One balmy Madras morning in September, I was born at Madras Military hospital; and thus I began my love for the phenomenon called Madras.
I deliberately avoid mentioning the date and year not because I hate to admit that I was born in B.C. (Before Chennai), but stating the year makes my love for Madras dated. That is not fair, because my admiration for Madras, which grew to become Chennai is timeless, ageless and flawless.
I grew up with my grandmother since I was a child (I still am one, I think). My grandmother was an old-time resident of Perumal street in Royapettah. An enterprising woman and a bit of an anarchist too. Married at the age of 13, she moved to Chennai as a new wife, at an age when I was playing ‘ice boy’ with my friends on the street. My grandmother has been known by different names over the years, names that describe the many avatars she lived as through her life. James Cameron or Kamal Hassan couldn’t hold a candle to her prowess for donning multiple avatars with ease and, what’s more, without the prosthetics and CGI. The many monikers she went by include ‘cheetukaraamma,’ ‘pudavaikaaramma,’ ‘paalkaaramma,’ ‘maavukaaramma,’ ‘kadakaaramma,’ ‘kovakaaramma,’ ‘aiyo amma’, and the list goes on. These are the few names I am aware of, there could have been many more that were secretly whispered amongst neighbours.
My grandmother’s popularity preceded me, so in my growing years I was given the singular title of “Kuppamma Peran”. It was conferred on me by the residents of Royapettah in the same manner in which we Tamils never tire of loving bestowing titles to our favourite silver screen heroes. This title gave me the privilege of walking into any house on the street to hide during a game of ice-boy. I was quickly pardoned if I accidentally broke a window pane with a cricket ball. I was given a priority check-in to water pumps on the road and occasionally down a sweetmeat from ‘akka kadai’ on account.
Did I mention that my neighbour was an influential person, and one of the richest persons in the city? Yes! It was the Nawab of Arcot. My grandmother and I lived in a 2-floor ‘ottu veedu’ whereas my neighbour Prince Asif Ali lived inside a fort, in a palace surrounded by sprawling open grounds and greenery. One might assume that a king might open up his space for the subjects, but no. Outsiders were not allowed inside Amir Mahal and the enormous back gate was always closed. Did that deter us from entering the grounds. Never! We climbed over the big gate, little children slid under the gate, the fort wall on the Mirsahibpet side had a hole big enough for a man to enter, and all the budding cricketers in the surrounding area made their way in and out freely. Every Sunday and on public holidays you’ll find an average of 60+ teams playing bet matches. I was proud to be one among the captains playing. I was an all-rounder, fairly good in bowling and average in batting. — hey! You weren’t there so I get to keep my dream; I was the best in the region, and you have to take my word for it. For many years Amir Mahal was always open for us (through holes & gaps), the resident Nawab didn’t mind this encroachment. I also owe it to Amir Mahal for perfecting my art of kite-flying, manja-making, tree-climbing and trespassing.
I was in the 9th Standard when I first stepped into a military hotel — that’s what non-veg hotels were called at the time — and had my first chicken biriyani with a leg piece. Holding up a chicken leg piece in my hand is an indelible memory, and the event triggered my lifelong interest in discovering foods that pepper different corners of this city. Later that year, Saravana Bhavan opened the city’s first vegetarian fast-food restaurant. From that point, I kickstarted my journey into discovering new flavours, cuisines, and cooking styles. I always had a loyal band of friends who were willing to try out a new item of food, snack, or drink from every corner, shack, and well-lit restaurant. When Columbus set out to the Americas, he knew he was looking for India, but I set out on my culinary adventure with a curious palate without agenda. My discovery brought to my plate biryanis of Mirsahibpet to Burmese atho & moiyya in Parrys. In between there are lassis, samosas, coffees, idli sambars, bajjis, mutta dosais and many more.
Becoming an actor fit right into my agenda of discovering new foods, when my guru K.V. Anand once took me to Seena Bhai tiffin centre on NSC Bose road, a place that serves hot-crispy-ghee-dripping onion uthappams. They have been doing that for over 60 years in the same hole-in-the-wall place that one would miss even if you were looking for it. Would you believe me if I told you there is a 110-year-old 7-seater mess called Thanjavur Military hotel near Kandaswamy temple? It remains exactly the same way when it was started 110 years ago. They cook using firewood and, in a soot-covered large ‘pithalai anda’ that dishes out the most delicious mutton pulav you’ll never taste anywhere in the world. I make that claim very strongly because I have eaten Biryanis all over the world. In this age of renovation and rebranding, Kattaiyan mess has stayed true to its roots and tradition — a lesson Elon Musk can .
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When I don’t want to do my usual free-time routine — reading, writing, thinking, sketching, and irritating my wife — my best friend Sridhar and I take a walk down the Bharathi salai in my area. It is something of a 2-km stretch going up to Marina beach that I like to call carnival walk. The delight that it brings to your eyes, nose, ears, and mind. We still marvel at the Indo-Sarcenic architecture of Amir Mahal built in 1798, as we walk down Zam Bazaar with its cubicle-sized ‘palasarakku’ shops one after the other for a long stretch. They sell all types of medicinal herbs, roots, concoctions, oils, nuts & seeds with their potent fragrances emanating from the stores all day long. Go further and you’ll be welcomed by sounds of parottas being slapped on frying pans, or the ear-piercing cling-clang of kothu-parotta being prepared live. As your eyes and ears are busy, your nose will be drawn by the heady aroma of ‘salna’ — a watery chicken gravy for your parotta. No wonder this area is still considered a bachelor’s haven for board & lodging.
As we finish our walk at the statue of Kannagi, with a silambu in her outstretched hand, along Marina Beach, we are welcomed with a new bouquet of smells. The way her hand is pointing I always wonder is she asking me to go back home and I wonder if I have wandered too far. Our ‘Aachi Manorama’ croons a song “Vaa vathiyaarae ootanda…” in a classic BW movie, the song has a line “Jambajaar Jaggu, naan Saidapettai kokku,” which very loosely suggests that you are the best and a master.
After living in the same area since I was born I am convinced the title ‘Jambajaar Jaggu’ befits me, not because my name is Jagan, but because my journey as an advertising copywriter to theatre actor to TV anchor to radio jockey to movie actor to digital marketer to purveyor of Madras foods, all come about after my first experiences in Royapettah.
From the Madras I was born into to the Chennai that I live in today, this city has given be so much that I will forever be indebted to it. I am content and happy and will continue to live in this city called Chennai — the city that made me.
Yours truly,
‘Jambajaar Jaggu’ Jagan
