CANTEEN VETERANS

By Ravi & Sridhar

There were two rasikas, more of canteens than of music. These two were
prominent citizens of Madras. One was a veteran Tamil journalist and owner of a
Tamil magazine and the other, a popular advertising man. Both had one thing in
common, an overblown body. While serious rasikas of music went about from sabha
to sabha savouring the music, these two travelled from canteen to canteen savouring
the delicacies of the day. They made at least three trips everyday to every canteen.
Their itinerary went something like this.

The journalist would arrive in his car (which looked like a rat in front of an
elephant) at the Music Academy at around 8 a.m. He would walk straight to the
canteen and have breakfast for about an hour. This consisted of about 8 iDlIs, 3 or 4
pongals, half a dozen dOsAs and two or three cups of coffee. Not much, considering
the parcel of eatables he bought to take home. The journalist would ask, “enna sweet
bAkki irukku (what sweet is left over?)”. “Wheat halwa ara kilo irukku sAr, mysore
pak 1 kilo irukku, avvaLavu dAn”, the waiter would reply. “avvaLavu dAnA, sari
paravAyille, ellAthaiyum parcel paNNU (Oh, is that all you have; it’s all right, pack
the whole thing). He would similarly take parcels of a dozen dOsas and a few pongals
too. The parcels would occupy half of the back seat of his car.

The ad man arriving sometime later would repeat the journalist’s feat. His car
was a Dolphin. When he sat in the driver’s seat, the car would take a plunge into
pAtALa lOkA, but thanks to the weight of the parcels on the back seat, the car would
slowly settle on ground. Off they both went, one after another, where else but to the
Indian Fine Arts Society! After a repeat performance there, including the parcels, they
went straight to the Krishna Gana Sabha. Again repeat. They would then go home and
unload the parcels and start again. Where to? The Music Academy of course, silly,
don’t you know it’s lunchtime now?
 After a hearty meal that could normally feed about 3 people, the journalist would
bring out a carrier and take home a few lunches. Ditto the ad man. Both the fatties
would probably rest for sometime in the afternoon. But come 3 p.m. and they were the
first to appear at the Academy canteen doorway. If you were intelligent you would go
in and order before them. Otherwise you couldn’t be sure of your evening sweet-
kAram-kApi. The beaming journalist would be boisterous at this time because of the
sweets he could chuDa, chuDa eat. He was a good conversationalist too and he would
reminisce about the Kanchi Paramacharya, no less, or about MGR while on a mouth
full of halwa. And what next? Of course, the ubiquitous parcels. The ad man walking
in a little later (He was always a bit behind the journalist probably because his
Dolphin travelled at minus 25 kms /hr) would go straight inside the kitchen itself to
see for himself the stock that he could pack for that afternoon.

And so it went on day after day for 15 days. On New Year’s Day when everyone
celebrated, these two would sport the saddest faces in town, that being the last day of
the canteens. But of course, being public men and influential too, there would always
be other places for them throughout the year. The journalist is no more and perhaps
the ad man’s wife thought that enough was enough and put an end to her husband’s
gastronomic adventures. Whatever, the season sorely misses them now.