HUNGRY YEARS

I STARTED living in a hostel for the first time when I came to The American College, Madurai in 1951 to do my Intermediate course. The food was good, with some non-vegetarian dish every day excepting Fridays, when we had paayasam instead. There was biriyani every Sunday. Snacks and tea were served every evening, with sweets twice a week. Every month there was a garden party with fruit salad and ice cream. For all this we paid just twenty five rupees a month.

The throes of hunger


But we were a hungry lot, for the quantity of the food was limited. And since we played a lot of vigorous games and went for long walks, we needed much more sustenance. The classes started at 10 a.m. and since we had our breakfast at 7.30, we were famished even in the first class of the day. When the classes ended at 1 p.m. we rushed to the mess and were back in class before 2 p.m. We were free again at 5 p.m. when the mad scramble for tea and snacks started. And then dinner at 7.30. But still we retained that lean and hungry look of Cassius. So when we went out we gobbled whatever we could, depending on our pocket money. Mostly we munched peanuts. It was just peanuts for the gargantuan hunger pangs we suffered.

Fabulous coffee


When we had some money we went to one of the two restaurants opposite to the college gate - Hotel Delight and Anjaneya Bhavan. When we went into the town, we made it a point to have coffee in College House. The coffee there was a miracle potion that attracted people from other towns too. Some travelled from Virudhunagar and Dindigul just to have that coffee. We also went to Thowfeek Hotel on Town Hall Road. The owner was a massive tough guy with long sideburns and a bristling moustache. He sat at the counter like a monolith, and attracted more attention than the food there. He always wore a very thin transparent white shirt open at the neck to display a thin gold chain. Food was taken out and served to people sitting in their cars.

Reprising Maugham


Sometimes we went to Udipi Lodge on West Masi Street. We made it a point to sit at a table serviced by a particular waiter. He was an old man, who in 1930's waited on Somerset Maugham when he spent two days in Madurai en route Kerala to do research for his novel, The Razor's Edge. The old waiter regaled us with an account of Maugham's mannerisms, his habits and his taste in food and drink. We sat for quite awhile over our coffee, thinking of Maugham, who at that time was our favourite author. Occasionally we went to a small eatery opposite to Central Cinema. There was a board in front of this place that said, Mann Paanai Samayal - that is, the cooking was done only in earthen pots. Though we didn't know the particular desirability of such cooking, and couldn't tell the difference between this and other types of cooking, we went there because they served a very tasty combination of vathal kuzhambu and buttermilk, which was highly appetizing.

One-man show


We had noticed a restaurant near the college which no body seemed to patronize. So a friend and I decided to give it a try. There were tables in a huge room. The man at the counter was a large individual with a lot of loose flesh. He rang a bell when he saw us come in. And then he came down from behind the counter and took our orders. He turned towards the kitchen and yelled, "Rendu Dosaiiii". And then he quietly went into the kitchen, made the dosais, and brought them out and served us. He asked what we wanted next and then shouted, "Rendu Coppeeee". He then went in and made the coffee which he served us. He wrote out a bill and handed it to us and then rushed back to the counter to collect the money. All this was quite amusing, but the food was not up to par, and so that was our first and last visit there. This place was later taken over by the owner of Anjaneya Bhavan, Narayana Nair, who started the Narayana Lunch Home here. Just reminiscing about these places brings back the hunger pangs that always accompanied us those days.

PERFORMING SHAKESPEARE

A THEATRE group in American College, Fourth Wall, performed Shakespeare's `A Midsummer Night's Dream' this week(11.10.2004). The very attempt to handle a full-length Shakespearean play is laudable because most amateur groups steer clear of the bard.

Fancy dress


Many years ago, Prof. Frederick Jacob (FJ) used to get students together to enact a few scenes from Shakespeare. FJ never bothered about acting, stage movement, stance or gesture. He was only particular about the words being pronounced correctly or rather as he himself did. So we had actors rooted to one spot, spouting Elizabethan verse. It wasn't a dramatic performance.

FJ was lavish in spending on costumes. On one occasion, I accompanied him with two other students to a well known cloth shop. FJ fixed his gaze on a salesman and asked in his English-accented Tamil, "Ingu arasanukkuriya udaigal kidaikkuma?" (Do you have clothes fit for a king?) We explained to the bewildered salesman that the cloth was needed for stage costumes. Where upon he produced several piles of satin and velvet.

FJ selected the shiniest and the most colourful, without bothering about authenticity. A nearby tailor who couldn't tell Shakespeare from Shesappa Iyer, "designed" the costumes, which were more suited for fancy dress contests than stage drama. Caesar and Antony would never have dreamt of being seen in such gaudy garb.

Boy actors


In Shakespeare's time women never acted on stage. Only boys played the female roles. This enabled Shakespeare to use the plot device of the heroine disguising herself as a boy when necessary. `As You Like It', `Twelfth Night' and `The Merchant of Venice' had such scenes, which depended very much on boys playing female roles. Later when these plays were made into Hollywood films, it was ensured that slim and boyish looking heroines like Katherine Hepburn did the roles.

Some old Tamil films were based on Shakespeare's plays. But they didn't bother about the boyish element required in the heroines. In "Kanniyin Kathali", based on Twelfth Night, the role of Viola was played by the buxom Madhuri Devi. However much they tried to disguise her as a boy, it was quite obvious that she was not, thus making `willing suspension of disbelief ' rather difficult. When she was addressed by a character as "Thambi", the whole audience burst out laughing. Kanniyin Kathali turned out to be a hilarious comedy, but not for the right reasons.

In my college days, just as in Shakespeare's time, girls never came forward to act. Boys played the female roles. So we had the advantage of being believable in the disguise scenes. But there were other problems that we had to face, particularly with one boy actor.

Desdemona lives


A friend of mine wished to do the bedchamber scene in Othello, where the hero murders his wife, Desdemona. A boy was selected to play Desdemona. He was a good-looking chap, and when made-up looked very cute, indeed as a girl.

All went well until the final part of the scene. The hero strangled the heroine in spite of her pathetic pleas, and after she `died', he came forward to the front of the stage emoting effectively to express anguish and despair, aided by Shakespeare's gripping lines. Suddenly the audience started giggling and then burst into guffaws. `Othello' had thought he was doing quite well, and so he was puzzled by the audience reaction. He shot a glance backward to find the dead Desdemona standing up and doing `Vanakkam' to the audience.

The boy seemed to have thought that since his role was over, there was no point lying there playing dead. He thought he could take his bow, and retire backstage.

After the curtain came down, we had a tough time keeping the stage Othello from really killing his Desdemona.


The reluctant wrestler


Once in the 50's, a group of actors decided to put up `As You Like It' in the palmyra grove in Hakim Ajmal Khan Road, opposite to the road leading to OCPM School. A small platform was erected and the audience sat on the ground on three sides of the stage. A well known hockey player, Woolridge, played Orlando. Miss. Leela Barnabas played Rosalind, and a popular local beauty, Janaki Menon, played Celia. They had made a senior professor play Charles, the king's wrestler. This professor who was noted for his girth around the middle, simply refused to wrestle. So the scene was devised thus: Orlando and the obese professor hold each other and gently walk out crabwise. Then the professor comes back and lies down, while Orlando stands near him. The audience has to imagine that there had been a wrestling bout, and Orlando had thrown the professor to the ground. But the audience was so busy laughing that it couldn't exercise its imagination.

On such occasions, if you hear a dull, rumbling sound, it could be Shakespeare turning over in his grave.

SOME OLD TEACHERS

The teachers were of various sorts. Some had a way with words, others fumbled and made heavy going of expressing themselves, reminisces J.VASANTHAN.






I WAS watching a TV programme on Teachers' Day last week when I started thinking about some of my old teachers who taught me in school in the 1940s. I remembered many of them, but in particular, I thought about these few that I am writing about.

Geography and hot coffee



Our Geography master, Muthuswami Iyer, was a gangling old gentleman. When he talked about a country, we seemed to be living in it. A large map was hung over the blackboard, and Muthuswami Iyer would use a pointer to show us the various places of the world. He didn't even have to look at the map to do so. Sometimes he pointed to a place in the map behind him while looking straight at us. Knowing that this thrilled us, he kept doing it often. Sometimes the pointer took on the role of a cane.

At about 11 O' clock every morning he would send for some coffee from the shop opposite to the school. Since he wanted it to be piping hot, the owner of the shop would himself bring it across, covering it with another vessel. Our geography master would raise the tumbler high and pour the steaming liquid straight down his throat. We watched in fascination as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down as the coffee coursed down his gullet.

The shop owner would have an appreciate smile as Muthuswami Iyer handed back the tumbler, wiped his lips on his shawl, and took up the pointer again. "Was it hot enough for you, Sir?" he would ask. "Could have been hotter," our master would say. This was a daily ritual that never palled on us. No wonder geography was one of our favourite subjects.

A voice to remember


Shanmuga Sundaram Pillai was short, thin, Pigeon-chested, and had a stiff, strutting walk. He had a way of suddenly changing his voice from a hoarse rasp to a quivering falsetto. This was highly amusing, but no one dared to laugh for fear of his quick temper. Later we found this kind of voice change in the actor, M.R. Radha. Even today when I see an M.R. Radha film I am reminded of Shanmuga Sundaram Pillai.

A determined teacher


Durairaj Naidu was a remarkable person in every way. Even those days when yoga was not heard about, he did some exercises every morning that resembled yogasanas. He walked a mile or two before sunrise and then had a bath in a garden on the outskirts of the town, drawing the water manually from a well. Though his subject was mathematics, he was a great lover of literature, his favourites being Dickens, Shelley and V.S. Gandekar, the Marathi novelist. He was a hockey aficionado, and with Dr. Durairaj, another hockey fan, and the help of a local business group, he succeeded in putting our town, Kovilpatti, on the hockey map of India. He was one of the founders of `Thinkers' Club', an association that met every fortnight and discussed intellectual subjects.

Though he was a family friend, he didn't know how I was faring at school, since he went only to the higher classes. When I came to the 5th form (Standard X), he came to teach us maths. Within a few minutes he knew that I didn't much care for maths, and that maths didn't care for me. "Say, I never knew you were so bad in maths," he said. And then he added resolutely. "I'll see that you get first class marks in the final exams." And so he did, after several hours of extra coaching and the diligent use of threats and cajoling.

An elegant lady


My mother was also a teacher in the same school, but she made sure that I was never in the section that she taught. My class teacher in Std. V was Mrs. Chelliah, a dainty old lady. She was always dressed in costly nine-yard sarees, which she wore in the old Brahmin style (madisaar), though she was a Christian. (She had built a chapel in the compound of her house where services were held regularly.)

Mrs. Chelliah and my mother had had a fight, and were not on speaking terms. They went past each other like ships in the night, studiously avoiding each other. But Mrs. Chelliah never allowed this to come in the way of her relationship with me. She showered a lot of affection on me, and appreciated and encouraged whatever I did. And I always scored very high marks in her subjects.

After one particular exam, I went home and showed my marks to my mother. She was really touched by the fairness and good heartedness of Mrs. Chelliah.

The next day as my mother and I were walking home from school, Mrs. Chelliah happened to come that way. My mother stopped and said, "You have been very kind and generous to my son". And Mrs. Chelliah said, "The only reason I gave him 95 was because we are not allowed to give centum in history". Whereupon they both laughed and hugged each other as tears streamed down their cheeks. That was the end of the feud. Quarrels never lasted long those days.

A varied lot


The teachers were of various sorts. Some were meticulous in their attire and grooming, others were shabby and unkempt. Some had a way with words, others fumbled and made heavy going of expressing themselves. Some were masters of their subject, others learnt it along with us. But they were all genuinely concerned about us.

And we loved them all.

FRENCH LOAVES & FIRESIDES

Eccentricities of some great writers ...




When I first started studying English literature in college, I seemed to enjoy the eccentricities of the authors in their lives even more than their literary works. We had a professor who behaved rather oddly much to our amusement. He made it a point to ascend the platform in the classroom putting his right foot first. In case his stride didn't ensure this right-foot-first fixation he would take a couple of steps backward in a sort of a jig and then restore the right foot to its `rightful' place.

Later I came to know that Dr. Samuel Johnson had a similar fixation. He entered every room putting his right foot first. Another eccentricity of Dr. Johnson was tapping with his cane every lamppost that he passed. In case he missed a post he went back and set right the lapse.

A strange young man


The young poet Shelley must have seemed an oddball to the people in his area. He never sat down at table for a formal meal, but ate some snacks as he walked in the street while reading a book. Mostly he had a French loaf, the long loaf of bread that tapered at both ends. He tucked this under his arm and held a book and broke pieces of bread and ate them. Some men in the street, seeing this odd behaviour, would stand in his way blocking his passage. Shelley, without looking up, and apparently absorbed in his book, would manage to avoid the human barricade adroitly and go his way.

He never used his bed for sleeping. Instead he lay flat on the floor close to the fireplace reading a book and then slept off. Sometimes he was so close to the fire that the edges of his hair smouldered and got singed. But he never noticed this.

Later Shelley lost his life attempting against the advice of his friends to sail in a frail boat. There is a famous painting showing Shelley's body being cremated on the beach. Standing slightly apart from the crowd is Lord Byron looking forlorn, but romantic all the same.

In spite of being strapped for cash Lord Byron maintained all kinds of animals and birds in his house. These included ten horses, eight enormous dogs, three monkeys, five cats, five peacocks, an eagle, a crow, a falcon and an Egyptian crane. All these, except the horses, had a free run of the house.

Captive audiences


Samuel Taylor Coleridge was a compulsive talker. When he got hold of anyone to talk to, he held forth on this or that endlessly. He kept his eyes tightly closed while talking. Once he buttonholed Charles Lamb and in spite of Lamb's pleas that he had another engagement, he went on and on. He had grasped Lamb's coat button and held him captive. After awhile Lamb quietly cut off the button with his penknife, and made good his escape. Later after keeping his appointment, Lamb returned that way and found Coleridge still holding on to the button and talking away with eyes closed.

Ernest Hemingway rigidly followed some writing practices. He typed all the dialogues, but wrote descriptive passages in longhand. He kept his typewriter on the mantelpiece and stood up while typing. But he wrote the descriptive passages sitting at a table. This practice never varied throughout his writing career.

Sheridan, the dramatist, went to great lengths to stage drama in real life. He had with much effort bought the famous Drury Lane Theatre, running into heavy debt in the process. One day this theatre caught fire and in the midst of the large crowd that had gathered to watch the blaze, Sheridan called for a table, chair and a glass of wine. And to the surprise of the crowd, he sat on the chair and sipped his drink. "Mr. Sheridan, What are you doing?" asked one of his acquaintances. "Surely, a man can have a drink at his own fireside" said Sheridan with raised eyebrows. He had staged a scene to deliver a line!

Sometimes one wondered how these eccentrics were able to produce such great works of literature.








J.VASANTHAN