Mayhem on the Marina
Every visitor to this city is impressed by its wonderful Marina Beach. Over the years, before the tsunami, it braved numerous depredations and retained its beauty despite epidemics of culture, patriotism, religion and politics. These noble virtues find expression on the Marina in its many memorials, stages temporary and permanent, pandals temporary and permanent, slums, slum clearance board offices and homes, statues, picnickers and sightseers, preachers, demagogues, healers and the peddlers of a million varieties of merchandise. Ugly buildings have replaced ugly buildings on one side of the promenade, and uglier buildings have displaced grand old buildings.
The Presidency College cricket ground, once a sylvan setting where heroic battles were waged by dyspeptic Europeans and tufted Tamils alike, for long vied with several other dungheaps in the metropolis for the top spot among open-air lavatories in the continent. A recent initiative by the Amalgamations group has been the first step in giving the ground a facelift.
Until the recent restoration of the Senate Hall of the Madras University, the DIG's office stood in solitary splendour among buildings on the verge of demolition, saved in the nick of time by conservationists, the threat of adding several storeys to itself warded off at least for the nonce. Presidency College, unlike its sorry cricket ground, received a so-called facelift, barely in time to escape the demolition squad's bulldozers. The AIR building looks as hideous as ever, no earthly hope of its façade being improved, visible anywhere in the distant horizon. The ghastly modern lighthouse across the road continues to frighten innocent bystanders who happen to drift beachwards of an evening.
Life goes on on the Marina; with a small rider. The traffic gets more exciting all the time. During Amma's earlier regime, we were all used to long waits while her security men played guessing games as to where she would appear from, once they knew she had left Poes Garden to go the Secretariat. The whereabouts of our Kalaignar hold no suspense to the police or the public, but there was a time he too thought nothing of bringing traffic to a grinding halt because he was late to work.
With the Chief Ministers, the ordinary, tax paying motorist or roaduser of any other description for that matter, knows exactly where he stands - usually by the wayside as these supreme beings whiz past us at the speed of light. It is with the lesser functionaries with officious looking number plates (1111, 5555, 9119, 6000 etc.) that we do not know where we stand or must take cover as they strike terror in the hearts of all and sundry during peak hours. Most of them, in fact all of them, have colour-blind drivers who cannot see yellow lines. They create an extra lane to the right of all traffic heading towards the Secretariat. We all know how brilliantly proactive they can be once they reach there and how electrifying their action on thousands of pending papers bound in red tape. Naturally, we cannot expect these, our gods on earth, to follow rules meant for lowly sinners like you and me.
One of my friends, a driver in a private company assures me that there is a clause in special driving licences issued to these privileged classes which empowers them to kill up to nine people in road accidents. He says it with a wistful sigh, giving meaningful looks at cyclists, autorickshaw drivers and scooterists, and I'm sure he cannot be wrong - especially after watching the mayhem on the Marina all these long years.
The Presidency College cricket ground, once a sylvan setting where heroic battles were waged by dyspeptic Europeans and tufted Tamils alike, for long vied with several other dungheaps in the metropolis for the top spot among open-air lavatories in the continent. A recent initiative by the Amalgamations group has been the first step in giving the ground a facelift.
Until the recent restoration of the Senate Hall of the Madras University, the DIG's office stood in solitary splendour among buildings on the verge of demolition, saved in the nick of time by conservationists, the threat of adding several storeys to itself warded off at least for the nonce. Presidency College, unlike its sorry cricket ground, received a so-called facelift, barely in time to escape the demolition squad's bulldozers. The AIR building looks as hideous as ever, no earthly hope of its façade being improved, visible anywhere in the distant horizon. The ghastly modern lighthouse across the road continues to frighten innocent bystanders who happen to drift beachwards of an evening.
Life goes on on the Marina; with a small rider. The traffic gets more exciting all the time. During Amma's earlier regime, we were all used to long waits while her security men played guessing games as to where she would appear from, once they knew she had left Poes Garden to go the Secretariat. The whereabouts of our Kalaignar hold no suspense to the police or the public, but there was a time he too thought nothing of bringing traffic to a grinding halt because he was late to work.
With the Chief Ministers, the ordinary, tax paying motorist or roaduser of any other description for that matter, knows exactly where he stands - usually by the wayside as these supreme beings whiz past us at the speed of light. It is with the lesser functionaries with officious looking number plates (1111, 5555, 9119, 6000 etc.) that we do not know where we stand or must take cover as they strike terror in the hearts of all and sundry during peak hours. Most of them, in fact all of them, have colour-blind drivers who cannot see yellow lines. They create an extra lane to the right of all traffic heading towards the Secretariat. We all know how brilliantly proactive they can be once they reach there and how electrifying their action on thousands of pending papers bound in red tape. Naturally, we cannot expect these, our gods on earth, to follow rules meant for lowly sinners like you and me.
One of my friends, a driver in a private company assures me that there is a clause in special driving licences issued to these privileged classes which empowers them to kill up to nine people in road accidents. He says it with a wistful sigh, giving meaningful looks at cyclists, autorickshaw drivers and scooterists, and I'm sure he cannot be wrong - especially after watching the mayhem on the Marina all these long years.
posted by Ramnarayan at 7:07 AM
3 Comments:
Dear Ram, I immensely enjoyed this post for, I could identify with two aspects that it brought forth: love for the Marina and the complete helplessness with which we watch our politicians whiz past us as we twiddle thumbs. Though, I am told, it's not so bad now compared to what it was a decade or so ago. Also, I fully agree with your opinion on hideous buildings. The consolation could be that they make the Marina look even better on the opp side. But, I am surprised that you don't like the look of the lighthouse. How else could a lighthouse be? Just curious...
Thank you Bharat. You are right, it isn't as bad as it used to be. Like most of my posts, this was also an old piece I dug out. Caught me there!
I suppose I have a weakness for old lighthouses with their minar-like architecture.
Ram
ok. I missed the minar-like structures. I recall the one in Mahabalipuram, the ancient one juxtaposed with the modern one. Fantastic contrast.
Post a Comment
<< Home