Donors and rulers built several choultries for travellers and livestock in Pudukottai district. — FILE PHOTO / The Hindu
The region is dotted with several choultries
The district accounts for a large number of choultries (community halls) built during the Samasthanam era which were built by donors and rulers for ensuring comfortable stay for passengers, bulls, and carts. Many of these choultries are now in a dilapidated condition.
These choultries are a reflection of the hoary past and reveal interesting information, says N. Arul Murugan, Chief Educational Officer, who has done a study on these ancient buildings.
Grand buildings on the lines of the present-day guest houses have been built during the “samasthanam” era in the district, he says. A large number of British officers and sepoys who were visiting Madurai or Thanjavur had used these choultries often as they kept visiting these towns. These choultries can be found in Adhanakottai, Narthamalai, and Mirattunilai villages. “The location of these choultries had been recorded in A Manual of the Pudukkottai State”, he added.
The study brought to light the fact that the old highway route had changed over the decades following the formation of new rural roads or State highways.
The choultries are a mark of the old routes and provide information about donors from outside Pudukottai district.
For instance, one of the donors from Thanjavur had built a choultry at Mazhaiyur village in 1806. At Kuzhaiayn Viduthi, the choultry dates back to 1763, according to the study.
Mr. Arul Murugan points out that a village panchayat, Chinnaiah chathiram has now been named after its donor Rajasri Chinnadurai Tirumalaiyappan Thondaiman who built it in 1788.
A number of choultries could be located in other villages such as Mullur, Vadavalam, and Varappur, according to historical data available in the samasthanam records.
source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> News> National> Tamil Nadu / by Special Correspondent / Pudukottai – May 20th, 2014
Tributes being paid to Dr Ida Scudder at her tomb in Vellore on Saturday | express
Vellore :
Dr Ida Scudder, founder of the Christian Medical College (CMC) here, was remembered on her 54th death anniversary on Saturday. M Gunaseakaran, head of the NGO ‘Dr Ida Anbukarangal’ paid tributes at her cemetery.
The idea of establishing the hospital was conceived in 1890 when Ida had come from the US to Vellore to help her missionary parents. She was requested by three men to help their wives who were in labour pain. Young Ida not being a doctor then, was afraid and reluctant to offer help, following which all three women died. The incident changed her views and inspired her to take up gynaecology as a profession. Ida died a spinster aged 90 in 1960.
The hospital was established in 1900 as a single-bed dispensary with the help of a grant from New York-based banker Schell. In 1903, Ida began training several compounders and six years later in 1909, she started the School of Nursing. Her most treasured dream was realised when a medical school for women was started in 1918, which trained licentiates in medicine and through her efforts it became a Medical College in 1942.
Today, the college offers 85 recognised training programmes in medicine, nursing and allied health fields. Now, the hospital is a 2,500-bed super-specialty facility attracting patients from all over.
source: http://www.newindianexpress.com / The New Indian Express / Home> States> Tamil Nadu / by Express News Service / May 25th, 2014
A gathering of around 50 people were present to listen to an engaging talk aptly titled ‘A Colour of Tragedy and Opportunity’ by Mark Balmforth / by Special Arrangement / Th e Hindu
Mark Balmforth’s engaging talk on the root diggers and dyers of Jaffna time-travelled through history
Inside the towering and majestic Leela Palace hotel emerges the forgotten tale of a lost people; the ‘chay’ root diggers and dyers of Jaffna. A gathering of around 50 people were present to listen to an engaging talk aptly titled ‘A Colour of Tragedy and Opportunity’ by Mark Balmforth, a doctoral student from Columbia University. As a part of his thesis on the social changes of Tamils in Jaffna, Balmforth has embarked on a journey to unearth the ‘chay’ root or chayaver(Srilankan Tamil), and the hands that dug them. He has spent eight months in Madurai learning Tamil, and travelled to Jaffna in search of their story.
This root (Oldenlandia umbellata) still grows commonly across the coastal areas of Andhra, Tamil Nadu, and Kerala, however the prime variant is found in the northern Tamil regions of Sri Lanka. The root itself is a long, wiry branch that stretches deep beneath the earth, and to procure a mere handful takes a laborious few hours. Once sun-dried, powdered, and chemically consolidated through a series of boiling, it yields a scarlet dye that can be toned to red, orange, and purple. It was once used for fabric, clothing design, baskets, and other daily products. It was also used medicinally as a haemostatic. Unlike indigo and its historical trajectory which is widely known and documented, thechayaver has been neglected to a point of oblivion.
Balmforth delves into the social history of the community who worked with this root as bonded labourers during the colonial era first during Dutch rule, and later British. They belonged to the lowest strata of the caste system and were collectively referred to as ‘Verkuthi’ — literally root diggers. However other than existing as a low-caste community, it is unclear as to what their rightful origins were as far as Balmforth has hitherto discovered. “I need to get arm-deep into evidence before I can grasp the subject fully, just like with the actual root,” he remarks.
For colonial trade and revenue purposes these people through generations were forced into the occupation but with the commencement of synthetic dye production from 1850 onwards, both the indentured labour and the art of dyeing with the chayaver came to an end. A community once depended upon to provide the colour of passion, power, and blood seems to simply vanish in terms of occupational and artistic existence. Scarce documentation available locally pertaining to their occupational history and conversion of many root diggers to Christianity makes it an arduous task to trace their genealogy.
On a trip to Jaffna, Balmforth encountered an 81-year-old siddharvaidyar whose ancestor had been a root digger, and narrates his memories and the knowledge that was orally passed down to him. He emphasises in particular that root dyeing was not simply an occupation, but craftsmanship — a forgotten one. “This man has a mental map of plants and their uses all across the Tamil landscape of Ceylon, which is a beautiful thing,” Balmforth says in awe.
The academic explains his fascination for the layers in symbolism of the red yielded by the root, connoting not only to slavery, but also the art that came from it.
This event was hosted at the Leela Galleria in association with Apparao Galleries.
source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Features> MetroPlus> Events / by Radhika Dontala / Chennai – May 11th, 2014
Heritage walks on the Madras High Court campus will be held on the second Sunday of every month — Photo: R. Ragu / The Hindu
On a carpet of withered leaves, under the shadow of a century-old building, a group of architecture and history lovers listened with rapt attention the stories the walls of Madras High Court had to tell, on Sunday.
“Just next to the lighthouse (constructed in 1838) where we stand, there used to be two temples. Water from the temple tanks were brought by priests and witnesses deposed had to touch the water and take oath,” said M.L. Rajah, advocate and member of the Madras High Court Heritage Committee, to participants of the High Court heritage walk. Later, the temples were shifted out of the complex, he said.
As the group strolled from one building to another, interesting anecdotes and stories behind the architecture unfolded.
“The buildings of the High Court, including the law college and the lighthouse, are exuberant examples of Indo-Saracenic architecture that display an amalgamation of Islamic, Moorish, European and Hindu styles, among others,” said Sujatha Shankar, architect and convenor of INTACH (Chennai chapter).
They also show how public buildings have been used to convey political messages; and what better way to communicate them than through architecture, she said.
After a glimpse of the architectural marvel of these buildings, Mr. Rajah led the crowd to the next stop: the statute of Sir V. Bhashyam Iyengar, the first Indian acting advocate-general.
“He had a morbid desire to die while arguing a case; and incidentally, during a court proceeding, when he felt uneasy, he walked up to the statute of Sir T. Muthuswami Iyer, and passed away,” he said.
The group then walked through the Madras High Court museum, the Madras Bar Association and ended the tour at the magnificent court halls.
Ann Neuman, a 45-year-old writer from New York who arrived in Chennai a week ago, seemed visibly excited after the walk.
“My friends specifically asked me to not miss this walk. It is wonderful to hear the history of the court systems here and what it has done to the city,” she said.
The heritage walk initiated by the Madras High Court Heritage Committee will be held on the second Sunday of every month. For details, contact: 9841013617.
source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> News> Cities> Chennai / by Sunitha Sekar / Chennai – May 12th, 2014
I was delighted to receive an invitation the other day asking me to join them in celebrating ‘Genesis Day’ on May 17, for it indicated that there was at least one group in this city that recognised its beginnings even if they were 220 years ago. The invitation came from the Alumni Association of the College of Engineering, Guindy, and it asked me to join its members in marking “the starting of CEG on 17 May 1794”.
College of Engineering, Guindy. / by Special Arrangement / The Hindu
In their enthusiasm, the alumni were not quite correct; that date marked the birth of the Survey School in Fort St George. That technical institution, the oldest Western-style one outside Europe, was what grew into the College of Engineering. I wonder whether the College itself remembered the occasion and marked it — or, lost as it is midst the numbers that constitute Anna University today, did it leave it to the Alumni?
This August 22 will mark the 375 year of the founding of Madras and I look forward to that birthday being celebrated fittingly. But apart from celebrations, it would be fitting to remember that modern India developed in three stages from that day in 1639: the Age of Trade till 1757, the Age of Expansion till 1858, and then the Age of the Raj till 1947 when a New India was born. It was during the second stage, after the victory at Plassey, that the British, in fact the English East India Company, began thinking of ways and means of consolidating their position in India. The first steps to such consolidation included raising an Indian army, providing forts and fortifications for that army, and discovering, in the exploratory sense, the territories it was to move into and develop and protect. A fundamental need for all that was surveying and military engineering.
A definition of an engineer dating to this period stated, “An able expert man who, by perfect knowledge of mathematics, delineates upon paper, or marks upon the ground, all sorts of forts and other proper works for offence or defence. He should understand the art of fortification, so as to be able not only to discover the defects of a place, but to find a remedy proper for them, as also how to make an attack upon, as well as to defend the place. Engineers are extremely necessary for these purposes.” Such a definition, understandable in the context of the times, meant ‘engineers’, technical personnel, if you will, with skills in surveying, civil construction, and basic mechanical work.
It was to train such personnel that Fort St George decided to set up the Survey School at the urging of Michael Topping, the Chief Marine Surveyor. The Government Survey School opened for its first intake on May 17, 1794. The first eight boys were personally selected by Topping, mainly from the Male Orphan Asylum, on the basis of their knowledge of Arithmetic and writing in English. The School, headed by Topping as an extra assignment, was intended to produce apprentices capable of undertaking surveys, construct and repair tanks, and ensure a continuous supply of water for irrigation.
It was this School that became the Civil Engineering School in 1858 and, the next year, the College of Civil Engineering. It became the College of Engineering in 1862 and added Guindy to its name when it moved there in 1920. Its contribution to India, leave alone the Madras Presidency, over the years has been significant. That its genesis has been celebrated is something to warm any heritage-lover’s heart.
Saravana Bhavan in the NYT
By the time these lines appear, India is likely to have a new Prime Minister. But even he is unlikely to get the spread the New York Times magazine gave the Saravana Bhavan chain and its owner, P. Rajagopal, on May 7. What I received was a story in 13 A4-size sheets with the heading ‘Masala Dosa to die for’! The reference to death might have been complimentary; it might also have been a pointer to a third of the story which details the murder Rajagopal was charged with in 2002 and whose final verdict is yet to be given. Meanwhile, Rajagopal continues to expand his South Indian fast food empire.
At last count, according to Rollo Romig who has written this magazine-length profile, there were 33 Saravana Bhavan restaurants in India and 47 in a dozen other countries, from Sunnyvale in California to Hong Kong by way of Paris. And all of them serve a standard, high quality fare using the freshest of ingredients, a formula established by the founder.
Rajagopal arrived in Madras as a teenager from the deep South in 1968. He’d had little education, had during his journey cleaned tables in a hole-in-the-wall ‘restaurant’, and learnt to make tea the way those frequenting roadside tea stalls liked to drink it. But an eatery was not what he started that year — it was a small neighbourhood grocery to which he added a couple more in the area in due course. When the groceries proved losers, he began to look at food as an option — after a visitor to one of his groceries complained there was no place in K K Nagar to get good food at modest prices. And so was born Rajagopal’s first restaurant in 1981 in K K Nagar. It was a losing proposition to start with, but as word spread about the quality of its food, the cost, the hygiene and service, it began to be a winner, leading to the opening of other branches in the city.
Today, Rajagopal’s elder son Shiva Kumaar looks after the overseas operations and has been opening one Saravana Bhavan in each of several cities worldwide where there is a large expat Indian population. By ensuring that the food tastes just like what is served in its Madras outlets, he has been cashing in on homesickness, ‘the tastes of home’. He is candid about it; his restaurants are for the Indians and those who know South Indian food; if other foodies and the locals come in, that’s a bonus.
In Madras, Rajagopal’s younger son, Saravanan, manages the Indian business. And this wanted-to-be-an-engineer has brought the scientific element into management. Saravana Bhavan must be one of the few home-grown Indian food chains, if not the only one, that has a laboratory that’s busy every day. The lab tests food daily from all the Madras branches to ensure the same quality is being maintained. It also tests how labour-saving can be done. And what new flavours of ice creams can be created.
But what seems to have struck Romig as the chain’s greatest asset was its workers — 8000 in Madras alone — almost all village boys trained the ‘Annachi’ Rajagopal way, to his exacting standards and willing to accept his discipline, but “personally” loyal to him. In return, their perks in the U.S. are “fantastic enough even for Silicon Valley,” says Romig, who goes onto quote a Madras employee who half in jest said, “The only thing you can do with your salary is put it in the bank and save it. They take care of everything else.”
When the postman knocked…
– Meetings in Madras on May 1, 1923 may have demanded that May 1 be declared a holiday (Miscellany, May 5), but it took the Government 27 more years to make that a reality, writes reader Ramineni Bhaskarendra Rao. It happened only after the Republic was born. There had before been another appeal that International Workers’ Day be declared a holiday by the Government of India, recalls reader Rao. That was in April 1936 and the call was made by Prof. N.G.Ranga of Pachaiappa’s College and P Ramamurthi of Triplicane. They also demanded that all workers in prison for trade union activities be released on May 1. That date became a day of significance, Reader Rao narrates, because on May l, 1886 the United States committed itself to an 8-hour working day which had been agitated for there from the first years of the 19 Century. When many factories refused to implement the eight-hour working day, there was a mass protest in Chicago on May 4 that resulted in violence. Several workers were killed by the police, and an Englishman and six Germans, immigrants all, were arrested. Four of those tried, all Germans, were sentenced to death, the other three to life imprisonment. When the dust settled, the eight-hour day became the norm and May 1 was declared International Workers’ Day.
l9th Century American poster demanding an 8-hour working day
– Reader Thomas Tharu regrets that Prof. R.A. Kraus, who played a significant role in setting up IIT-Madras, has all but been forgotten and wonders whether anyone has detailed information about him. He also wonders what happened to the history of IIT-M written by IITian Ajit Narayanan for the golden jubilee in 2009 and whether that might have any information on Prof. Kraus. I’m surprised that reader Tharu makes no reference to the intriguingly titled pictorial history, Campaschimes, by Kumaran Sathasivam and Prof. Ajit Kumar Kolar — he was responsible for the excellent but little-known IIT-M museum — brought out in 2011, with a promise of a second more detailed volume in due course. Surely he would have received a copy given that he is mentioned in the acknowledgements made in the book. Be that as it may, Campaschimes does tell a bit of the story starting with a July 16, 1956 Indo-German agreement which had, tucked away in it, the following: “The two Heads of Government agreed that in co-operation between the two countries a technical teaching institution is to be set up in India for which the Federal Government will make available teaching staff and equipment (and) will endow scholarships (for) Indian students to attend German technical Institutions.” Once land was allotted to it in 1958 by the Madras Government, work on setting up the Institute began in earnest. A planning committee chaired by Dr A L Mudaliar was charged with formulating the education programme, but there’s no more said about all this in Campaschimes except that L.S.Chandrakant, Deputy Educational Advisor, Government of India, was appointed Special Planning Advisor, IIT-M, in 1959 and his German counterpart, Prof Robert Kraus, was designated Special Commissioner representing Germany. The lack of more information on the founding of the Institute is what reader Tharu regrets. He particularly feels Kraus deserves better, given his record. Kraus had spent most of his teaching life in China where he set up a technical university in Shanghai. When this was destroyed by the Japanese, he was in Germany and immediately began planning on resurrecting it inland, but World War II intervened. After the War, he set up Kharagpur’s Mechanical Engineering Department in 1953 and remained its first head till the German Government gave him the task of helping set up IIT-M. He remained a popular figure on the Madras campus till he left in 1964.
source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Features> MetroPlus> Society / by S. Muthiah / Chennai – May 18th, 2014
Acquainting oneself with the rich legacy of the city they live in, unraveling the hidden facets and discussing interesting details as they take a guided tour of the city- heritage walks are keeping the history enthusiasts in the city on their toes. Testimony to that are the recent Old Coimbatore Heritage Walk and the Perur Payanam, as a part of the annual celebrations of the city that had students and history enthusiasts in full attendance.
Entrepreneur Shankar Vanavarayar, one of the organizers of the heritage walk, had told us, “Coimbatore is laced with both ancient and modern architecture. One of the ideal steps to preserve the heritage and let the generation next know about it is by imparting knowledge on the subject and documenting all the buildings in the city.”
Historian CR Elangovan, who is quite kicked about these heritage walks, enthuses that they are an ideal way to impart lessons on the legacy of a place. “This is, in fact, the best way to educate the current and future generations about the legacy of a city. Teachers do talk about the history in a classroom setting, but there is nothing like going to the venue and seeing it yourself. Live tour leaves a lasting impact. Coimbatore doesn’t have a very rich history to boast about and most of the heritage buildings here are only 200 years old. These walks help people take a trip down memory lane.”
RJ Krishna, though seconds Elangovan that heritage walks do their bit, he maintains that there are other modes of passing on the knowledge. “Heritage walks do help unravel great facts, but it shouldn’t be restricted to history students and closed groups. For instance, when the Semmozhi Maanadu happened in Coimbatore, almost every wall in the city on the road that led to the Maanadu venue had writings about the richness of Tamil language. This was an easy way to reach out to the masses in Coimbatore and the purpose of the event was served well. Something on those lines with writings or illustrations that depict the history of Coimbatore on the walls before and during the heritage walks and weeks would be another way to reach everyone. This way, we can reach out to a larger group.”
source: http://www.timesofindia.indiatimes.com / The Times of India / Home> City> Coimbatore / by P Sangeetha, TNN / May 05th, 2014
The three km narrow road to Keelakuyilkudi village from the Madurai – Theni highway is unusually winding. “It was a deliberate design by our ancestors to delay British policemen from reaching the village quickly,” says Pon Harichandran, a villager.
By the time British forces negotiate the curves, messengers atop Samanarmalai would signal villagers who would prepare to take on the policemen. Keelakuyilkudi, now an agrarian village, was one place that gave nightmares for British until they left India, thanks to the militant clan of villagers belonging to ‘piramalai kallar’ community. It was to tame them British enforced the draconian Criminal Tribes Act (CTA), 100 years ago.
Keelakuyilkudi was the first village in Madras Presidency where CTA was enforced. “It was 1914, three years after CTA was extended to Madras Presidency, the British cracked down on Keelakuyilkudi villagers,” says Su Venkatesan, whose Sahitya Akademi award winning debut novel ‘Kaaval Kottam’ dwelt in detail about the Act. The villagers have organised a three-day meet from May 5 to mark the centenary of CTA.
According to CTA, the males of a village right from adolescents to aged should appear in the nearest police station and leave their fingerprints every evening and morning. This was to restrict their movement and ensure that they do not go on a burgling spree. Of the 600-odd males of Keelakuyilkudi, more than 350 men were under the ambit of CTA. But Harichandran said that even before CTA was enforced in 1914, all men from Keelakuyilkudi were taken to police station and forced to stay there every night.
The villagers used to go to Tiruparankunram police station, eight miles away twice a day to leave their fingerprints. Though villagers admit that there were instances of theft by Keelakuyilkudi men, they were later given the job of guarding Madurai due to their valour. “But when they were refused payment for guarding the city, a common man from Keelakuyilkudi took on a senior British police officer which provoked them to enforce the law,” Harichandran says.
A Veemarajan (71), a descendent of CTA victims, says whenever something was stolen in any part of Madurai, police would swoop down only on Keelakuyilkudi. “Police would enter into our house anytime and arrest anyone without a warrant,” he said.
“Neighbouring villagers would not speak to us fearing police action,” he said. Peeliyamma (70) says during her marriage, many expressed concern why she chose a man from Keelakuyilkudi.
Later, the Act was extended to Urappanur and Perungamanallur villages also. It was at Perungamanallur 16 villagers including a woman were shot down by British for resisting the Act in 1920.
As resistance of the Act continued, British established a permanent police post in Keelakuyilkudi. A munsif court and a jail were also established. “Twice in a week, a munsif would visit the court and settle the cases,” a villager recalls.
Simultaneously, the British also set up a handloom unit, opened a school, the first girls school in the state and even a bank to provide loans for pursuing alternative means of livelihood. But the villagers resisted everything that was British.
The Act was finally repealed after independence in 1949. The dilapidated building that housed the munsif court stands a silent testimony to the harrowing past of the village.
source: http://www.timesofindia.indiatimes.com / The Times of India / Home> City> Madurai / by V. Mayilvaganan, TNN / May 05th, 2014
Dignitaries at the release of Ambedkar Oliyil Enathu Theerpugal | Martin Louis
Releasing a book written by former Madras High Court judge K Chandru, N Ram of Kasturi & Sons Limited said that Chandru was one of the judges who stood up for the welfare and rights of the marginalised sections of society. Speaking here recently after releasing Ambedkar Oliyil Enathu Theerpugal, by Chandru, Ram highlighted how Chandru continued his fight for the rights of Dalits and other marginalised people even after being sworn in as a judge.
“As an advocate, he worked for the welfare of the marginalised and weaker sections. Many had doubts whether he could continue the good work after becoming a judge. But he believed that, within the limits of the law, he could work for the welfare of the marginalised,” Ram said.
In the introduction to the book, Chandru recalls that an incident in 1968 in Venmani village of Thanjavur district, where 44 Dalits were burnt to death, made him write this book.
VCK leaders Thol Thirumavalavan and Ravi Kumar, columnist Gnani and professor Pa Kalyani participated in the event.
source: http://www.newindianexpress.com / The New Indian Express / Home> Cities> Chennai / by Express News Service – Chennai / May 12th, 2014
The fort of Sadras in the sleepy little town of Kalpakkam takes us back to a time when it was a hub of trade and a much contested seat of power.
Sadras:
The serene fort of Sadras stands strong, yet fragile in all its ruined glory. Not many would know that it exists in the sleepy little town of Kalpakkam — who would notice it when there is a nuclear power plant coming up two kms away.
Sadras is a quiet fishing hamlet and the fort was one of the seats of power of the Dutch who docked there in the early 17th century. They, like the other Europeans, landed here to pursue their interests in trade. The fort happened to be standing at the heart of a battlefield, with the Dutch, Portuguese, French and British fighting to establish their monopoly here. It’s no surprise then that the fort retains a crippled magnificence.
Thus, I stand among the ruins of the fort of Sadurangapattinum, as it was called then, before it was anglicised to ‘Sadras’ by the Europeans. A white tomb and cannon adorn the entrance to the cemetery, the warehouses have been restored by the Archaeological Survey of India and the fort walls are charred, yet red.
Story has it that the battle of Sadras was fought between the British and Dutch. After suffering a brief setback in the first war the British took over in the early 19th century, razing the fort to the ground, firing cannon from the sea.
So what drew the Europeans to this calm village? This place was under the stronghold of the Cholas and later became a part of the Vijayanagara Empire, it being a bustling hub of trade and a weaving centre, well known for its muslin export to the Europeans.
The keeper of the fort tells me all about the graves and their inscriptions. Further inside, in a room assumed to be a secret chamber or dungeon, there is a gaping hole where the central structure has caved in, making way for the sun to light up the room.
We step further into the fort, the ruins in red and black standing out against the tall green weeds that are creeping up everywhere. Beyond the warehouses I climb the ramp, leading to the roof of the rooms, which is the highest point of the fort. I stand and listen to the distant roar of the sea, stretching out like a blanket far beyond the horizon.
I can see in my mind’s eye what the red structure must have looked like in all its original splendour. A fort, marked with triangular, yet rook-like pillars, with cannon and battlements at its corners; beautifully carved archways in white and red, leading to the warehouses and chambers of the settlers beyond, abuzz with activity. The lapping of the waves pulls me back to the present. It’s time to leave the past and enjoy the beach in front of me.
source: http://www.deccanchronicle.com / Deccan Chronicle / Home> Lifestyle> Travel / Deccan Chronicle / by R. Supraja / May 12th, 2014
What does Chennai mean? The question troubled Paris-based historian J B P More quite a lot. After painstaking research, he found the answer.
In his recently released book, titled ‘Origin and Foundation of Madras’, More says, “Chinapatnam and Chennapatnam were the other names for Madras used by Tamil and Telugu settlers in the area. Chennapatnam was ‘Tamilised’ as Chennai but the word didn’t mean anything in Tamil. It’s undoubtedly a Telugu word.”
Madraspatnam was derived from Medu Rasa Patnam, said More, who was in Chennai on Saturday to release his book. “When Nayak Venkatappa (a local chieftain) issued a grant (a portion of the area where subsequently Fort St George came up) in favour of the English in 1639, only Madraspatnam was mentioned in it. But during the 1640s, two new names for Madraspatnam or for the area inhabited by Tamils and Telugus around Fort St George seems to have come into existence. They were Chinapatnam and Chennapatnam,” he said.
Chinapatnam would have been the first name that would have come into existence in the Tamil-Telugu quarters to signify the Black Town of Madraspatnam. “‘Chenna’ in Telugu means fair and is not to be confused with the Tamil ‘Chinna’, which means small. In Tamil, ‘Chenna’ is meaningless,” said More.
He said in the Tamil Lexicon, the Tamil word ‘Cennai’ has been mentioned which would signify ‘a drum announcing religious procession of an idol’. More said there was no reference in documents and literature of the period to ‘Chennai’ as a drum.
“In the document of Beri Timanna, we find ‘Chenna’ written as ‘Chennai’. Thus Chenna Kesava Perumal became Chennai Kesava Perumal and Chennapatnam became Chennai Pattanam.
This seems to be purely the work of a translator of the 19th century who had preferred to Tamilise the Telugu word ‘Chenna’ into ‘Chennai’ so it sounded more Tamil,” said More. “The word ‘Chennai’ seems to have been born to designate Madras town. Its origin is Telugu. There is nothing Tamil in it,” he added.
source: http://www.timesofindia.indiatimes.com / The Times of India / Home> City> Chennai / by M T Saju, TNN / May 04th, 2014
