SHORT ’N’ SNAPPY

When the readership knocks

The Man from Madras Musings is well aware, O Chief, of the fact that you are rather fond of the Postman’s Knock, as evident from the column you write for our city’s beloved newspaper. MMM is not very certain as to how much of your readership knows that this is in reality a kissing game, but then he is aware that most of the correspondents bill and coo to you when they write letters pointing out this and that and sometimes to add variety, that and this. MMM, however, is rather differently positioned as he came to realise from some of the reactions he gets.

It was, as a famous author would have put it, the best of summers and the worst of summers. The heat was terrible and then, in the middle of it, came the rains. The temperatures suddenly dropped and that was all to the good. Our city’s administration was as usual unprepared and so water stagnated everywhere. The authorities who run our airport were also caught unawares.

MMM had to catch an early morning flight on the day it rained and having reached the airport he saw mile long queues snaking their way to the various counters and then for the mandatory security check. That was as to be expected, but what were not were the puddles that had formed at various places all along the corridors. The false ceiling, in places where its panels were still attached and had not fallen off, was leaking and it would be no exaggeration to say that it was raining inside the airport. MMM took to social media to say as much and was rewarded with several sympathetic responses. Not so, however, from someone who is employed with the Airports Authority of India, which rejoices in the acronym of AAI. He tweeted that MMM was just the kind of ‘mischievous creep who is out malign airport and nation, Jai Hind!’ That ended the matter, for no matter what the official has to say, MMM cannot take offence, there being no alternative airport to fly in and out of in our city.

But more knocking than the above was the reaction of a matron to last fortnight’s column about Silken Father’s Eatery. The elder in question, who has known MMM from the time when he was a mere MMM, called and demanded to know which so and so and such and such had written such a story that tarnished the entire world of TamBrahms. Knowing that she was at one time quite quick with a ruler, MMM had to summon all the courage he possessed to inform her that it was he who had written the offending piece. That cooled her quite a bit, fond as she is of MMM. But she had a question to ask – would MMM write about other communities, the ones that ingested onion and garlic in large quantities she asked. To this MMM had to tell her that he did write about them and Silken Father was not his sole topic; he had written in the past about the Home of the Spear Wielding Six Faced God and also its rival, the Idli Shop that was named after a synonym of the Spear Wielding Six Faced God. He had also dipped his pen in acid to write on Happy Home from Adyar and Spring Home that has now sprouted everywhere.

MMM and Matron parted on cordial terms but the conversation did leave MMM feeling like something on a skillet wielded by Silken Father. By the way, there is more on Silken Father – another matron called to ask what MMM had against the good man for after the initial hiccups the place was working well and on organised lines. Yes, the dessert was served in a spoon but being diabetic she did not mind she said.

Neighbourly spirit

Those who lived next to or close to Kind To The Poor are stunned. They claim that he was to them always a kindly man, rather true to his name and now they find from the newspapers that he was rather big in the world of idol theft. Many have made their calls to The Man from Madras Musings and expressed their shock, horror and surprise. At the end of each such session, MMM was left wondering if it was his mind that imagined it or whether there really was an undercurrent of delight in the way they poured out their opinions.

All this, in MMM’s view spoke volumes about neighbourly spirit in our city. In the years when Chennai was Madras and had more bungalows than you knew what to do with, it was customary that people never spoke to their neighbours and only sprang to life when the income tax or the enforcement directorate or the crime branch of the police made a visit to the family next door. Now that Madras is Chennai and has more flats than what builders can deal with, MMM is told that the situation is not much different. The old man in the ground floor flat, he is informed, refuses to pay the lift dues, claiming he never uses it, and as for the family in the top-most floor, it locks up the terrace, claiming it has ownership over everything from its floor upwards all the way to the heavens, flyby rights being exempt. In short you need to behave as though your neighbour does not exist.

That was exactly the way the neighbourhood of Kind To The Poor appears to have dealt with his trade in idols as long as he did not fall foul of the law. What surprises MMM is that he (by which MMM means Kind To The Poor and not he, MMM) managed to ply his trade in stolen idols for so many years right from the heart of the city. From the photographs that MMM sees in the papers it appears that his (by which MMM means Kind To The Poor’s and not his, MMM’s) backyard was filled with idols, some of them larger than an average human’s height. Surely the neighbours would have had enough curiosity to look over the wall with a wild surmise like stout Cortez’s men when he gazed from the peak? Surely they would have wondered on seeing what looked like an ancient sculpture fresh hacked out of its rightful home? Or was it that they assumed that he was a great art lover who was collecting all these pieces with a passion?

MMM also wonders as to the law enforcers. How is it that they did not notice huge statues being transported to and from the centre of the city? These are the same people who stop trucks carrying just about anything from pipes to clay pots to cows and buffaloes. Were they that God fearing that they decided to exempt from their gaze anything that was even remotely religious? Whatever it was that caused this selective myopia, MMM surmises that Kind To The Poor was kind hearted to share his wealth with several others and that is probably why he got away for so long. Of course, in this MMM does not include the neighbours, who in the true spirit of our city chose to turn a blind eye to what was happening next door. That was, until the crime branch of the police came calling.

Tailpiece

Still on the subject of Kind To The Poor – a wag called The Man from Madras Musings and suggested that he and his Chief ought to organise a heritage walk to the home of the above-accused gent. After all, said the wag, there was every likelihood that there would be more heritage per square inch in that residence than in the rest of the city taken together. What do you say, Chief? After all, Madras Week is just around the corner. Of course, Kind To The Poor will not be in residence to play host but his neighbours may be more than willing to sing.

– MMM

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