The rule of the law

The awful majesty of the law straddled Beach Road and The Man from Madras Musings quailed before it. The custodian of pax Madrasiana waved MMM’s car to one side and tapped on the windscreen, indicating that he would like MMM to roll it down. MMM duly did and was asked to please get out and step this way.

MMM bets that all of you are imagining that what happened next was that the gendarme flourished a balloon and asked MMM to blow into it. Nothing of that sort occurred and even if it did, MMM would have emerged unscathed for he is abstemious to a degree. But what actually did take place was that in paying complete and total attention to his good lady (also known as She Who Must Be Obeyed) while she held forth on something, MMM had driven along jumping a traffic light whereupon the cops had bestirred themselves and asked MMM to stop and then step their way.

Firmly (for once) asking his good lady to remain in the car, for she was all for getting down and engaging in single-handed combat, MMM stepped forth. The policeman looked up and down as if assessing MMM. He then proceeded to inform him, MMM, that he, MMM, had jumped the signal. MMM said that was true. He, the policeman, then asked MMM as to what would happen to the city and its law and order if educated people like MMM disregarded signals with impunity. To which MMM meekly replied that he, MMM, knew that he, MMM, was guilty and could only attribute it to a temporary diversion of attention. The law looked displeased at this meek acceptance. The fine for such misdemeanours, it growled, was high, namely Rs. 500 and demanded to see MMM’s licence. It also indicated that in case MMM was without licence, penalties would be severe. At this, MMM fished out his valid driving licence.

The scowl of displeasure deepened. It grew even more when MMM took out his wallet and having counted Rs. 500 held it in his hand and said that he did not mind paying but could he please have a receipt. There was considerable humming and hawing at this and MMM was asked if madam was not getting impatient waiting in the car, to which MMM replied that madam could take a few roughs with the smooth. A small electronic gadget with a tiny attached printer was then brought out and the constable or whatever he was then proceeded to write on the screen with a stylus. He then pressed a button and said that the receipt would be soon on its way. Only it did not and showed no signs of emerging after a goodish bit of waiting.

MMM suggested that someone looks inside to see if there was a paper roll. This was stoutly resisted to begin with amidst much scoffing and pooh-poohing together with claims that hundreds had been fined since morning and had been given receipts. When the receipt did not come after much coaxing and cajoling, the paper compartment was opened to reveal that it did not have any print roll, and, what’s more, going by the air of emptiness in it, appeared to have never ever had one in it. Its bed, clearly, had never been slept in.

It was the cop’s turn to become meek. He then asked MMM petulantly as to why he, MMM, had not argued with him, the policeman. Everyone else, said the cop, usually denied having done any wrong; they usually then asked the policemen rather truculently if they stopped Government vehicles and police cars that jumped signals. To which MMM replied that he, MMM, had erred and would not like to enter into an argument.

The cop held out his hand. MMM assumed it was an indication that ‘something’ ought to be placed in it. But it was MMM who had erred this time too. “Just shake my hand, Sir,” said the constable. “You can go. Fine waived on account of good behaviour!”

A Triplicane trip

“Uncle,” cried the young one in distress. “Only you can help.” It was another of those damsels who are harried by heartless editors to turn out 600 words within twenty minutes on subjects they know nothing about. This lass was asked to send in a story on place names in Chennai that had been corrupted from their English originals. And she had decided to apply to her new-found uncle-at-large, namely the Maama, sorry, The Man from Madras Musings.

It is always the same every Madras Week. MMM is besieged by such calls. One lady said she had a day to cover locations where murders had taken place in Madras and could MMM take her around? What did she take MMM for? Jack the Ripper? Yet another wanted to know if MMM could fill her in on historic colleges that had statues and heritage buildings in their campuses. And when MMM asked her if she knew about WCC she replied that MMM need not be rude just because she was new to the topic.

Having grown wiser over the years, MMM asked the young ’un who had called regarding place names as to what homework she had done on the subject. Well, she said, she had not done any. Whereupon MMM said rather coldly that he was not so jobless as to be doing her work for her and could she please call him after she had done some original research? This did not go down very well, but there was nothing to be done against MMM’s obdurate stance and so the conversation ended. A parting request was whether MMM could please explain what Thiru Alli Keni meant. MMM said that it denoted a sacred lily tank. This did not sound very convincing to the party of the other part and so perhaps she asked for a second opinion. Sure enough the story appeared the next day and there was Triplicane, now metamorphosed to Thiru Valli Keni. It also had an explanation in parenthesis – (Murugan’s CONCERT Tank). Quite a musical god, our quick gun Murugan.

The Chief’s wife

It is not often that The Man from Madras Musings writes in sombre vein, but the passing of the Chief’s beloved lady has saddened MMM. In her sudden departure, MMM has lost a true friend who had a whacky sense of humour. Some of the ideas for this column came from her observations on daily life and MMM is going to miss her. The welcoming smile, the warm offer of coffee or buttermilk or rasam or… the list was practically endless. More importantly, it was she who made out the list of payments to be made each month to contributors to Madras Musings and, therefore, ensured that they got their cheques. The Chief, on the other hand, mostly assumed that people got by on the strength of their love for the city.

Adieu to you, dear lady, and may flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

-MMM