CHENNAI: Thinnai iruttil evaro kettaar Thalaiyai enge vaipathaam enru Evano oruvan sonnaan Kalavu pogaamal kai aruge vai ...wrote poet Gnanakoothan (aka R Ranganathan), bringing to you in verse the very essence of the quintessential piece of architecture and an enduring social marker.
A slice of nighttime banter offers a glimpse into life on the thinnai — falling asleep to the neighbour’s small talk, sharing the space with strangers if need be, and accepting the risk of burglary as an inevitable side effect of this shared space.
Though enshrined in Tamil literature, popular culture and collective reminiscence, the thinnai has long since lost the endurance battle to space and matters of safety. Even as the expanding city continues to mark its decline, the need to document it only grows more pertinent.
Keeping it private
Historian Pradeep Chakravarthy points to the arrival of the Art Deco movement for the beginning of the end. "Art Deco movement started here about 70 years back. We started having bungalows by that time itself. All these old houses were converted into modern houses that didn’t have a thinnai back then. The older houses in Triplicane, Mylapore, Velachery and the agraharam areas, you would still find them with a thinnai. But when they were remodelled in the 50s and 60s, the thinnai was mostly closed off and it became part of the house. Then - when the pedestrian on the road does not has access to it - it is not a thinnai anymore," he explains.
Manohar Devadoss, a veteran artist who has immortalised the historic, social and cultural aspects of Madurai and Chennai in his sketches, says even his childhood house in Madurai went the same way - shut in by a grill and door - in the late 1930s. Even then, you saw more houses with the structure, the farther you went from the city, he says.
The battle for space in a city that had to cater to a steady influx of migrants was reason enough for people to not be indulgent with the limited land at hand. Pradeep also credits the decline to people wanting to become more and more private. "The whole concept of the thinnai is that the wayfarer is also god, he needs rest and we have to give him space. With the western idea of private space coming in, you don’t care about the wayfarer; you’re only worried about your space and your building. And there is never enough space right? People also started buying a cycle, or maybe a moped later. And the space that would have gone for the thinnai would be a great place to keep the vehicle. In those houses, there would be steps (leading up to this space) and a ramp in between," he points out.
Cycle of trade
Architect and founder of Nam Veedu, Nam Ooru Nam Kadhai, Thirupurasundari Sevvel, offers another reason for the decline. As traditional materials began taking a hit with industrialisation and mass production, so did the techniques dependent on these materials.
Even for the people interested in preserving the thinnai of their ancestral house or wanting to fit one in their new house were left wanting for lack of skilled artisans, she points out. “You can compare this with the organic food or organic cloth industry.
Everyone was using khadi (making it cheap and accessible), but it lost to mass production, then there is a revival but it comes back as an expensive alternative, and so people don’t buy it as much; there goes the livelihood of people involved in its making.
It’s only when the artisans involved find a way to benefit from the trade that the industry sustains itself,” she says. That was the reason the thinnai had to be demolished at artist Rajesh Seshadri’s ancestral house in Srirangam four years ago. The rosewood in the structure was falling apart from a severe white ant infestation. Now, the thinnai survives only in his watercolour sketch of the house.
The more we forget the language of things, the more the techniques are left behind, suggests Thirupurasundari. "You cannot replace the word thinnai with 'a raised platform'; then, a bathroom sink too becomes a raised platform. The right description would be that it is a raised platform that acts as a transitional space, a connection between the private and the public. We don’t have alternative language markers for this. The more we forget the language roots of it, the more we forget the practice too," she offers.
For the love of heritage
Despite evidence of its decline, the thinnai (and its allies — muttram, thazhvaram and pin kattu) survives in several pockets of the city, assures Thirupurasundari. What began as a personal project for her architectural thesis in 2011 evolved into a full-fledged Nam Thinnai Trail three years later. The trail has introduced eager enthusiasts to thinnai houses (most of them aged 60 years and above) in Aminjikarai, Kilpauk, T Nagar, West Mambalam, Mylapore, Triplicane, Chintadripet, Parry’s Corner and Perungalathur.
It also helped her document the different types of thinnai still surviving. The trails were mainly for children (especially for special children) and art college students, she says. The trails also allowed her to take the concept of thinnai beyond its physical dimensions. This is the way to not just preserve heritage but keep the interest alive and build anew, she offers.
"We have to always look at architectural features with the people involved. In all these trails, we talk to people living there — getting to know about how they use the thinnai and the upkeep. So we make the children talk to the inhabitants of the house and learn from there. We have done storytelling sessions, theatre performance, shadow puppet shows and craft demos. All this was done in 'living houses'. People have been very welcoming and enthusiastic about sharing their thinnai when they get to know our intent," she shares.
And thus, in small measures, there seems to be room for a revival of the thinnai, it seems. On his part, Pradeep is setting up Tirunelveli’s first heritage home. And he assures that it will only be complete with a thinnai.
It’s likely to be done by the end of the year, he says. For Thirupurasundari, it’s a matter of introducing her clients to the various possibilities that the thinnai has to offer. The first inspiration comes from a visit to her home/office that sports a thinnai substitute (given that it’s inside the main gate).
"We have to adapt it to the modern space. People are willing to give space for a shoe rack. But, instead of providing a table with flower vase, we can offer a larger platform with a built-in shoe rack. It comes down to how we perceive the space," she explains.
Some of her clients who adopted a makeshift thinnai in their homes have found that it has come in extremely handy since the lockdown. This transitional space has been ideal to welcome delivery executives, collect essentials, offer hospitality without compromising on each other's safety. Photographer Ramaswamy N points out that the younger generation mourns the loss of these historical markers and that in itself is a promising turn.
"There’s the desire to experience what's left and protect it. The younger generation, especially, are able to appreciate going back to the roots - from Athangudi tiles to red oxide floors. This is a good way to revive these things," he suggests. This - and the makeshift thinnai made from lying flat an abandoned pillar at my house - offers hope.