Will we be disciplined?

Recently I was in the Fiji ­Islands (Republic of Fiji) on work. This was my first trip to the island nation. I eagerly looked forward to going there because of its high numbers of people-of-Indian descent (c. 35 per cent). Looking at the culture practised by the people-of-Indian descent there, I felt enlightened about human behaviour and its evolution over time. What struck me most was while I was strolling in the semi-urban localities of Nádi and Dénarau, I was all the time reminded of the semi-urban Coimbatore. Both the weedy vegetation and the non-weedy sugar canes strikingly reminded me of Coimbatore. In short, I was re-living the ambience of Coimbatore, weather-wise as well, but a point of high distinction was the all through my stay there, I was hearing a Fijian dialect of Hindi spoken by the Fijian-Indians.

Anyhow the key point I wanted to share through this column is that compared with Madras city and other townships of Tamil Nadu, the streets of Nádi and Dénarau are generally far cleaner and neater. I am sure my readers will quickly understand what I imply here. Of course, our local government authorities will readily reject my remark saying that human population is a major factor to reckon with. Anticipating that rejection I will counter-argue that China is more densely populated than us and how come China is much cleaner and neater than Madras, Tamil Nadu, and India? Fundamentally we lack discipline both personal and public.

I know that this is not going to change anything. However, I felt deeply for the lack of personal and public cleanliness and hygiene. Is there a chance that we will ever be disciplined?

Anantanarayanan Raman
anant@raman.id.au

The Printer’s Devil

I read with interest and amusement your column Short and Snappy in Madras Musings (May 16-31, 2025) on the fall out of a front page ad in a leading news paper containing a glaring grammatical error. But I do not think anything can beat the gaff in punctuation in an obituary notice that appeared in the same paper several years ago on the demise of a well-known advocate of Madras High Court, wherein a part read as follows:

‘Survived by wife. Friends and Relatives cremated the same day.’

Surely the relatives and friends of the late departed advocate must have received a shock. I raised this issue with the Editor of the paper and I was informed that ads and obituary notices are not subject to any editorial changes . That was that.

Presumably that policy continues to this day.

* * *

This refers to the article Name Changes Ahead (Madras Musings, May 16-31, 2025).

There is one road which proudly carries its colonial legacy till date and which has perhaps escaped the attention of name change zealots. I refer to Murrays’s Gate Road in Alwarpet which I understand is named after a former Collector of Madras ( 1822-1831) Hon. Leveson Granville Keith Murray who used to reside in a residence on that road called Dunmore House. In the late Nineteen Forties my Grandfather Dr. K.N. Kesari built a bungalow on this road at the corner where Kasturirangan Road takes off from Murrays Gate Road . He had named it Vasantha Vihar , after his younger daughter (my aunt). Right across the road opposite Vasntha Vihar, the legendary singer and actor K.B. Sundarambal used to live. I have seen her dressed in white moving around the garden of that house in the early Fifties when she had shot to fame with her portrayal of the Saint Poet Avvaiyar in Gemini’s movie of the same name.

Since Rt. Hon Murray has had his turn at being commemorated for nearly two centuries, it may perhaps be a fitting tribute to the legendary actor-singer if the road is renamed after her as K.B. Sundrambal Road. I understand no road in Chennai that was Madras bears her name till date.

K.Balakesari
3/1, Rams Kesari Kuteeram
22, Westcott Road, Royapettah
Chennai 600 014

Property tax anomaly

This refers to the letter ‘Property tax anomaly’ (Madras Musings, May 16th). This  is a clear case of officials exceeding their brief. There are cases where the Corporations have allowed amnesty even to the chronic defaulters to recover the dues. In the instant case, the officials have clearly abused their position.

Why did the officials cancel the Assessment Number against which there were dues? The Corporation should have collected the dues with penal interest. Instead, they cancelled the Assessment Number and assigned a new Number for the very same property and revised the tax which is unjust.

While the assessee cries for justice, who will hear her genuine grievance and provide succour? When the assessee does not get any response to her petitions sent to  various authorities, including the  State Chief Minister, does she have to endure the injustice meted upon her by the recalcitrant officials?

V.S. Jayaraman
ramvsj@gmail.com

What’s in your bag?

(W)MM has opened a pandora’s box…….not just a ladies handbag!!

Women of my generation (read in their 50’s or 60’s) have learnt right from the early years of marriage that their handbag is no longer a storehouse of just their vanity art materials, they are expected to accommodate their spouse’s paraphernalia into it too, for convenience and ease of retrieval… sunglasses, documents, stationery and other sundry items!! As the family grows, so does the width of their bag. A ladies bag maybe the butt of many jokes, but even with adult children, “mom’s bag” is the “go to’ for any emergency!

Lozenges, mint drops (in case someone has travel sickness), anti-allergy tablets (included after a near emergency situation), pocket size paper napkin, blue/black pens, etc. Lifestyle disorders have made their add-ons in the form of “glucose biscuits’ – they have taken the rough and the tumble and I guess they are now crumbled inside the packing! A couple of turmeric pieces kept for ‘sentiment’, they continue to impart their auspicious golden hue to other items encased in the same compartment. I also came across a frayed paper with phone numbers and addresses of the local guardians of my children where they studied. Some guardians have moved to a better place, some to other cities, some themselves require help now, but the paper brings back memories of our mixed feelings at that time when our children grew wings.

A lady and her handbag will never be parted, but an important point to note: If ever accosted by a bag snatcher, do let it go, life and limb is the most important thing!

– Sujatha Chandramouli

From Screen Time to Fish Time: Krishna’s Kolathur Katha

One fine Sunday morning, our house echoed with the sound of an important father-son conversation — the kind where you’d think they were discussing India’s defence budget. But no, the topic was far more serious: “Appa, I want to raise fish.”

Soman, ever the supportive dad (and closet engineering consultant), raised an eyebrow. “Fish ah? You mean like goldfish from the pet shop?”

Krishna looked scandalised. “Not buy, Appa. Build… with glass, Duncan paste, filter, gravel… full setup!” Apparently, YouTube had trained him well. He was already dreaming in pH levels and oxygen bubbles.

And so, off we went to the holy land of hobbyists — Kolathur, Chennai’s own underwater Mecca. It’s not just a place, it’s an emotion. Shop after shop of fish, tanks, pumps, pebbles, and more fish. From tiny molly kutti swimming in circles to majestic flowerhorn thalaivars giving us side-eye.

Each shop had its character. One had reggae music playing. Another had an uncle who looked like he hadn’t slept since Diwali. And Krishna? He transformed into a mini-journalist. “Anna, how to find out male-female?” “This fish and that one, okay-aa together?” “Fighter fish will fight or adjust with guppy?” “How long you running this shop?” Even the shopkeepers, used to seasoned hobbyists, looked mildly shaken.

Then came the buying spree. Krishna selected glass panes like a man choosing tiles for a wedding hall. The gravels were judged on colour, size, and “aesthetic mood.” The filter was chosen after four demos and a solid “This one looks like it’ll clean even Marina Beach.” He refused the ready-made tanks. “No, Amma, if I build, I’ll understand the fish.”

Back home, our house turned into a construction site. Glue here, spill there. At one point, he stuck his finger to the tank. “Amma, don’t worry, I’m bonding with it.” He even created a filter alignment checklist. I haven’t seen this level of focus since his music exams.

And the result? A sparkling little ecosystem — fish darting about, pebbles shimmering, and a boy beaming like he just cracked NEET. Soon, his siblings joined in too. They started checking pH levels like pros, feeding schedules were set with alarms, and each fish got a nickname (including “Thatha Fish” for the slow one who only moved after two snacks).

Screens were forgotten. Insta reels were replaced by real bubbles. And we watched something beautiful grow — not just a tank, but a whole new interest. Conversations got livelier, responsibility became fun, and Krishna learnt something that even Google can’t teach: how to build with your hands, your curiosity, and a bit of glue in your hair.

From Kolathur shops to our living room, what began as a casual “Appa, let’s raise fish” turned into a joyful, wet, and wildly educational adventure.

And now, when guests come home and see the tank, Krishna proudly says, “Welcome to my aquarium. Made in Kolathur, built with love.”

– Priyanka Soman