A MALTAN's tribute to Madras.

As the Madras day celebration is now an extended affair from a day event to a monthly one I thought I should contribute to its history through my history in this wonderful city. I lived in Madras from 1972 to 1996 and all along during this period I never knew Madras Day was on the 22nd of August. I was pretty surprised that the city suddenly thought about celebrating its birthday since 2004 and that’s a clear 360 odd years after its birth. It was so, due to the efforts of a few people which included the likes of the historian Mr. Muthiah is what Wikipedia says and I'm happy for that, since no one better than the respected Mr Muthiah. The doyen who has chronicled Madras history more than anyone else deserves to be credited with the evolution of this event.

I write this because I owe a lot to this city; Madras is what made me what I’m today. Let me first introduce myself, I’m neither a hard core Dravidian nor a part of the much accomplished and more re-known member of the Tambram community that shaped the intellectual and artistic landscape of this city.

I am a MALTAN. There is no chance that you might have heard of this tribe or usage before, since I just coined it as I was writing this piece. No, I don’t come from Malta, I’m someone who was just born in Gods own country, Kerala, but over the years have made Madras my home. MALTAN is a word I coined which could sound more like the anglicised version of MALAYALATHAN which I was referred to, during my growing up days in Madras or an amalgamation of a MALyalee, living, adapting and imbibed in the TAmiliaN culture, just like the way the word TAMBRAM was born. In fact we had a lot of stuff common with the Tambrams except the Non veg part. We were a community that challenged them intellectually and earned our place in the multifaceted society of Madras. We (as in TAMBRAM and us) both belonged to the erstwhile Forward Community as per records irrespective of our economic or social standing, which means we were the only ones to compete with each other when it came to admissions to professional colleges and I still wonder how a SYRIAN Christian could NOT find his way to the list of minority communities in Madras.

The Maltan’s contribution to Madras has been awesome. We played a pioneering role in the economy of the city ranging from tyres, carpets and all the way to jewellery. We also did take part in creating some of the great educational institutions in Madras. More importantly my mother’s contribution was that she managed to teach each of our domestic helps Malayalam but managed to learn bits of pieces of Tamil, while my dad has learnt to read Tamil from all the wall posts of Thina Thanthi and Thina Malar and I can narrate a piece out of Silapadigaram or a few couplets from Thirukural. This is how we have managed to merge with the society. This is what gives me hope of surviving in the Middle East without knowing Arabic.

I deliberately left out a profession practised by the Malayalees in Madras which I felt needs a higher stage than the ones listed above. The term Malayalathan came into existence only due to the efforts of malayalees who set up Tea stalls across the length and breadth of Madras which was further propagated by movies churned out of Kollywood. Any TEASTALL in Madras in those days was referred to as Nair kadai irrespective of whether it was owned by a NAIR or not, just as any provision store was referred to as Nadar Kadai.

Coming to me, I was fortunate to have been brought up by liberal parents who taught us secularism in all its true sense unlike the ones propagated by the vote bank biased politicians of today. We, a family of Syrian Christians lived in a building owned by one of the richest and most influential Muslim family in the erstwhile Border Thottam in Madras with a hard core TAMBRAM family having their roots in the erstwhile agraharams of Kumbakonam as our immediate neighbours who taught me the virtues of Brahmanism and vegetarianism. I fell for their doctrines and displayed the principles during family reunions in Kerala so much so that I earned myself the name BRAHMANAN within my circle of relatives which has stayed on even as of today, though a good Kerala Beef Fry accompanied by Old Monk will top my to-do list any day.

I was even more fortunate to have studied in a school called Christ Church on Mount Road which was located sandwiched between 2 of the most famous cine complexes, the Devi group of theaters and the Plaza, was actually half as old as the city and was founded in 1842, a clear 100 odd years before India attained Independence. It was here the fundamentals of real secularism was taught thanks to the wonderful friends circle that I had from different spectrum of the Religious, economic and intellectual spectrum of the society in and around the school and the teachers. Even after I moved to the so called more affluent part of the city, Besant Nagar I was at ease with the diverse and more affluent version of the Tambrams of Adyar, Gandhi Nagar and Besant Nagar whom I encountered in another great school called St Michaels Academy in Gandhi Nagar.

I could not have earned this experience anywhere else in India except Madras. People might say Bombay or Delhi offers the same, sorry folks; Madras knew and still knows what it takes to play host to a secular community. No particular political party need to take credit for this. It’s just the people of Madras now Chennai that need to be given the full recognition for creating this secular atmosphere.

Thank you MADRAS for making me what I’m today and thank you Chennai for letting me enjoy the same freedom in the city that welcomes me with open arms each time I visit it.

Lungi’s hour of glory!!!

Datuk Shahrukh sensed southern spice (Masala) sells and intends to stay stuck even though a kkkkkiran Khan in Dar sounded and looked much better than ‘indha madhiri appon irrupanna’ at the climax in Chennai Express.

King Khan looked more like King Kong in this one. Doesn’t matter with the ancestral looks, Khan ended up laughing, laughing at us all the way, to the coffers.

I know enough has been written about Chennai Express over the last few weeks and I might be the last one on the block. However, I felt I should offer my 2 cents too on the blogosphere, where else will I rant about my contribution to the 250 odd crores that found its way to his kitty.

This blog is not a review of Chennai Express but just focusses on the USP of this movie the Lungi dance and the positioning of lungi that contributed to the success. The bored economists having nothing much to write about since the Indian rupee had turned a chronic alcoholic, hitting a new high every day, started to analyse the impact of this movie on the business of lungi’s bottom line, just that the bottom line needs to be always up literally, if the lungi needs to be in the limelight.

The humble lungi a rectangular piece of cloth, all of 2 M X 1.15 M that covers the modesty of a man and much more, was an inseparable piece of cloth that doubled and tripled as a single bedspread and as an aerator, during the torrid Madras summers and as a comforter during the mild Madras winters, or even as a shade during mild drizzles. We did not need quilts for the winter all we needed was our unassuming lungis that looked like Scottish Kilts when we wore it all folded up with pride especially if it had Madras checks as its design. I remember during my growing up years when all of my cousins or a group of friends had a today’s equivalent of a sleepover we used to wake up in lungis that did not belong to us and were not the ones that we went to sleep in. Thankfully some sensible soul (looks like I’m on a ‘S’ trip since I started writing this) managed to invent the version of the lungi where its ends were stitched together which transformed a 2 dimensional rectangular piece of cloth to a 3 dimensional cylindrical structure that could save you from many an embarrassments the morning after when the unbridled end went astray.

The lungi was to the South Indian what denim was to the cowboys of the Wild West. Sad that Microsoft prompted me to use the upper case for W for wild and west when I typed them together and not for the S and I of South Indian. Sadly my friends, the lungi are a minority.

Now to the lungi dance in Chennai Express. Having a song in Hindi punctuated with Thalaivar, Rajini fans and the likes is a sure recipe for success at least in box offices down south. I will just take a couple of verses from the song and analyse it. Here it goes….

‘Moochhon ko thoda round ghumake
Anna ke jaisa chashma lagake
Coconut me lassi milake’

Moochon…give me a break Khan or the Khans haven’t seen anything growing below their nose, rather immediately below their nose for ages and ‘Anna ke jaisa chashma lagake’ was a failed attempt by King Khan.
‘Coconut me lassi milake’ can only come from a someone called Yo Yo Honey Singh who happens to write the lyrics and score music for this song.

‘All the Rajini fans - Thalaivar
Don't miss the chance - Thalaivar
All the Rajini fans - Thalaivar
Don't miss the chance - Do This!
Lungi dance, lungi dance...’

This was the USP of the movie.
Now coming to the most controversial part.

‘Lungi ko uthana padega
Step karke dikhana padega’
‘All the Rajini fans - Thalaivar
Don't miss the chance - Thalaivar
All the Rajini fans - Thalaivar
Don't miss the chance - Do This’

This is what I call the “Choli ke peeche Kya hai” equivalent of a song. I remember the calls to ban the song when it was released. Now read the above lyrics in conjunction with the chorus. This should have been banned in my opinion. Why should the Rajini fans want to see what’s down under.

At the end of the day, I'm happy that the Lungi was endorsed and adorned by SRK and the pretty Padukone. It will certainly go a long way in catapulting the lungi to the cat walks. Imagine the Khans, Padukones, and the Kapoors walking the ramp in lungis designed by the Manish Malhotras, the Satya Pauls and the Sabyasachis. Hopefully they in turn lead to the Versace’s, the Calvin Klein’s and Dolce & Gabbana’s launching lungis as their fashion statement of the season.

X, Y, Z and me!

I belong to the peer group who turned 40 over last year and this. I somehow get a feeling that we belong to one of the most fortunate generations. Though we broadly fit into Gen X we were lucky to have joined them towards the end of it with an overlap with Gen Y and have children who teach us what Gen Z is all about through their actions. I will try and elaborate on the fortunate part since I’m sure most of my friends from other generations might not agree with me. Though I write this predominantly from an Indian perspective, global events and changes during this period definitely made an impact on how we were shaped. Please note the population in their 40’s right now is the protagonist of this piece.

Most of us who are part of this ‘generation’ which I intend calling Gen X’ were born between late 60’s and early 70’s and were in all likelihood born to parents born in the late 1930’s and 1940’s the transitional generation between the traditionalists and the baby boomers, a period I believe, was one of the most defining periods in world history. The end of the great depression, the beginning and end of World War II, the first use of Atomic weapons are some of the events that would have influenced the character of any individual being born and brought up in the period. From an Indian perspective they were born just around the time India attained independence and were at the right age to appreciate freedom and understand the values of living in an independent country imparted by their parents who probably went through the struggle. They made it a point to impart the same to their offspring.

Though each generation will have its own share of experiences I believe the generation I’m talking about were fortunate to enjoy the right experiences at the right time. Be it technological or political. On the tech front, computers were born with us and internet made its appearance just when we were around 18 plus, an age when we could handle and enjoy it responsibly. Politically the Berlin wall went up when our parents were around 18 and came down when we were around 18. They were mature enough to understand the agony and we were mature enough to understand the ecstasy of this event. The interesting part is that the fall of the wall coincided with the advent of internet. The melting of the Iron curtain, official end to cold war and the era of globalisation all came about when we were wise enough to accept, appreciate and evaluate their pros and cons. We grew up dependent on the newspaper for our daily bite of information but were also open to accept information in the form of ‘bytes’ later on in life.

From an Indian perspective we were around 18 when India was opening up to the world and were full of hope at the opportunities ahead of us. We were the flag bearers of India into the millennia. The great Indian dream was just beginning.

We are able to appreciate the smaller, finer things in life because we were witness to the evolution of the television in black and white, colour, plasma, LCD and LED. We used the floppy, diskette, CD, DVD, USB, memory device and the cloud. We read newspapers and we read news from apps. We walked, cycled and biked to school and now appreciate the best of the cars in town. We grew up eating plain dried fish with rice but along the way learnt to appreciate fine Sushi and Sashimi. We have seen postmen bringing tidings of comfort and melancholy. We also have active email accounts through which we still receive the same. We had pen friends and we now have friends who write on our walls on facebook. We grew up appreciating music across genres. We began our day listening to suprabathams in the morning, felt at peace with the muezzin’s afternoon call to prayer and went to bed hearing the church bells toll irrespective of our religion.

We were in my opinion the last of the GENERATIONS. What came next were only short periods of experience with no influence from the decades before or after and the worst being the current Gen Z who in my opinion are only as old as a mobile phone or a tab model? I’m sad about this since I have my own daughters and a whole lot of nieces and nephews belonging to this period. Wonder what the generation beyond Z would be called. Since unlike the X and Y that spanned decades the Z and above will only span months hence the need for more innovative variables to name them seems inevitable.

The dog dogma!

Annual vacations to India can be a revelation of sorts and mine was no different, the rapid changes to culture and lifestyle surprises me to no end. As years go by I feel that I’m more of a tourist than a son of the soil and indulge in all kinds of touristy things. The one thing I notice is that, the haves and have-nots divide is widening. The weekend morning paper is flush with ads on Sunday brunches costing around 50 $ and above per head, while the same paper also talks about government subsidised canteens serving meals for less than 10 cents per head. This is not a rant post by an NRI or an effort to define the poverty line which I have left to the eminent alumni of Cambridge like Sen, Bhagwati et al to bicker over. This is an effort to unravel and understand the changes happening in India. Though I have spent my childhood, adolescence and youth in India, I somehow get a feeling of disconnect with the country. What surprises me, is that as someone who has made it a point to spend 30 days every year for the last 17 years and still very much connected in every way to India can feel the gap growing by the year.

Mall culture has come to stay, wish the authorities linked the approval for malls with laying and maintaining of roads within a radius of 30 Km (or if that is too much to ask for, at least 15 Km), I’m sure with this they could increase the foot fall to their malls and also fulfil their corporate social responsibility by reducing the carbon foot print on the foot falls. Moreover the roller coasters in their play areas would be more fun than the ones (Read Roads) that were used to reach them. Recently a McDonald outlet in one of the malls in the erstwhile communist Kerala got into the record books grossing the highest first month revenue for an outlet opened anywhere in India. The comrades who were once proud to bite into their Parruppu Vaddas and Kattan Chayyyas as they discuss socialistic reforms will now have to settle for Big Macs with Cappuccino to discuss on how to stall the next capitalistic venture.

I should say the only day that I felt like a vacation was the day of the Hartal in Kerala. It was very kind of the government to grant me the much deserved break. Having nothing to do, I googled the difference between a Hartal and a Bandh and realised that the former enjoyed the luxury of being declared just with a 48 Hour notice, but all I got was 48 Minutes to muster up a couple of beers to keep me company on my forced day of rest.

Apart from the snippets above what follows is a little thought provoking anecdote from my recent visit.

During this visit my daughters and I had the fortune of being introduced to a brilliant mongrel or a beach dog that had made the Elliots beach its home. When my sister in law called out his name, Castro, the black dog with white spots came running and was overjoyed to see her after many months. I was told that this dog was special; nobody knows who christened him Castro, probably one of the ‘socialist’ who frequented the beach did the honours. He does have friends from all walks of society and I was told, when one of his friends move out of the city he or she makes it a point to introduce him to other friends….or so the legend goes. He stayed with us for the time we were there and refused to let other dogs or ‘strangers’ close and guarded us as though we were his own. He drank tea, which made me wonder if this was a reincarnation of the pre-independence memsahib’s pets. The best part was that he walked us across the road and stayed back and ensured that we were well on our way back and then left. The values that this mongrel displayed was amazing and at the same time made us introspect. These are days when human values erode faster than the roads. It was one of those rare occasions when you ask your kids to learn from dogs.

Ironically right opposite the beach that was home to ‘Castro’ was a premium pet store which claimed to be into Pet Management, Events, Training and Premium Store. I realised that the widening divide was not limited to humanity alone but to the canine community as well.