A mild winter in Chennai with a sense of humour

Chennai’s citizens, fiercely proud about their urban sprawl, also have this endearing quality of laughing at themselves. For instance, Chennaigaga, a firm specialising in merchandise that dip into Madras nostalgia has a coffee mug with lines describing the city’s seasons as ‘hot, hotter, hottest.’

The stereotype of this Southern metropolis being hot and humid almost through the year is driven home but it does have its December and January. Months, that to a few of the exaggeration-prone citizens, dish out Ooty weather. Some post memes about snow in Chennai and everyone has a laugh.

Last week when the night temperature dipped and even went below 20 degree celsius, netizens went viral with some friendly admonishment of their hometown. “Look you are Chennai, not Shimla,” was one such quote. Chennai’s apparent winter, never a patch on the ones in Bengaluru or Delhi, still has its charms.

The air-conditioner can be ignored, humidity vanishes, and sweaters can be worn at times. If the latest winters are burnished with the perennial effects of global warming, in the 1980s, winters in Madras did keep the elderly and the asthmatics on tenterhooks.

The cold mist at dawn was real and women stepping out to put those colourful kolams sneezed and struggled. This was also the season when the Sabarimala pilgrims had long pujas at nearby temples, and the nippy weather would force the religious to huddle together on jamakkalams.

The morning tea at Nairkadais were relished and so were the vazhakkai (raw banana) bajjis in the evening. In old-fashioned homes with a ceiling of wooden rafters and clay tiles, and open courtyards with tiny gardens of jasmine and rose plants, the dip in temperature was immediately felt.

It may sound extreme to hear this now but back then, there was no surprise in seeing room heaters being pressed into service. As the coils turned red, anxious mothers would tell their children not to get too inquisitive and get close to their source of warmth. On a rare occasion a firefly would move around while a hungry gecko watched its desired food flying away beyond reach.

In Anglo-Indian neighbourhoods, Christmas carol singers would spill over into the streets, and equally the Carnatic season would be at its peak. Chennai’s syncretic traditions were on full display and those months were also about departures and farewells. At Madras Central, trains would chug out with passengers heading home for their Christmas and New Year break.

On one such journey as the Mangalore Mail eased into Palghat, a public announcement was made about the demise of Tamil Nadu Chief Minister M.G. Ramachandran. With roots in that town, it was inevitable that the celluloid and political legend’s death stirred grief in his backyard, just as it overwhelmingly did in Madras and the rest of Tamil Nadu.

Winters in Madras offered a mosaic of memories and even the Chennai of the present, does the same, with some mist at dawn, and flower-sellers holding their mufflers tight. A brief respite before summer and the scorching sun march in.