More than the usual buzz greets the early morning shoppers at the fish market in Urur Olcott Kuppam, Besant Nagar, on Sunday. On the Elliamman Koil Street side, young men and a woman wearing black “Parkour Circle” T-shirts are screwing-in the scaffolding for their act. West of the twin sintex tanks, cloth banners go up and a table is laid with a model of the kuppam as it once was. Behind it, Muthulakshmi, a local celebrity cook prepares for a demo. At the market itself, it’s business as usual. The day’s catch is emptied on mats as retailers await the auction.
asf
The next in the series of “Do-you-know?” events announcing the Urur Olcott Kuppam Vizha, an annual art festival, is about to take off. “The festival has brought people of both sides of the beach close,” says R Sundaramurthy, member, kuppam administration. “Not long ago, the surrounding areas were identified with the word “Urur” placed before their names. Now Thalappakkattu restaurant is the landmark and the kuppam is buried in anonymity! Besant Nagar and the Elliot’s beach are written about, but not the kuppam with its long history and rich tradition! This event is an attempt to correct that imbalance. People outside the kuppam should be informed of our way of life, our arts, our skills. Getting to know one another dispels misconceptions and promotes harmony.”
Argues fisherman and vizha volunteer Saravanan, “There’s a wrong impression that our fish market is dirty, smelly, and filled with flies. Today people will realise it’s wrong. Fishing here is a cottage industry, our traditional varieties carry the Urur brand.” No cold storage, adds S Palayan, a skilled hook-and-line fisherman, now retired. “What is sold in this market is caught between 3 and 8 am every day. It’s a miracle we manage to catch rare fish, crabs and prawn. Try our octopus fry, it’s softer than the sand here.”
The market is indeed clean and the fish are of many shapes, colours and sizes. R Samanthi auctions the day’s catch expertly, much like a professional. “We look up to her,” say the fisher-women around. “She collects the fish at the beachfront and gives everyone a fair deal.” Business is brisk as customers fill their bags with sea-produce.
sdf
Catchy music signals the start of the Parkour performance. It is a stylised presentation of short thrillers — incidents set in the metro, alleyways and beach. The movements of the performers in, out and through the piped structure tell stories that are breath-taking and funny. The crowd loves it. “Parkour is an art form now,” explains Prabhu, the dancer-in-chief. It is derived from the word ‘porcour’ which is French for ‘movement’.
“We develop the core moves into narratives performed with physical strength, agility and dexterity, incorporating every movement the body is capable of.”
The concept was developed by the UK-based UPG company which toured India in 2016. The group joined them and the experience helped to choreograph the sequences and support it with music. “Call it the theatrical side of parkour, the raw jumps have been orchestrated into refined body-language.”
Stories of a different kind are told at the table with the Urur model. Egged on by heritage enthusiast Niveditha Louis and Thirupurasundari Sevval of “Nam Veedu/Nam Oor/Nam Kathai”, kuppam elders narrate tales of Ellamma, the local goddess. “The yellow lines on the door-frames propitiate her for the safe return of fishermen at sea,” they say. “The temple here protects us from accidents inland.” Pointing to the model, they say the kuppam had lost a lot of the palm trees and the thazhamkadu (pandanus clusters) that once defined it.
“The chettiar palace had some 40 rooms, and we would play there. We trekked to Mylapore to buy groceries. Slowly, we were lost to the city. But the vizha is bound to change our fortunes.”
The cooking demo draws a sizeable audience enticed no doubt by the aroma of fried fish. What Mahalakshmi stirs in the kadai are delicacies — thimilu (fish) puttu and prawn thokku — both vanish quickly when passed around. Answering questions like a pro, Mahalakshmi shows the viewers how fish is preserved by a clean-and-dry process. “All varieties of fish can be made into karuvadu ,” she reminds us.
“We organisers came into the vizha for different reasons,” said Nityanand Jayaraman, environmental activist and volunteer. “My entry point is social change and pushing boundaries. Some are here for the love of art itself. We see Carnatic music and gaana as two art forms performed on the same stage. No, we are not thrusting Carnatic music down the throat of fishermen. At Unnikrishnan’s concert the first year, women and children of the kuppam sat rooted and listened. The music was seen as an aesthetic and appreciated as such. Art is not taken into the kuppam with no by-in by the fishermen.”
