History Of A House

History always fascinates me, particularly my personal history. I believe that every human being wonders, at times, where he came from and where he will go. Well, we have theories about these questions but no answers. Since we cannot solve this great puzzle, our next best option is to be intrigued by where and how we were born? This one is perhaps easier, but equally fascinating to investigate and resolve. I investigated my origins, my roots and got the opportunity to visit the place where I was born and lived my infant life.

I was born in Chennai and we stayed in a suburb called Perambur at that time in a house located on the Madhavaram Road. Well, I was not exactly born here, but in the government hospital in Egmore, which is located at a distance from our house. My mother, I gather, went over to her elder brother’s house in Egmore for the delivery. My grandma also lived there. But after the delivery, my mother came back to our house in Perambur. So the Perambur house is what I recall in my memories as my first abode.

Before I tell you about my visit to the house decades later, let me give you an idea of what the house looked like in my child-vision. I vividly recall that as a child, I felt that it was a palace of sorts. The building was located on the main road, a highway, lined with shops. It had two floors, the ground and one above it. It had three entry points; one was the main door and two side entrances. The one on the left had a staircase which, I must say, was unique. This staircase took you to the house on the first floor, an exclusive entrance for the house. It was unique because it was made of iron and was winding, not straight. The steps were narrow and after every three or four steps there was a turn before you took the next flight of stairs. If you miss a step or slip, you could get seriously injured or even die!

To the right of the main entrance was the other side entrance, the one which we took to reach our house. It was a narrow alley, with an open-drain flowing and, as I recall, infested with rats of the biggest variety! This species is called ‘bandicoots’.

The main entrance had a massive door in two parts and was reserved for the owner and his family. The owner of the house was an old gentleman who lived there with his extended family of about fifteen members. 

I must now tell you how big the property itself was. On the ground floor was the owners’ portion comprising of a massive hall and about four rooms on either side. You would enter the hall to find a large swing (Jhoola) right in the middle. It was fixed to the very tall ceiling by iron chains that in turn held the massive wooden swing. To give you an idea about the size, ten children could have sat on the platform easily! It was the owner’s throne, so to say, for you could always find him seated on it with either his grandchildren or some adult members or visitors. He could be seen at his throne wearing a simple white dhoti (in true Tamilian style it is called veshti), quite bare-chested and with a white cotton towel (gamcha) thrown over his shoulder.

One of the rooms flanking the great hall was rented out to a tenant whose name was Varadhachari (I still remember him). Now, Vardha was a mountain of a man, literally. Those of you who might have read the Asterix comics would surely remember how Obelix looked like. Well, Vardha was very close to looking like Obelix. Tall, strong and sporting a massive belly! Like many Tamilians, Vardha wore a lungi always. But his belly was so large that he needed to hold the lungi to his body by way of a belt. It was a massive belt, the child in me recalls. Brown, very broad and had a large buckle. Vardha lived in a single room with his wife and small daughter.

The massive hall led to an open space where the utilities were built. I mean the bathrooms and the latrines. One must keep in mind that in those times there were no attached bath-cum latrines as it was considered inappropriate and against Vaastu to have these within your house or apartment. So, we had about three bathrooms and three latrines which were common to the ground floor residents. Along with these, there was a large washing area where clothes were to be washed and dried. Again, one must remember that washing of clothes was done on an elevated washing stone, like the ones at a dhobi ghat. Clothes were literally thrashed clean on the stone!

Just abutting the washing area was our house. This was the last living space on the ground floor, and as the child that was me recalls, quite big, but not as big as the main palace. We had a flight of wide stairs to climb and enter our house. Once you entered, there was this long rectangular verandah, which was part of the house. Cross the verandah and you will enter the living room or drawing room as you may like to call it. The large kitchen was at the right end of the room and there was a bedroom on the left end. One BHK, you may say, but it was huge for us. My parents, sister and I lived there.

Close to the washing area where a flight of stairs that would take you to the first floor. Where the stairs ended, a bathroom and a latrine was located, for use by the tenants on this floor. Then you had open space or the terrace. At the far end lived Ramesh, my earliest friend and his family. His father worked in a pharmacy near the Perambur station and Ramesh had a sister and mother. You may recall the winding iron staircase I told you about? Well, Ramesh’s family used this very staircase to enter and exit their house which faced the main road.

At the opposite end was another one-bedroom house, similar to the one in which we lived on the ground floor. I recall that a young, newly married Malayalee couple used to live there. On the right side of the terrace, between these two houses, was another house where Murali and his parents lived. This house was smaller than the other two on the terrace but fairly large sized.

Now, do you understand how big the building was? About 27 residents were housed in the building. As I said, this was the blueprint of the building etched in my infant mind. I got the opportunity to visit the building again after nearly forty years, with the same vision and blueprint. When I reached the place, it was unrecognizable, and I was thoroughly confused. The road looked like it had been widened but still small. The traffic on the road was miserable. I could not, despite all my efforts, recognize one shop or building. New and tall buildings had come up on both sides of the road. What about my building, my birthplace? Had it vanished? Had it been torn down and rebuilt? 

Finally, I could locate the house. It was neither torn down nor rebuilt. It was very much the same, or was it? What I thought as a child was a palace now looked like a hutment in Dharavi. The building, once regal, now looked abandoned. I was disappointed and dismayed. But still curious to have a closer look, I went to the door and knocked it. The massive door had shrunk, or so I felt. It was opened by a man whom I did not recognize. He looked at me with enquiring eyes. I told him why I had come here and he smiled.

“Everything has changed Sir. Everyone is gone. The owner you speak of died long long ago. Many in his family are dead. His sons owed a lot of money and had to sell the property. The person who bought it found later that the papers were all messed up. There is a court case going on for years now on the title. You see, everything around has changed, but this house is as it was and not maintained. Would you like to come in and see?”

I entered a small hall with a small swing still hanging from the ceiling. On either side of the hall, there were rooms which I felt were tiny. I walked on to the rear portion where we lived. My house looked like a hut. Small rooms with a small verandah. Everything seemed to have shrunk suddenly. I went upstairs and sure enough, the three houses were there, all looking puny. The condition of the entire building including the houses was pathetic. The man looked at me and gave me a sad smile as if he understood my sorrow.

I returned, dejected and disappointed. Later, I realized my folly. We all carry our childhood images of various places, events, and people, and we treasure them and keep them unchanged for years. But the reality is that everything changes. What you thought was a palace turns out to be a commonplace building when you grow up. Despite all the disappointment, I was happy to have visited my birthplace. At least now those images that I had carried for decades have changed! The new reality is what I now live with, but yet those images keep playing in my mind sometimes.