Down memory lane

My destiny with Madras was linked as far back as 1963. I had been selected in Agra for a commission in the Indian Army and went to the Services Selection Board interview in Bangalore. As there was no direct train between Agra and Bangalore at the time, I had to come to Madras by Grant Trunk Express which, reaching early in the morning, gave me a whole day in the city. On arrival at Madras Central and after taking a retiring room and eating delicious masala dosais, I spent some time at nearby Moore Market, then took an auto for Marina Beach. It was a great thrill to see the sea for the first time.

At a little over 19 years, it was a great turning point in life on being selected to become a commissioned officer in the Indian Army. Destiny took over again and with Dehra Dun, Pune and Madras as possible training centres, I was asked to report to Officers’ Training School (now called Officers’ Training Academy) in Madras. I reached Madras Central on July 15, 1963 for training and, for the first time, encumbered the country’s unique diversity of cultures, languages and eating habits.

After our first assembly, when we went around to see our training area and living barracks, many of us Gentlemen Cadets (GCs) saw Western style commodes for the first time. The Officer-in-Charge asked the GCs if anyone knew the correct way of using the toilet. Only one GC out of about three hundred present raised his hand and he was asked to demonstrate the correct way of using it.

Life was extremely tough, both physically and mentally, in those first weeks. Getting up early morning at four and on the go till ten at night was exhausting, leaving us with no time to even think. Every movement was on the double. Initially, life was virtually hell on earth. We were not allowed to go out on out-passes to Madras till we had passed Drill Square Test after eight weeks. Getting an out-pass after that was perhaps the greatest thrill of our entire training period. It was as if we were coming out of jail. Our ambitions were very simple – to go around Madras in groups of GCs, eat good food, see a movie and loiter on the Marina. For reasons best known to the Army, Elliot’s Beach was ‘Out of Bounds’ for GCs. We always wondered what went on at Elliot’s Beach that they didn’t want us to see.

In about two months’ time, we had become very tough, both physically and mentally. Then began route marches, day and night patrolling, battle inoculation etc. and they took their toll. During those exercises, we had the opportunity of going around the Madras countryside a lot. A bottle of water was all we could officially carry. Thirst was perpetual and GCs, with fully loaded weapons and haversacks, could be seen running around paddy fields with their tongues hanging out. The villagers’ courtesy, generosity and hospitality had to be seen to be believed. Whenever they saw GCs nearby, they would rush inside their huts and bring soothing pitchers of cool water which was like amrit for thirsty GCs. Once, a woman, after giving us water, motioned us to wait and brought a packet from inside her hut. Though we were not supposed to accept any parcels from civilians, I simply could not refuse. In the evening, when we were having tea, I remembered the parcel and, to our amazement and glee, found murukku-s which seemed to have been prepared specially for us. Indeed, those were the best murukku-s I have ever eaten.

After having spent a few months in training, we began not only to enjoy every bit of PT, drill, weapons training, route marches and night patrolling, but we also began to love Madras. But soon the day of reckoning was at hand, i.e. the day we would be passing out after having spent seven months at the OTS, and in Madras. We came to Madras as boys, but were leaving as men. I was exactly 20 years old on that day, February 2, 1944.

It was tough leaving O.T.S. The entire staff had lined up to bid us good-bye. At the final hour, though all of us were standing erect, tears were rolling down our cheeks. We had undergone the toughest time of our lives during those seven months in Madras, but leaving Madras was the toughest part of it all. While leaving Madras, I wondered whether I would ever again see this beautiful city which gave us our manhood.

Once again, destiny played its part after almost 19 years. After my release from the Army and joining business, the firm I was with began expanding in the South in 1983. We could have chosen any of the three Metros, Bangalore, Hyderabad or Madras, but destiny chose Madras. And there I was, back again. Slowly but surely, business started picking up and, socially, new friends were made. The name Madras became Chennai. Things also started changing with that. Chennai became a manufacturing hub, IT and BPO companies began opening, and the face of old conservative Madras started changing. But though the name has changed, the city’s spirit remains the same. Whenever I go out of Chennai, I am eager to return to my safe haven. Chennai gives me a sense of belonging which, at one time, I only found in my native place, Agra. Its culture, food, people have grown on me. It gives you the charm of a Metro and the joys and convenience of a small city. If I were to vote for the most beautiful city in the world, I would say ‘Chennai’, because beauty lies in the eye of beholder.

Now, after 24 years here, I remember an old Hindi film song ‘Jina yahan, marna yahan, iske bina jana kahan?’ which in English says: ‘It’s here I live, It’s here I die, where else can I go?’

(Capt.) Ravi Mahajan
ravikantmahajan@gmail.com

I was born in Madras in 1940, but I was brought up and educated in Andhra Pradesh where my father worked. When we visited Madras in 1945 for a wedding soon after the War had ended, it looked like a ghost city. Large numbers of people had left due to fear of bombing by the Japanese. Many of them had sold their properties at throwaway prices before they left for their native places. There were shortages of all things. My mother could not get an aluminium vessel to boil water or mix milk powder for my younger brother, as all the aluminium produced was being diverted for the manufacture of military equipment.

After the War, when we visited People’s Park we did not find any of the dangerous animals, like tigers, lions, and leopards, that were said to be there! They had all been shot dead on a Government order before the Japanese bombing as a safety precaution.

My grandfather purchased a tiled house on a one ground plot in Purasawalkam in 1911 for Rs. 1200! (Purasawalkam got its name due to abundant Poo-arasu trees.) Most of the trees have now been cut down to make way for houses and shops. Still, some of the old landmarks, like the Purasawalkam tank, St. Paul’s Church, St. Mathias’ Church and Whitefield, remain. We tasted ice cream for the first time in our lives in the Whitefield Ice Cream parlour which still exists in reduced glory.

My mother used to tell us that, during the silent picture era, an Anglo-Indian woman used to play the piano in the Roxy Theatre. The theatre is now no more having made way for a shopping complex.

Purasawalkam and Vepery had a large Anglo-Indian population. Now most have emigrated.

D.B. James
37, Sadasiva Metha Street
Metha Nagar, Chennai 600 029

Abuse on the roads

In Madras City, you willfind!

1. Auto rickshaws racing, with silencers removed and using high decibel horns (only a few such vehicles use bulb horns).

2. Even two-wheelers use fancy noisy horns nonchalantly as they race at breakneck speed.

3. Lane criss-crossing is the order of the day.

4. Omnibuses and buses of corporate and educational institutions use air horns with impunity.

5. Only a few MTC buses still use bulb horns!

6. Parking in bus bays is taken for granted (in any other country this will attract heavy penalties).

7. Number plates, their size and design, vary to suit the owner’s idiosyncrasies.

8. In summer we say it is horrible to use helmets. What about the rainy season and winter?

9. Even in narrow service lanes, vehicles ply dangerously, using high decibel horns, greatly disturbing people working and living in nearby buildings.

I wonder whether there is any rule of law on our roads?

N.P. Andavan
audconp@yahoo.co.uk

The great survivor

Reader K.V.S. Krishna and others can fret and fume and fumigate the roach (MM, November 1st), but it is said to have been found in fossils 300 odd millions of years old. In fact, it is said the cockroaches will survive even a global nuclear explosion!

N. Dharmeshwaran
Plot 456, II Link Road
Sadashiva Nagar, Madipakkam
Chennai 600 091

The garland

Apropos Vijaysree Venkataraman’s comments on Hanuman vadai-s (MM, November 1st) here is an interesting angle narrated to me by a friend, a rasika par excellence.

As everybody knows, in the Ramayana, after Sita was brought back everybody heaved a sigh of relief and the persons assembled were in high spirits. Sensing joy in everybody, Sita wanted a ‘Vatamala’ – a garland of pearls – to be presented to the most appropriate person. Lord Hanuman’s name was on everybody’s lips. Lord Hanuman was accordingly honoured.

He started biting a portion of the garland and threw away the garland to everyone’s shock. They wondered why such a consummate diplomat chose to throw the garland away. Lord Hanuman explained that there was nothing sweeter than Lord Rama’s name.

The ‘Vatamala’ over the ages turned out to be ‘Vadamala’. ‘Vata’ in Sanskrit means pearl and ‘Vatamala’ means a garland of pearls.

The vadamala – a preparation of combination of Bengal gram, pepper and salt – acquired its place much to the delight of the common man’s gastronomic taste.

T. Kaleeswaran
5, VII ‘X’ Street Mahalakshminagar
West Velachery
Chennai 600 088