“Chennai is the most negative city in the
world” is my assertion in any social gathering even at random encounters with
raw strangers while on a train or a flight or anywhere I get human company. But
I can’t do without the city for my mind is used to TAMIL and restaurants around
every corner serving idly/vada and filter coffee.
Last
August there was a possibility of a job in JUST DIAL at NOIDA that my mind revolted.
Fortunately I did not get the offer but if I had then I would have had a hard time self-convincing to make the shift to a NCR region. Delhi hits the gut with the
Punjabi aggression and Hindi everywhere (Acche Hi, buchha hai) that my mind at
50 is fatigued. I do need a bit of Tamil in the air, filter coffee at every
corner. And with my lame legs I am happy and content at Besant nagar where my
movements are optimized to the lowest possible denomination.
Yesterday
I had a day out and it merits a blog post.
I
booked for a gas cylinder refill at 6:00 in the morning through interactive
voice response (IVR) where you use the numbers on the mobile for bookings. Normally it takes 2-3 days but yesterday the
door bell rang at 11:00 and presto, cylinder delivery. The bill was
Rs. 722 that the delivery boy said was Rs. 750 for climbing two storied
staircase. I had just over Rs. 300 in the wallet and I told him in a morose
voice, “Please take Rs. 250 now, I will go down to the ATM for the remaining
Rs. 500 which you can pick up later in the day.” The boy acquiesced and it is
such instances that reinforce my love for Chennai despite it being the most
negative city in the world. Here I can talk to bus drivers and conductors, milk
vendors and grocers and have a running conversation; something I can’t in a
Bangalore or Hyderabad and definitely not in a Mumbai or Delhi. Knowing the
local language is vital when dealing the menial working classes, otherwise you
are not one of them. You might as well count for a German or French or a
American or a Martian for all they care.
Then
I got down to withdraw 12 k from the ATM and went to Nilgiris store for Aavin
milk sachet and Oosi Thenkozhil (a traditional savory that is fried and comes
packed). I saw Ramani a mid-70s walker at the beach who greeted me asking, “What
are you doing in this hot sun?” I showed him the half litre milk sachet and the
Thenkozhil as we both smiled on cue as it were. Again I can’t have such a
dialogue in a Delhi or Bangalore if Tamil was missing on the roads.
In
the evening I had to pick up Ranga for a drink at Maris and he backed out at
the last moment. I was determined as I engaged an auto from Sathya studios to
Maris. I signaled for a couple of autos
for negotiating the price; one fellow said, “Rs. 120 for Maris” and I asked with devilish cunning, “Is it for to and fro or just the drop?”
He got the dry humour. Again something I can only do in Chennai with my Tamil
skills. Finally I found a fare for Rs. 90 and off we went. The driver was
beefy, large frame and he had a manly contour to him as he started talking
which went like this:
I
reside in RA Puram area and only drive in the evenings. Actually I make a living as a money lender. I give weekly loans say if I give a loan of 10 k, I
only pay 9 k to the borrower. The borrower has to make weekly installments of 1 k weekly
for 10 weeks. Earlier I used to give monthly loans but suffered over 15 lacs
loss. You see this Navodaya restaurant (as we passed by on the RA puram road)
and that man ran away without repaying my loan advances of 1.5 lacs. That fellow despite
being a Brahmin cheated me and these days one to be careful. I added a comma for a filler in
this one-sided conversation, “To make a living as a money lender is tough for
you need brawn and you need to be thug on a recollection drive.” The auto
driver continued: Yeah, I have been out in the market for 20 years and all the local
goons are my friends.
Then
he shifted to family matters: I was 19 when I got married, I fell in love with a 16
year old, we eloped and got married. It was my being responsibility getting
the elder sisters married, finding grooms and financing the weddings. The
second girl's marriage did not work out, she came home after a year with a baby
and we have been supporting her ever since. Seeing that failure, my
brother-in-law refused to get married. Now he is 50 and we keep an eye on his
health and safety.
I
told him, “I am also a bachelor at 50 but a happy one. There are pros and cons
both sides and a wise man takes advantage of where he is placed while the fool
cribs at what is lacking.” We introduced ourselves, “I am Sathya and I make my
money trading in stocks; I am Raja and I also around your age.” Again such a
conversation can’t be imagined in a Telugu or Hindi or English or whatever.
These are occasions that connect me to this most negative city in the world and
boy, I come alive in these moments.
This
was the first time I was drinking alone at Maris as I ordered two large of
Signature whiskeys and a soda as the sides dishes of a sundal, puffed
rice and peanuts were served. The bill came to Rs. 495 which I swiped with a
credit card leaving Rs. 20 as tips. I asked the steward, “Is it crowded today
or what? Usually your service is better.” He smiled taking me for a regular
saying, “Today our man power is less.” I loved being alone on the table and resolved: no need to wait for Ranga or anyone; being alone is so much peaceful and less stressful on the nerves. Must make it a monthly habit.
That
done I hobbled to the restaurant on the ground floor. I sat on a corner table
away from the maddening 8:40 pm crowd. The bearer took my order for a full
meals. I rate Maris restaurant the best
in Chennai for service; you will never find such alacrity of stewards filling
water to your glass or be attentive for refill of a sambar or curry
or pickles or whatever anywhere else. You don’t find this level of service in a Ratna Café or
Sangeetha or Saravana Bhavan. You see the same old familiar faces and they go
out of their way for very best in hospitality in the city. I
ate my food on a banana leaf and left a Rs. 20 tip. I spoke very little to the bearer
but we connected, as he kept refilling and replenishing my glass of cold water
or the extra rasams.
I
went outside and waited for a 29 C. There are a few new red buses in town with bucket seats and there
was a new red bus 29 C Deluxe that I boarded opposite Chola Sheraton. This is the
most negative city in the world but I lived every moment of it thanks to the
auto driver, the stewards and even the trees and birds retiring into the night.
I looked at the asphalt roads and thought, “This is my city and my roads and I
will not exchange it for a Abu Dhabi or a Manama or anywhere else” as I looked at
the crescent moon on a cloudy night skies with lampposts throwing light on the rising polluting airs over the treetops. This is my city and this is where I belong. And if a spell of hell is prescribed for you, first thing you get down to learning is a smattering of Tamil which will convert it to heaven.
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