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MEMORIES OF MADRAS
When culture was the mainstay
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Nostalgia Deborah Thiagarajan on a Madras that was all about pattu saris, music and dance
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PHOTOS: THE HINDU ARCHIVES
silk and simplicity Women in a culture-centric city
I came here in August 1970. I had met my husband, Raj, at the University of Pittsburgh. Almost immediately, I connected with Madras culturally.
We lived in Thiruvanmiyur and one of our neighbours was a veena player from Coorg. Another was an old couple who enlightened me on local traditions. After having a baby, they said I could not go out of the house. I remember crawling out of the verandah, so they couldn’t see me get into the car. Then, people had the right to tell you how it’s done.
We moved to C.P. Ramaswami Road in 1975. This house was built by my neighbour, Mrs. Jayalakshmi — a musician and builder. Really, a prototype of that generation. She built 46 houses in Madras. She was married at the age of 10 and sold her dowry to buy her first piece of land. The American Consulate has bought five of her houses. She wasn’t formally educated. But, she did all the planning with the help of a structural engineer. She would go to each site and supervise the labour — always in silk Kanjeevaram saris with diamond earrings and a diamond mookuthi. The women dressed like that then — all the time. When I was delivered of my first baby, my doctor was in the labour room in a Kanjeevaram.
It was very hard to find good saris. You could buy one for Rs. 140. I went to Mount Road to buy my first, at a place called Sharadas. There was a selection of just about six. My neighbour said I was lucky to get it that easily. They used to have to go to the bazaar and buy yarn. Then get it dyed, and give it to a weaver along with their own designs.
The popular colour was deep blue, with big red borders. In the 1930s, there were wide borders and checks, and over the years, it was mainly the border size that changed. And, of course, the range of colours increased — peacock blue, mustard, red…
Once, in Madurai, I went to a function with my in-laws wearing a Benares, and the priest said he wouldn’t conduct the ceremony until I wore a “proper sari” — he meant Kanjeevaram. A neighbour once told me very disapprovingly: “When I drive past Stella Maris college” there are always a handful of girls who are not in saris or pavadais. How can they not wear them?”
There was always dance, music and yoga here. And, somehow everybody knew what everyone else was doing. Mrs. Jayalakshmi would have kutcheris at her house. A lot of people did that then. People would stay for more than five hours. Ravi Shankar came sometimes. M.S. Subbulakshmi was a constant visitor to her house.
Kalakshetra was supposed to come up where Muttukaddu is today. Going out for the evening was a big thing. Cholamandalam was vibrant and S. G. Vasudev (a founder) was working to connect everyone. They had performances in the open air theatre.
The Madras Players did English theatre. I also remember watching “Tughlak” by Cho S. Ramaswamy at the Museum Theatre, which is a beautiful replica of an 1860 gaslight theatre. The British air was very prominent in Madras in the 1970s. Everything started to crumble in the late 1970s. It was a phase of transition. I was working on a study of old British houses and I remember interviewing older people who had been involved in the freedom movement, and how bitter they were that India hadn’t lived up to their expectations.
There was no Indian architecture. Just a complete copying of English houses. Vastu shastra was unknown. But you always had your village practitioners. When we bought a farmhouse in Kelambakkam, we brought in someone from the village and he wanted everything located in specific places. That’s when I realised there was an entire subtext of tradition.
Yet, people followed customs. There was segregation, for instance. I could not be in the same room as my father-in-law. And well into the 1980s, my mother-in-law would not sit in the same room as her sons-in-law.
For the first eight years that I was in India, nothing changed. If you wanted furniture, you had to go to St. Joseph’s Institute in North Madras and design your own. They’d dig a big pit and handsaw their own logs.
Things changed gradually. I think all the rituals people used to practice are fading. Like the lighting of the lamp at sunset. Or, drawing a kolam every day. You still see it now but then, you used to see it everywhere.
Yet, there’s a side of Madras that hasn’t changed. Those conservative elements are still very much a part of the Madras population. It is very rooted. The jewellery, the saris, the people… they’re all very solid here. There’s no ambiguity. And I find that very refreshing.
( As told to SHONALI MUTHALALY)
DEBORAH THIAGARAJAN Moved to India in 1970 to join her husband Raj Thiagarajan, Chairman, Bank of Madura. She founded the Madras Craft Foundation in 1984 and DakshinaChitra was conceived as its main project. In the same year, she became convener and founder of the Tamil Nadu chapter of the Indian National Trust for Art and Cultural Heritage, INTACH.
I REMEMBER
We waited from August 1970 to February 1972 to get a telephone connection. Finally, I got desperate. My husband was travelling overseas constantly. I was pregnant. So, I went to the Madras Telephone exchange and cried. I told them my husband was abroad and I needed the phone. And that’s how we finally got an emergency phone connection. It came six weeks before the baby.
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