documentary – Naveen P M

K. Chakravarthy, 48, proprietor of Reena National Circus, moments before he takes aim at a target to check the accuracy of his rifle.

Bow & Arrows

Chakravarthy’s better half, C. Reena, 35, is often the only female presence in a testosterone-filled crew. Crew members are recruited from time to time, based on demand, with the help of agents.

Juggling balls, rings and balance board.

Chakravarthy literally has to be on his toes during any time the circus is operating as there is very little downtime between his acts.

T. G. Arun, 29, has been performing for Reena National Circus since February. His act involves dressing up as Michael Jackson and enthralling the crowd by executing all of MJ’s signature moves to perfection.

The lasso act is one of many Chakravarthy’s performances that keeps the audience glued to their seats.

Jiyaul Ansari’s, 33, signature act involves rubbing his face against, rolling over, and stamping shards of glass.

Chakravarthy’s stepson Sani, 16, slumbers on a Sunday morning.

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K. Chakravarthy is a showman par excellence who’s literally grown up under the big top.

Having lost his mother at a young age, Chakravarthy ran away from home at 10. He toiled as a busboy in Bengaluru for a short while, but lured by a colleague at work, who was in search of greener pastures, he became a runaway once again. The kids boarded a train to Hassan, Karnataka, but fate had other plans. Upon arrival at their destination, his colleague scammed him out of the few hundred rupees that he was carrying, and the young and naive Chakravarthy lay in despair at the train station with nowhere to go! Moved by his plight, he was offered a job at the railway canteen.

Just as he was getting settled into his new job, out of the blue comes a train carrying circus cargo – stupendous circus wagons, enormous elephants, ferocious tigers and all that razzmatazz. Amar Circus had brought their paraphernalia to set up camp in the town and after scoring a pass to one of their shows, Chakravarthy was bitten by the circus bug! He ran away (once again!) in hopes of getting a job at this circus and lo and behold he got hired, though at another establishment – Geeta Circus.

From then on, it’s been one hell of a ride for the last three decades at over a dozen Indian circuses: after getting his start as a helper in the kitchen, he progressed to doing group acts, then solo acts, then the acts got a little daring, and then riskier until finally he became a revered name in the business. Everything was hunky-dory until it all came to a screeching halt three years back when he and his missus suffered a major accident while performing one of their signature acts. Despite the grievous blow, he’s managed to pull himself back and founded Reena National Circus last year and has since been toiling day and night to make his baby click with the audience.

Mr. Chakravarthy can be reached at +91 951 497 9550

Right before Chennai sees in its earliest light, hawkers hasten to secure a spot at the aisles with their ragbag of wares of all shapes and sizes. Hauling in the day’s catch, droves of tricycles swerve across the packed arena, passing the baton to deft auctioneers who will put on a show with skilful yodelling.

Over at the only fishing harbour in the city, Kasimedu is bizarre and magnificent in equal measure. Anybody new to this place can instantly get overwhelmed by the dizzying load of sights and sounds, not to mention the unmistakable pungent smell of fish. Yet, the place is indefinitely plagued by an influx of customers who throng the fish market by the thousands. Equally many are the number of trawlers that dock at the wharf at any given time, serviced by hundreds of kattumarams that ply between the trawlers and the shore fetching fishes and crustaceans in plastic baskets.

Even during the recent deluge that literally sank most of the city, things carried on like clockwork here. And we can see why: A microcosm of India, really, Kasimedu is an ecosystem of sorts where various subsets of people mutually depend on one another. Be it the fishermen in the docked trawlers who pile the never-ending stream of baskets with fish to pass on to fellow fisherfolk who help in getting those baskets to the shore using rented kattumarams, the daily wage labourers who then work in tandem to deliver the commodities to the wholesale dealers, or the hawkers who complete the cycle by disposing of the items to seafood lovers, no group can function without the other.

This unassuming bond is what makes the harbour and its environs tick. It ticked my box too.

Here’s a visual ode to a place that I love as much as I hate the smell of it.