It was after school one afternoon in the year 2004, when my friend Palani and I, under a whim, decided to grab a bite at a famous eatery in Mylapore. It was to be a feat of sorts; proving how grown up and self-reliant we were, dining like grownups at an eat-out. So we boarded a bus to reach our destination. In our haste and under Palani's "skilled" counsel, we alighted at the wrong stop near TTK road, which immediately seemed like a blunder to me. We were for this reason forced to hike towards Mylapore tank instead.
Distressed, I decided to make a pit stop near Narada Gana Sabha that had a small restaurant joint attached to it on TTK road. And that's where I saw Mr Cho Ramaswamy for the first time in person. I had a vague memory of some relative fondly speaking of his films from some time ago, and how bright and knowledgeable the man was. In all honestly, I initially found him to be quite a peculiar looking man.
Fatigued and still quite a distance from Mylapore, Palani and I stood on the sidewalk exchanging profanities. I blamed him for disembarking at the wrong stop, while he vehemently defended his stupidity. To top that, we realised we were short on cash. At some point in our emphatic public dispute, I heard someone calling to us. I turned back to see Mr Cho sitting in a car, gesticulating to us young boys.
He summoned us to his car and asked us why we were quarrelling. His voice was distinct and sounded strange to my ears. Clad in a safari suit, he introduced himself as a lawyer, and my friend Palani unfortunately became the first to be indicted for the public feud of ours. I was puzzled by the guileless style with which he approached us. It was almost as if we'd been cornered by a school senior in the canteen. After formal introductions and giving our sob story a through hearing, he surprisingly offered to drop us to our destination in Mylapore.
Reluctant at first, Palani and I, out of fear of turning into outlaws in this misadventure, got into the car. Mr Cho was seated in the backseat with us next to him and started conversing with us cheerfully. Sitting next to him, I realised that the man had not only a peculiar voice but a vernacular that was quite different from what we heard elsewhere. He was witty, brimming with information and had a solid command of both Tamil and English. He had a one-liner comeback to an inquisitive Palani’s questioning his bald look. He said he liked it and that it doubled up as a 'solar panel'
He spoke to us about the vedas, his interest and association with drama/stage, and his ancestry. He even suggested I take up law as a career option — an advice, in hindsight, that I regret not taking. Also at the time, my biggest stumbling block was the mid-term mathematics paper that I had flunked for a second time that year. He spoke with childlike enthusiasm mixed with histrionics in his repartee. His persona evidently advertised his prowess in stagecraft and acting. He was way 'cooler' compared to the average old man we were acquainted with who complained of health issues and enlarged prostrates. Though one could not guess his age, I gathered he'd been around long enough to tell apart apples from oranges.
We soon reached Mylapore and bid adieu to the bald and intelligent Mr Cho who had dropped us in his car so kindly. His last remark to us was in Tamil: "Dei Nalla padikannum da, illai na naadu urrupadathu (Study well or else this country won’t prosper).”
Cho Ramaswamy was a remarkable statesman who left an indelible mark on journalism, theatre, cinema, politics, law — and two young minds that afternoon.
(Vishno Rao is an ad filmmaker who works out of Chennai and Bengaluru)