The crisp, white editions of Madras Musings were delivered by the postman like clockwork. In school back then, I would eagerly await the tabloid for the vintage black-and-white images of erstwhile Madras it carried. I would pore over the snapshots of Adyar Cooum, Mount Road, Mambalam, and of iconic structures such as Central Railway Station, Marina Beach and Fort St George that it displayed generously.
My first interaction with Mr. Muthiah was ten years ago, over an email. I had requested him for some contacts for my dissertation at Asian College of Journalism. He responded promptly a day later, listing out several ecological and heritage experts in the city. With, of course, a reminder to read the sixth edition of his book Madras Rediscovered.
In 2010, I wrote to him again, with a different request. Fresh out of college, I was eager to intern with the chronicler; he hated to be called anything else. God forbid you say historian!
He replied almost instantly and gave me his landline number with a time to call and fix a meeting. He did not have a cell phone then and I doubt he had one now.
I realised I lived two streets away, and the first meeting remains fresh in my memory. I knew he was a stickler for time and I reached well in advance. Books were all I could see as I walked into the living room of his two-storey home. His wife, the late Valliammai Muthiah, was trying to clear up space on the crowded dining table stocked high with books and piles of papers. Mr. Muthiah, seated on a sofa in the far left, was calmly jotting down notes and sipping his morning coffee. He liked his conversations brief and to-the-point. In a few minutes, he gave me my first assignment, a blog compiling the various events held for Madras Day celebrations that year, and that started my six-month long internship with him.
I fondly recall his responses to my emails. All emails were printed out and given to Mr. Muthiah, who would write down his responses by hand with a fountain pen and hand them back to his assistant, who religiously typed them out in the tiny room on the ground floor he worked out of.
Mr. Muthiah was a no-nonsense person who appreciated those who respected his time and stuck to deadlines. He was more than happy to discuss fresh ideas, but was at the same time quick to shoot down ones that simply “did not make sense”. Almost every conversation was underlined with his trademark straight-faced humour, often making it hard to know when to believe him!
A great teacher, he taught me how to report on heritage with a sensitive eye and to give our city the respect it deserves. Looking back, I believe my love for reporting on architecture and heritage was birthed right here, at Madras Musings.
After the internship, I stayed in touch with him, for assignments and the occasional reference letter for fellowships. And I still remember the trademark, frank tone with which he responded to one particular request. “All the requirements sought by the organisation are too much for me. Half the problem is their polysyllabic language. The other half is that I don’t accept instructions from any organisation on what I should and should not do.” Indeed, this sums up Mr. Muthiah.