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[http://www.indianexpress.com/story/256879.html]

>From Madras to Chennai 

Jaithirth Rao 
Posted online: Thursday, January 03, 2008 at 0000 hrs IST 

I left Madras in 1971 and was relieved. Tambrahm pomposity and garish
Dravidian political cut-outs represented to me a parochial and
avoidable combination. The heat, humidity and the malodorous Cooum
river were only partially offset by the glorious beach. Over the
years, I have often returned to newly christened Chennai. Prompted by
resident historians, the redoubtable Muthiah and the effervescent
Randor Guy, I have delved into its history (recorded and unrecorded)
and its geography (spatial and metaphorical). My memories and
reactions today are more mellow. 

St Thomas Mount, the residence of the scary, larger-than-life,
red-faced Tommies of my father?s generation, was in my time a place
where Anglo-Indians with names like Alistair and Denzil lived and
sent in their requests to Radio Ceylon?s ?Listener?s Choice?. Their
preferences were for Cliff Richards and Englelbert Humperdinck. The
Thousand Lights Mosque built by the Prince of Arcot was and is a
reminder of the creative presence of Mohammedan nobility and
commoners in the city. Till not so long ago, most of the land in
south Madras belonged to the descendants of two Shia courtiers in the
Nawab?s retinue. The Khaleeli and Isfahani families have left their
names on countless title deeds in the yellowing files of Ripon
Building, the grand Indo-Saracenic structure, which houses the city
corporation offices. 

The erstwhile presidency capital had a strong Telugu presence. Some
20 years ago, I bought a flat from Pradeep Rao, a college-mate of
mine, who if titles had not been abolished would have been the Raja
of Pithapuram, an Andhra Zamindari. 

The records indicate that the city owes many buildings, bridges and
layouts to the far-sighted Armenian merchant-prince Coja Petrus
Uscan. My ophthalmologist in Chicago was the one who told me that the
first Armenian newspaper was published from Madras. So much for the
by-lanes of history! 

The city is not in denial about its British connection. Munro?s
statue still stands next to Island Grounds. It was Sir Thomas Munro,
Governor of Madras Presidency, who first in the Baara-mahals
(literally ?Land of Twelve Fortresses?, modern Salem District) and
then elsewhere laid the foundations of an imperial dispensation more
benign and less rapacious than in Bengal or the United Provinces. 
Madras is also about cricket, not just international matches (I saw
Gary Sobers score a brilliant 97 there), but also of humble league
matches where some of us who did not play went to cheer and keep
score. College days are special in retrospect. For me, Loyola was
liberating in multiple ways. Francis and Raja, Srinivasan and Simon,
Swaminathan, Bechtloff and Govindarajan opened up enchanted worlds.
And of course, the college was full of brilliant persons, many of
whom have gone on to heights of achievement. 

With age, consciously or otherwise, one has a tendency to embrace the
long-lost umbilicus and reach out to what must pass for roots.
Carnatic music surely represents an aural throwback to amniotic seas.
It is hard when one?s siblings can recognise a raaga from the first
few notes of the aalapana. I confess that I cheat. I have a crib
sheet that tells me the raagas of well-known compositions and I work
backwards. I am completely at sea during the aalapanas although
(given the vigorous shaking of my head) my neighbours in the
auditorium will hardly guess this. Once the composition starts, my
knowledge base is relatively secure. Of course, I knew all along that
this was Kamboji or Brindaavana Saaranga. 

For two years in a row now, I have had the extraordinary luck of
being in Chennai on winter days when my friend Aruna Sairam?s
concerts have been scheduled. Last year, it was at the Mylapore Fine
Arts Club and this year, at the Narada Gana Sabha, both bastions of
classical music. The concerts were packed (standing room only) with
listeners who actually paid for tickets. What a contrast to
philistine Delhi, where even with the distribution of free passes,
great artistes find half-empty halls. Aruna and several of her
contemporaries are living proof that Carnatic music, while firmly
rooted in classical traditions, has an amazing capacity to rejuvenate
itself in multiple directions. 

My aunt once told me that Telugu was the only ?sweet? language that
could help extract the rasas of our music. She was dead wrong. Aruna,
among others, has gone back to astonishing mediaeval Tamil
compositions from Thevaram to Divya Prabandham. She has rediscovered
Uttukaadu Venkata Subba Iyer and his wonderful Tamil compositions.
She has come out with a CD appropriately called Kshetra Chennapuri.
The beauty of this CD is that it covers tributes to not just the
well-known Parthasarathi and Kapaaleeshwarar temples but also to that
little gem in the heart of ?town?, Kandakottam, where the
nineteenth-century immortal Ramalinga Adigalaar lived. (As an aside,
just before he passed away, he wrote the following, my loose
translation: ?We set up shop, exhibited our wares; finding no
customers, we packed up and left.?) She has included Tiruneermalai, a
temple of pre-Pallava times on the outskirts where the Aalwaars
described Krishna in enchanting Tamil as ?Neer-vannan? ? he who has
the colour of water ? referring to Krishna?s blue hues. And when one
listens to Aruna singing the lesser-known Kannada composition of
Sripaadaraja ?Kaveri Ranga?, even an atheist will turn a believer.
The inclusion in concerts, of unusual raaga maalikas and the
erstwhile humble tillaanas from the repertoire of dance confirms the
capacity of our music forms to innovate, expand and grow. Many
thought that when Aruna started singing Marathi abhangs praising
Vitthala (set to Carnatic raagas) there would be a pushback. Guess
what, that?s the number the audiences love most; they keep asking for
repeats. 

Madras/Chennai and its music festival may hold the clue to how we
contend with globalisation in cultural and psychic terms. The
presence of large numbers of NRIs and foreigners has led, not to
simplistic global homogenisation, but to new dimensions of
creativity. May Aruna and her tribe flourish; somewhere in the
chambers of the sky I am sure Mamalla Pallava and Tirumangai Aalwaar
are rooting for Chennai. 

The writer is an observer and student of contemporary India
jerry.rao@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 


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