A suburb is born!

Dr. M. Sathya Prasad.  28 December 2018. 2:04 PM

East India Company was busy ruling India even while the tiny island nation of England was fast becoming a mighty empire – the largest ever in the history of mankind where the sun never set. And yet, India was its only true crown-jewel. Those were the days when the dazzling Kohinoor was still ours. The empire still had a lot left to loot from what used to be akanda Bharat. The great Napoleon Bonaparte was at his wits end, after having escaped from the desolate island of Elba. Mother earth was going through a geo-political upheaval. United States was just trying to become united. General George Washington had, only years before, left his legacy along with the great Franklin and Jefferson, seeding for what would become a world super-power.

England was thus doing the delicate balancing act of maintaining an empire, all the while training its shiny magnum 9 Enfield rifles on whoever in the slightest came against its might. The queen of England reigned as a supreme sovereign of the world. The spider called England was at the centre of the Imperial web, ever alert for the slightest perturbations of dissidence, which was immediately crushed with brutal force, funded by theft from across the globe. Churchill had not yet arrived. The wily Robert Clive not only outran Dupleix but also captured the fort of the less than chivalrous Arcot Nawab. Instead of resisting Clive, the cowardly Nawab escaped the fort like a chicken. Clive found the fort ready for his occupation conceded on a platter!

Back here in India, the capital of the empire moved from Calcutta to Delhi – but who cares so long as the Gateway of India was Bombay! Yes, the British had the foresight to coalesce a tiny cluster of hamlets in a non-descript coast of western India and give it a nice sounding name – Bombay! A name that would go down the annals of history evoking awe and admiration anytime and anywhere – “Wow! You are from Bombay!”. The average Indian is more awed by Bombay than by a Copenhagen or Amsterdam. Bombay was India’s land of opportunities. Converse with a guy from Bombay for a few minutes, even a fellow who had never crossed Jolarpetta would express his admiration with a drawl – ‘achaaaa’. Bombay is infectious. It just rubs on to people, even those remotely connected.

Back to the empire. During the tumultuous start of the nineteenth century, the empire was at true cross roads. To consolidate the empire, it had to enlarge infrastructure in India, build cities and designate those as power centres. Railways was deemed a must and where else could they start laying a line than – you guessed it right – Bombay!

Of course, the Brits needed a lot of accountants, perhaps to keep accurate tally of their massive loot. This is where Kerala came in handy. It was not called Kerala then. The geographical domains were fuzzy and there were presidencies; and states referred to those that were princely. What was then a tiny hamlet, called Palghat, became the accountant valley of the empire. Palghat was known for its Malayalam accented Tamils who were either good in culinary art or accounting – by hook or crook they either kept books or were cooks! A few of them cooked while they were not accounting, and the rest accounted for what they had already cooked. In the absence of royal patronage, the accountants were solicited by the Brits to move to the commercial capital of their crown jewel – Bombay.

It was a heart-rending scene. The numerous young accountants, who had never ventured beyond Palghat and the surrounding hamlets, were now getting ready for a long sojourn. At least their accounting skills gave them the solace that they were in a position better than the indentured labourers who were taken by packed ships to parts of Africa, Mauritius and even as far as South America. Compared to these unfortunate people (who incidentally gave the world the Rohan Khanais and Alvin Kallicharans and Shivnarin Chanderpauls), the accountants of Palghat were at least well within the fuzzy borders of the great Indian subcontinent. 

Many of the accountants were freshly married. The British assured accommodation in Mumbai, much better than what these young men were accustomed to, in Palghat. With great expectations and fresh aspirations, the accountants in Palghat set sight for the then distant land of Bombay. They were given ceremonious departure by their respective elders, complete with rituals that included a ‘poorna kumbam’ – an essential part of which is a vessel made from shiny copper.

Bombay was as exciting as it ever has been, even at the turn of the nineteenth century. The accommodations were well designed and constructed - typical British planning. The quarters were much better than the thatched and tiled village houses that our accountants were accustomed to, back home in Palghat. There was only one problem. The quarters did not have toilets. The Brits subsumed that since Indian hamlets do not have toilets, the Bombay quarters for these folks also did not need one. The British somehow had formed an understanding that Indians love to defecate in the open amidst the company of their dear friends, gossiping about the happenings while simultaneously dumping. They felt open and group defecation was an inalienable part of Indian teamwork.

The accountants while relaxing after their long travel had this sudden urge to dump. That was when the ceremonious shiny copper vessel given to them back home in Palghat came to their rescue. The accountants understood that their British masters were uncompromising when it came to order and discipline. So, the accountants, in rows of three would march with their respective shiny copper vessels, with water to the brim, searching for hideouts such as bushes and seclusions, where they could have a hearty dump. It was such a moving sight those days, with all these accountants marching twice a day, with the shiny copper vessel in hand, full of water. The vessel glistened with varied hues depending on the time of the day. The reflections from the vessels were so luminous that at times it was even blinding. The incident angle of the sun’s rays justifiably mattered!

Now, a rounded pot-like vessel in Tamil is called a ‘sombu’; copper is called ‘sembu”. So, the pot that accompanied the accountants to the dumping point became ‘sembu-sombu’, i.e., copper vessel. It is known to all of us that a societal dwelling is commonly called as ‘oor’ in Tamil. The term ‘oor’ for small-town dates to the antiquity of Sangam Era. Time and vernacular usage generally denudes pronunciation. For instance, the term for green grass in Tamil is ‘pull’. The slums of Chennai call it ‘pillu’. Likewise, ‘puli’ which stands for a tiger, is called as ‘pili’ by the (same) slum dwellers. For those august members among you who belong to AGSD (Association for Glorifying Slum-Dwellers) and likely to object to my use of the term ‘slum-dweller’, let me gently remind you that there is no such association. 

Let us come back to Bombay. Sombu is also vernacularized as Sembu (don’t confuse with the Tamil movie actor. That is Simbu. The character in Lion King is Simba. Names could be confusing sometimes). So, the copper vessel became ‘Sembu-sembu’ instead of ‘Sembu-Sombu’. The residential locality became ‘Sembu-Sembu oor’, honouring the scores of accountants who use their respective copper vessels twice a day – in disciplined parade – to move their bowels; attending to nature’s call amidst pristine nature, along with their good-natured kindred spirits. Since Microsoft Word software does not like repeating words, it simply became “Sembu orr”, now known in practise as Chembur.