“ While in other big cities tradition stays
mothballed in trunks, taken out only during festivals and weddings,
tradition here is worn round the year”, observes Bishwanath Ghosh in his
‘Tamarind City’ where Modern India began.
Can’t agree more. Sundari gifted me a copy of this
tale on my native city. Whatever be the reason why he named it so, the
title sent me on sweet nostalgia to the time when tamarind rice
(Puliyodarai) and sweet pongal (Chakkara pongal) would arrive as
prasadam from Triplicane Parthsarathy temple to our Indian bank Mount
Road office on Ayudha Puja.
A well researched attempt and a good read any day.
Thankfully it doesn’t reek of the usual stereotyping of ‘madrasis’ or
anything remotely ‘madrasi’.Good job for an outsider turned insider’s
take on the city. Interesting to know Robert Clive, Warren Hastings,
Arthur Wellesly, William Bentinck and Elihu Yale had all their
beginnings in our very own Fort St George! The book sure makes me look
at old Madras with new lenses, despite the fact that I spent around 4
years of my career in Parrys Corner. What a revelation it was that
Royapuram RS is the oldest in the entire sub continent. What a shame
that I haven’t walked the lanes of Triplicane remembering Subramanya
Bharati or Ramanujam! Must take that Heritage Walk around High
Court/Esplanade with Chronicler V Sriram next time around.
One would have loved to see more pictures of the
city then and now- a picture is worth a 1000 words, hasn’t he heard?
Quite a let down on that front. The author gives undue importance to the
biographical details of some personalities than to the city itself.
Precious print space is devoted to Patricia Narayanan of Sandheepa
chain of restaurants (not to confuse with the more popular Sangeetha
chain of restaurants). I do salute the entrepreneurial skill and grit of
the hotelier, but why not Saravana Bhavan with its global presence or
Grand Sweets or Adyar Anandha Bhavan? Maybe Ghosh chose to refer some
coffee table book as ready reference than scout around the city or plain
ask the local crowd. And pray, since when did Rekha of Bollywood become
a Chennai Girl? The focus on her as Gemini Ganesan’s estranged
daughter, maybe serves just one purpose- to entice a star struck
non-madrasi to pick up a copy. And why Saroja Devi of all the film
fraternity ?
The chapter ‘A Seaside Story’ comes across as
totally insensitive, completely lacking in solemnity. Come on, the
apocalyptic tsunami of 26th Dec 2004 may well be the only
tsunami anyone living on the planet had seen or heard of but what we
have here is a personal log of a hangover on the dawn of yet another
birthday. The least Ghosh could have done is omit all reference to the
tragic catastrophe, than give a shallow, off-hand account of a
devastation that shook humanity as a whole.
And glaring omissions galore: World renowned
Nalli, Kumaran, GRT of Panagal Park; Chepauk Cricket Ground, considering
cricket is almost a religion in India; Vibrant Kollywood industry with
its AVM, Gemini, Vijaya Vauhini studios and stalwarts of directors and
artists; USIS and the serpentine queues of visa seekers; Cinema banners
and the cut out culture among fans; statues of politicians at every
junction; government’s penchant for renaming roads after politicians of
yesteryears with tongue twisters of prefixes and suffixes; Anandha
Vikatan and Hindu that are an entity in every household just like the
filter kaapi; and not to forget, the Great Auto rickshaw Loot.
But yes, the mind will wander back to the pages of
this prose, when I jostle my way through Mount Road or inhale the salty
breeze of Marina…
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