The stretch from Foreshore Estate to the end of Elliot’s Beach, or ‘Bessie’ as it’s more popularly known, is short if you go along the coast, but the Adyar River and the Broken Bridge ensure that (unless you can fly or swim) it is about 7.4 kilometres by road.
In a few days, hundreds of colourful Ganesh idols will make their way to Foreshore Estate for visarjan . For now, as we ride along the stretch, we mostly see grey: fish scales, patchy walls and dusty roads. Then we hit Srinivasapuram, and it feels like the houses, stalls, and small standalone idols on either side of the road are closing in on us. But as they say, there is light at the end of the tunnel, so we trudge along.
The dead end is marked by a pile of disfigured cars. But on our left is a beautiful sight that resembles a mix of the rocky Puducherry shoreline and the serene Thiruvanmiyur beach. There isn’t a soul in sight, but there is a line of houses whose windows open to a view of the waves. It’s therapeutic, just sitting on the rocks (if you watch out for broken bottles and ignore the heaps of garbage, that is). From this spot, we can also see the front end of Broken Bridge.
We halt at the 200-year-old Quibble Island Cemetery, which houses tombstones dating back to the late 1880s. The silence is disturbed only by the rhythmic tapping of stone on stone. We watch a new name being engraved on a granite tombstone, when Mary Ammal, 86, the caretaker, asks us to check out the oldest tombstones. “There is nothing to be scared of here. When a person dies, the soul goes away, what remains is the body,” she says. The cemetery, she adds, is facing a space crunch, just like the roads outside. The road snakes around the Tholkappiar Ecological Garden, popularly known as Adyar Poonga. Full of thick foliage and countless birds, we try to get in, only to be told that we need to come back with permits. Another time then.
The temperamental traffic on Thiru-Vi-Ka Bridge is pleasant before rush hour; we breeze past the flower sellers, go below Adyar Flyover and turn on to Besant Avenue. It’s probably the one road that’s a pleasure to drive through any time of the day, or year. The relative cool of the well-maintained road is probably thanks to the Theosophical Society gardens, which is our next stop. It is spread across almost 260 acres; be sure to visit between 8.30 a.m. and 10 a.m. The must-see list includes the 450-year-old banyan tree, the little Buddha temple and lotus pond and the colony of bats who have a permanent home on one particular tree.
Outside, the road curves right onto Third Avenue, from where Elliot’s Beach is just a few metres away. The clean, shiny promenade is inviting, but we go in the opposite direction, past the fishing village of Urur Kuppam, and its neighbouring Olcott Kuppam, to reach Broken Bridge. It’s a stark contrast to the hip and happening ‘Bessie’. In the hot midday sun, goats huddle under abandoned cars, and blue plastic sheets tied to wooden poles seem to be the shelter of choice. Although in this heat, we seem to be the only souls out on the shoreline.
At the spot where popular movies such as Vaali and Aayutha Ezhuthu were shot, we hope to click some Kollywood-inspired selfies. But climbing on to the bridge is almost impossible now. A local from Urur Kuppam tells us that the ‘disconnect’ was an initiative to bring down the number of suicides and untoward activities that go on in the largely secluded area past sunset. Fair enough.
On our way back, we stop at a little shop for a chilled bottle of water. The owner tells us he was born and raised in the same place, as was his mother. And, he says, she often talked about a time when there was a jungle right next to the beach. We’re surprised; but a little asking around and we find that this little fishing village predates even the Theosophical Society that was built in 1875. Before there was Bessie with its cool hangout spots, and the posh pincode snobbery of Besant Nagar, there was this village. Surprising, and sad, how the historic village has been pushed to a little corner, overshadowed by the promenade.
Even in the scorching afternoon sun, the occasionally cool sea breeze reminds us that we’ll happily bear the heat of day for a windy evening stroll on Elliot’s Beach Promenade, ending with fresh fish fry or molaga bajjis on the beach. But now, we quickly walk along, shades on, faces shielded from the sun, heading towards our main destination — Murugan Idli Shop for a divine ghee roast and some filter coffee.
Satiated, we step into the sandy compound of Annai Velankanni Church; the shrine has an ongoing service even at this odd hour. The marriage registry here is considered to be auspicious, and we briefly wonder if we should trade in Tinder for some divine intervention. A few metres down the road lives a community of tonsurers, mostly women, who take care of devotees from the church. This is a rarity, given the job of shaving hair is generally considered men’s forte. The family-run business has been prevalent in the area since the beginning of the church in the early 1970s.
At the Ashtalakshmi Temple, we visit eight ebony goddesses, each with a different brightly-coloured silk saree and serene smile; it’s hard to complain even about bare feet on the hot stone floor. The view of the well-hidden Ashtalakshmi beach behind the temple is just a reward. On our way back, we stop to pick up some glass bangles from a friendly shop seller, who also tries to sell us jewellery made of fake shells. We politely refuse, but pick up another dozen bangles. Why ever not? A little gift for making it through the entire stretch!
