Readers Write In #844: Happy Birthday Madras

By Vijaysree V

In the 1963 Tamil film Paar Magale Paar Cho Ramaswamy made his debut on the silver screen as “Mechanical” Madasamy. The character’s backstory: as a teen, he stole money and ran away to Madras, where he sampled freedom, McRennett buns, and spiced Irani chai. He also earned a mechanic’s certificate in record time and gained experience working in a garage. Now, he is back in his hometown and needs a job.

In the portico of a Madurai bungalow, home to a class-conscious factory owner played by Sivaji Ganesan, we first meet Madasamy. The young man has already assessed the cars in that compound. Brimming with confidence, he delivers his evaluation in Madras-bashai a mélange of Tamil, Telugu, Urdu, and English. To hinterland ears, the dialect can sound jarring, even nauseating  —not merely for its non-Tamil borrowings, but for its refusal to perform deference.

Still, it is not just Madasamy’s language that shocks. He attributes the sorry state of one vehicle in the mini fleet to the owner’s “self-driving.” When the owner hears that, he all but sputters. Yet, beneath the wordless indignation lies recognition: here is someone wo is both competent and unafraid to speak his mind. And Madasamy is vouched for—his brother-in-law is a long-time employee in the household. The rich man’s daughters are charmed: one of them calls Madasamy a “witty fellow,” the other concurs. Madasamy gets the job. And Cho becomes a sardonic, wisecracking fixture in Tamil movies.

In contemporary headlines, “self-driving” refers to autonomous vehicles but in the 1960s southern India, it meant you drove your own car — no chauffeur required. The sight of a self-driving woman was rare, even quietly radical, back then. She was not just steering a vehicle; she was mistress of her fate. She was an object of envy to other women who aspired to modernity and purpose with changing times.

Popular songs of the time acknowledged —and agonized over —this new trend. In the 1964 hit Kadhalikka Neramillai, the lyrics of a hit song asked:

தாலாட்டும் பெண்ணின் பூவாட்டம் கைகள் காரோட்ட வரலாமா

Should a woman who rocks the cradle,Those petal-soft hands of nurture—Should they turn the steering wheel of a car?

Did the aspiring women drivers laugh at this song? Or wince? Perhaps a bit of both.

Today, in many Chennai households, the woman has become the trusted driver of both two-wheelers and four-wheelers.  Women, of all ages, navigating the chaotic streets is a common sight. They too insert their vehicles into the slenderest of gaps  and expertly weave their way through city traffic.

As my hometown prepares to mark another founding anniversary this month – it is supposed to have begun its existence in 1639—I have found myself musing on such quieter revolutions.

In the film Anubavi Raja Anubavi (1967) through Nagesh’s wide-eyed village character, the Madras Nalla Madras song pokes fun at the city’s pace, its linguistic quirks, and its shifting gender codes. That line –“anbalaikkum pomballaikum vidhyasam thoanale” — is delivered with comic bewilderment, but it documents a moment of social flux, where urban modernity unsettles traditional markers of identity. Today, we know that we owe no one long hair, flowing clothes, or any markers of gendered expectation.

Let me add this: Madras, your Tamil is subversive, potent, beautiful. A city’s refusal to genuflect to inherited hierarchies, voiced through its homegrown dialect. This too deserves celebration. Enna solra, Naina? Happy Birthday, city of my birth!