Fishermen’s turf; the kuppam boys’ cricket ground; where the nets and boats come home to rest... the stretch between the Light House and Foreshore Estate is precious ground for those who depend on the sea for a living. The beach here is starkly different from the adjacent stretch of the Marina — that side is full of colour, while this is full of struggle.
It will take you less than 30 minutes to walk this road; throw in 20 minutes or so if you plan to go up the Lighthouse for a breathtaking view. The area houses two big settlements — Nochi Kuppam and Dooming Kuppam, that mostly consist of fisherfolk. While some are comparatively well-off with their own fibre boats, most families live on wages earned on a daily basis.
The men have to go to sea every day — otherwise, there’s no food on the table. The women know this and have devised means to keep the family afloat even if their men fail them. The Nochi Kuppam fish market, for instance, is almost made entirely of women. They run the stalls, and another group works simultaneously to cut the fish.
The women head out to Kasimedu or the Chintadripet market every morning to buy fish to sell. Kalyani, Maari, Devika... talk to any of them and they will open their hearts out in an instant. They are extremely tough and extremely kind at the same time. The fish market is beautiful to behold at dawn and dusk — pink, silver, orange and grey fish gleam on wooden planks while the women call out to customers in their hoarse voices.
Presently, new houses are being constructed by the Tamil Nadu Slum Clearance Board for the residents of Nochi Kuppam, who have been temporarily moved to tin houses nearby. A parotta stall that opens at 5.30 p.m., a tiffin house that sells fried fish and mutton fry, a newly-opened vadai and bajji stall... we stop at the latter to have a bowl of mushroom soup. The stall is just a day old and Geetha and Sandhya, who run it, are busy making potato bajjis.
“We live in the tin houses,” explains Sandhya. “It’s like an oven during the day. The nights are bearable. And there’s just one room. Some of us have taken an extra room for a rent of Rs. 1,000 a month. Hopefully, the new houses will be ready soon.” A little further, school children in uniform — salwars with dupattas pinned — hop down a flight of stairs from behind the Santhome Cathedral. The residents of the two kuppams are seemingly big fans of Dhanush and Vijay — the actors (in smart sunglasses) smile from paintings on the walls and flex boards.
At the end of the Loop Road is yet another fish market; although much smaller than Nochi Kuppam’s. This is run by the women of Ayodhyakuppam and Srinivasapuram that were the most affected by the 2004 tsunami. Devotional music blares from a temple nearby and vehicles raise a storm of dust as they trundle past.
A large crowd is gathered at a particular spot near the Foreshore Estate bus depot. We follow a telltale trail of discarded water packets, groundnut shells, and bottles to find out what it is — it’s a TASMAC outlet. A passed-out drunk lies face-down on the road, his legs splayed. Two school boys skirt around his feet as they walk back home. It’s all part of life in the kuppam.
