It’s 8 a.m. Sixty-four-year-old Rajendra is in his traditional finery. The three parallel lines of freshly-smeared vibhuthi across his forehead and on his arms and forearms gleam in the soft rays of the sun. Clad in a spotless white panchakachcham , he wears a thick brown rudraksha malai around his neck. His house on East Mada Street, facing the Kapaleeswarar temple, is one of the few remaining heritage homes in Mylapore. Every morning, Rajendra rises early and climbs the rickety wooden stairs to get a glimpse of the gopuram from the narrow balcony hemmed in by a traditional trellis. With its thick lime and mortar walls, Madras terrace roof, carved Burma teakwood doors and chimney, the architecture of his house takes you back to a time when Mylapore was a village. The oldest part of Chennai, it was a thriving cultural hub and port, which played host to the Portuguese, the Dutch and the British. Celebrated saints Thirugnanasambandar and Arunagirinathar have sung its praises in their hymns.
The annual four-day Mylapore festival (January 8-11, this year) is a reminder of this hoary past and a reflection of its tryst with modernity. The music and dance performances in the mandapam outside the Kapaleeswarar temple and the fair in the narrow bylanes juxtapose the two eras that Mylapore resides in.
Though the temple and theppakulam remain the landmarks of this rapidly growing city, most of the quaint structures in the area have given way to tightly-squeezed-in apartments and new-generation buildings with their bold chunky shapes and colours and façades of steel and glass.
Retired deputy secretary (Ministry of Railways), V. Kedar Rao in his booklet The Mada Veedhis of Mylapore — Reminiscences of a Mylaporean, says, “Our family has stayed in the house, Door No. 30, East Mada Street, in which I was born in 1929. It was bought by my father. In 1997, the old building was demolished and a three-storied building came up in its place. My wife and I are living here with my brothers and their families.”
So if you now have a spa, Café Mocha, mobile stores, beauty clinics, jewellery shops, and restaurants dotting the four veedhis, a few old-time destinations like Rayar’s Mess, Kalathi rose milk shop and Jannal bajji kadai continue to thrive too.
And retaining the area’s definitive characteristics are some houses especially in Pitchu Pillai, Ponnambala Vathiyar and Kumara Gurunatha streets that have their thinnais and muttrams intact. They also have their front door in one street while the back door opens into another.
The late mridangam vidwan Vellore Ramabhadran, who lived in one such house, in an interview had rued over the shrinking space in the crowded mada veedhis that are fast losing their old-world charm. He said, “After long hours of practice or a kutcheri, I would leisurely walk around the veedhis. It was a sight to behold — fresh vegetables and colourful flowers, children playing around and during Margazhi mornings, the celebrated Papanasam Sivan leading the bhajanai troupe. A few of those who owned cars got curious stares wherever they went and their periyamansha (big people!) status often figured in neighbourhood conversations. The negligible number of vehicles meant thin traffic. I would hang my mridangam on the shoulder and walk to performance venues.”
T. Sundari, who led a heritage walk during this year’s Mylapore Fest, pointed out that it is impossible for these lanes to take in so much vehicular traffic since they were primarily set up to accommodate people associated directly or indirectly with the temple activities.
The main mode of transport then was bicycles, hand-pulled rickshaws, trams and buses apart from horse-drawn carriages (jutkas). The jutkas were stationed at Mangollai (the meeting point of East and North Mada Streets) where political gatherings now take place.
Kedar Rao informs that the members of the Vembakkam family, well-known in the legal fraternity and owners of the Law Weekly journal, travelled to the High Court and back in their own horse-drawn carriages. They had stables in South Mada Street.
Most of the commercial buildings in the area today were once famous addresses that housed legal luminaries, well-known doctors, educationists and musicians.
As you walk through the congested lanes with mounds of garbage at every corner, taking a closer view of the co-existence of the old and the new, you suddenly find yourself in the midst of a religious procession. Sounds of firecrackers rent the air as also the voices of vendors calling out the prices of vegetables and the constant honking of vehicles. The palanquin carrying the deity and the huge colourful umbrellas behind it sway rhythmically to the beats of the drums.
Women with mozhams of mallipoo in their hair run to catch a glimpse while some shoppers put their bags down to offer prayers. Culture rules here, so does commerce. And the still waters of the centuries-old temple tank appear a silent spectator to the changing times.
