Short N Snappy

– MMM

Heat of the moment

This column falls due just as what little there is of the mind of The Man from Madras Musings (MMM) has got all addled with the heat. MMM can think of nothing other than the heat at this point in time and conversely, he is forever dreaming of cooler climes. But that is not to be, what with MMM having many irons in the fire (a singularly appropriate expression given the temperatures prevalent) in this our blast furnace that is also known as Chennai or Madras.

In order to cool off, MMM goes for a swim quite often. You cannot say MMM is a very graceful swimmer, but what he lacks in style he makes up by sheer strength. It has been said by MMM’s critics (and here he has in mind his good lady, also known as She Who Must Be Obeyed) that MMM in water is a menace to others in the pool. Which is not entirely unjustified, for MMM is at his best when there are no other swimmers in the vicinity.

In summer this luxury is usually denied MMM for he, not being of the uber rich category that has its personal swimming pool, mingles with the hoi polloi and sports in the water to the extent he can. But, sadly, he finds that the extent is narrowing rapidly, not because of MMM expanding in size or becoming restricted in his mobility but entirely due to certain kinds of people who swim these days, or at least think they do.

MMM is no snob, but he does feel that there is a kind of social hierarchy in swimming that needs to be observed. Many years ago, when MMM was a mere MMM and learnt swimming, these were proprieties that were binding and could not be given the go by. Thus, the slow and steady swimmers, who swam rather in the manner of the whales, were given the extreme left lanes and also much of the deep end. The elderly, who walked in the water for orthopaedic reasons, rather in the manner of elephants that had come to a watering hole, did so on the traverse, taking care to ensure that they did not block the lanes of the fast swimmers, who like shoals of smaller fish kept darting to and fro. The shallow end was reserved for the crocodiles, them that did not move much but stood about chatting. Another corner of the shallow end was for beginners and, as they progressed, they moved to a quiet secluded part of the deep end.

The above social order, where each knew his or her place, was conducive to everyone. But these are days when we are in a mixed society and inclusion is the norm. The crocodiles think nothing of standing in the middle of the pool, the largest of them holding the others in thrall about how he made a killing in the commodities market. The man was a kind of human ticker tape, the way he was reeling off prices of such items as koton, iron (pronounced as in irony), branj and ishteel. The others stood around and it was a wonder that they were not taking notes on waterproof notepads. Colliding with them midstream, MMM wondered as to why they had to meet in water if all they were wanting to do was to chat about their business skills.

The coaching classes too have changed in nature. This being a generation of aggressive parents, they much prefer their wards to swim in the outer lanes as it enables them (the parents) to walk along on the sides, yelling out instructions rather in the manner of a coxswain in a boat race. That in turn has displaced the whales who have taken to swimming traverse at the deep end thereby pushing the elderly elephants to walk traverse at the shallow end. And these being days of the ultra safe, when no public pool in the city can have a deep end (the number of those dying by drowning has not come down due to this useless ruling by the way), there is no stopping the non-swimmers from jumping in and blocking others. In short, society is in the melting pot and MMM fears this onset of socialism in the pool.

Dry on the highway

The Law has spoken. And with that all highways across the country have gone bone dry, rather in the manner of the rivers of Tamil Nadu, or, for that matter, every water body in the State. The Man from Madras Musings, however, notes that there is more water in the Cooum, Adyar and Buckingham Canal put together than in any other river. But as for the roads that run along the three rivers, these are completely dry – not because of any superior drainage system but because the Law has decreed them to be so. All bars on these thoroughfares and five hundred metres to the left and right of them, have been barred. In short, these roads have been debarred.

The law has fallen like a thunderbolt on several of the establishments that exist on some of these roads. These range from the crème de la crème, namely the Hotel Named After Grand Tamil Dynasty, which has as many as four bars in it, some of the upmarket clubs and then all the way down to the humble establishments that distribute liquor not in bottles but sachets. Most of these places are now in an advanced state of Delirium Tremens and some, it is reliably learnt, are almost at death’s door, such being the financial impact.

MMM has in the last two weeks called at at least two of them. The Grand Tamil Dynasty hotel, which can technically host at least a 100,000 people, or so it seems, had about 10,000th of that number. MMM had dinner at a restaurant, which could at best be described as cavernous. Attendants flitted silently about as in a funeral and, as for diners, there was just MMM. It was almost like a scene from Macbeth and MMM half expected Banquo to arrive in a winding sheet, shaking his gory locks.

And there is the Most Gracious Club, up north in the city. Going there, MMM found the atmosphere to be like one of those films where grandfather clears his throat in frame three and no word is spoken thereafter till a good hour later, which is when grandfather hangs himself in the barn. When MMM was a Cherubic Child from Calcutta, people in that city specialised in such films. But be that as it may, the atmosphere at this club too was funerary. MMM wonders as to whether the death sentence imposed on these places will at all be repealed. Returning home, MMM was stopped by a policeman and asked to blow into a gadget. These pourparlers having been completed, MMM asked as to why this test when the area was dry. To this the policeman scoffed and said it had had no impact on drunken driving.

Tailpiece

The Man from Madras Musings notes that the white-complexioned people from up north, you know them – the kinds that have tolerated us thus far despite our dark skins want to bring in a uniform lingua franca, and no prizes for guessing what that is going to be. MMM wonders if his Huzur, aka Chief, will consider changing the name of this paper to Chennai Chintan. MMM may have to become MCC – Chennai Chintan Manushya. It could also be Madras Manan, in which case it can still be MMM – Madras Manan Ka Manushya.

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