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I am back in
America after a year’s stint in Chennai. Now I have started missing
Chennai.
While I have lived in Mumbai for several years earlier, the
year’s stay in Madras leaves me with mixed emotions. Having lived in the
U.S. for almost 30 years I had taken for granted several things in the
United States including the lowly paper towel, which is not readily
available in Chennai.
But there were more exciting, unusual experiences perhaps only a
transitory person like me would appreciate. Having survived the 2007
summer season without a problem I felt like getting one of those T-shirts
declaring: I Survived Madras in May.
It was a pleasant surprise when in February, roses were in full
bloom, for in New York all we see is moody subway commuters, snow and
dreary, cold days.
Five years ago when I came down on a vacation there was no
3-lane highway on Canal Bank Road (Taramani), and as recently as two
years ago, Katipara junction near Meenambakkam airport was not witness to
stalled traffic: now its a major “parking lot” during rush hours which
can extend from two to four hours on certain days.
Its amazing how within a few years,
once a sleepy metropolis is now bustling with feverish activity. Gone are
the days when people used to switch off lights at 8:30 p.m. Gone are the
days when the city was once branded (rather unkindly I thought) as “an
overgrown village.” And those folks must be eating those words now with
Chennai the central point of many a call center, BPO, auto industry unit
and corporates.
The first time I ordered an omlette
at a restaurant in Neelangarai in Southern Chennai, the Muslim owner
offered me only rice. When I asked for bread, the response was, “sorry
sir, no bread, only rice.” I was aghast. I offered to pay extra for it
but he clarified that he does not carry bread during lunchtime, and
reassured me that after 4 p.m. puris and chapathis are available. That
was my second lesson in taking things for granted.
On a salubrious Sunday in October
when it poured like there’s no tomorrow, when not a soul stirred on the
streets, when not even the mongrels Chennai’s sympathetic citizens
patronise woke up from their slumber, I ventured out around 12 noon.
Being a seasoned Bombayite who has experienced 4-month monsoon seasons, I
was thrilled to walk out with just an umbrella. Even my security guy,
Venkatesan advised me against such a misadventure: he thought I was a
“nutcase” to brave the elements since the average Madras resident would
rather cosily stay home asking the “missus” to fry pakodas. The average
Madrasi seems to be averse to venturing out on a cold day: two primary
reasons, dampness and water-logged streets, not forgetting that he is
easily susceptible to a cold allergy.
Talking of the cold drives me to my
driver Natarajan who had a strange fascination for kerosene. Once when he
was nursing a cold, I asked him why he was smelling of kerosene, whether
he had spilled any. He disclosed that his mother had recommended that he
rest that evening after applying kerosene all over his body. Next
morning, he was stinking in spite of the shower he had supposedly taken.
On another bright day he was cleaning the car with kerosene saying it
would accentuate the sheen on the office car’s metal. The problem was he
had placed the kerosene container in the boot along with my newly-freshly
laundered shirts, and there you have it…for a week I too was stinking of
kerosene. And, I didn’t even have a cold! I had owned cars before in
India, but this story was a new one: cleaning exteriors with kerosene for
a sheen.
Talking of Natarajan, during my
year’s stay I was assigned three different drivers. I invited each of
them to occasionally have lunch with me. They were aware that I would
pick up the tab, but none would want to sit across the table and eat with
me. The thought of hobnobbing with the help was surely a western concept
and the help made it clear where his freedom ended. Perhaps thanks to the
legacy of the Brits.
Professionally, I have had mixed
feelings about the city’s work ethic or concept of punctuality. Perhaps
ten percent of the folks keeps an appointment, which is unfortunate,
considering that the “Madrasi” would want to play with the big boys.
Whether its the guy who services your Aqua-gard unit or your fridge or
your a/c, we are always at their mercy. Whatever happens to people who
don’t have servants at home or someone to answer the door?
While one can attribute it to the
celebrated “chalta hai” attitude tolerated and encouraged by some
Indians, it is difficult to justify such sloppiness. We rarely find
“followers” -- only “leaders”. With the amount of opportunities these
days one can see employees updating resumes during office hours. Some
young men prefer to stay late in the office since the workplace is
air-conditioned which also allows job aspirants to retool their career
prospects.
Culturally, Chennai has always been
at the epicenter with a variety of entertainment options: music, dance,
book readings, art shows, dramas, and it was a pleasure to participate.
Socially, the city lacks the oomph
and opportunities that Mumbai and Bangalore offer. In their wisdom,
successive Tamil Nadu governments have ruled on the moral fiber and
restraint of is citizens and made it difficult for them to celebrate even
a small occasion like a birthday party without feeling guilty.
The excitement that Indians now
display whether on the cricket field, at the workplace or at a mall are
all candid reflections of the new cockiness in everything they do, including
the confidence to change jobs at the drop of a hat. That reassurance is
also palpable in the number of ancestral homes replacing high rises most
modern conveniences. Talking of conveniences, most Chennai’s flats carry
the bidet in every bathroom: indeed a healthier way of cleaning one’s
posterior with water instead of mere toilet paper. It’s a shame that the
bidet is not yet popular in several parts of the West including America.
Its interesting, in India apart
from having personal trainers, accountants and attorneys, folks also
patronise favored bootleggers who supply booze at discounted prices and
personal money changers who give one a better value while exchanging the
U.S. dollar. No, I am not talking of banks. The money changer comes home
to collect the dollars just as the peon at the neighborhood pharmacy
brings home to you your official medical prescriptions. Wonder how many
western societies deliver prescriptions home even to the sick and
elderly.
Things I miss:
Hot, hot idlis at Triplicane’s
Ratna Café but regrettably they do not serve these wells-steamed
delicacies after 10:30 a.m., and considering that Chennai has a
reputation for these goodies I was surprised at the restriction. Just as,
in some American restaurants, you cannot get a bagel after 10:30 a.m.
Domino’s Pizza at Kasturba Nagar
that had the slogan, “Hungry Kya?” while introducing Calzone -- a
“Stuffed Mexican Delight.” I always thought Calzone was Italian, but then
who is to question unique masala tastes that the Indian creative mind
offers?
Food court at Ascendas, where
eclectic food tastes clamour for attention. It was a whopper of a
surprise, however, to see the ubiquitous KFC chicken blended with rice
thali.
The Degree coffee advertised
prominently near Sangeetha restaurant in R.A. Puram.
The excellent, economical 25-rupee
service for single people: stainless dubba lunch that included chapathis,
kuttu, dry porial, salad, curds, and the most impressive part was those
cute rubber bands used to wrap liquids and semi-solids.
The American concept of food or
drinks “to go” has a different meaning in Chennai. It is called “take
away” – no form of subtraction here.
Cholesterol-dipped pongal at Murugan
Idli on the beach with its accompanying plethora of chutneys and oil
served on greens but I do not miss the attitude that accompanies the
service.
The poetry in a hand-cart operator
challenging a huge Tata Sumo in heavy Thiruvanmiyur traffic on a busy Monday
morning. That is yet fresh in my mind, and, so was the vacant look a
store owner at a Subway franchise in Besantnagar gave me when I order a
sandwich “To Go”. He was however quick in correcting me that the phrase
to use is “take away” not “to go.”
Carnatic music “cutcheris”
specially during the December music season when well-decked ladies in
resplendent saris show off more than their knowledge of classical music
and their saris.
Things I do not
miss:
The “put-on” familiarity at 10,
Downing Street, the lounge bar in T.Nagar that sports huge screens but a
pathetic choice of alcoholic stimulants. The excuse always was, “we have
to get permission from someone.” Wonder who!
The hordes of people and the parade
of two-wheelers at Elliots Beach on Sunday evenings. With love-birds
cooing sweet nothings, walkers and strollers vying for attention and
space with the vendors whose fare include sand as well, I wondered which
gets you first: the crowds or the humidity on the shore.
Always crowded cinema halls where
audience participation is enthusiastic and articulate thanks to the
at-times delirious crowd which constantly roots for its hero, the problem
solver, who banishes evil in three hours. Rajnikant, in a smart marketing
ploy, decided to show a bunch of Japanese actors in the recent “Kuselan”
movie scene and hopefully his popularity will only increase in Japan and
here.
Now, Chennai does have a lovely
mosaic of languages among workers some of whom hail from Orissa, Madhya
Pradesh, Nagaland or Bangladesh. It must be frustrating and confusing for
local, Madras-born, Tamil-speaking citizens. Some locals complain that
the northerners have sullied the pristine and smooth, sleepy pace of this
city.
I have often heard locals use the
expression, “no issues”. To emphasize a point, sometimes he would say,
“No issues” and at other times, even when the decision was critical, my colleague,
“No Issues Narayanan” would say, “no problem, no issues since nothing
bothered him.
The other celebrated expression,
“give me a missed call” had me flustered briefly, for, I wondered how
does one “give” a missed call. And, it seems to be a given that people do
respond to “missed calls.” In America, people respond to recorded
messages sometimes but aren’t familiar with the concept of “giving a
missed call.”
A New York based
trend writer, Raj Rangarajan reports on the art market and has
contributed to publications in the United States, Canada, Australia and
India. He can be reached at raj.rangarajan@gmail.com.
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