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Ravi Srinivasan

It is a cultural labyrinth that attracts people from all walks of life. At the time of Independence, the ownership of Madras was a toss-up between the state of Andhra and the state of Tamil Nadu. A compromise was reached between the two states and fortunately for Tamil Nadu, the neighbouring temple town of Tirupathi, abode of Lord Venkateswara, was traded for Madras.

Today Madras is a vibrant city, a city of striking contrasts between the past and the present. And during my rambles, I realised it had become a mini Detroit, with the automobile industry gradually taking over the city.

As I drove on the central artery of the city, Mount Road, renamed as Anna Road, to Parrys Corner, I noticed that traffic had really slowed down over the years.

The new Rapid Transport System, dubbed as the ‘flying train’ by the local folks, was expected to ease the traffic problems. The system connected Beach Station in Parrys Corner to Thirumalai in Mylapore, which lies south of Madras. Built on concrete overbridges, that pass through the heart of the city along the Cooum River and cut across Buckingham Canal, the rapid railroad system was funded by the World Bank, There were plans to lengthen this railroad all the way up to Velachery, a small suburb lying south west of Madras.

But that day, traffic was moving bumper to bumper, heading up to the Central Railway Station. The bridge that connects Anna Road to the Central Railway station was heavily choked and the traffic was unruly.

Crossing the bridge used to be a breeze, years ago. Not anymore! Traffic was diverted behind the Central Station, due to a sudden unknown political party procession to an adjacent road connecting the Central Station.

As we passed the Central Railway station, I noticed that Moore Market, once a great landmark, had been demolished to give room for expansion of the railway station. I wonder what happened to all those second hand bookstalls that were the greatest attraction of this market. They stocked a whole selection of rare books like Kokkoka Sastra, the Tamil version of Vatsayana's Kamasutra. I wondered too about snake oil salesmen who populated the market.

Finally, after a gruelling two and a half hours of driving in this maddening traffic, I reached Parrys Corner.

Walking around Parrys Corner is a great adventure. Despite some reorganisation, the bustle remains intact, with pedestrians, carts, three wheelers and such scrambling for space among mountains of merchandise.

The flower and fruit bazaar was redolent of the smell of seasonal fruits – the smell of pomegranates, mangoes, and apples mixing and melding with that of the jasmine, rose, and daisy to produce a heady mix. I am not sure the stench of sewage from the nearby gutter added qualitatively to that mix, though.

Madras was, and remains, a shopper’s paradise. T Nagar are lined with shops chock full of gorgeous silks and gold ornaments. Ranganathan street, nearby, is possibly one of the busiest streets of Madras. If one cares to shop on this street, there's a good chance of being shoved, pushed, stepped on, side swiped, severely bumped by over-eager shoppers.

Panagal Park, around the corner is a Mecca for silk sari shopping. Silk saris from all over India can be found in these shops. The saris are priced at anything from Rs. 1000 to Rs. 30,000 or more. More, the real aesthete can order a custom made sari -- be it plain to plaid or pastel or even a sari sporting computer designed fractals.

Pondy Bazaar and adjoining areas are for gold what the T Nagar area is for silks – every conceivable pattern, every style, every design both traditional and modern, are available in the dozens of shops lining the roads. And come the festive season, the throng of shoppers makes the area virtually a madhouse.

A Madras holiday is also an opportunity to pig out on traditional south Indian fare, from succulent idlis, to the doughnut shaped vadas and the mouth watering masala dosais. Interestingly, the once famed Woodlands and Dasprakash chains of restaurants were now merely pale shadows of their former glory, having been replaced in the public affections by Saravana Bhavan, the new kid on the block. A South Indian fast food chain that had sprung up in recent years, Saravana Bhavan emanated the aroma of freshly prepared South Indian vegetarian delights, tasty chutneys and specialty items like puttu and Kadalai, freshly pounded rice steamed with layers of grated coconut served with a hot side dish of chick peas in curry masala. I was told that these restaurants are packed at all times.

Conservative Madras, I noticed, had taken several strides towards modernity while I was away. The concept of the country club had caught on, with clubs of every hue mushrooming all over Madras. I visited one such, on the Adyar river, that was equipped with tennis courts, indoor squash courts, an air conditioned restaurant, open air auditorium, bar serving a variety of cocktails, and superbly maintained garden. Membership to these clubs was limited and the waiting list was 200 strong or more. Yearly membership fees were no less than fifteen grand.

And beauty pageants were in now – again, surprising considering Madras’ conservative image. Every town, city and district in Tamil Nadu these days hosts its own beauty pageant – and ladies in Kanchipuram silks turn out with their mates in traditional male attire, to applaud beauties in bathing suits. Again, that strange, wonderful mixture of the old, and the new.

Night life in Madras – once an unknown commodity – is now alive and well. It used to be that the city would wind down after the last metro bus at 10:30 pm. But these days dance halls in five star hotels are packed to capacity, despite the steep cover charge of Rs 300 a pop. Interestingly, most such clubs don’t permit singles -- studs as the locals say – possibly on the theory that the single male is a potential trouble maker. Late one night, we went to a dance club in a five star hotel. I was surprised to witness a tableaux of 'freedom at midnight' there. A tri-colored Indian flag was hoisted at sharp 12:00 midnight to celebrate the birth of an independent India!

Prohibition? Forget it, anyone, any age, can buy liquor, any time. At these smoky dance clubs, where the floor is packed with jiving crowds, alcohol really flows. On the dance floor, a pretty young thing casually tapped me on the shoulder and asked me to light her cigarette. You’ve come a long way, baby, I thought.

Driving back home, I indulged in a bit of nostalgia. For those bygone days when Madras was conservative, laid back to the point of being comatose. Today, it is ritzy, glitzy, opulent, filled with tech-savvy citizens with a penchant for the high life.

Madras, as I knew it, is no more. In its place is Chennai – brash yet, somehow, still loveable.

Madras City Guide

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