“It’s the land of agathi keerai ,” says Rajaram, describing his village Achampathu in Madurai. The 53-year-old is standing in his cramped shop that bursts with sacks of rice and tamarind; sachets of masala , shampoo, and pickles; racks stuffed with packets of dal , sugar, and salt. Rajaram sports a polite smile that fades when he talks about his home-town; every time he mentions it, he gets melancholic. “If given the chance, I will run back,” he says. But he can’t. His life is in Chennai now; he’s bound to the city by Raji Stores, his provisions shop on 7th Trust Cross Street, Mandaveli.
Thousands of people from Madurai, Tirunelveli, and Thoothukudi have been coming to Chennai for a living over the years. Rajaram came to the city following his uncle. “He had a store in Kandanchavadi and asked me to run it,” he recalls. It was 1994. “I had with me just a manjapai (cloth bag) of garments and some small change.”
For someone from a quiet village in which everyone knew each other, the wide roads of Madras intimidated Rajaram. “Roads in Kandanchavadi were empty back then — people feared to walk alone after dark,” he remembers. He had a cycle, his best friend, that listened as he cried of home-sickness riding at night. “I found men rough here. There were a few rowdies where I worked and they would speak loudly, demand things and walk away without paying,” he says. Rajaram was too shocked to react, for back where he came from, the provisions store man was referred to as ‘annachi’ or ‘annae’, meaning brother.
But he gradually learned to survive. Because he had no choice — going back home would mean accepting defeat. Besides, he had brought his young wife Rajeswari with him.
Her experience, though, is completely different from her husband’s. She’s from Siddhavinayakkanpatti near Vilathikulam in Thoothukudi district. Her brother helped them set-up Raji Stores.
With a toothy smile that outshines her five-stone nose-stud, the dusky and vivacious 43-year-old says she is in love with Chennai. “I studied till Class VIII at a Government school in my village,” she says. “Until I got married, I wasn’t allowed to step outside my home.” She didn’t even know what existed beyond it. She remembers crying alone sitting in her backyard, yearning for more.
Chennai was the answer to all her dreams. Here, she was free. Here, the world was hers to explore. “ Ennai vaazha vaitha oor (the city that gave me a life),” she says, of the city. While her husband was fighting to overcome his fears, Rajeswari quietly moulded herself into a confident person. “Today, I can manage anywhere on my own,” she declares. “I’m fearless.” She adds, “Isn’t that a big thing, considering I spent most part of my life within four walls? I think so.”
She has fond memories of riding pillion with her husband on his bicycle. “I was quite plump then and he was so lean. But we rode all the way from Kandanchavadi to the Marina beach,” says Rajeswari.
“We’ve sat at the beach for hours with poorippu (awe). Even today when we go to the beach, it evokes the same feeling,” she smiles.
The couple has an 11-year-old daughter called Sharmila. “A lot of our relatives are here and we often meet and cook together,” says Rajeswari. Although she likes the style of cooking she learned from her mother, she now cooks the Chennai way. “Back home, vegetables were cooked mostly like a kootu , in a masala made of ground coconut and jeera . But now I fry and sauté everything in oil. This is how my daughter likes it.”
As we leave, Rajeswari offers us paniyaram made of wheat flour from a steel dabba . It’s a little like Madurai’s famous ravapaniyaram , but a modified Chennai version.
This year, for Madras Week, we meet a cross section of people and communities that have found a home in Chennai.
