It’s a sultry weekday, and the Government Museum’s sprawling Pantheon Complex is almost desolate. A handful of tourists rest by the trees or on the theatre steps. NS Thirunavukarasu, though, hasn’t left his usual perch: a sill near the backstage entrance. The 81-year-old sits in wait of customers. A motley collection of maps (of the city and its specific localities), albums with photographs of iconic Chennai buildings, postcards and the odd How To Improve Your Spoken English book, are carefully laid out. “ Ey thodathe ! (Don’t touch),” he chides an approaching child, who clearly intends to mess with his meticulously placed items.
As I casually browse through them, he obsessively rearranges each single postcard I have touched. Thirunavukarasu has been doing this at the Government Museum for 30 years now — he has graduated from selling just postcards to books and maps as well, but his approach remains the same. As people pass by, he calls out in English, “Sir... our wonderful Madras, come and see?”
This summer, however, business has not been as usual. “Elections no? So people don’t travel as much. Usually during the summer break, the museum is very busy. But this time, there is absolutely no business,” Thirunavukarasu says, making sure every passing acquaintance gets to hear of this.
Thirunavukarasu, who grew up in then-Madras, has always been in the business of books. Before relocating to the museum, he used to be at the High Court. “I used to sell the same things there: when the old Light House was functional, a lot of tourists used to come,” he says.
After moving to the museum, he had a book stall inside the premises — which was asked to be shut down by museum authorities. “But they allowed me to sit here, and walk around with these things.” So now, a brown duffel bag is his companion. Whenever tourists well up near the Art or Bronze galleries, he carries his goods to them. This is also how he transports the items from home in Chintadripet (where he stays with his 71-year-old wife), at 11 am everyday. Except Friday, when he makes his weekly visit to Parry’s to source wares in bulk.
Has he made any friends here in these years? “Tourists don’t really talk to me as such, they look through my things, buy something sometimes and just move on. But there are a few locals who are regular visitors, and a few who work here. I get to speak to them,” he says, guiding a few tourists to the galleries. Meanwhile, a father and a daughter stop by and look at the photo album to see how many tourist spots they have covered. Two minutes later, they keep the album back and proceed.
“ Ithellam waste! This is what they do all the time. They never buy. In that sense, foreigners are nice — at least they buy what they take.” He seems grumpy now, but as I prepare to leave, he hands me a postcard of the National Art Gallery with a smile — “You said you like this building very much, no? Here’s a gift.”
