The rains, the power cuts and the sleepless nights

I belong to the south side of India, the southern Asian country, where the rains are not as frequent as the hot sun. But when it rains, it makes sure it does at night. I belong to a developing country, one of the most powerful emerging nations, where there are frequent power cuts due to the energy deficit. And when it goes off, it makes sure it does at night. 

I have read most of the popular bedtime stories. Panchatantra by Vishnu Sharma, Aesop’s fables, Akbar & Birbal, Tenali Raman and likewise. These are mostly narrated or enacted by the grandparents to their grandchildren which are supposed to be soporific as well as a lesson of morality. The best bedtime story I ever like till today is sleep. Yes, you heard it right. To sleep within minutes after lying. I can assure that this would be the common like. 

Both the rains with those cacophonous thunders and belligerent lightening and the power cuts with an eerie darkness and annoying silence can separately make us wonder why the hell it has to happen at night. But when these two combine, like they usually do, it turns out to be a night mare, an apt name. 

Yesterday was one of many such days to come in this monsoon season. The chaos they cause due to their sudden onset is something to reflect till the next day night. It lasts till we get another good night’s sleep. The day was boiling at its peak temperature of 43 degree Celsius and just a few more degrees, it can open up a university to offer them. Those emergency lights, torches, candles, the visiris are at their usual place silently sleeping with deep layers of fine dust particles covering them. They haven’t been touched in a long time. 

The randomness of the hall was as it always used to be. The presence of two new tube lights, though one always flickered a certain amount of time and needed a tap on its starter to get it started, made us careless. The chairs withdrawn from their place to somewhere near the television, the sofas moved due to the weight and the force of the person ensconced in them, those small coffee tables adjusted to suit our legs stretched from the comfort of the chairs or the sofas. It was completely random with a zero probability of locating their position. 

It was around eleven when we all arrived at a decision to turn the lights off or rather our parents forced us to turn them off. I wasn't even past the first stage of sleep when the thuds made me groan in anger. I thought I was hearing it in some dream because it was not possible for a rain after a 43⁰C day. The hollering of the rain mocked me and yet I was not ready to give up. Definitely not in an 18⁰C air-conditioned atmosphere in the bedroom. The cacophony increased giving me a call to enjoy the rain. Damn it, the hands were about to strike midnight. 

I should have woken up in that artificial pleasant temperature but my sub-conscious mind found it too pleasing to wake. Only later to find out sweat beads sliding down my face to my neck and it gathered around my neck causing discomfort. The electricity has failed. Thomas Alva Edison or Nicolas Tesla, whoever you are forming sides with, had failed. Contraptions! I have been a fan of them in Tom and Jerry, a global one and Aboorva Sagotharargal, a local one. 

“Uch!” The very famous regional expression of irritation sounded from all the four of us in unison. 

“Appa, check the fuses.” The box is located outside the front door in the parking space. The burning of fuses or the trippers tripping is not a strange phenomenon taking the overloading into consideration. My dad took his time to open his eyes from that deep sleep. He has this gift of my best bedtime story. Sleep within minutes. We are no pirates or pilots to adjust to the darkness immediately and it took time for him to locate the door. He worked his way to the lock and forced it open. 

“Dum!” 

“Aaah! Who the hell put this table here on the way?” I figured it out from that first noise and it was me who did it to see a match yesterday night. I feigned sleeping inside the blanket ignoring the increasing temperature.

He reached the front door. The door opened with a screeching sound and he hollered for a light. My mom knew that I was awake and patted me to help my dad out. Cursing the rains and power cuts, I stood up to find the total place engulfed in darkness. 

“This is going to be an adventure.” I thought. Same “dum!” but a different “Aah!” with an “a” less this time. This time it was a chair and I couldn’t curse no one except of course the rains and the power cuts for it was me again who put it there. I found the light and was surprised to see how quickly the forty plus changed to fifteen plus degrees. The street lights are getting their power from a different transformer and the neighbouring homes had batteries. There was no fuse burns and it was blatantly the power cut. 

“Ma, call the electricity board!” It was my sister this time. My mom told we could wait for a few more minutes, may be fifteen. I waddled off to the kitchen to get some water and again “dum” and “aaah” repeated. It was the fridge in the other side of the house and from then on I spread my hands in an eagle-like position against the walls to move slowly. 

We became desperate and the room was getting warmer. The emergency lights invited some insects and a couple of more degrees and I was like, “Sorry, no hospitality!” and turned it off. The Visiri search proved to be another adventure and this time it was my mom with same “dum!” and “Aah!” and a little curse. I wasn’t sure what it was that time. 

The call to the electricity board always goes in one of the following three ways. 

“The number you are trying to reach is speaking to someone else. Please try again later.” an amiable voice. 

“There are people rectifying the fault now. It may come in an hour.” An abrupt response.

“Which area are you from again?” feigning an innocence. 

I read the power cuts can be efficiently used as a family time and opened my mouth. My voice echoed and sounded like some devilish snarl and I was rightly given an award claiming me an “Amplifier” in my college farewell. I shut it tight and curses continued. After a long time, which seemed to be eternity, a small flick in the lights of the fuse, the power was back. 

I was about to give a long sigh when I noticed it. “Low Voltage”. “Varum thambi, aana Varathu” range. It was looking akin a cadaverous old man tottering. 220 V is the voltage range in India and it’s normal to be around 180+. And it’s now 120+. If India is competing with United States in any sector, it is in the Potential difference, the voltage, though they are technically a little different. And the low voltage has never gone away without again shutting down the power and turning it on. 

This was a 10 minutes to 30 minutes, at times an hour long process. And the AC would turn on, and the gush would make it feel like heaven and “Pat!” it went off. This continued on and on and on and on. When the power went off again, it was difficult not to be terrified whether it was for setting the right voltage or for the entire process to repeat. When everything got back normal, my parents told it was time for my sister to wake up for her college. I laughed slyly at her that I could get to sleep till I desire. When I woke up today, she already reached her college and there was no current again. The destiny has laughed slyly at me.

Outdoors to Indoors.

It was yet another normal warm day, as it is usually in Chennai, until the dark monstrous clouds gathered directly above us, intimidating with loud thunders. Belligerent, cool winds rushed past the bus in which I was sitting near a window. The bus was almost full except for a couple of seats and the conductor walked up and down the aisle asking for tickets. The traffic showed its sight, now and then allowing the bus to totter like an old man. The drizzle was in a full view and all ran looking for a shelter. Suddenly everything turned into a mess. The traffic came to a still, people stranded under the shelters they could find, teenagers spending time in those tattered tea shops with a tea and a snack, vendors desperately trying to cover the products, the animals standing in the open places enjoying the rain, and there I was sitting inside the bus capturing every single vivid moment. A few minutes later, the downpour humbled to a slight drizzle and things turned normal.

Image : Harikrishna Raghuraman

I was on my way to my grandmother's home, where she had been living for the past 30 years, after she had shifted from a village. My grandfather is no more alive. I got down at my stop and the earth was still alive from those few minutes of rain. I felt the odour that enlivened my spirits and the roads with potholes became water stores for the dogs and the cows. They relished drinking water oblivious of the people shooing them away. The main road to the area welcomed me with a construction site which was once crowded with bushes, thorny plants and the local animals and birds.

It was a Tuesday evening and it had been more than a couple of months since I came here. I couldn't see any one down the road. Every house I crossed was locked from the inside with people either sitting before televisions or computers or sleeping. None bothered to enjoy this vivacious scenery and the pleasant smell. There were no children playing with the paper boats in the stagnant water. No adolescent out of their houses to stand under a tree with someone shaking the branches. No adults standing near the wall talking to the neighbours. Everybody seemed to love the virtual world. None came to see who was walking on their roads and none to ask me who I was.

It took me fifteen years back when I lived in other district and visited this place frequently, practically all those festival seasons. We used to take autos, not till her home, but only till the main road leading to hers. My dad did this because he was more than acquainted with all those in the area though it had been eight years since he left the place for a job. The bus stop near the road had a wooden furniture shop whose owner was a family friend. We usually spend some time there and move on. Everyone's gates would be widely opened with children in view playing and the parents talking. As we crossed each home, people used to come out and talk with my dad. They would enquire about my studies and my mom's welfare and would invite us for a coffee. My dad politely refused every time and they allowed us to leave with a word that we would have a coffee with them in that visit.

The shop at the corner of the street, we called it Murthy stores, irrespective of the change of the names (Murthy to Subha to Ayyanar), always made me feel at home. We, cousins, are more in number and we could get anything saying that we were from that house. The shop keeper Anna never refused to give anything and our elders always compensated it. The huge tree in front of a nearby house always had nice fragrant flowers and I have never left the place without sticking its petals to my nails and making demon-like appearances. And in each house, I always got a comment how my father was when he was young , many a time same set of stories repeated. My grandparents introduced me to their neighbors and proudly said that I was their first grandson. It used to embarrass me even at that ingenuous age.

The "thinnai" in the front always had people and kids on the wall in front of it. Whenever I entered, there would be umpteen people to tell, "Hey Hari, come!" with a smile. Practically there would be no place for us, more than twenty in number, in that home. We will form groups (usually the kids) and sleep in meighbours'. (When guests came to others', they too slept in our home). But all the kids, we slept together in one room. We talked and laughed throughout the night while the elder who was responsible for us that night used to have a hard time sleeping as we never allowed him/her to sleep. My dad or uncles or aunts.

The drizzle came down again bringing me back to present. There I was, in the street with my home at view, yet none noticed me. There was none on the "thinnai" and suddenly loneliness engulfed me. I opened the gate with none to receive me. My grandmother was working in kitchen and asked me to sit. Most of my cousins are married and a good number out of the city. 

The nature retains its quality from the beginning. Same downpour, same heat, same fragrance of the first earth after rain, same wind. But people do change. That place looked like alien. I yearned for the old place with the old people.  

Chennai aka Madras!

This post is part of the blog tag titled, The CBC Tablog where CBC stands for Chennai Bloggers Club. About 35 bloggers from Chennai are participating in this blog tag; everyone will write about Chennai and what has attracted them here. Thanks for passing the baton to me Sylvian Patrick, a Thanjavur Karan who became Madras Karan. He is a marketer by profession, a quizzer by passion, a blogger by choice, a poet by chance,a Photographer by Hobby, a non-conformist by gene and a rebel by birth and he blogs at Sylvianism. 

Chennai! It seems more familiar and closer to me by the name "Madras" though I'd alternately use the names throughout this post. The mere thought of Madras gives me a pleasure like a child at the word 'chocolate'. I was born here, brought up here, went from here, returned here and now living here. Chennai has become an essential entity of my life. I was, am and will be fascinated by this metropolitan. Around nineteen years back, I was born in the suburbs of Chennai. Before I started to recognize things, my parents had me taken to Vellore. I became more curious and more curious about this city. The heart of the state. There are several things which attracted me as a kid and also as a grown up. 

So this city being the place where my grandparents lived, we used to visit it so often during my early years. Almost all the festivals ended up in Chennai and once in a blue moon we did that in Vellore.

"I booked tickets for us. Next weekend we are off to Chennai!"

I had been practically waiting for such conversations every day during those times. We start so happily by train and reach Chennai. The very first thing of amazement is the local electric train. I had always wondered in my childhood days why didn't we have local trains in Vellore! The trains we board at St. Thomas Mount station and the moments we wait for them are memorable. The tickets which they pull out from a machine by pressing a button, the yellow color with minute details in it, the small size with the fonts always make people like to preserve it. The long queue for the ticket counters, the people rushing up and down the stairs and the vendors on and off the platform made me curious. 

Image: Harikrishna Raghuraman

When we wait for the trains, we can see the different class of people; running for the job, hanging out just for fun, college students, vendors and the chief business men, the beggars. If you are somewhere near the airport, you can notice the flights landing and taking off. For a small child who hadn't seen a flight so close, it would be so much fun. I used to count the number of flights sitting on a bench and pronouncing those names. The weighing machines are a play thing for kids. They insert a one-rupee coin; get their card with an advice. 

Image: Harikrishna Raghuraman

The trains! Those days we had meter gauges and the broad gauges were very rare. The horn and the display were enthusiastic. Trains sub-divided to compartments; general, first class and the ladies. The seats on both side of the compartment, those handles, the fans, the windows, the doorstep, the tracks and the electric lines. I love the smoothness even today. Today I realize the advantages of these trains but those days without any reasons, I loved them. "I love trains!"

The other thing I am attracted by are the street vendors. Markets occupy both the sides of the famous streets in the city. There isn't anything you can't get in these places. Either young kids or old people manage these shops.

Image: Harikrishna Raghuraman

"Sir, three items for Rs.20!"
"Madam, take any item for just Rs.10."
"Bro, you can't get any of these anywhere else!" 

These dialogues in the Madras Slang aka Madras Bashai can easily get your attention. Speaking of which, Madras Bashai is the native slang of Madras people which is now the north Madras. This became popular all around the globe by the Tamil films and the 'gana' songs.

"Kundhu!" (Sit down)
"Saavu Graki!" (Death customer)
"Veetla soltu vantiya?" (Did you tell in your home and come?) 

These are the most famous sentences in the colloquial Tamil and one can see auto drivers using much of these. Speaking of whom, there isn't a place in Chennai without autos plying. They have their own associations, ethics and the auto-man from one stand should not pick customer from another stand. There are meters which are not used, there are indicators which are never used and there are rules which are not followed. The share autos are a new tradition today. These auto-wallas become so pious during the "Ayyappa" season. They undergo fasting for the visit to Sabarimala and they form the large part of the people visiting the holy place from our state. 

Image: The New Indian Express

The "Ayyappa" season is well-celebrated here along with other festivals. Wherever you go, you can't miss one wearing black costumes, a chain of beads, sandal and turmeric smeared on their forehead. It is the only festival other than Ganesh Chathurthi celebrated widely among all class of the people. The Margazhi month is the epitome of traditional and cultural aspects of the city on which I have already written a post which you can read here. The bhajans and the loudspeaker make this even wider.

The loudspeaker has become an inevitable part of a Chennai citizen. A political meeting, a star's birthday, a festival, a cinema release, a protest, a celebration and these cover all the areas of this city every day. Without disturbing the students or the aged, it is not customary to celebrate a phenomenon. This is an unsaid rule of Madras. This has indeed increased our noise pollution.

Speaking of pollution, it is at its acme today. The Cooum River flowing across the city with boats has become garbage carrying one. The river is at its worst condition and every political leader has made a promise to renovate it. The banks are occupied by the slums and are full of huts whose lives are dependent on this river. From washing their clothes to their pits, they do everything on this river.

The river! The tourism department arranges every day tour from Chennai till Mahabalipuram which includes a volvo bus, lunch and guide. There are a large number of places in Madras to visit. The zoological park at Vandalur, the snake and the guindy national park, the crocodile bank, the semmozhi poonga, the Marina and the Elliots beach, the Thiruvallikeni and the Mylapore temple and much more. There are buses connecting all these places. Even the remote places.

The buses are of several kinds. The white boards, yellow boards, the deluxe, Ac, ‘M’ services, ‘PP’ services ply throughout the city. Each is classified on the cost of the tickets. 21G is one of the most famous bus connecting Tambaram and Broadway. 568C connects CMBT and Kelambakkam. Another famous one. The highways are so neatly designed and the Kathipara junction is a public roller coaster which I love a lot. The government gives most of its importance to Chennai as it’s our capital.

The Government is here and so the troubles. If any political leader arrives to our state, he comes to Chennai first and there is a lot of diversions; enough to confuse the ordinary. And the airport here gives a great impression about the state to the visitors making this city full of tourists.

The word Chennai not only represents the city but the entire state. When you tell Chennai, it is Tamil Nadu and vice versa. The name Chennai is a shortened form of Chennapattanam, the name of the town that grew around Fort St. George, which was built by the English in 1639. And a few years, we are on our way for the city's 400th day. The Madras day is August 22 and the whole week is full of celebrations. The love for Madras makes its people celebrate its day. We live in Chennai and so we shall live for it.

I have written a short story based on how Chennai changed a person which involves a few scenes (not the main part!) under the title Chennai to Chennai! Now I am passing on the batom to Kalyani Ram who is a passionate new-born blogger whose blog is "ramblings and randomness".

Chennai to Chennai

This is gonna be my first "official" blog post. Contrary to the traditional, i am not going to talk about how I started to blog in this supposedly first post. I would go straight away to name this first post of mine as "Chennai to Chennai". This is a short story of a boy, personality turned freakish turned innocent boy.

Time: Around Nineteen years back...

Place 1: Chennai

THE BABY

It turns out to be the hottest day of the year. There are sounds of laughter, cries, disappointments, success, pride, envy etc., No it is definitely not one of the day of those expected results. It is a different surrounding and a different circumstance. It turns out be a hospital. A man aged around 25 is reading a news article on Sachin Tendulkar, a Cricket player who is gaining popularity among the people. It is supposed to be his birthday. A smile on that man's lips thinking about having his child in an hour or two. He has his dreams of bringing up that going-to-be-born child as a great personality serving for the country. His wife has been just admitted for delivery which has crossed the due time. The baby who should have come out to see this weird world has not come out yet. "Oh baby, Come out!” cries the doctor. Traditional and orthodox family it is and so the sounds of sacred chants outside the room. At last the baby is born at 12 am the next day. Doctors come out holding the baby in hand saying "This is a precious baby!” The tone is indeed sarcastic.

Time: Around Seventeen years back...

Place 2: Pondicherry

THE CHILD

It is a cool spring season with the smell of nice flowers throughout the place. It is the bedroom of small quarters. A young lady is playing with her child on the bed. The door bell rings. She keeps a pillow by her child's side and answers the door. The child loves fantasy it seems. It starts moving. It reaches pillow, pushes it down, moves further, reaches the end of the bed, looks down at the floor and laughs. Moves further in the air. Oh My God! It isn’t a superman. It falls down from a height. It starts laughing. Mom runs to the bedroom. "Aaaaaahhhhhhh!" The sound echoes throughout the home.

Time: Around Fifteen years back...

Place 3: Delhi

THE LAD

Let’s call this child "The lad". The lad grows up. When he is asked what he wants to be in future, he says that his aim is to become a "KALL-EC-TOR" (Collector :D). His father and mother feel proud hearing this from his mouth. So all is set for him to study hard. Starting from A for Apple to the Pan-gram sentence like "The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog”, from the capitals to the Prime ministers (Which are the main syllabus for General knowledge exams), from Addition to complex numbers they are planning to teach him whatever they know. But he never shows interest in studies. Our lad likes to spend his time doing anything rather than studies.

His father always says, " Dei naan solratha kelu da!(Listen to what I say!)". 

Our lad will reply, "Enna vidu pa! (Leave me dad!)". 

This lad's father once goes to a slum for a job. He hears some rubbish words "@@#%$#$%^&##@@@" and turns to see, He sees his own Collector-ambition child shirtless playing Gilli. "Arghhhhhh!". The sound echoes throughout the place.

Time: Around Eight years back...

Place 4: Bangalore

THE BOY

His father gets voluntary transfer to a new place and firmly assures he will make his child a good personality.("Great" to "Good" !!). He puts him in a school a.k.a jail here. He spends his life for the next five years here. His mischief is never down. 

His father always says," Dei thayavu senju naan solratha kelu da!(Please listen to what i say!)". 

Our boy will reply, "Thayavu senju enna vidu pa! (Please leave me dad!)!" 

One day his Chemistry teacher asks him, “How will you find Avogadro’s Number??". He replies, “Go to Menu > Contacts > Avogadro!" Teacher faints.

Time: Now...

Place 5: Chennai

THE YOUTH 

He has come back to Chennai now. The place where it all started. The place where his father rejoiced in his birth. The place where the doctors hailed him precious. He makes it into a good college. He is fantasized by this capital city. His father now decides to make him as a personality ("Good" to” “!!). He thinks "Ezhunooru oora pathavan naanu!, Ithu ena biskoth Chennai!(I have seen several places, What this Chennai is going to change me!)". But he doesn't know by that time that Chennai is going to teach otherwise. First day of his college. He comes to a bus stop near his home. A bus comes packed fully with people. He steps forward to get into the bus. A huge uncle knocks him down and climbs the bus. Somehow he gets into the other bus. He finds very much difficult to stand in the bus with people stamping his legs and pushing him forth and back. He gets down and walks from bus stop to his college. He asks the route to his class and it becomes a wild goose chase. He arrives to the class after a great search and not to his surprise he is late. The professor has started his class. He says him to come for the next class. He stands outside the class for the entire period and enters the class the next period. The lecturer enters and starts taking attendance. He is looking around the class and misses his attendance. He goes to the teacher at the end and asks for attendance. He scolds him for not being attentive and says him that he will put attendance if he answers next class. The next two periods are break and he decides to talk with the new guys. He goes to them. Alas! Those are city boys and he finds humiliated. He goes to the canteen and stands in a long queue to buy a token and when he searches for his purse, it is missing. Tears roll down his cheeks. The afternoon session goes with mixed feelings. He goes to home in a bus and when he is getting down in his stop, a guy pushes him down. He collapses down with little injuries. He walks to home silently. His father finds his unusual sadness and silence as a token of surprise and asked him what had happened. What next happened changed his life!

Our youth says," Appa, appopo nee solratha kelu nu solviye! Ippo sollu kekren! (Dad, You will always ask me to listen to what you say! Now say dad!)". 

His dad smiles and asks him to sit by his side. He starts by saying, “See, you are what you are in this world. That's either one of two things: Either you're somebody, or you aren’t anybody…………..”

As the cliché goes, the rest is history!

 

Chennai da!!!!!! (In tone of “Mankatha da!!!”)

P.S: Alas! Chennai changed me a lot! That is the only connection with me in this story!