Kolu and Deepavali season is when Chennai comes alive. It's that time of the year when setting foot, I mean literally setting foot in the T Nagar-Mambalam area becomes a challenge. It's the festival of lights, but even if lights are not many, clothes rain for more money.
It took my bhabhi and brother two and half hours to manoeuvre their way in and out of Ranganathan Street, for some garden and zoo toys that they needed for their toddler son's school project. I am not surprised.
Andheri's station walk-ways in Mumbai get overly crowded and take a few minutes longer to get you out too. But the crowd their is multi-purpose seeking. You have office-goers, housewives, students, shoppers, businessmen and a whole lot else. Chennai's T Nagar-Mambalam hopping crowd has a sole purpose in life, in the run up to Diwali - Shopping.
I remember one of my own adventures with my cousin some years ago, prior to Diwali. That day, we took a train from Chromepet to alight at Mambalam, only to realise that the stairs connecting the platform to Ranganathan Street were so packed, it took us half an hour to do that one minute distance!
A trip to RMKV Silks this weekend reminded me of that nightmare. Standing near the elevator at the ground floor, I saw the shop's long array readymade garments spread out before me. But not quite. Human heads occupied every inch of space available other than those inches meant for the garments. Families. By families I mean the Thaathaas, Paattis, wives, sisters, cousins, brothers, brothers-in-law, babies, toddlers, school kids, and their shopping bags from the other big silk and garment stores out there in that half a kilometer stretch on North Usman Road. Such a sight makes you gasp. Don't ask me if it's merely for air, wonderment, exasperation, or dismay at such craze!
Human beings love clothes. Human beings in Chennai love silk. They love to wear silk to temples, weddings, birthdays, friends' homes, and even when they're cramped in crowded buses. Despite the sweat and thirst.
Stepping out of the air-conditioned comfort of the silk store on to the very warm and humid air outside, I noticed a family, probably from outside Chennai, bag and baggage, and bold-print covers and bags of clothes from other stores.Sigh! Another family out on a wedding shopping excursion!
A few yards on, is Saravana Store. Yeah, the all famous Saravana Store of the Saravana family, that owns restaurants in so many cities outside of India! Till that moment, I had thought RmKV resembled a vegetable market, all the noise and chaos included. Saravana Store, draped in the IT-firm like glass and metal, was different. With those garish Diwali offer banners, it invited you over to what I'd not call a fish market, but a bee hive. Once in, I bet you'd find it hard to get out before midnight. Such was the crowd! Such was the melee.
It's a store I have wanted to visit for the last few months. The mere sight of that bee-hive I chance-glanced from outside has scared me off. Am not sure if I will visit it for a few weeks more now.
As for the traffic on my way back home, hubby and I had to grumble through Pondy Bazaar's crowd for about half an hour before we finally breathed near Mount Road. To shake off that frustration, we actually headed to Elliots Beach closer home. Guess what! Crowds and more crowds here too. For a minute, I did not miss Juhu Beach of Mumbai. It looked every bit like Juhu Beach, except that this one had more people, but was spread out longer too. Hawkers, ice-cream carts, dogs, fish-fry stalls, beggars, rich and poor, restaurants and stand-by astrologers...
Yeah, I did manage some sea air. And liked it too -- watching the sea shine under white moonlight. Relief.
Monday, 25 October 2010
Tuesday, 19 October 2010
Navaraatri South style - dolls dazzle
I miss the dazzle of dandiya nights in Mumbai, where every housing society goes overboard to decorate its premises, and people decorate themselves in colourful dandiya costumes for the navraatri revelry.
Nevertheless, I decided to soak in the homely elegance of painted dolls that mark the nine days' revelry on the east coast. Dusshera, Navraatri and kolu are synonymous with the south. Gombe Habba in Bangalore, Bommalakolu for many households in Andhra, and simply kolu in Chennai.
During those early years when I spent a week at my granny's place in Chromepet (suburb in Madras - the erstwhile name of Chennai), I'd visit homes of complete strangers in our street with granny to gape at the floor to ceiling magic of painted dolls - Gods, goddesses, kings, queens, men, women, even dogs, besides the `park' made intricately on the floor.
I remember how one such `park' had a beautiful pond with ducks floating on it, apart from the mandatory hill temple, road and house, all fixed on sand spread on floor to make a big rectangle. My guess is, they used a kid's big sized lunch box to create a swimming pool. That image stayed with me for a long time though. Those days, a lot of homes used wooden planks to form the steps in odd numbers - of three, five, seven or nine steps.
Times have changed. Slotted angle metal racks that come in bluish grey have replaced wood, plastic boxes have replaced the brass and silver utensils that women gifted with the `vettelapakku' or `tambulam', the size of such steps has come down with the shrinking size of rooms at homes, and the next-gen IT employed nomads cannot as much as dream of lugging mud dolls from city to city.
Still, a lot of people have held on to the tradition rather ferociously. This time, I had the opportunity to visit three homes with kolu. Not a great score that! But the experience was lovely. I went with the wonderment of a Mumbaikar and familiarity of a Bangalorean.
My dream: may dolls made of eco-friendly material dominate the collections as soon as possible.
--
this picture above is of kolu at my neighbour's home. Lord Balaji and Padmavathy stand tall on the highest step, followed by goddesses Lakshmi, Durga and Saraswathi.
this doll is the charming Goddess Annapoorna looking lovely in her green saree. It is something I have not found in the many homes that I visited so far. Notice Ganesha and his big sized mouse beneath her. A lot of times, Ganesha idols bought for worship during Ganesh Chaturthi make their way to become part of the doll crowd.
creativity overflows at this time of the year. this picture is of my neighbour's intricately made rangoli, with - can you imagine what? Salt crystals! Rub in a bit of colour and salt tends to absorb it. All you need is a packet of those myriad rangoli colours that sell in our traditional markets.
This set of dolls too, is something I have never come across - Ravana Sabha. It's the scene from Ramayana where Hanuman perches himself on his own long tail in the court of demon king Ravana.
The park set. An innovation. My sister and I would struggle at roads for the park. We'd think of charcoal, but who on earth in an urban defence colony would sell charcoal! Those days, felt paper, or velvet paper as we called it, was in vogue for craft projects at school, so a black velvet sheet did the trick for us. This set, at the apartment of my neighbour who lives opposite mine, has recycled plastic that does the job. Just spread sand over a sheet of cut garbage bag and be happy! The hill-mound has Lord Ayyappa perched on top, with the 18-steps leading to him made of gold paper stuck on to a pale yellow chart paper. Notice the all swanky car parking lot, belonging to the household's darling, a shy boy of five.
Pandaripur's Krishna and Radha have made their way to this Chennai home - actually at my aunt's place.
No kolu is complete without Chettiar and Chettiamma, flanked either by fruits made of mud, or household utensils and provisions. This set of the classic couple has a fridge to cool them in Chennai heat!
Ganesha made of leaves, either as pictures or idols, has grown common over the years. This one at my aunt's place, is a flower design - all earthy hibiscus at that.
Displaying dolls alone is not enough to celebrate the nine days. Women have to offer food such as boiled and flavoured beans, channa that is locally known as sundal, peas, sweets and other such delicacies to the Gods. They have to be worshipped every day. Of course, even in this worship, creativity rules.
Pic Courtesy: M Radhika
PS: More related posts to follow
Nevertheless, I decided to soak in the homely elegance of painted dolls that mark the nine days' revelry on the east coast. Dusshera, Navraatri and kolu are synonymous with the south. Gombe Habba in Bangalore, Bommalakolu for many households in Andhra, and simply kolu in Chennai.
During those early years when I spent a week at my granny's place in Chromepet (suburb in Madras - the erstwhile name of Chennai), I'd visit homes of complete strangers in our street with granny to gape at the floor to ceiling magic of painted dolls - Gods, goddesses, kings, queens, men, women, even dogs, besides the `park' made intricately on the floor.
I remember how one such `park' had a beautiful pond with ducks floating on it, apart from the mandatory hill temple, road and house, all fixed on sand spread on floor to make a big rectangle. My guess is, they used a kid's big sized lunch box to create a swimming pool. That image stayed with me for a long time though. Those days, a lot of homes used wooden planks to form the steps in odd numbers - of three, five, seven or nine steps.
Times have changed. Slotted angle metal racks that come in bluish grey have replaced wood, plastic boxes have replaced the brass and silver utensils that women gifted with the `vettelapakku' or `tambulam', the size of such steps has come down with the shrinking size of rooms at homes, and the next-gen IT employed nomads cannot as much as dream of lugging mud dolls from city to city.
Still, a lot of people have held on to the tradition rather ferociously. This time, I had the opportunity to visit three homes with kolu. Not a great score that! But the experience was lovely. I went with the wonderment of a Mumbaikar and familiarity of a Bangalorean.
My dream: may dolls made of eco-friendly material dominate the collections as soon as possible.
--
this picture above is of kolu at my neighbour's home. Lord Balaji and Padmavathy stand tall on the highest step, followed by goddesses Lakshmi, Durga and Saraswathi.
creativity overflows at this time of the year. this picture is of my neighbour's intricately made rangoli, with - can you imagine what? Salt crystals! Rub in a bit of colour and salt tends to absorb it. All you need is a packet of those myriad rangoli colours that sell in our traditional markets.
This set of dolls too, is something I have never come across - Ravana Sabha. It's the scene from Ramayana where Hanuman perches himself on his own long tail in the court of demon king Ravana.
The park set. An innovation. My sister and I would struggle at roads for the park. We'd think of charcoal, but who on earth in an urban defence colony would sell charcoal! Those days, felt paper, or velvet paper as we called it, was in vogue for craft projects at school, so a black velvet sheet did the trick for us. This set, at the apartment of my neighbour who lives opposite mine, has recycled plastic that does the job. Just spread sand over a sheet of cut garbage bag and be happy! The hill-mound has Lord Ayyappa perched on top, with the 18-steps leading to him made of gold paper stuck on to a pale yellow chart paper. Notice the all swanky car parking lot, belonging to the household's darling, a shy boy of five.
Pandaripur's Krishna and Radha have made their way to this Chennai home - actually at my aunt's place.
No kolu is complete without Chettiar and Chettiamma, flanked either by fruits made of mud, or household utensils and provisions. This set of the classic couple has a fridge to cool them in Chennai heat!
Ganesha made of leaves, either as pictures or idols, has grown common over the years. This one at my aunt's place, is a flower design - all earthy hibiscus at that.
Displaying dolls alone is not enough to celebrate the nine days. Women have to offer food such as boiled and flavoured beans, channa that is locally known as sundal, peas, sweets and other such delicacies to the Gods. They have to be worshipped every day. Of course, even in this worship, creativity rules.
Pic Courtesy: M Radhika
PS: More related posts to follow
Tuesday, 28 September 2010
The power of a chocolate ad
My nephew, two years and a quarter old, is yet to pick up speaking. But toddler will just not stop trying.
Ask him how a crow crows, and pat comes the reply `Khakha Khakha'. And does the usual `bow wow' when you ask him how a dog barks. He is not scared of dogs. He goes after them making noises that he alone would understand. And the dogs - they would rather sheepishly walk away than get messed up by the mini-sized human. The first time he saw a monkey on a recent picnic, he was curiosity in abundance. Like most of us adults, he does not like the `kaklaati' or cockroaches. A lizard could scare him off too.
His grandmother, aka my mother-in-law asked him how a squirrel makes sound the day before. His answer, `Ai Aao Uuuuuu' meaning, `I love you', his latest acquisition in vocabulary. She was confused and shocked for a minute. What on earth made the chit of a kid dole out these three all-romantic words for a squirrel?
That's when she remembered - it was that ad. There were hardly any squirrels around home, so when the Kitkat ad with animated squirrels played on TV one day, the whole family stood still to watch it those few seconds. She showed him what a `squirrel' was. When he gaped at the TV screen, little did anyone imagine he would associate those squirrels and the Michael Jackson style steps, the Kaate Nahin Kat-thi number and the crooning, with `I love You'. The ad is refreshing, among the hundreds of stereotyped images of housewives and celebrity infested ads we are forced to watch. But then, what power it holds!
If a 45 second ad could leave such a deep impression on a child's mind, imagine what the oodles of violence and sexist imagery fed to us 24/7 could do!
Monday, 13 September 2010
I miss this
It's been over eight months since I set foot in Chennai to make it my `home'. It's a place I have felt close to even when away. After all, I was born here. I like the rides to Besant Nagar beach, the fact that unlike earlier when `beach' meant an hour's maddening traffic away, this one is a 10 minutes' hop skip and jump by a bike. I have in a sense, grown to accept the saree clad, sans make-up crowd out here, though I must admit Chennai's changing.
One look at the city I left behind haunts me still, never mind the fact that it takes just a night's train journey to reach my parents in Bangalore now. Nostalgia, madness, whatever you call it. I miss Mumbai. Madly at that.
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