My brief visit to Chennai began at the historic University of Madras, one of India’s oldest centres of learning, standing gracefully by the seaside as a symbol of Tamil pride and progress. From there, I made my way to the ‘Kalaignar Ulagam’ Museum, which beautifully captures the life, vision, and struggles of Tamil and Dalit leaders who transformed society through courage and conviction.
Among them was L. Elayaperumal (1924-2005), a respected Congress leader, three-time MP and one-time MLA. Through his efforts, the Tamil Nadu Assembly, on 2 December 1970, passed a landmark amendment to the Hindu Religious and Charitable Endowments Act, abolishing the system of hereditary priesthood and enabling competent persons of all castes to become temple priests — a bold and historic step towards equality.
Another inspiring figure featured in the museum was Jagannathan Shivashanmugam (1901-1975), a pioneering Congress politician who became the first Scheduled Caste Mayor of Madras in 1938, and later the first Speaker of the Madras Legislative Assembly after India’s independence. His leadership opened the way for greater representation and dignity among the marginalised.
The museum also honours M. Karunanidhi (1924-2018), the five-time Chief Minister of Tamil Nadu, renowned for his progressive reforms in education, social welfare, and Tamil cultural identity. His enduring contributions continue to inspire a sense of pride and inclusiveness across the state.
After leaving the museum, I came across one of Chennai’s most iconic landmarks — the “Triumph of Labour” statue, also known as the Labour Statue, located near Marina Beach. Sculpted by Debi Prasad Roy Chowdhury and unveiled in 1959, the bronze monument portrays four men straining together to move a rock — a powerful symbol of the hard work and dignity of the labouring class. It stands close to the site where India’s first May Day was celebrated, representing the spirit of unity and perseverance.
Along the long stretch of Marina Beach, numerous other statues pay tribute to Tamil and national heroes, including Kannagi, Swami Sivananda, Tiruvalluvar, Subramaniya Bharathiyar, M.G. Ramachandran, Thanthai Periyar, Avvaiyar, Dr Annie Besant, Sir Thomas Munro, G.U. Pope, Robert Caldwell, Kamarajar, and Shivaji Ganesan, among others — each monument telling its own story of courage, intellect, and service.
The Marina, a vast sand beach along the Coromandel Coast on the Bay of Bengal, stretches for nearly 13 kilometres, making it the longest natural urban beach in India. It offers a stunning view of the sea, bustling with life and history, where the scent of the ocean mingles with the sound of waves and distant laughter.
This breathtaking shoreline is said to be the second-longest natural beach in the world. Yet, no country clearly claims the first — so where exactly is the longest beach?
On the way to the beach, a tender street scene caught my eye — a young girl balancing on a tightrope with a long bamboo stick under the burning sun, while her mother stood below, waiting for kind donations. I dropped a ₹50 note as a small gesture of encouragement, moved by their perseverance.
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| My friend G. Kirubakaran |
On the beach sand, I came across another talent-hunt scene — people shooting balloons for fun by paying a few rupees, while others were enjoying small snacks and ice creams under colourful umbrellas. Sitting on the sand and sipping a cup of tea, I watched the rolling waves rise and fall, sweeping gently to the shore. Many people stood close to the water so that their feet would be touched by the waves, while groups of young girls laughed and screamed joyfully. Watching all these moments felt truly heartwarming — a simple yet precious glimpse of life’s beauty.
Finally, as I looked across Marina Beach, the endless blue horizon, the warmth of the sun, and the soft sea breeze created a perfect harmony of calm and reflection. The waves whispered softly, carrying with them stories of struggle, strength, and survival — reminders that even amid hardship, beauty and hope never fade. When it was almost dusk, we left the place — walking towards our homestay, happily like the moving waves.
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