Most of us travel a lot. We might have lived in many places, some for a longer period, and some just for short spells. But very few places lodge themselves deep in a sweet niche in your heart, evoking a vibe in you whenever the name crops up. Mylapore has been one such place for me. But the images I carry in my heart, may no longer be tenable, in this changing world. Nevertheless, I like to live in that old world charm.

Amongst our own bloggers, we have a number of them who have a fair affinity to Mylapore – like our Pithamah Dr. AK47 (I mean, ixedoc!), D. Sampath, who grew up there… just to mention two.

People like me who are born to government servants, have had the (mis)fortune of shifting the households once every three or four years. As young kids we never understood the pangs of shifting from place to place. The pains were left to the elders. It was all pure fun for us kids. New place. New schools. New friends to be made. After having been in dozen little towns, only a couple of them end up haunting you with very sweet memories. In my case, on top of the list is Kodaikanal, where my dad was postmaster for four years in the late sixties. About that, some other time.

But why Mylapore? My dad never worked there. At the most, it was only a transit point between transfers. We used to break journey at Madras (as it was known then) , and stay at my maternal grandfather’s house at Mylapore. Perhaps the reason lies there. During summer vacations, it was the meeting point for the entire family to congregate – uncles, aunts, and a whole crowd of cousins. The household at East Mada street was rocking with fun and laughter.

My first ever visit to Mylapore (and Madras) was when I was a toddler of just two and a half. My father was transferred from Dhanushkodi to Rajahmundry (in the present Andhra on the banks of Godavari). We took the famous Boat Mail (an express train pulled by a steam loco) from Dhanushkodi to Madras Egmore. Incidentally it was my first (known) train journey!

Now, life at Dhanushkodi was very very laid-back. I still remember our house among a row of tile-roofed houses facing the beach. There was a mud-topped road going east to the land’s end, where many fishing boats and ferries (going to Thalai Mannar in Ceylon) were docked. Life was very quiet, except for occasional trucks going to the docks. Cars were a rarity. Every evening my father used to carry me to the beach across the road. I wouldn’t get down since I was afraid of the lashing waves. Even more than this, was the sight of dish sized crabs which will manifest after the waves recede back into the sea. They would scurry around frantically in search of their holes to bury themselves out of our sight. My dad used to coax me to get down and feel the caressing of the waves on my feet, which I did after many days of getting used to the sea. The railway station was just behind our house, and watching (from a safe distance) the hissing black monster of an engine, lugging the train of red coaches, was a fascinating pastime for me. (Today, all these landmarks are under water, swallowed by the ocean in 1964). Anyway, more about this some other time, and let me get back to Mylai!

I still remember the ride from Egmore station to granddad’s house in his Ford Prefect. It was awesome for me to see so many people and vehicles in such a big city, as compared to the quiet life at Danushkodi. So, the sight of Madras bewildered me. But the sight of my grand father frightened me a lot more, with his booming voice and the flowing white beard. I made it a point to keep a distance from him, always tagging along with my mother and hiding behind her pallu!

Well, we were off to Rajahmundry the very next day. So, I couldn’t get to know Mylai much that time. I came back with my father a couple of years later. My mother was already in Madras, as she was in the family way, and my grand-dad wanted to nurse her during her delivery. This time I had the joy of riding in a tram for the first time, from Madras Central to Luz corner. I remember trams were plying in Madras till 1953. The fare was about half an Anna (just 3 paise!). I took in every sight that passed by…….. and fell in love with the city. From Luz to our house, we travelled by a hand-pulled rickshaw. That was also a new experience for me.

I forgot to mention my elder brother, who is five years older to me. Well, he had been living with my granddad ever since he was four. I being less than half his age, he behaved every inch truly as my elder brother! There were continuous streams of commands as to what I should speak or do throughout the day, and I was happy to follow those wise words. Of course, there were times when things turned out otherwise; )

My second sister was born in Kalyani Hospital, a famous landmark of old Mylapore. I and my brother were given the duty of carrying morning coffee to my mother. Now, from East Mada street to Kalyani hospital, we had to walk up to Venkatramana Dispensary in Katcheri Road, and take the path along the banks of the Buckingham Canal. My brother seemed to be very familiar with the topography, and he would hurry me to run behind him. But, I being a dreamy fellow by nature, would get transfixed now and then by any new sight. The canal used to be very clean with flowing water. Lots of boats would go by carrying firewood, rice, vegetables and even people. My father told me that the canal originated at Kakinada, and went all the way down south to Vedharanyam (Point Collimere) in Cauvery delta. It seems that Madam Annie Besant, the founder of Theosophical Society, used to travel by boat on this canal between Madras and Nellore. I also remember that there were a number of piers along the canal, where goods would be stacked or unloaded from the boats.

When I look back after over half a century, it is sad that none of these exist today. The canal is more or less a river of sewerage. The vision of our forefathers to connect far-flung places by such a long canal, for clean environment friendly transport, at a laid back pace……… sigh : (

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