Mylapore
“It is the temple that creates a kadaiveethi (shopping street),” says Ezhilarasi; three generations of women in her family have been running a vegetable shop in South Mada Street, Mylapore. “This is especially true of the Mylapore kulam area. People pray and then shop for vegetables.”
The market was deemed an “encroachment”, and the Corporation removed the shops a year ago. Many moved to Chitrakulam street, but Ezhilarasi and others did not. “We’ve been here for 60 years. And, where else can you get Aadi keerai? Not in a fancy shop.”
Thannithurai
Records show that Thannithurai market on Royapettah High Road came into being in the early 20th Century on land owned by the family of lawyer Bhashyam Iyengar.
The ‘water’ connect in the name is because the eight-and-a-half-ground market was near the Buckingham Canal, used for ferrying fresh vegetables from Andhra Pradesh and the suburbs of then Madras. ‘Thurai’ stands for ghat.
In the 1960s, carts and lorries brought in supplies. Around 2006, the co-operative that owned the place bowed to “development” and the heritage market (along with the livelihood of 250 families) was demolished to make way for a high-rise.
A few like Rukmini survive because their shops lie beyond the compound wall of the new multi-storeyed complex. “We will continue here,” she says.
Kotwal Chavadi
There are as many stories about this wholesale market as there are vegetables sold here — even after the bulk of the shops shifted to Koyambedu. “This place has been known since the Mughal era,” claims Amir Bhai, who has been weighing vegetables here for 45 years. The place is a stable converted into a vegetable bazaar a century ago, say others. The website of the Kannika Parameswari temple tells us the temple was built in the “Koora Gayala Thota” in 1720 — ‘thota’ is a vegetable garden in Telugu.
What we do know is that this market with 850 vegetable shops was the biggest in the city, probably in Asia. A de-congestion drive in 1996 sent most shops to Koyambedu, and a college took its place. Vegetable-sellers who wouldn’t move spread their wares in the adjacent Malayaperumal Street, creating a crammed but lively space where you can get vegetables as fresh and inexpensive as in Koyambedu.
Kal Mandapam
Once a spacious vegetable market with arcades designed by the British, the dilapidated Kal Mandapam vegetable market in Royapuram retains markings of what it was and can be.
The iron gate is on its last legs, most of the vegetable stalls are empty, and the fish-and-meat area needs overhauling, but young Karpagam and Vijayan who continue to run a shop here are proud of its heritage. “Take a photo of the tiles,” they say. “Year 1865 is clearly visible on some.”
Papaathi, who sells flowers outside, makes an fervent appeal to save the ancient market. Any attempt at restoration here should include the kalmandapam in front of the Ankalaparameswari temple, restored by Subhachari in 1818. It is a beautiful piece of architecture and has the privilege of having given shelter to Pattinathar.
Thiruvanmiyur
The vegetable market that shares a wall with the bus depot draws people from a 10-km radius, including Kovalam and Little Mount. Stock brought in from Andhra Pradesh, Karnataka and Ooty, Dindigul, Krishnagiri and Hosur, is sold in convenient packs.
“We put up a plastic roof for protection from the sun and rain; you’ll see shoppers all day. At night, the vegetables are sold for a song,” says Iyambalam, who moved here around 15 years ago.
In her gruff voice, bejewelled Sasikala, the queen of the market, tells you what to buy and for which recipe. This is an example of what vegetable markets can bring to a neighbourhood. They add colour to the city, and shopping in open markets nurtures a relationship between shop owners and shoppers like no new-age store can.
