In the late S. Muthiah’s household, everyone was a strong character. The Chief may have appeared preoccupied with Pentland, Havelock and others but he never cut himself any slack. Valliammal, his redoubtable wife was a personality in her own right. Suffice it to say that the Chief would have never become the Chief without the woman whom he loved beside him (that Chief, is a quote that you would have recognised at once). And now I come to Malairaj.

He was the Muthiah household chauffeur. For years he ferried Chief and his good lady all around town and to Chettinad and back in a Fiat before they graduated to something more modern, though the Chief always felt the Fiat was better. Malairaj too. My memories are of him sitting on a comfortable wooden bench under the portico, keeping an eye on who came to see the Chief, alerting the Chief on their arrival and generally being at hand.

“Malraj…,” – that is how the Chief called him, a nice blend of Chettinad and Chequers in his voice. And Malairaj would manifest himself. He was very much a social equal, for the Chief was a socialist at heart and treated Malairaj that way. On some occasions, us regulars such as Shobha Menon, Sushi Ravindranath and I would be entertained by some flaming rows between Malairaj and other domestic help, with Mrs. Muthiah adding to the fire. These were moments to die for, for they were rich in humour, such being the give and take. At such times it was difficult to keep a straight face and carry on discussing Pentland or Havelock with the Chief. But he would remain unconcerned. Such fiery debates usually ended with Malairaj telling us as we emerged that his working in the household was no longer tenable, but we knew that was all an empty threat. Next day he would be back, the All Clear having blown.

G. Shankar, who does page layout for MM, says Malairaj would on behalf of the Chief visit Lokavani to see the MM issues as they were printed. He would scan them like a hawk and point out print flaws
if any.

There came a day when Malairaj had to retire from driving. A new man came (not up to the mark hissed Malairaj to me). But he could not bear to be away from the household he loved and of course, I don’t think the Chief or his wife could imagine a time without Malairaj. So he became the man Friday. And after Mrs Muthiah passed away, Malairaj continued at his post for quite some time. I do not recall if he was with the Chief till the end, but he was there when the Chief passed away, and saw him off on his last journey.

Farewell Malairaj. When you meet the Chief tell him Madras misses him.

*    *    *

An ode to a loyal aide-de-camp

It is with great sadness that Ranjani Muthiah and I learned of Malairaj Annan’s passing last week. In Muthiah circles, Malairaj was almost as well-known as the chronicler himself. While most knew him as Muthiah’s indispensable chauffeur-in-chief, over the years he had become part of the family and had many avatars – maître d’, sous chef par excellence, aide-de-camp, driving instructor, family priest, and advisor in general.

While Malairaj Annan was not educated in the traditional sense, he was a very proud man and worked hard to secure his family’s future. As the eldest sibling in his family, he took it upon himself to ensure his brothers had stable jobs. He also made sure his three children were well-settled. Today, his son heads talent acquisition for a reputed firm and runs a shrimp farm to boot.

Malairaj Annan had many impressive qualities – his resourcefulness, his navigation skills, his green thumb, his ability to quote from Tamil literature at will, his hospitality, his no-nonsense attitude, his pride in whatever he did, and above all, his undying loyalty.

Even after age and deteriorating eyesight led to retirement, Malairaj Annan would drop in to see his beloved Muthu ­Annan every couple of months. The scooter had graduated from the Lamby to a Honda Activa, but the trademark vibhuthi pattai and giant red pottu remained the same. And he came bearing gifts aplenty – prawns from his son’s farm, gigantic drumsticks and the greenest moringa leaves from his garden, and fresh offal to boost Annan’s declining blood count.

Annan, they don’t make them like you anymore. Rest in Peace.

– Parvathy Muthiah, daughter of S. Muthiah