I seem to have triggered off a heated argument. We stand in an animated knot at Beach station, brandishing cell phones, books and — in the case of one particularly opinionated man — fistfuls of turmeric-stained popcorn. There’s a surprising lack of consensus on how to get to Ennore.
The popcorn man insists that the next train from Beach station will take me there. The book vendor laughs scornfully, insisting I take a bus. The ticket collector, dressed in startlingly crisp whites, whips out a cellphone and opens his Chennai Local app. “Take the Gummidipoondi train from here in 10 minutes.” A vaguely official-looking man swathed in commanding gravitas disagrees with them all. “Go to Park station,” he says decisively. “Cross the road to Central. From there, take the train to Sullurupeta.”
As I head back into the blazing sun in search of that elusive Sullurupeta train, I mentally go over our game plan: A relay from Ennore to Muttukadu — effectively one end of the Chennai coast to the other — to celebrate Madras Day by the MetroPlus team. I have with me a now-tattered Corporation of Chennai map, which we’ve used to draw up our route. Following the coastline (with some help from GoogleMaps), we’ve divided the roughly-47-km route into seven sections.The idea: seven stories over one week, exploring the coast from one end to the other. Then, just to make it fun, we decide to cover as much as possible on foot — taking public transport only when necessary. Swept away by enthusiasm, in the comfort of our plush air-conditioned office, we recklessly decide to time the entire journey. I volunteer to begin with the eight-km Ennore-Thiruvottiyur stretch.
But first, I need to get to Ennore.
The Ennore creek. Photo: K. Pichumani Finally on a train to Sullurupeta, I find myself crammed into a sweaty compartment, with six women on a seat meant for four. Pushy vendors shove sacks of rice past me, a man with a bucket of biscuits stands heavily on my foot, while a lady sells spinach over my head. At 12.43 p.m, the train lazily begins its journey. At Korukkupet, an angry woman boards, then yells at everyone between irate bites of a heavily-salted raw guava. I settle down for the ride About an hour later, I get off at Ennore station, which is deserted except for a sleepy dog thoughtfully scratching himself. Stepping outside, I find myself on a village road dominated by a shiny gold statue of MGR. The quiet is punctuated by occasional moos from a passing cow. In a makeshift shack under a tree, a woman quickly fries crisp chilli bhajjis. Which reminds me, it’s time for lunch.
A short walk later, I’m on the main road, strung with a charming variety of shops. I seem to have gone back in time with that one-hour journey. There are old-fashioned barber salons, dark, grubby and cluttered, filled with shaving cream-slathered men. A handwritten advertisement outside a provision shop boasts brooms for Rs. 25. The local tailor sticks his head out of his shop to tell the provision store owner, across the road, that his clothes will be ready soon.
I stop at the store selling fishing nets. “How much?” I ask. The owner looks at me suspiciously. “Depends,” he shrugs. “On what?” I ask, undeterred. “What do you want it for?” he snaps. Slightly out of my depth, I meekly suggest, “Fishing?” He nods grimly. “Very costly. Very very costly.” Intrigued, I press on, despite the fact that this is beginning to feel like a Vaudeville routine. He pauses for theatrical effect, then announces, “100 rupees.” On further investigation, I find that it’s actually Rs. 100 a kilo, but that also varies depending on how fine the net is. Prawn nets, for example, are the most expensive, costing up to Rs 30,000.
Photo: Nimalan Arooran Further down the road, an elderly man asks if I would like a boat ride. They don’t get tourists often, he says, but school children come here on day trips via the Don Bosco Youth Animation Centre. As we chat, a group of locals gathers, intent on giving their opinions. It’s Rs. 1,000 for a boat ride, they say. But first, eat lunch. After some energetic debating, I’m instructed to eat at Riyaz biryani, the ritziest place in town. I climb a set of grimy stairs and settle in their A/C section, at a table splattered with the food of past diners. The menu is urbane, despite its chilli-sauce stains, offering “Indian, Chinese and biryani.” The chicken biryani is served on a cheerful yellow plate. A chef industriously sharpens his gleaming knife on the threshold as I eat. So I keep my food review to myself.
Back on the road, I Google ‘Things to do in Ennore’. Ixigo spits back, ‘0 top things’. “Fine,” I think. “I’ll find them myself.” However, after walking for 20 minutes, presumably in circles, I take a share auto and ask the driver for help. Five people clamber in after me, three of us on a seat with our knees pulled up, three on a precariously balanced wooden plank. One more man gets in, affectionately attaching himself to the driver. Perhaps, it is because it so different from congested Central Chennai, but I’m charmed by Ennore. As we rattle towards the beach, I watch cheeky goats clambering over rocks. We drive past pista-green village houses, dinky shops and a group of men playing cards under the trees. It’s all very idyllic. Getting off at the main bus stand, I walk towards dramatic Nettukuppam Pier, a favourite with movie makers.
The beach is deserted, a nice change from Marina and Besant Nagar. I walk through clean, warm sand, sprinkled with shiny sea shells, towards a set of bobbing catamarans in bright candy colours. Climbing up a hill of sand, I’m rewarded with a sweeping view of the sea and the thermal station on the right; an intriguing mix of traditional and contemporary Chennai. Ennore is home to rich wetlands. Kosasthalaiyar river, which originates in Andhra Pradesh, drains into Ennore creek. The area has saltpans, mudflats and mangroves. A suburb of North Chennai, under Chennai Corporation, Ennore is part of Thiruvallur district. But, it is also one of the State’s oldest habitations by the sea. However, there’s little information about it online. Well, other than a riveting newspaper article titled ‘Gang hurls bombs to kill Ennore rowdy’. The story describes how a group of masked men took share autos to the crime scene — you have to applaud how craftily Ennore gangs balance crime with frugality.
A 2012 file photo of the Ennore Beach. Photo: M.Vedhan According to a recent article in The Hindu , the creek, backwaters and sea have been systematically harmed over the past three decades because of industrialisation. In April, six fishing hamlets brought out a report, based on a public hearing, called ‘Death by a Thousand Cuts’, which highlights the systematic damage done to the Ennore creek, particularly by the public sector firms.
From here, I journey through Nettukuppam, Thazankuppam, Tulsikuppam and Eranavurkuppam, using a combination of share autos and walking. The road is packed with lorries with names such as Palani Murugan and Diveya. Whenever there is a break in the groynes, I run onto the beach, and wet my feet in the cool, frothy, refreshing waves. There are small stalls on the way, advertising tea and onion bhajjis. At Sivakami Nagar, the right side of the road gets green and swampy. At Netaji Nagar, the road gets busier with a ladies tailor, motor shops and provision stores.
Mesmerised by passing trucks, I lose track of time, then suddenly realise I’ve reached Thiruvottiyur. One hour and 10 minutes, excluding lunch. I reward myself with a piping hot cup of sweet ginger chai.
