Old Madras was spacious, with large houses in vast compounds in Nungambakkam, Mylapore, Mambalam… Luz Church Road was the home of lawyers in sprawling bungalows.
When I joined Hindustan Lever in Bombay I was thoroughly baffled to hear talk of flats in terms of square feet. Mumbaikars asked: ‘Are you catching the 6.43 or the 6.48 train from Churchgate?' Madrasis never thought of time in seconds or minutes. The day had endless hours in a sort of cosmic time.
The Madras of my childhood had a wake up call of its own — the sound of coffee beans roasted at dawn, ground on a hand-turned machine. A man came to milk the cows most of us kept in the backyard.
I was lucky to have the run of an entire playground belonging to the Kesari High School, next to my house in a blind lane off Royapettah High Road.
My mother, writer Vasumathi Ramaswamy, counted authors and nationalists among friends. She often took me with her when she visited author Guhapriyai who lived on Kalvivar Street, bordering the Buckingham Canal behind Vidya Mandir School. Boats carrying straw bales were a common sight. Honestly, I don't remember any stench.
Until the 1970s, chapattis were rare. Rice was consumed in an abridged lunch at 7.30 a.m., carried to school / office as thayir sadam in ‘eversilver' thookkus and ground into idli or dosai batter for tiffin.
Our monthly outings were to the Bosotto Bros, Mount Road, which specialised in pastries. A visit to Spencer's meant ginger biscuits of a kind now stored only in memory. And,sugar-coated almond sweets, pink and white… Jaffar's had top billing for ice-cream, but Hansa Parlour came a close second. It was a privilege to study in Madras Christian College School, with huge grounds, a swimming pool, and an aviation club, where we ambitiously assembled model aircraft doomed never to fly…
Buses were sparse, infrequent, with few routes. My father's precious possession was a Standard Vanguard that had to be invariably pushed to start. We also had a kai rickshaw for my sisters to ride to school, with a shed of its own, and a rickshaw puller on the rolls!
Vividh Bharati was a major entertainment, with songs requested by listeners from Jhoomritalaiya, Rajnandgaon, Mancherial… People collected booklets of film-songs issued on cheap paper.
Weddings were mega events. I remember our family camping at S.S. Vasan's home for two days for his daughter's wedding.
Kamadhenu and Kapali ‘Talkies' in Mylapore, screening Tamil movies, would vie with Midland and Eros, which screened the Hindi and English varieties. Our cook was found to be turning up late every day. On enquiry, it was found that on her way to work, she had to do a pradhakshinam of Kamadhenu Talkies that was screening ‘Sampoorna Ramayanam'!
People read a lot more. At home, there were intellectual discussions with visiting writers such as Akhilan and Na Parthasarathy. Once, Kalki sent a letter praising my mother's maavadu . My mother, had the habit of ranking all fiction in magazines, and sent a story of Kalki's to him with her rather low rating. He accepted her assessment!
As a judge of fiction entries in competitions, my mother received wooden crates packed with stories. I read every single one!
I remember Rajam Krishnan's ‘Malargal' winning the first prize in an Ananda Vikatan parisuthittam .
Madras also meant Carnatic music and Bharatanatyam. The calibre of the stars could be gauged by the jarigai on the women's saris. They reserved their grandest for M.S. Subbulakshmi and Kumari Kamala!
Among mother's close friends were Dr. Muthulakshmi Reddy, Lakshmi Satyamurti and Sarojini Varadappan. It was embarrassing for my parents when, as student leader in Vivekananda College, I became active in the anti-Hindi agitation. A policeman came home to warn my parents that I was on the list of names to be issued a police warrant. They kept me under ‘house arrest'!
In old Madras, children just grew up, imbibing the values around them by osmosis. Many things are vanishing from that world, including four-yard dhotis that students wore even to college and the pavadai - dhavani .
But I am delighted that some of the old social taboos are gone, including the painful but familiar sight of the widow with the shaven head.
Bio
Born in 1948, this chartered accountant started his career with Hindustan Lever Limited.
Now Managing Director of Ashok Leyland, he has been on the National Council of Confederation of Indian Industry (CII) for over 15 years, its past president and past chairman of its southern region.
He has served on several national research and professional committees, and governing councils of several institutions of management and technology.
He has a deep interest in Tamil literature and Carnatic music.
(As told to Gowri Ramnarayan)
