search of (white) underwear.

I walked into a clothes store just down the road from my house and looked around. There were only female assistants at the counter (why do most men’s underwear counters almost always have females at them?).

As I am a little old-fashioned and shy about disclosing my underwear sizes and fashions to women, I waited until I spotted the lone male assistant.

“Underwear irruka?” I asked.

He looked at me as though I had spoken an unutterable word, then asked me for my size and proceeded to pull out boxes and boxes of underwear. There was red and pink and magenta. These pieces sent up images in my mind of matadors and snorting bulls and for a brief moment I saw myself being propelled at great speed impaled on a bull’s horns wearing one of them. I held on to a very nervous giggle while the sales assistant pulled out turquoise ones, parrot green ones, violet and purple and every other shocking shade in between, but not the colour I wanted: white.

“White illaiya?” I ask.

“Saar, no one in Tamil Nadu wears white. Everybody likes only colours,” he replied.

Not believing him, I walked to another store down the road. This is touted as the biggest in Tiruvanmiyur and lives up to its tag what with three floors of clothes, one of which is almost wholly devoted to underclothes. The underclothes lay in piles on large wooden counters. Here too there were more reds, pinks, purples and I spent the next twenty minutes trawling through the selection along with a few other young men who were clearly excited by the technicolour.

And that was when I discovered the second thing you need to know about underwear shopping in Tamil Nadu, i.e. the names of the brands are just as dangerous as the colours and the angry snorting Spanish bulls.

There was ‘Bison’ brand. And if that was not threatening or frightening enough, there were ‘Tiger’ and ‘Bulldog’ brands. All of these, as I just told you, were in shades to make you colour-blind and so I again asked the same question and got the same response (Doesn’t anyone wear white in Tamil Nadu? Huh).

Just for the heck of it I picked one of them and examined it for size. ‘Oh lordy’ was the phrase I remember escaping my lips, for underwear in Chennai apparently come mostly in sizes from broadsheets to tents. God bless the wearer and his woman I said to myself and put the thing down before it caused me further embarrassment and raced out of the shop and across the road to another. By then I had a fair idea about underwear colours, sizes and tastes in Chennai. So, before the owner could say anything I told him what I wanted.

“Jockey, size ...”

“Jackie, ah?” asked the owner making the familiar brand name sound like the name of John Kennedy’s wife.

“Yes, Jackie, white, size....” I said thinking you couldn’t get more specific than that. But apparently you could not.

“Rio – ah? Polo – ah? Y – Front ah?”

“Don’t you have that regular thing that keeps everything in its place?” I felt like asking but instead held back on the wisecrack. The owner pulled out something that wasn’t exactly what I wanted, but I took it considering that it wasn’t as wide as a cinema screen or looked like it would excite a snorting bull in a rodeo.

Arun Ganapathy
ganapathyarun@gmail.com

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The dedication of the novel reads:

TO

EYRE BURTON POWELL
ESQUIRE, m.a. c.s.i.

DIRECTOR OF PUBLIC INSTRUCTION, MADRAS

And

Former Principal Of
The Presidency College:

This little volume

is most respectfully inscribed

As a token of Esteem
and Gratitude.

By

His most affectionate pupil and
obedient servant

THE AUTHOR


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In this issue

This champion of city heritage turns 20...
... but faces a long battle on every front
The shame that's Presidency!
A heritage-loving boxwallah
Chennai's waterbirds are thriving
Other stories

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