Towards the end of 2001 (or perhaps early 2002) I went to Madras on a patent matter and spent a week there. I didn’t know much about the city, it had merely been a transit stop before we went on to the hinterland when on holiday. It was the first time I had stayed any length of time in the city and much of that time was spent meeting lawyers.
Our first meeting was with S. S was a well known barrister and the company was paying top dollar in hiring him. S spent much of his time in Delhi and as we later found was much wont to dropping names. He had a sea side bungalow in Madras and had flown down for the meeting. The bungalow was tastefully appointed in a style that could be called South Indian Modern. The inhabitants of the house, if any, were discreet though a dog roamed freely on the premises. S was voluble in the manner South Indians are, words issued from his mouth, collided, flowed on and while we marvelled at the man’s eloquence little of import was said. K, our local lawyer, was from Kerala and a neat, dapper man who seldom spoke. We ourselves barely got a word in. Eventually someone came around with the coffee. In fact we found that victuals (this word seemed very S, hence it’s employment here) were as measured in Madras as speech was not. In contrast, in Calcutta where a parallel case was running, sweets and tea punctuated every other hour so that we emerged more often than not in a sugar haze.
As it happened both S and K had little to do, as the matter wasn’t heard. This in spite of the fact that the Madras High Court appeared a model of efficiency compared to Calcutta’s. S flew back to his other important clients, the rest of our party departed leaving me to await a further court date. K, who also had a lavish bungalow, dumped me in his offices. These offices were dominated by exceedingly large gods and goddesses and people who went home to lunch but never offered you a glass of water or invited you out for a bite. During the long hours I spent there transcribing notes, K’s assistant, who sported many auspicious rings, ascertained my caste and then informed me that “we” were honest as we were too scared to cheat our employers. This seemed to imply that the intent lay underneath.
My cousin was then studying in Madras and we caught up a couple of times. This was the better part of my trip. Our jaunts in the hot, damp nights of Madras let me discover parts of the city I had never seen before. As in Calcutta, I was struck by the strong regional flavour of the city. In the day there was a businesslike, clear cut air to the city, partly I think due to the Tamil temperament. But in the nights, the city and the sea held a soft romance.
And in the evenings when I returned to my room in the hotel, I would pass temples and step out occasionally to visit one. The passageways would be long and dim and even the Gods would be barely visible bar a flash of silk or jewellery. On a smaller scale the householder’s evening rituals were replicated in numerous roadside shrines across the city. At the twilight hour, the world was briefly illumined, scented with jasmine before it slipped into the dark.
Our first meeting was with S. S was a well known barrister and the company was paying top dollar in hiring him. S spent much of his time in Delhi and as we later found was much wont to dropping names. He had a sea side bungalow in Madras and had flown down for the meeting. The bungalow was tastefully appointed in a style that could be called South Indian Modern. The inhabitants of the house, if any, were discreet though a dog roamed freely on the premises. S was voluble in the manner South Indians are, words issued from his mouth, collided, flowed on and while we marvelled at the man’s eloquence little of import was said. K, our local lawyer, was from Kerala and a neat, dapper man who seldom spoke. We ourselves barely got a word in. Eventually someone came around with the coffee. In fact we found that victuals (this word seemed very S, hence it’s employment here) were as measured in Madras as speech was not. In contrast, in Calcutta where a parallel case was running, sweets and tea punctuated every other hour so that we emerged more often than not in a sugar haze.
As it happened both S and K had little to do, as the matter wasn’t heard. This in spite of the fact that the Madras High Court appeared a model of efficiency compared to Calcutta’s. S flew back to his other important clients, the rest of our party departed leaving me to await a further court date. K, who also had a lavish bungalow, dumped me in his offices. These offices were dominated by exceedingly large gods and goddesses and people who went home to lunch but never offered you a glass of water or invited you out for a bite. During the long hours I spent there transcribing notes, K’s assistant, who sported many auspicious rings, ascertained my caste and then informed me that “we” were honest as we were too scared to cheat our employers. This seemed to imply that the intent lay underneath.
My cousin was then studying in Madras and we caught up a couple of times. This was the better part of my trip. Our jaunts in the hot, damp nights of Madras let me discover parts of the city I had never seen before. As in Calcutta, I was struck by the strong regional flavour of the city. In the day there was a businesslike, clear cut air to the city, partly I think due to the Tamil temperament. But in the nights, the city and the sea held a soft romance.
And in the evenings when I returned to my room in the hotel, I would pass temples and step out occasionally to visit one. The passageways would be long and dim and even the Gods would be barely visible bar a flash of silk or jewellery. On a smaller scale the householder’s evening rituals were replicated in numerous roadside shrines across the city. At the twilight hour, the world was briefly illumined, scented with jasmine before it slipped into the dark.
:-) remember our "nice" meals at bay leaf in gopalapuram?
ReplyDeleter
Yes, it was ....very nice!
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