Spellbound

I am spellbound by what I see on the pages of the current issue of Madras Musings (MM Vol. XXXV, No. 18, Jan 1-15, 2026). Just sitting back and staring. My deep appreciation and a hearty thank you! I will have to carry the print edition when I am visiting the Victoria Public Hall.

T.K. Srinivas Chari
srinivaschar@gmail.com

Concreting the Marina

It is a noble gesture by the Madras Corporation to build a night shelter for the semi-nomadic families (near Anna Swimming Pool at the Marina), at a cost of Rs. 86 lakhs, covering 2100 sq ft with all attendant facilities. In addition to that, the civic body proposes to build another bigger shelter along the Marina, may be built on thousands of more sq ft. The ostensible reason given for selecting the place is to build shelters within 2-3 kilometres of their work place, so that the homeless can enjoy the sea waves from their shelters, after a hard day’s work. Further there may be other structures like roads, parking lots, etc. which would appear later!

While the gesture is most welcome, the question is “Why at the Marina Beach?” concreting the spoilt silver sands again? Already the beach stands vandalised in many ways, including the massive concrete structures of burial grounds. When there are many other possible locations, why myopically select the beach? Because it is readily and freely available and without any cost or encumbrances?
Once called the second longest and most beautiful beach in the world, where does it stand in the ranking now?

It may be recalled that in the 1950s, when there were plans to build structures at the Madras Island Grounds, it was forcefully opposed by the wizard and the elder statesman Rajaji, stating that this was the lung space for Madras City and should not be vandalised! The proposal was ultimately dropped.

NP Andavan
audconp@gmai.com

Evolution of foods of Madras

Chennai, India – Well before Chennai was the busy metropolis that it is now, its seacoast was part of the ancient land of Tamilakam’s Neithal landscape. In the Sangam era (approximately 3rd century BCE to 3rd century CE), the diet of the people in this place was greatly influenced by their access to the sea, providing an interesting glimpse at a diet heavily based on the seas.

The Neithal diet’s undisputed pillar was seafood. Their main larder was the sea, which gave them sustenance in countless forms. The life of the Parathavar was based on the back-breaking but rewarding endeavour of fishing, pearl diving, and gathering sea produce. Poems often describe fishing boats returning with the day’s catch, symbolising the arrival of the most important ingredient in their food.

Fresh fish (Meen) was eaten right away, usually roasted or prepared just to enjoy its inherent flavours. Scenes of busy fishing villages processing fresh catches are common in the Sangam texts. To highlight the freshness and immediateness of consumption, Narrinai poems, for example, frequently suggest the scent of freshly caught fish being prepared by the “young wife” as the fisherman returns from the sea. The abundance wasn’t limited to the family; Purananuru poetry that highlights the generosity of coastal chieftains frequently depicts them “feasting guests with plentiful fresh fish from the sea”, highlighting the importance and availability of this food.

Because seafood is perishable, preservation was essential in addition to immediate consumption. One necessary food item was dried fish, also known as Karuvadu or Ularttu Meen. The process included salting and sun-drying, which was made easier by the plentiful salt in the vast salt pans of the Neithal region. Long trips or lean seasons were made possible by this preserved form of fish. This procedure is eloquently described in Sangam verses: “On the sandy beach, the women spread out large pieces of shark meat to dry in the sun, guarding them from scavenging birds”. This is a common theme in Akananuru poetry and emphasises the work required to prepare this staple. Pathupattu anthologies serve to further solidify the significance of karuvadu. A thorough description of a bard’s journey, Perumpanatrupadai, for instance, makes it clear that the “Parathavar offered the bard dried and baked fish,” illustrating its function as a customary gift to visitors. The dish of “fried kozhumeen (a small fish, possibly anchovy or sardine) cooked over akhil (agarwood) driftwood” is also mentioned by Sirupanatrupadai, demonstrating a straightforward, rustic way to prepare fresh or preserved small fish.

The Neithal diet was not totally monolithic, even though seafood was essential. Although they were not grown along the coast, grains – in particular, rice (Soru or Sorru) – were an essential accompaniment. With the agrarian Marutham Thinai, where it was grown in profusion, rice was obtained through extensive bartering and trade. Whole meals were created by combining the two main food sources. A clear illustration of this culinary fusion can be found in the Perumpanatrupadai, which reports that the visiting bard was served “white rice cooked with boneless fish pieces.” This demonstrates that rice, when combined with their main source of protein, constitutes a substantial ­portion of their diet. Even simpler dishes, such as “rice porridge (kanji) served with dried fish curry,” seem to be a popular and healthy meal.

In the Neithal diet and economy, salt (uppu) has a special place. The coastal people had easy access to this essential commodity because the area was a major producer of salt. It was a primary seasoning and a valuable trade item, but it was also necessary for preservation. A recurring theme in Sangam literature is the Umanar, or salt merchants, who travelled the land in carts loaded with salt, indicating the significance of Neithal’s salt production. The use of salt liberally is implied by the very existence of “dried fish” (karuvadu).

The Neithal social fabric included alcoholic ­beverages, especially toddy (Kallu), in addition to solid foods. Toddy was widely consumed after being extracted from the palm or coconut trees that were common along the coast. By referring to “aged liquor that their wives…have prepared,” the Sirupanatrupadai makes reference to locally brewed drinks. In addition, ­Purananuru poetry frequently shows chieftains and other affluent people in Neithal kindly “offering abundant toddy to warriors and bards”, implying its use in hospitality and social gatherings.

The Neithal people’s preparation techniques were a reflection of their straightforward and pragmatic lifestyle. It was common to roast over open fires, ­frequently with easily accessible driftwood. The goal was to bring out the fresh ingredients’ inherent flavours. Another common food was curries (Kuzhambu), which were probably made with only a few spices and flavoured with salt and possibly some regional herbs.This simple method is demonstrated by the Perumpanatrupadai’s reference to “fried kulal fish cooked over akhil driftwood”.

In Neithal culture, food was more than just a means of subsistence. A deeply rooted value was hospitality (Virundhombal). The best catches, dried fish, and toddy were always generously offered to travellers, bards and guests. Their generosity and the close ties that bound the fishing villages together were highlighted by this act of sharing the sea’s bounty. A society where food was a source of celebration and camaraderie is further highlighted by the abundance shown in a fisherman’s hut or the group happiness over a successful catch.

In conclusion, the Neithal people’s eating customs, as vividly described in Sangam literature, were a powerful illustration of their peaceful coexistence with the sea. Fresh and dried fish made up the majority of their diet, which was primarily marine-based. While salt served as both a culinary necessity and a financial foundation, acquired rice supplied the necessary calorie balance. The picture of a resourceful community whose culinary traditions were as extensive and profound as the ocean itself is completed by the straightforward but efficient preparation techniques and the deeply rooted culture of hospitality. These old Tamil poems provide a rich cultural account of life on the salt-kissed palate of Neithal, not just a menu.

– Dhivya Rajendran
dhivyacrajendran@gmail.com