I am a sort of voyeur. I love public places, observing people, their dress, idiosyncrasies, cultural whims, the list goes on. Chennai airport is very plush compared to the sleepy non-chalance of the Kolkata counterpart, the people very quiet, most with tikas (indicating religious), educated professionals, youngsters sporting college bags. The people here I noticed lack the brashness of a Punjabi, the apparent upward mobility of the Mumbaikar and much smarter than the average Bengali. Generally efficient unlike the lugubrious pace in Kolkata.
I was going for the Craft Council Exhibition and the connecting flight to Coimbatore was an hour late. After gorging on dosas, I sat with my book and a coffee. I was delighted to hear a Bengali tongue and immediately made my way to that corner. Despite being in India it felt like more home. The dialect was Bangladeshi. A large family of parents, son and his wife, grandson had come to Chennai for checkups, not treatment. The father, son and his wife were doctors. Curiosity always gets the better of me often landing me in awkward situations. I immediately asked why not Kolkata since they had to stop at Kolkata, and the journey was maybe unnecessary. I got an answer which I kind of expected. It’s better of course. They were en route to see some touristy places, Coimbatore, Madurai, both temple towns. My heart warmed, despite their hijabs I thought “I see change”. I commented that they would love the temples. I was peremptorily put in my place as expected. Obviously not! We will not be allowed and we don’t want to. Alas so much for my world peace dream!
On the other end of the spectrum at the same place I saw these two elegant very tall people make a dignified entrance. Dressed in a sari and a jacket, the lady and gentlemen had an aura of breeding and a very British demeanour. They reminded me of the old world Kolkata where everyone dressed up for occasions and among other virtues could do a foxtrot and cha-cha with elan, very propah!
I digress a bit and reminisce about a friend’s father. In his last days despite our age difference we became good friends. I helped him out with his computers and book writing and he occasionally invited me for lunch. Having been brought up in a very disciplined household a 1 o’clock appointment meant that I reach at least ten minutes in advance. Uncle would emerge at exactly one dressed in proper trousers and shoes. Over a glass of wine he regaled me with incredible anecdotes and I never stopped marvelling at his razor sharp memory at almost 90. Even at that age he read newspapers with a magnifying glass and was better informed than most of us. We proceeded to the dining table where he held back the chair for me and even though his meal was a stew as per doctor’s prescription, my meal was a vegetarian spread meticulously planned by him, he remembered I was vegetarian. The gracious charm I can say was definitely old world. We don’t dress up except for fancy occasions anymore. How many people pull the lady’s chair back. Who maintains punctuality?
Fast forward to the airport again. As usual I was chatting away about the world and its grouses. During the conversation it transpired that they have a house in Coonoor where they stay for six months in a year. Pre-monsoons. They love playing Bridge at the club, interacting with a great bunch of people corprorate and army, settled there. Their children, all in Chennai are in interesting occupations, of particular note the daughter runs a school where they encourage kids to dirty their hands in the mud, under the sky. A large family, with kids and grand kids, they meet every Sunday for lunch. A must! They have a large rosewood table to accommodate the whole lot, the gentleman said with a twinkle in his eye.
It was hot and the jacket he wore, maybe unnecessary. I learnt anon, it was a jacket he wore when he played for India. My heart skipped a beat and not being very sports savvy my mind grappled with the few celebrities I knew, trying to match a likeness. He had donned flannels, opened for India, set many records and was the manager and later selector for the Indian cricket team. I googled his name and I found out that he was a legend. His self-effacing manner belied his stature.
A die hard Calcuttan, a somewhat cricket lover, I asked for his autograph and when he said he loved Eden gardens the most it not only warmed the cockles of my heart but I also became his fan for life!