Nirupama Subramanian, who is known for her political journalism – especially her stints in Islamabad and Colombo – turns her gaze from international relations to an intensely local crime investigation in Tamil Nadu with her new book Murder on the Menu (2021). Pitchai Rajagopal (1947-2019) is the protagonist and the antagonist in this work of non-fiction, which she describes as “the sensational story of the tycoon who founded Saravana Bhavan.”
The first half of this book traces the “meteoric rise” of P. Rajagopal, who migrated from the village of Punnaiyadi to the city of Madras (now Chennai). It examines how a salesman in a grocery store became a restaurant baron, and a magnet for clients and jobseekers. It seeks to explain how his business grew from one restaurant in Madras to a chain with outlets across Paris, London, New York and Frankfurt.
The author does a fine job of building up the social context that gave wings to P. Rajagopal’s dreams. He was among the many young men who left Punnaiyadi to find a job in Madras and other cities in Tamil Nadu because “agriculture had become a constant struggle” in Thoothukudi, the “semi-arid, drought-prone district” that their village was located in. He belonged to “the Nadar agricultural caste group that had over the years transitioned to trade”.
It is important to know P. Rajagopal’s background to understand why he was loved and respected by many even after being convicted for sexual harassment and murder. This “leader of a new generation of Tamil entrepreneurs in an economically emerging, post-liberalization India” was famous for his generosity towards employees. Apart from paying their salaries, he covered their medical expenses and fees for the education of their children.
His business acumen made him realize the significance of capturing the loyalty of the Brahmins in Madras. Though he was not a vegetarian, he made sure that Saravana Bhavan served only vegetarian fare. He promoted his restaurants as “high-class”, got his staff to wear vibhuti (holy ash) on their foreheads, and also gave them money for haircuts and toiletries kits to help them maintain high standards of cleanliness and hygiene to attract customers.
The author notes, “There was no cutting corners at Saravana Bhavan – the vegetables had to be fresh, the idlis made with the best urad dal and idli rice so they would turn out fluffy and soft and white, like a jasmine flower. The dosais were roasted in ghee to the correct shade of golden, and the sambar had to have just the right consistency and seasoning.” Sambar powder was bought from Guntur; the tamarind came from Tumkur and the tomatoes from Hassan.
Unfortunately, P. Rajagopal’s idea of control extended beyond the quality of the food and the ambience. The second half of the book delves into how he controlled the private lives of his employees and their families. While he was married to a woman named Valli Ammal, he got interested in Krithiga. She was the wife of his chef Ganesh Iyer, who had been hired because he was a Brahmin in order to make sweets and snacks that were “Brahmin favourites”.
The author writes about how P. Rajagopal made their lives miserable. The husband was threatened, paid off, and asked to get out of the picture. Krithiga became P. Rajagopal’s reluctant second wife, perhaps because she felt there was no other choice. Valli Ammal apparently made “peace” with this arrangement. A few years later, P. Rajagopal set his eyes on another woman named Jeevajothi. She had no intentions of leaving her husband Prince.
This page-turner – published by Juggernaut Books – is an apt reminder of the fact that rich and powerful men consider themselves beyond the law, which they can easily bend at will by greasing some palms. However, their expectations of such immunity are brutally crushed when people in the criminal justice system resolve to do their job without fear or favour.
The book shows how this “do-gooding hotelier” tried to restore his image by becoming a patron of religion. After a trial court convicted him of culpable homicide not amounting to murder, he appealed the sentence in the Madras High Court. He also “poured” five crore rupees into “building the Vana Tirupati temple in Punnaiyadi.” By the time this temple was inaugurated, the court rejected his appeal and gave him a life sentence for murder.
The author writes, “Rajagopal appealed the verdict in the Supreme Court and received a stay on imprisonment pending the court’s decision. He then went ahead and organized a grand kumbhabhishekam, or consecration of the temple, complete with music recitals by a number of artistes.” Read this book for her splendid account of how money, religion, and art routinely come together to grant respectability to India’s elite, and outwardly wash away their alleged sins.
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