Madras, a summer of '62

When I moved to Madras, the fourteen storied LIC building on Mount Road was still the tallestbuilding in town. That sort of sets the pre-historic date of my entry into Madras.

Coming to Madras from Bombay was actually a bit of ‘comedown’. Friends and relatives had warned me that Madras was ‘an overgrown village’ and that everyone went to bed by 8pm.

On the last stretch of the train ride from Bombay, that is the stretch from Arkonam, my mother pointed out to me houses that looked like the one we were to stay in. Till then we had always stayed in a flat (or apartment in North American language) and I did not quite know how it would be to stay all by ourselves in a single house without a neighbor in the landing opposite. Seemed to be such a lonely way of living.

Looking back fifty years in time I am happy that my introduction to Madras was with life in the Theosophical Society (aka TS), in the house next to the Bhojanashala, and, that I went to school at the Besant Theosophical High School when it was at Damodar Gardens. That is with the benefit of fifty years of life behind me … In 1962, I mentally revolted against the idea of wearing a pyjama-kurta to school (felt that I was going there in my sleep clothes) and attending music class sounded so ‘wuss’.  .

 

The headquarters building of the Theosophical Society, Adyar, Madras (Chennai)

 

Anyway, overnight, one day in April 1962, we were transported from the hustle and bustle of a main road in Sion, Bombay where you slept through the night with the noise of the bus starting and stopping at the bus stop in front of your building; to the esoteric calm of the Theosophical Society where your neighbor would leave a gentle note the next morning if you were up late at night (by TS standards) listening to Binaca Geet Mala and the noise had disturbed his or her meditative peace.

Once I had got over the shock of going to school in my ‘sleep clothes’, Besant School started to sink in to me. In Bombay, I had studied under martinet missionaries who pushed for performance. At Besant School, we had classes (not using the word ‘studied’ intentionally) under the trees, and, once I got used to the surroundings, I started noticing the girls who were in my class. I was just beginning to take notice of girls at that age, and, even fifty years later, and, having travelled all around the world, and, having done some advanced studies on the matter, I can vouch that Madras girls are the best.

Teaching at Besant School in those days was something very different from the schools I had attended earlier. We had teachers around in those days who had trained under Maria Montessori and the whole philosophy of nurturing the child was predominant. Our Headmaster, Krishnaratnam, was super, and, I still remember the gentle and graceful way he would deal with ‘boy-girl’ issues in a co-ed school where teenage hormones were just beginning to assert themselves, in a day and age which was still conservative.

Growing up in the Theosophical Society of those days meant that we were also isolated somewhat from the water shortages, evidence of which we would see when we went to visit cousins who got up at 3am to fill water. The annual Theosophical Convention was the grand finale to the year. Besant School students ran the cafeteria, and, Headmaster Krishnaratnam would be there along with the teachers to ensure that visitors from all parts of the world got the superior customer service that MacDonalds could learn from. ‘Smiles are free’ was the customer service statement even before MacDonalds thought of it.

The Convention would end with the New Year’s bonfire on the beach conducted by the Youth Lodge, and, we would all come home at 2am, much to chagrin of our elders who thought that anyone up at 2am had to be up to something immoral.

Soon after I landed in Madras, my elder brother introduced me to riding a bicycle. After a few scrapes and bandages, I mastered the balance and the bicycle remained my main mode of transport till I left Madras in 1969.

On a recent visit to Madras I was driving on Besant Avenue at 8pm, in fairly heavy traffic. In the ‘60s, Besant Avenue would go under cover of darkness once the sun set, except for the occasional couple riding a motor bike or scooter to a lover’s tryst on Elliot’s Beach. Looking at the memorial on Elliots Beach two weeks ago, I remember my first look at that memorial in 1963 or so. There was just a single lane dirt road running from Besant Avenue, past where Rajaji Bhavan stands today, with casuarina groves on either side. There were a few shacks on the beach where ‘foreigners’ would come on weekends to enjoy the beach … other than that, nothing, zippo, nothing … and look at it today … I remember standing, in 1963, where Besant Avenue ends and feeling somewhat scared to cycle the lonely stretch to the memorial …

Passing out (graduating, in North American language) of Besant School and entering Vivekananda College in Mylapore opened up a new world. Driving on the new (VK Bridge) crossing the Adyar river I always wonder when the old bridge will be finally taken down. When it does, a part of me will fade away … I have crossed that old bridge on my bike, a million times, going to college, meeting friends and just generally growing up. I remember the day in 1964 when a cyclone hit and parts of the pedestrian bridge at the mouth of the Adyar estuary got washed away.

 

The broken bridge at the estuary of the Adyar river

 

Vivekananda College opened many doors, and, by the way, I also got a degree at the end of four years. By the time I finished I had full knowledge of the different Student Special routes and which beauty queen got on at which stop and where she got off. I also had a good circle of friends who would ensure that they responded ‘Yes, sir’ when my roll number (1119) was called for attendance. With prior arrangement, you could enjoy watching Cho’s ‘Then Nilavu’ at Kamadhenu while being at the same time marked present for a class on Indian Economic Problems (IEP), which, in any case, have still not been resolved.  So, there is no feeling of guilt at not attending the class.

As a member of Viveka’s quiz and debating societies there was the added advantage of being able to officially being marked present as one debated such ponderous topics as ‘Is God Dead?’ at IIT’s Mardi Gras festival (never knew what Mardi Gras was in those days). Remember the opening statement of one of the debaters at the said debate, “The question of God being dead does not arise as God was never alive…” Much applause from the Stella girls sitting in the front, but, no prize as the judges did not like that irreverent remark. That sort of summed up Madras’ attitude to life …

The best quiz programmes in those days were on All India Radio. Several IAS officers, would conduct these quiz programmes, and, the names Diraviyam and K.V. Ramanathan come to mind. Recently I saw that a niece of mine won several thousand rupees at some quiz programme with a paid trip to Delhi for the finals. In those, if we produced the bus tickets we got reimbursed the fare. Since I biked to the AIR studios even that was not available to me. The prize was a handshake and perhaps a book of Swami Vivekananda’s speeches. Nonetheless, the quiz programmes were fun, and, some of us friends from those days still remember the effort that quiz masters would put in to preparing the questions in those pre-internet days.

The air conditioned theatres had just started opening on Mount Road, and, I think Shanti was the first one. I took a nostalgic taxi drive, recently, down Mount Road with my wife and daughter and showed my daughter, Buharis where I had proposed to my wife. When my daughter asked me why did you bring her to this dodgy place I shared with her the strategy. Since I would need time to sell myself to my wife, then girl friend, I wanted a place where I would not be disturbed by some uncle or aunt landing up. That excluded Shanti Vihar, Woodlands Drive in and other such places. Buharis, with its predominant non vegetarian fare, would not attract aunts and uncles. So, Buharis was where I proposed to my wife amidst chicken biryani and mutton cutlets being served. For the record, she accepted.

Talking of Woodlands Drive In, that is the one institution I still miss. Every morning you would see hordes of Sales Representatives descend on the Drive In, on their mobikes to have their coffee and tiffin, compare notes on the medical fraternity of Madras and then set off on their rounds. And in the evenings, the girls from Stella would come … and the dudes who would circle them with their motor bike mufflers off … what a racket they created …

I could go on about this city, which for me was a sort of extended ‘Summer of ‘42’ … Coming in from plush and well maintained airports like Changi three weeks ago, I stopped for a minute in my tracks at the lack of maintenance at the Chennai airport … The ancient Ambassador that drove me from the airport home must have been put together around the time I was in college, in the ‘60s … But, when the taxi driver asked me, perhaps to test my knowledge of the city, whether he should turn at Aavin circle to go to Besant Nagar, I said ‘yes’ and in that moment I realized that though I live in Toronto, Canada, Madras is still home ….  (I wrote this in 2012...there is a new airport now, I understand)

 

Aavin circle, these days