Buying tickets is a painful experience

For the past few decades, ATP tennis matches are being played in Madras (except in some intervening years). In the early years, tickets were sold only across the counter. Later, online ticket sales were introduced side by side. The counter sales were very convenient for tennis fans especially seniors.

This year when the fans went to buy tickets at the counter, they were dismayed to find that the time tested practice had been changed, only online sales was available. That  too after booking online, one had to approach the ticket counter to exchange for printed tickets!

What a degradation!  Many, especially seniors, who do not have online facility were at a loss on how to go about it and they had to request their near and dear ones to help them. Not only that, in addition to the actual ticket price they had to shell out an additional Rs.125 or so, as service charges!  Fleecing and what a pain?

Already half the stadium is empty of spectators.  By resorting to such unfriendly and thoughtless measures, they drive away even the few who want to see the matches.

You can buy trains tickets online as well as at counters; similar is the case for cinema tickets.  Even for airline tickets both online and counter sales are available. So for matches too please restore counter sales of tickets along with online sales!

* * *

Another disaster in the making?

To develop 2000 acres global city  in Madurantakam is a myopic, thoughtless and ill advised proposal. The Madras, Chingleput, Kanchipuram and Tiruvellore corridors are already bursting at the seams. Only a few water bodies and lakes remain and whatever little is left of  agricultural land and groves will  also disappear!  Citizens are already suffering due to traffic congestion, lack of ­adequate storm water drains, accumulation of garbage, frequent power cuts, etc. Lack of adequate parking facilities has resulted in most vehicles being parked on the platforms or on the roads itself. A global city will certainly add to several acres of concrete, further adding to the citizen’s woes. It will also add to traffic congestion, air and noise pollution. The immediate need is to stop further construction in this corridor.

One also wonders from where will you get construction materials like sand and stones in the state as most of the water bodies have already been deeply excavated and half the hilllocks plundered by the land mafia.  The idea of a global city in the Madurantakam belt should be buried fathoms deep!

The non agricultural and dry lands available in the southern parts of the State may be considered for the development of a global city in Tamil Nadu.

N.P. Andavan
audconp@gmail.com

Rethink area development

As a senior citizen who lives in Chennai, I had facilitated MMDA during the establishment of Manali Neighbourhood scheme since I was working in the public sector in Manali Area. We extended all help. Having seen the growth of neighbourhood development, I fully endorse the views of the editorial on this.

In my considered view it has to be in places, as suggested, outside Chennai so that there is development in that region besides also reducing congestion in the city. I hope the planners will rethink before finalising.

K. Soundarraj (Advocate)
10/12, AK Iyakkam, 8th Street
Dr RK Salai, Mylapore Chennai 600 004

* * *

The Forty Umbas and the Guava that started it all

It began, quite innocently, on a WhatsApp chat.

My friend had written to me about one of her pet peeves – how people often assume she’s the strong one, the one who can manage on her own, while they rush to “rescue” someone else. I told her I understood. “Not always the strong one,” I had typed back. “But I’m supposed to be the always-happy-one.”

And she, in her trademark clarity, asked, “But who decides what you’re supposed to be?”

I smiled when I read that. Because just a couple of weeks earlier, I had a similar moment of reckoning – over something as ordinary as guavas!

* * *

We were on the highway, heading to visit someone. The road was lined with fruit sellers, and my eye caught a pile of plump, perfect guavas. I said, “Pazham vaangindu ponumba, illaya? Highway la koiyya thaan irukku” (We are supposed to buy fruit when we visit no? There are only guavas on the highway.)

The husband didn’t even look up from the wheel. He said, “Koiyyalaam kudukka koodathumba.” (You are not supposed to gift guavas, they say)

That’s when I blinked. “Who?? Who is the umba this time?”

He grinned. And that was it – I had my answer, my coinage, and a full-fledged theory.

The umba-s had made their appearance.

* * *

Now, “umba” is entirely my creation. My friend calls them the naalu per – the proverbial “four people” whose invisible verdicts govern everything from what we wear to what we gift.

But I’ve started to think it’s not four anymore. It’s forty. Maybe four hundred! A whole army of invisible umba-s, walking around in our heads, whispering uninvited opinions.

They have rules for everything:

  • Pannakoodathumba. (They say you must not do that)
  • Sollakoodathumba. (They say you must not speak like that)
  • Seiyyanumba. (They say you must do that)
  • And now, apparently – “Koiyya kudukka koodathumba.”

* * *

I remember laughing so hard that morning. “It’s fruit!” I said, “You’re giving it to a friend. If they like it, they eat it. If not, they’ll give it away. Why are we consulting the umba-s about guavas now?”

He joined in the laughter. There was no conflict – just that familiar, ridiculous moment when both of us knew how deeply the umba-s had infiltrated our lives. We’d grown up with them. They were always around.

The umba-s think I must serve coffee only in the “good” steel tumblers when guests come. That sambar should never be poured over rice directly – it must be ladled gracefully. That pyjamas shouldn’t be seen by outsiders, even if it looks better than my actual clothes. That I must smile at all times, because a calm, cheerful woman somehow makes the world feel safer.

And when I forget? They sulk. I can almost hear them cluck their tongues in disapproval, muttering among themselves about “standards dropping these days.”

* * *

But here’s what’s changed.

I’ve learned to let convenience win.

If the rice cooker doubles as a serving bowl – so be it.

If I send someone off with guavas because that’s what I have – excellent, they are healthy too!

If I laugh too loudly, leave the kitchen messy, or stay quiet when I don’t feel like smiling – the umba-s can stand in a corner and sulk.

Because life isn’t meant to be lived under their constant scrutiny.

* * *

My friend, when she first read my message, asked, “What’s an umba? Are they the four per?”

And I told her, “Adhe naalu per! Only, I think they’re forty now.”

She wrote back, laughing – “Smaller things, four. Bigger ones, umba.”

That line sealed it for me. The umba-s have hierarchy too!

But they have also become my favourite comic relief. They pop up everywhere – in my head, in conversations, in social situations – and instead of letting them decide how I feel, I now enjoy watching them squirm when ignored.

There’s something deliciously freeing about that.

So, to all the umba-s who still hover – watching, judging, and sighing at my careless happiness – I have only one thing to say:

You had a good run.

Now please step aside.

The guavas are staying.

Cauvery Kesavasamy
cauvery.kesavasamy@gmail.com