In Broad Daylight (Part 1)

A long and winding bus journey to Broadway from the outskirts of the city may deter most people from taking the, for want a of a better suited word, voyage, but for someone who travels 20km one way to and from the aforementioned outskirts to get to college every day, the destination was a welcome change. From Iyapanthangal bus depot, there are three bus routes that will take you to Broadway, namely 17M, 54 and 11H. Over the course of a surprise break, courtesy the Tamil Nadu government, I was able to make the journey three times, using all three bus routes, and if you ask me, it was well worth the trouble, all three times.

The deluxe 17M ( the conductors told me that there is an AC bus that plies on the same route, but owing to their rather quite sketchy answer to the bus in question’s timings, I decided to brace it out in the heat by choosing a less comfortable but far more interesting option) that I got into started at 7.05 sharp on a bright and sunny morning. Crossing the quaint village-like setting of Porur Lake, I didn’t really pay attention to the route until a good 45 minutes later when the bus stopped at the Palmgrove Hotel bus stop in Nungambakkam. Two years of regularly getting down at the bus stop and making my way to college from there is a funny habit to break, and luckily, because the conductor knew me well enough, reminded me that I was going to Broadway today and not college. Face flushing, and a few chiding remarks made by the conductor to boot, I tried to save face by sitting down again, so much for an uneventful start, I thought. But I digress. Traffic was beginning to thicken, and the steady pace at which the bus was moving slowed down to a more coaxing amble as it reached the LIC bus stop. The confusion of two-way traffic converted to one-way traffic was more than enough for my attention to be piqued. Sticking part of my head out of the window, I caught glimpses of several old buildings, including the heritage LIC building that was in the news for its sorry state of maintenance. The red brick façade with its crumbling walls, blue tarpaulin stretched across one side and the dilapidated condition of its once-ornate arched façade decor made the art historian in me feel truly sorry for it.

But before I could mope for too long, I caught sight of something that always cheers me up, a bookstore. And which other one could it be but Higginbothams! Quite honestly, I could rave and break out into poetry when I catch a glimpse of bookstores in unlikely places, well, unlikely for me, at least. A fleeting glance at the squat one-story building, with its whitewashed walls and arched windows was enough to make me want to get off at the next stop, throw caution and a deadline to the winds, walk back to the bookstore and possibly consider getting a job there, or maybe finding a secret nook to live in. With all those books to keep, whose to find out? But, again, I digress. I reminded myself of my aim, and, unfortunately, my deadline, and firmly readjusted my bottom on my seat with firm determination to not be sidetracked by the beautifully vintage buildings that seem like they’ve been transported via Wells’ Time Machine into the concrete jungle path called Anna Salai. As the bus trudged along, the now hour long journey seemed more interesting to pay attention to, so, taking my earphones off, I decided to make the most of what was being casually tossed my way by means of a bus that was slowly getting more crowded with office-goers and school teachers.

I wish I could say my determination was steadfast, because within minutes, I found myself excited at seeing another gorgeous building, but thankfully, like Higginbothams, this piece of architecture was being cared for. Time, literally, stood still for me as we passed the watchmakers P.Orr & Sons shop. Unfortunately, my grandmother’s tale of how my grandfather took her to buy her a watch from there for her birthday many decades ago could not find find a strong foothold in my mind that was now beginning to resemble a newt’s in terms of attention span as right after that the bus passed the head office of The Hindu. Years of letter writing assignments through English classes at school, addressed to the Editor, The Hindu, Kasturi Buildings, Anna Salai, Chennai – 600 002, made my eyes well up in tears, I make no jest. For a ten year old girl with a big dream of maybe, perhaps, if the stars aligned themselves by chance getting a journalism job at The Hindu, seeing the cream coloured building with green lettering was as good as finding Atlantis. I have to confess, the avid reader in me gave way to my nerdy alter ego as it did a little skip of excitement, and once again, I was tempted to get off. Unluckily, yet fortunately for me, the rather foreboding monstrosity of a building the DMK government built, called the Secretariat, reminded me of more sordid affairs, namely, the ubiquitous deadline.

Pun infested irony was starting to catch up with my thoughts as the bus went over a bridge crossing the Kendriya Vidyalaya Island Grounds campus and casually stopping, giving me a view of a cemetery. I later learned that the cemetery was part of the Armenian Church off NSC Bose Road, near the Broadway bus terminus. Deadlines and cemeteries, apart, the view was so picturesque, it seemed straight out of a postcard from Goa. As I strained my eyes and head to get a view of the railway station below us, it hit me that I was travelling through the old part of Chennai, more importantly the “White” part of Chennai as it would have been known a century or so back. As Chennai Central with its Clock Tower came into view, scenes from the movie Madrasapattinam add to the odd sense of wistfulness I felt. There really is nothing as iconic as the Chennai Central Clock Tower to bring back memories of summer holidays, and with a Kendriya Vidyalaya having whizzed past, nostalgia creeps in. As people find their way to block the doorway and path to get down, the familiar feeling of panic coupled with excitement, a tinge of nausea and a dash of anticipation envelop me. Red shirts, dirty cotton towel head wraps and the embodiment of nothing short of superhuman strength swarm the travelers as they find their way to the entrance of the railway station. As the bus moves out of the bay, the bus is close to empty, giving me an inkling of how close we are to my final destination.

 

Wide roads, colossal buildings, a Coach Engine and several clusters of trees within walled enclosures cool me down as the bus picks up pace. Before I know it even, the famous High Court of Chennai looms in the horizon. Two semesters of learning about the several types of domes, how they were built and other such trivia (or, at least I thought so at the time) come rushing by my memory as I see the two large domes framing the High Court façade. A long stretch of small shops come by, and my mother’s tales of Parry’s Corner and Burma Bazaar come to me. Who would have ever known that something as innocuous as sugar could become a landmark for generations to come?

With thoughts of sugar on my mind, as I got down at the Broadway Bus Terminus, it suddenly seemed like I’d forgotten what I had come for. I knew I was supposed to talk to people about Broadway and Parry’s Corner and get a few quotes from some of the older commercial shops, or at least that was the plan I’d put down on my little notepad. But somehow, the trip to the destination had sufficed to stir up enough emotion and interest so as to keep me entertained throughout. What had started out as a mere means to an end had in fact become the subject matter of my journey itself. The hustle and bustle of Chennai’s largest MTC city bus terminus was daunting, and by 9.30am, almost everyone looked like they were running short of patience. Oddly, I didn’t feel defeated. I needed a story to write and so far I’d gotten enough material to last me at least 500 words. I did have two more bus routes to try out after all. Getting into the nearest 17M that would take me back home, I took my favorite spot by the window, showed the conductor my monthly pass ( I sincerely suggest it to anyone who likes to travel around in the city to get one as I have for myself. The Rs 1000 bus pass has made my life infinitely easier), and settled down to think of my journey to this part of Chennai. As the bus pulled out of the terminus, something caught my artist’s eye. There, amidst the chaos and confusion of hawkers, gypsies and fruit vendors stood a statue of King George V, standing erect in the official costume of coronation, wearing the Crown Jewels and holding the orb and scepter. As he looks upon the people of George Town and Fort St. George, I can’t help but wonder whether the general public even knows who he is. But, then again, you are part of the public, so I'll let you be the judge of that.