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Was this Chennai? Or Singapore, wondered A Ganesh Nadar.
Little India is a misnomer for the Indian neighbourhood of Singapore. It should be Little Tamil Nadu.
It literally looked like a suburb of Chennai. And if you had any doubts there was even a Madras street.
The British love for the governor generals of India, because after all they built the empire, endured there too, so they had a Clive street and a Hastings street.
The signboards were in Tamil and most of the people were Tamilians too -- some had come to work there recently, and many, who had been here for generations, did not know from where in Tamil Nadu their forefathers came from.
Maybe they arrived a thousand years ago when the Cholas expanded to the east. Or maybe when the region was all part of the British Empire and people could travel everywhere without border issues.
The only exception to the rule of bumping only into Tamilians was Kailash Parbat. There you found north Indians too.
I ran into a place with a board that said Azhagu, which means beauty. You would think it would be a beauty parlour but it turned out to be a dance bar, owned by, yes, a Tamilian.
The dancing girls were from the southern states of Tamil Nadu, Andhra Pradesh, Telengana, Karnataka and Kerala. The music was from both north and South India. The bar started at 9 pm and went on till 4 am.
When I excused myself, citing my age, the reply was that all the patrons were equally grey-haired.
The Azhagu dance bar was undergoing renovation and -- you guessed right -- only Tamils were doing the renovation. Thirumalai Nadar, maybe some distant relative of mine, was one of those working on the renovation. He had been working in Singapore for six years. He was from Ramanadu in Tamil Nadu. A carpenter, his family was back home in the village, where his wife, a son and two daughters looked forward to his yearly visits.
Satish Vijaykumar had been here for 20 years. He did all renovation work in the Tamil areas. He said he loved Singapore, "All are equal here, there is no racism, caste differences, colour bias, language bias, religion bias here."
He came from a family of farmers from Thiruvarur. It is part of the rice bowl of Tamil Nadu in the Cauvery basin.
Krishnaveni was 70 years old. Her son left her when he was 20 and was newly married. She didn't know anyone in Tamil Nadu. She was born in Singapore.
She greeted me with a "I have never seen you. This is a hotel for regulars." She cleaned tables at the nearby Ananda Bhavan too.
Ananda Bhavan, where the menu was both in Tamil and English, was a South Indian restaurant serving idlis, dosas and vadas. What made it special was that it was started in 1924 and was celebrating its centenary.
Its founder Kulandaivelu landed in Singapore from Madagaspatti village, near Namakkal in Tamil Nadu, in 1924. As that was part of the Commonwealth there were no travel restrictions.
He was an accountant and found a job easily. He came across a problem that was/is common to all Indians travelling abroad -- there was/is no vegetarian food available.
Seeing the need and the opportunity, Kulandaivelu started Ananda Bhavan in 1924. He brought in cooks from his village, but the workers he chose were north Indians, Malays and the Chinese.
He actually took over a restaurant which was not doing very well. His family, which included his wife and brothers, worked in the fledgling restaurant. Later he had six children. He passed away in 1960, after looking after the restaurant for 36 long years. His wife and brother looked after the business after his death.
In 1970 his two sons took over. Ramachandran and Natarajan ran the business for many years. Natarajan had a son, Veeran, who was actually brought up by his uncle Ramachandran, and was running it when I visited.
In 1996 they started their second branch and in 1999 the third. From 2009 to 2015 they ran a stall at SIngapore's Changi airport, but when the lease ran out they did not renew it.
Their branches have been multiplying. In 2016 they started their sixth branch. They now have 125 workers, who are Tamilians, South Indians, north Indians.
In their hundred years in existence they made sure that the cooks were from Tamil Nadu. The other workers could be from anywhere.
Third generation owner Veeran was very interested in animal welfare. He had a diploma in mechatronics. During COVID-19 they bought a robot to serve food to their customers.
The original restaurant had been demolished to make way for a North South Corridor transport corridor (due to be completed in 2029), leaving the other five branches standing to bring in their centenary.
I met Jayabalan too in Singapore. Sixty-two, he was driving a cab and had retired from his own business of second-hand cars, repairs and re-selling.
His father Dharmalingam was 95. Dharmalingam was also born in Singapore. He had no idea when they came there and from which part of Tamil Nadu they were from.
He had two working sons. One had taken over his business and the other worked in the private sector. The elder was married and had moved away. Jayabalan stayed with his younger son, who ran his business.
"My wife passed away five years back and since then I have been sad and mourning at home. My son told me to go and out and drive and get my life back together." So he drove a cab.
The treat was being in the Little India of Singapore in late October, where Diwali is big too.
Diwali lights were lighting up the streets, I could well have been in Tirunelveli in Tamil Nadu, so at home this Tamilian felt.