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By Suchismita Goswami, Phd Researcher, Global Health section and Copenhagen Centre for Disaster Research, University of Copenhagen, Denmark
Imagine a land found by chance
Bought in pence
And ruled by the whims of the Brits
The land with many names-
Madrasapattinam, Madras, Chennai
The find became a major port and trading center
The fisher folks and villagers’ lives got shuffled and moved by scales
A white town and a black town emerged
Within a distance of as little as 2 kilometers
The French teased the place briefly
How did that whimsical chance meeting become true love?
Is not too hard to tell
The briny-smelling air and the softest rice cake can steal any heart
Many villages transcended boundaries to become part of the city
Mostly unplanned, to cater to the needs of the Raj
Susan Neild’s works unearthed the fine history
Few copies are still breathing in the archives of the old libraries in the city
Independence came in 1947
Equality, democracy and fraternity were promised
Black town or white town ceased by name
For all spaces merged to become one with the city of Madras
Colonizers left but wars went on
The war for dignity, language and ecology
The resilient people of Chennai fought valiantly
Some were lost, and many were won
Over time, the city grew
Assemblage of villages, forests and wetlands were swallowed by the city
Lifelines of ecosystems destroyed and (un)assembles forgotten
Chennai chose immanence over transcendence
New boundaries created
By cyborgs of the new city
Forests turned into elite institutions and marshlands turned into huge department stores
Unmindful gentrification pushed the most vulnerable into state sponsored ghettos
During an untimely October downpour
40 km away from the center, in one of such ghettos for the flood-displaced resettlers
Wakes up Paati in sweat and chills in the middle of the night
Shouts out loud, facing her son
“Oh, you stupid! With how many pence did you sell my land for?”
Postscript:
I intend to show through my poetry how a city and along with its people shifted from colonial times to the modern day. In that process, what happens to the vulnerable populations who are the original inhabitants of the land? Through several discussions, it was realised that the loss of their land and, with it, their associated livelihood has hurt them the most. The city was born by inheriting the land of several fishing villages, and now those people and their livelihood opportunities are pushed to the peripheries. The resettlements are done in several pretext of a flood, development projects and for river beautification. These groups were moved each time; the city expanded, and the peripheries changed. It is almost like once these groups of people make an urban periphery to a viable centre they were pushed into another periphery. As if silently, they are making and growing the city and once it is viable, they are being further shifted away from that space. With every move, there is always an immense sense of loss in terms of memories, histories, identities and established livelihood.
An elderly woman from the resettlement area who used to be a fisherwoman inspires this poetry. She has personally moved along with her family five times since she was born due to either a disaster or a government agenda.
Further reading:
Acknowledgement:
This poetry is inspired after interviewing an elderly woman who lives in one of the peripheral resettlement sites in urban Chennai. This discussion was part of my fieldwork, which is funded by an interdisciplinary and international research project called Disaster Risk Creation in Urban Resettlement Processes funded by the International Research Fund Denmark (2021-2025).
* Grandmother in Tamil.
Disclaimer: The views expressed in this piece are those of the author/s and do not necessarily reflect the views or policies of AIDMI.
