Off the cuff: Biriyani politics

As the last speaker droned on about drainage, a heavenly aroma wafted through the hall. Heads perked up, noses twitched, and stomachs rumbled in unison.
Express illustration: Mandar Pardikar
Express illustration: Mandar Pardikar
Updated on
3 min read

The Chennai Corporation council meeting on October 29 was a curious affair. Councillors, usually known for their passionate debates were strangely subdued. Whispers and a sense of anticipation hung in the air. The reason? Biryani! A generous zonal chairman had promised a post-meeting feast, and suddenly, the agenda was being dispatched faster than Usain Bolt sprinting to the finish line.

“Biryani awaits!” was the unspoken mantra, and even the most contentious issues were met with unanimous agreement. As the last speaker droned on about drainage, a heavenly aroma wafted through the hall. Heads perked up, noses twitched, and stomachs rumbled in unison. Forget manifestos and promises, the quickest way to a councillor’s heart is apparently through their stomach.

Party over grief

Political parties and damage control - it’s the never-ending story. But sometimes, the efforts are so bizarre they deserve their own Netflix special. Take the Tamilaga Vettri Kazhagam (TVK). After a member tragically passed away at their Vikravandi conclave, the party went into damage control mode.

Apparently, there were whispers about keeping the media at bay. But hold on! It seems some family members, not the inner circle mind you, were actually miffed about the negative press the conclave was getting. Party officials, probably sweating more than usual, are trying to calm the storm. “Let’s not add fuel to the fire, folks,” they likely pleaded. It’s a classic case of politics trying to play referee in the game of grief. Maybe they should hire a “Chief Empathy Officer” or something.

Divine intervention

The DMK government, never ones to disappoint when it comes to a bit of political theatre, went ahead with the Skanda Sashti recital – much to the chagrin of some allies who kicked up a right royal fuss. HR&CE Minister PK Sekarbabu, with a twinkle in his eye, led the event, which saw HR&CE school students chanting the Tamil prayer song to Lord Muruga with gusto. This “divine intervention” was the brainchild of the international conference on Lord Muruga.

Officials who attended it, clearly touched by some higher power, decided to organise the recital and introduce spiritual courses. This, however, ruffled a few feathers in the secular camp. DK president K Veeramani, with a furrowed brow and a stern voice, cautioned the HR&CE minister against being ‘over-enthusiastic’. Chief Minister MK Stalin, not one to miss an opportunity, has been reeling off a list of achievements longer than the queue for a biryani stall at a Chennai Super Kings match, including retrieving temple lands and sprucing up amenities.

Sekarbabu, ever the diplomat, assured everyone the Skanda Sashti wasn’t imposed on students. “Only those who were willing participated,” he claimed, with a wink and a nudge that could probably be felt all the way in Delhi. He also announced that devotees had donated a whopping `960 crore to the temple coffers, confident the DMK wouldn’t leave it lying around in a forgotten temple vault.

Illegal rental

Thanjavur’s Deepavali flea market usually thrives on festive chaos. This year, however, the chaos had a distinctly organised feel to it. Seems a party man, following orders from higher-ups in the city’s DMK unit, had a money-making brainwave: ‘rent’ out makeshift shop spaces. Permission from the city corporation? Nah, who needs that when you have a party to fund? Last year, ward secretaries of the ruling party had their own little cash-grabbing schemes.

But this year, a single individual was nominated to collect the booty from all traders, charging a hefty Rs 20,000 to `30,000 per shop. The loot, it seems, was distributed amongst party functionaries all the way down to the ward level. A Deepavali bonus, if you will. The party was over when the Madras High Court crashed the scene, ordering those unauthorised structures removed. Traders, understandably, weren’t keen on paying for a vanished marketplace. Refunds were issued, but with a ‘processing fee’, naturally. Who knew Deepavali could be so lucrative?

(Contributed by Praveena SA, Subashini Vijayakumar, T Muruganandham, N Ramesh; compiled by Dinesh Jefferson E)

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