Let’s go AngloIndian

I didn’t know, until quite recently, that “pyol” is a word. Not really an English word, but one of those Hobson-Jobson terms ( taken again from old Tamil usage), that have been assimilated and adapted for everyday use. RK Narayan uses the word frequently; I, too, have used it in my writings. The word is pronounced /pie-oll/ and it is an architectural antiquity that harks back to calmer, less frenetic times.

Of course, Veteran Lines, in Pallavaram, had its fair share of pyols. Right up to the 1980s, most of the bigger bungalows sported pyols, and they served as places where polite conversations took place, not inconveniencing the family indoors, while not really causing heartburn to the people not invited into the living room.

Let me explain, first. A PYOL is a masonry structure, on both sides of the main entrance to the bungalow. Some of them had back-support too, though that was optional. The pyol was used to watch the world go by ( slowly, as you can imagine the Veteran Lines of yesteryear), to wave to a neighbour, or friend, as he/she walked by, to enjoy a cup of tea in the open, letting the breeze ruffle your hair, if you had any left, or to sit down, sometimes till late in it he evening, watching the stars go by, and reminiscing about the good old days.

Not any more, dear Reader. The 21st century does not give us the luxury of a leisurely life anymore. Most of us are cooped up in concrete boxes that we now call home, and match our caged existences with imposing, tall, no-nonsense compound walls. Add to that the swarms of bloodthirsty mosquitoes surrounding us everywhere, and the picture is complete. There is no place to go, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Aaarrgh!

Not so in Veteran Lines, dear Reader, not in my part of the Lines. When I arrived here in the mid-1980s, my pyol was still intact. All I’ve done is to make some improvements: I constructed two side tables—peg tables, actually—so that the “cutting” was always near, to the left or right of the two deck chairs brought out to enjoy the silent night. Today, however, we use the pyol sparingly, for the mosquitoes are unrelenting.

Just to make sure, I rode into the streets of Veteran Lines this morning. I found just five pyol structures still standing, and one more falling to pieces, brick by brick. There used to be more than twenty, in the old days. Don’t take my word for it, but I’m certain that my pyol is the most used in the vicinity. The others are just mute symbols of what really was.

So much for memories. They always have a sure-shot way of livening up any conversation.