It’s official.
Chennai, the pride of the South, has been found lacking. As far as cities go, it’s a zero – mattam, as we Tamils say, the hole at the centre of a sizzling vada taken from the boiling pot of public opinion.
When asked by the All India Bakchod collective what any decent person would want to take for their dream city, the bets were placed.
On Delhi, for its infrastructure.
On Bengaluru, for its climate.
On Mumbai, for its people.
Note however these were Mumbai people voting.
And then came the blow, lower than the belly button of a Bollywood belle doing the lungi dance, to our very own second-longest-sandy-beach-in-the world. From Chennai they said: Take Nothing.
We can snigger that Kolkata did not even merit a mention. At least we made it Rajnikanth style – The Zero is our Hero – Never Mind It!
Not that we care. Beneath its placid Mami-knows-best exterior, Chennai sizzles.
We know when our pot boils over at Pongal, spilling the scent of freshly harvested rice, that it will be a good harvest. We know that when the sun rises on the City of Yawn, we should stand on our heads and wiggle our toes in salutation. In the early morning, the sound of waves echo with the amplified syllables of preachers reminding us that god is great, or of church bells announcing on Easter that Christ has risen, or of MS Subbulakshmi enunciating the morning raga or Suprabatham.
Tradition sells
At night Chennai is a throbbing high-voltage cyber city. By morning it sheds its electronic cover and glides effortlessly into a series of small villages, with the fragrance of coffee rising in the yet to be polluted air. Every time a new book on Chennai hits the shelves, you can be sure to find the three most significant features that define it. They will be highlighted in bold – Kapi, Kapaleshwarar Kovil and Kanchi pattu saree. Or coffee, temple and the six or nine yards of silk from the traditional silk weaving centre at Kancheepuram. No matter how Chennai may have changed into an automobile-manufacturing hub, or medically grooving metropolis, where hearts and hips and implants are dispensed over the counter, tradition is what sells.
Talking of which, Tamil New year is upon us. Previous governments had tried to prepone it, as they say, and merge it with Pongal, the winter harvest festival that takes place in mid-January. Any time is good for a harvest festival, felt certain scholars within the Dravidian movement. With a change of government there came a rescheduling of the Tamil New Year. Why not go with the earlier date to coincide with the spring solstice in mid-April? Why not a graceful nod in the direction of Ambedkar Jayanthi? Why not also find a way to link the day with the ascendance of the Tamil sage Thiruvalluvar? So for now, we are back to a New Year in April, accompanied by a deluge of advertising opportunities to promote high-rise or medium-rise apartments in far-flung communities outside the main city.
It is that time of the year when all good Tamils rise before dawn and bathe, pray and eat to celebrate the New Year. They wear new clothes. No longer Kancheepuram sarees, but cheap Made in China imitations or thickly zardosi encrusted lehnga sets from Surat. The men don white Terylene shirts and gold bordered veshtis in the manner approved by South Indian politicians of all persuasions. The lower garments make a phut-phut-phut slapping sounds as their wearers walk. It’s also recommended for those who are inclined to do a full forehead to floor prostration when meeting higher-ranking individuals.
Though the Dravidian movement may have blown away the cream from the foaming vessel of society and sent it floating to California, they have created a new even creamier layer based on celluloid heroes and heroines. For more on the power walk refer to Rajni Sir, he of the million fan base. As they say: When Rajni walks, the sun follows in his shadow. When Rajni perspires, the clouds pour rain.
The city goes on
Among the many auspicious suggestions made for those who take Tamil New Year seriously here is a portal that gives multiple choices. “Five ways to lose belly fat! Free horoscope reading. Kundali reading. Tarot reading. Science and religion. Mythical creatures.”
Even though the sun is on the ascendant at this time of the year, or because of it, the city itself is in a celebratory mode. Trees are in full flower. There’s a farmer lurking in every son and daughter of the Tamil soil. The trees are mostly fruit and legume bearing ones and attract a myriad of birds and insects before the summer. The first mangos are plucked for placing on a tray and offered in worship in front of a mirror, along with bananas, jackfruit, betel leaves and areca nut with new ornaments in gold and fresh flowers.
Powdery strings of delicate neem flowers are dipped in a spicy batter and dried in the sun to make crispy fried vadagams, by neighbourhood mamis, or aunties, though these days they are manufactured in bulk by self-help women’s cooperatives intent on preserving traditional recipes in the form of spicy powders, or podis, appalams and papads. Obviously, no celebration can take place without a special meal and the Tamil New Year is no exception. It must also be stressed that the other communities, the Telugus from Andhra, maybe now also Telangana, the Kannadigas from Karnataka, the Malayalis from Kerala have their individual days in which to mark the New Year.
“Happy Vishu,” say the Keralites.
“Happy Ugadi,” echo the Kannadigas and Telugus.
“Puthandu Vazthukal” thunder the Tamils.
Take it or leave it, Chennai marches to its own beat.
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Chennai, the pride of the South, has been found lacking. As far as cities go, it’s a zero – mattam, as we Tamils say, the hole at the centre of a sizzling vada taken from the boiling pot of public opinion.
When asked by the All India Bakchod collective what any decent person would want to take for their dream city, the bets were placed.
On Delhi, for its infrastructure.
On Bengaluru, for its climate.
On Mumbai, for its people.
Note however these were Mumbai people voting.
And then came the blow, lower than the belly button of a Bollywood belle doing the lungi dance, to our very own second-longest-sandy-beach-in-the world. From Chennai they said: Take Nothing.
We can snigger that Kolkata did not even merit a mention. At least we made it Rajnikanth style – The Zero is our Hero – Never Mind It!
Not that we care. Beneath its placid Mami-knows-best exterior, Chennai sizzles.
We know when our pot boils over at Pongal, spilling the scent of freshly harvested rice, that it will be a good harvest. We know that when the sun rises on the City of Yawn, we should stand on our heads and wiggle our toes in salutation. In the early morning, the sound of waves echo with the amplified syllables of preachers reminding us that god is great, or of church bells announcing on Easter that Christ has risen, or of MS Subbulakshmi enunciating the morning raga or Suprabatham.
Tradition sells
At night Chennai is a throbbing high-voltage cyber city. By morning it sheds its electronic cover and glides effortlessly into a series of small villages, with the fragrance of coffee rising in the yet to be polluted air. Every time a new book on Chennai hits the shelves, you can be sure to find the three most significant features that define it. They will be highlighted in bold – Kapi, Kapaleshwarar Kovil and Kanchi pattu saree. Or coffee, temple and the six or nine yards of silk from the traditional silk weaving centre at Kancheepuram. No matter how Chennai may have changed into an automobile-manufacturing hub, or medically grooving metropolis, where hearts and hips and implants are dispensed over the counter, tradition is what sells.
Talking of which, Tamil New year is upon us. Previous governments had tried to prepone it, as they say, and merge it with Pongal, the winter harvest festival that takes place in mid-January. Any time is good for a harvest festival, felt certain scholars within the Dravidian movement. With a change of government there came a rescheduling of the Tamil New Year. Why not go with the earlier date to coincide with the spring solstice in mid-April? Why not a graceful nod in the direction of Ambedkar Jayanthi? Why not also find a way to link the day with the ascendance of the Tamil sage Thiruvalluvar? So for now, we are back to a New Year in April, accompanied by a deluge of advertising opportunities to promote high-rise or medium-rise apartments in far-flung communities outside the main city.
It is that time of the year when all good Tamils rise before dawn and bathe, pray and eat to celebrate the New Year. They wear new clothes. No longer Kancheepuram sarees, but cheap Made in China imitations or thickly zardosi encrusted lehnga sets from Surat. The men don white Terylene shirts and gold bordered veshtis in the manner approved by South Indian politicians of all persuasions. The lower garments make a phut-phut-phut slapping sounds as their wearers walk. It’s also recommended for those who are inclined to do a full forehead to floor prostration when meeting higher-ranking individuals.
Though the Dravidian movement may have blown away the cream from the foaming vessel of society and sent it floating to California, they have created a new even creamier layer based on celluloid heroes and heroines. For more on the power walk refer to Rajni Sir, he of the million fan base. As they say: When Rajni walks, the sun follows in his shadow. When Rajni perspires, the clouds pour rain.
The city goes on
Among the many auspicious suggestions made for those who take Tamil New Year seriously here is a portal that gives multiple choices. “Five ways to lose belly fat! Free horoscope reading. Kundali reading. Tarot reading. Science and religion. Mythical creatures.”
Even though the sun is on the ascendant at this time of the year, or because of it, the city itself is in a celebratory mode. Trees are in full flower. There’s a farmer lurking in every son and daughter of the Tamil soil. The trees are mostly fruit and legume bearing ones and attract a myriad of birds and insects before the summer. The first mangos are plucked for placing on a tray and offered in worship in front of a mirror, along with bananas, jackfruit, betel leaves and areca nut with new ornaments in gold and fresh flowers.
Powdery strings of delicate neem flowers are dipped in a spicy batter and dried in the sun to make crispy fried vadagams, by neighbourhood mamis, or aunties, though these days they are manufactured in bulk by self-help women’s cooperatives intent on preserving traditional recipes in the form of spicy powders, or podis, appalams and papads. Obviously, no celebration can take place without a special meal and the Tamil New Year is no exception. It must also be stressed that the other communities, the Telugus from Andhra, maybe now also Telangana, the Kannadigas from Karnataka, the Malayalis from Kerala have their individual days in which to mark the New Year.
“Happy Vishu,” say the Keralites.
“Happy Ugadi,” echo the Kannadigas and Telugus.
“Puthandu Vazthukal” thunder the Tamils.
Take it or leave it, Chennai marches to its own beat.