My name is Valtteri
Kovalainen. I am from Finland and I live in Chennai. This is my diary where I
write some of my experiences of living in this very complex city.
It’s not easy being a
Finn in Chennai, I can promise you. The heat is, you know, kind of special. Also,
the traffic makes me afraid; sometimes, very afraid.
I have many good
things too, certainly. My motorcycle, for example - a Royal Enfield Bullet! She
is a beauty. There is also my house on the beach…to live in a house like that
in my country; I would have to be a millionaire.
My happiest hobby is
taking my motorcycle and going for long rides in the early mornings, on the
East Coast Road. Sometimes I go all the way to Pondicherry and have breakfast
there.
But today I want to share
a special adventure I had last week.
On some days, very
late in the night, like 3 o’clock, I used to be disturbed by the sound of some
people whispering urgently for a few minutes outside my garden wall. These whisperers
seemed to come together outside my house and disappear like a cloud. I wondered
if maybe they were robbers planning to burgle my house or another house in my neighborhood.
About two weeks ago, I
asked my watchman about these people. After much shaking of the head and acting
like he knows nothing, he told me that these were some local people who meet
and go for a drink.
I can tell you that I
was very surprised.
I know all the good
bars in this city. They close by maximum 1 AM. And the police are everywhere to
catch you and fine you if you are drunk and driving. So, some people meeting at
3 o clock in the morning to go for a drink was, what I can say, very interesting.
After a few days, I again
asked my watchman who exactly these people were. After some hesitation he told
me that it was the old gardener who was the main man. This gardener was a shadowy
fellow. I rarely see him but he is supposed to be my gardener. I told the
watchman that I wanted to talk to this man. Two days later, he came with the
watchman and stood silently in front of me.
With the watchman as
interpreter, I asked the gardener about the 3 A.M. drinking. He just stood
there and looked at me blankly. I waited a moment and came to the point. I told
him I wanted to go with him and his friends to have a drink at 3 o clock in the
morning.
After the watchman
interpreted my request, an animated discussion broke out in Tamil between the two.
I made out some words like “cycle” and “Reddykuppanh” and “local” from the
gardener. My interpreter, the watchman,
kept repeating "bike” and “Bullet” to the gardener. I understood the
problem and interrupted them. I told them that the gardener and I could go to
the “place” on my motorcycle.
The old walnut was not
convinced at first but with a little encouragement from the watchman he finally
agreed, reluctantly. A date and time was agreed upon and before saying goodbye the
watchman formally introduced him to me as Velu….
And so it came about
that two days later, at 3 o clock in the morning, I was waiting with my bike outside
my house for Velu and his gang.
They appeared from
different directions - 6 men on 3 cycles, loudly whispering greetings at each
other. I started my bike, Velu got on and we were off. As we turned into ECR
towards Mamallapuram, Velu shouted “Reddykuppanh” into my ears and I nodded my
head. After several kilometers Velu tapped me on my shoulder and waved his hand
signaling me to slow down and turn.
I had done some
checking with my friends at the office and they had explained to me that this early
morning drinking place on the beach might be a joint for selling “rice beer”.
They told me that this was a fisherman’s specialty and that the local name for
the drink was “sunda-kanji”. Strictly
speaking it was an illegal item. The fishermen drank this before they set out
to sea before dawn. This perhaps explained the odd timing for these parties.
We turned left into
one of the many lanes that lead from the ECR to the beach and at the very end
of the street we stopped. Velu’s friends soon arrived and we all trooped in a single
file with Velu leading.
At the edge of the
village, on the very sands of the beach, there were some abandoned houses. Detritus from the Tsunami.
We entered
one of these buildings. We were in a small, dark hall with no lights. Velu
pointed with a jerk of his head and we shuffled towards a corner.
As my eyes adjusted to
the darkness, I saw that there were already about two dozen people in the room.
There was an edgy expectancy in the air. The gathering was silent but a small
buzz rose and died when they noticed me, the newcomer. I could smell beedies
and cigarettes. With my gang, I too sat down on my haunches on the bare
concrete floor and lit a cigarette.
A woman and two men
suddenly walked in through a door in the far
corner of the hall. They each had three sturdy plastic jugs clasped in each
hand and quietly moved back and forth and distributed the jugs – one per customer.
The jugs were filled ¾ with some liquid. I could not make out the color in the
darkness but the smell reminded me of sake.
After the jugs were distributed
the three people brought out some trays. The aroma of spices and seafood filled
the room. When the woman came to our group and lowered the tray I saw piles of
anchovy like fish and small crabs.
Velu mumbled something
and the woman heaped several portions on a banana leaf and handed it over. Velu
placed it on the floor and everyone reached to take a piece. We now finally started
to drink, straight from the mugs.
The drink not only
smelt but also tasted a little like sake. We quietly sat sipping from our jugs
and feasting on the anchovies and curried crabs. There was very little
conversation.
After about 30 minutes we all finished our drinks and stood up. I
had a pleasant buzz going. Velu looked at me with a smile. I smiled right back
and gave him a 500 rupee note. And suddenly everybody in the gang was smiling.
When we paid the woman
and stepped out of the building, dawn was just breaking and the birds in the
trees were waking the rest of the world up.
