HfHR sends Pongal greetings to all our Tamil brothers and sisters
PONGALO, PONGAL!
Pongal and Communal Harmony in Chennai:
An early morning walk in North Chennai the day before Pongal
“Let’s throw caste and religious hatred into the Bogi fire and celebrate Pongal together as Tamilians to attain Equality!”
I was part of a group-walk on January 13, 2019 in Tondiarpet, North Chennai, thanks to the Chennai Photowalk Team. I went there with the idea of taking pictures; instead, I ended up spending most of my time talking to residents and was quite moved by some of the encounters.
As expected, people were curious about who we were and what our purpose was for being there so early in the morning. When I told one gentleman that I was from Mylapore (a predominantly upper-class Brahmin neighborhood), he quipped: “You all live by the pen, and we here live by our hands!”
Without my prompting, he talked about how in his neighborhood, Hindus live side by side with Muslims and Christians. He proudly spoke of how there has never been any communal conflict, despite occasional attempts by outsiders to stir up trouble. Neighbors would visit one another, talk out their differences, and, as the giant billboard at the entry to the neighborhood indicated, celebrate Pongal and other festivals together (Samatthuva Pongal).
“A great introduction to this privileged dude from Mylapore to start his walk in a working-class melting pot in North Madras,” I thought to myself.
I spoke to a number of people about the plastic ban. The man in the corner, who was cleaning chicken (sometimes pulling the skin deftly with his teeth), told me that the ban was affecting his business, and he is yet to find alternatives. However, the banana leaf merchant across from the row of butcher shops told me that his sales had gone up and that he was now also selling mandara leaves as a more lasting alternative. The man with the ‘Mylapore quip’ opined that the plastic ban was a good thing and problems will get sorted out over time. Some of the street cleaning ladies told me that after a few days of status quo, they had indeed begun to see a steady decline in plastic garbage.
The man operating a table-top tandoor seemed to be popular in the neighborhood and he was super busy to talk to me. When I asked him whether it was OK to take a photo, he declined with a smile, “vaanda sir.” That made me wonder if I wasn’t taking for granted the right to parachute into the privacy of this community, camera ready in hand.
As I was exiting the Murugan koil (temple), I stopped at a tailor’s shop to ask him if by any chance he was stitching cloth grocery bags for sale to the community. This query lead to a fairly long conversation, in which he painted similar themes about the need for communities and religions to live together in harmony, quoting liberally in Tamil from the Quran: “Some say that religious traditions are different and irreconcilable.” But, he insisted, “Naan oru kaalum athia etthukkamatten” (i.e., I will never accept that argument).
He also held forth on how the way one communicates is so important to peace even when dealing with anti-social elements. He illustrated this with a story when someone held a knife to his throat in Mumbai and demanded all his money. He had Rs. 125 with him, and he told the assailant that he was on his way to purchase milk for his baby; if, however, the man felt that his need was more urgent, then he was most welcome to his cash. You can guess the rest of the story: the baby got the milk!
As I was leaving, he had a “small request.”
“You are my guest, and you must have a glass of water and a cup of tea with me,” he pleaded. After some hesitation on my part, we walked up to the busy tea shop at the corner. I declined the water, suggesting that I was already overdue for a pee. But the tea? I must say that it was the best cup of tea I had had since arriving in Chennai. My offer to pay was quickly rebuffed with how that would defeat the whole purpose of treating a guest that Allah had decided to bring to his door today. When I told him that the rest of the group may be waiting for me, he wanted me to call everyone so he could treat us all to a cup of tea.
As I took leave of the tailor to catch up with the rest of the group, I saw a little boy in a pattu veshti (silk dhoti) emerge from a rangoli-decorated Hindu home. He held a stainless-steel plate in his hand, covered with another plate. He walked briskly ahead of me and turned to enter another home a few doors away. As he entered, he called out, “Auntie!” As I passed the open door, I could see that it was a Muslim home, and the boy had just removed the cover plate, and there it was: A serving of Pongal!
For me, that said it all about how special this neighborhood was. Despite the numerous everyday challenges this community faces with regards to infrastructure and basic amenities, and the continued marginalization of north Chennai, I realized that I was witnessing the true humanity of Chennai in colorful display, a day before Pongal 2019.
