A conversation with Varun Mudaliar

You've been here for five generations?

Yes, I'm the fourth generation and my kids are the fifth staying in the same house. It doesn't happen so often that five generations stay in the same house—maybe some royal families in Europe. My grandmother jokes that we've been in this house longer than the Windsors have been in Buckingham Palace, because they were actually elsewhere and only came to Buckingham Palace after World War II.

When did your family come here?

Just before the Second World War. My great-grandfather was an Arcot Mudaliar who worked in the Mysore Electricity Department. He was very intimately involved in the construction of both the Shimsha and Shivasamudram hydroelectric power stations.

Where are Mudaliars from originally?

From Arcot, near Madras—that's how our house is called Arcot. Arcot and Vellore were two towns on the banks of the Palar river in that region. After the 1857 revolt—the First War of Independence—and the great plague that spread from 1895 till 1902, many Tamilians, and especially Mudaliars, came to Bangalore. Even when we came here, though we're the same caste, there was always the distinction of being an Arcot Mudaliar or a Vellore Mudaliar.

Interesting tidbit—the first revolt against British rule in India happened in Arcot around 1815 and was put down by the British who were in Vellore. It was the first documented revolt in India.

Tell us about your great-grandfather.

He lost his father when he was very young. We don't have much information apart from his name—Chakrapani—because my father got his name from his great-grandfather. We don't know how he died. My great-grandfather joined the Mysore Electricity Board and came up the ranks. By the time he retired, he was the senior-most Indian. Above him was an American engineer named Forbes—not the Forbes magazine family, but it was quite a common name back then.

How did you get this house?

He bought it just prior to his retirement. The inner shell was already constructed and there was a tenant living here—Mallaradhya Urs was his name. I don't know if he was a chief minister or education minister, but he was a tenant when he was not yet famous. When my great-grandfather retired, the tenant's family left and he came and settled here. My grandfather's been in this house from the time he was maybe twenty or twenty-five, got married here, stayed here. So, from the 1940s or so, my grandfather was here, all my uncles and aunts stayed here. My dad was born in this house, passed away in this house. And now I'm here thanks to them.

Why was preserving this house so important?

My grandmother—my paternal grandmother—and my father had a passion to preserve this. Their memories of what Malleshwaram was and how all the old houses have gone—it's some kind of loss for the whole city. The culture, the identity seems to be going and it's all becoming concrete towers and noise. They went through a lot of pains in all manner of fashions to keep this as it is.

And you've always lived here?

I came to this house when I was six months old—I was born in my mother's house—but I've been here all my life. I had the privilege not to ever have to move out for work or whatever. I was born in the early '80s, and I remember this house in the late '80s and early '90s, how peaceful Malleshwaram was. There was hardly any traffic, no problem of parking because there were hardly one or two cars in every road.

Your neighbors have been here a long time too?

For our good luck, all three corners still have their old houses. The house on this side is covered up with zinc sheets, but inside is actually a house with similar architecture—I've never been able to go in. It's become a godown, unfortunately quite ugly and a source of noise. But they've been our neighbors for five generations as well.

Tell us about the house's evolution.

When my grandfather moved here, this was existing but not in the current form. This was like a shed with rings in the corner where they'd tie the cows at night. This was the main door—that's why you see these two windows inside. Everything was completely open—this side, that side, all open.

In those days, the caste system was still fairly prevalent. The men would sit in the open verandah here and the women cloistered inside there. During the day, the cows would be taken out for grazing. If any outsider came, the men would entertain and send them from here so as not to go inside, depending on their caste and status. You were admitted only up until here because after that was the ‘women's area’. If women came, as long as they were of the same social status, they were taken straight in. Most business was finished outside. At night, the cows would return and be tied up here again.

The bathrooms were detached from the buildings and built near the rear wall of the compound with the conservancy lanes behind. In those days, there were only dry latrines and so the night soil was removed from the lanes.

Did you make any major changes in the structure?

In the '70s, we built the bathrooms with the house and did general extensions—rounded off a few things, added a couple of things on either side. Then a minor renovation in the early 2000s. Major one in 2016 when we had to demolish that portion and rebuild. It's been an evolution.

My uncle shifted upstairs, did a major renovation, closed up the ventilators that were on top—we had rodent problems—and that became a separate unit. My uncle is no more, but my aunt still stays above. It's a mirror of this, more or less.

Do you have five generations of belongings too?

Yeah! We have five generations of junk filled in this house. I think we're pathological hoarders. We've been sticking to all sorts of stuff which has long lived past its expiry. My house is due for a major expunging, not just cleanup. But our busy schedules, we're all living in our own bubbles, so...

What makes this house different from modern homes?

One is the space which is not there in modern houses. The high ceilings, the materials—the core is brick and mud, finished with lime. Lots of these houses are built with mud and lime, so they have very thick walls and are very strong. If cared for well, lime plaster has good waterproofing properties, but somewhere along the line that skill has become extinct. Now it has to be replaced with cement and cement doesn't do such a good job.

The house breathes, there's good airflow, no claustrophobic feelings. The house is always at a slight inversion from the weather outside—if it's cold, it's warm inside; if it's hot, it's cool inside. Early on, the central part of this main hall had ventilators on top—it's called a thermo-siphon. Old houses had a ventilator below and above. But we had to close it because of rodent problems.

What about Malleshwaram – what was it like when you were growing up?

I studied at Bishop Cottons, went by bus. Eighth Cross has always been busy—it was the hub. But the rest of Malleshwaram was a lot quieter, except maybe one hour in the morning when everyone was going to work or school, and one or two hours in the evening. Apart from that, it was like a sleepy suburb.

Why are people so attached to Malleshwaram?

I guess it has to do with location and the fact that everything is convenient. We have our railway station, police station—at one point, even the water supply for Bangalore was here with our own tank. It's like a mini city. Malleshwaram and Basavanagudi were designed as two small townships to decongest the whole city. If you were in Malleshwaram, much like how nowadays Yelahanka is, you didn't really have to go out unless there was some big compulsion. Everything you need is here.

It always had the best hospital. For the longest time, it was K.C. General Hospital—in the government scheme of things, general hospital is at the pinnacle. It started as a maternity hospital, then became a general hospital. Now we have two Manipals and a Cloud Nine—too many actually!

The government schools were renowned—the girls' school on 13th cross and the boys' school on 18th cross. Many eminent people who became eminent later had studied in those schools. M.E.S. College came in the late '70s and became an institution.

There was industry too—Raja Mills and Binny Mills, the two mills. Kirloskar, Mysore Lamps, MSDL, so many. And IISc, of course—lots of people from there. It's always been kind of like a small independent town.

Did you say there was an airport?

Yeah! IISc had an airstrip in the campus on the side facing Mathikere. For small planes. All of that got swallowed up. Can you believe that?

What bothers you about Malleshwaram now?

Nothing makes me upset. It's life—it keeps changing, evolving. It's progress. Maybe the government could do a better job regulating things like car parking. The problem is the laws are too outdated, too antiquated, and prone severely to corruption. Somebody who wants to do the right thing is prevented and forced to do the wrong thing.

For example, when a big house like this is divided into four or five small plots, they could force people to have adequate parking within rather than on the roads. Right now, random people who stay somewhere else come and park their cars here. People going to commercial areas—there's no parking there, so they park around here. I've done it myself, no choice!

Every time they build a mall, the traffic deteriorates because there are so many people coming and parking. The malls charge hefty fees—literally like a fine—for parking inside, whereas they should do it at a cheaper rate to encourage people to use it. But the fees are so high that people park around residential areas instead. These things could be regulated better.

What are your sweetest childhood memories?

The best part was having a big garden, being able to play in my own space. And looking back, I don't think the elders were so worried about where the children were. The sweetest memory is the safety in which you could go—even crossing the road was not a challenge. There were no phones. Homes were open—you would just walk into neighbors' houses uninvited, they would come in here, you never turned anyone away.

That loss of community, I definitely feel it. One of the things I've fought hardest for is that my kids get to play in this kind of huge house.