Palace of sorts

Quick, tell me the name of any royal dynasty that had its seat in Madras? You may find it difficult, and that is all right, because Madras was never a royal capital. But with its importance as the seat of administration during the British era, there were several royals who picked up property in the city and maintained a kind of 'camp-palace' here. There was also the Nawab of Arcot, who had moved entirely to Madras, but by that time, he was tightly controlled by the British, so he could never be counted as having ruled Madras. 

The Nawab's residence was however the one that was called a 'Palace' - the Chepauk Palace, with its Khalsa Mahal and Humayun Mahal. The other royal residences went by more prosaic names, like Cochin House. The Travancore royals stayed at Ramalayam in Adyar - though it was called the Travancore Palace, I don't think that name was ever used formally.

But the only Palace Road that existed in Madras was in Santhome. That was thanks to the camp residence of the Wodeyars of Mysore. In keeping with their allegiance to Chamundi Devi, this residence was known as Chamundeswari Bagh. It wasn't very grand, from what I understand, and yet, the road leading to it came to be called the Palace Road. Today, Chamundeswari Bagh houses the Russian Consulate, having passed through the hands of AMM Murugappa Chettiar, who acquired it from the Wodeyars along the way. Palace Road has subsequently become Papanasam Sivan Salai - and there's a story in its own right there!

One way to enter

Some of the street names in the city sound downright ridiculous. Why would there be a Lake View Road in West Mambalam, or a Tank Bund Road in Nungambakkam, when there is no sight of any waterbody from either of these streets? Ah, you will say, but there was one, once. And you are correct. The Long Tank was filled in during the early years of the 20th century. In fact, some remnants of it existed until the 1960s (if not into the 1970s), so that is somewhat recent memory. 

But what about taxes on walls or gates for elephants? The story of the wall is quite easily told. Madras - which in the latter half of the 18th century meant the expanse to the north and a bit to the west of Fort St George - was coveted by forces who actively hassled the British, chief of who were the French, and Tipu Sultan of Mysore. To provide a measure of protection to the city, the British decided to build a wall around the city. The northern sector went off well enough, but the Company's plan to levy a tax on the citizens to pay for the western stretch ran into opposition and so the wall remained unfinished on that side. 

It is all very well to build a wall to try and keep people out, but there will always be a need to get in, too. Madras had such needs at seven places; one such, along the western wall, was called Elephant Gate. It is tempting to assume that this was a grand entrance through which caparisoned pachyderms lumbered in procession into the city, walking down the Elephant Gate Road; and that was what I had done. But Love's "Vestiges of Old Madras" indicates that this gate led to an Elephant Garden - now, what could that have been for?

A path ends

The grounds of the Theosophical Society - Adyar, spread over 250 acres, have very few named roads. Actually there are very few proper roads inside the grounds, for that matter; they are named after the founders or early presidents of the TS-A. So that takes care of the nomenclature for six of the paths, the ones that show up on Google Maps. Getting around the TS-A involves many other paths, the ones that are not paved, the ones that do not show up on the maps.

Here is one such path, running west-east, parallel to the Adyar river, along its southern bank. I am guessing it was called the "River Path" much earlier, and that the addition of "Radha Burnier" was as a tribute to her memory, after she passed away in 2013. She was the seventh President of the Theosophical Society, holding that office for 33 years. Doing so, she edged out the Society's first president, Henry Steel Olcott, who was in office for 32 years between 1875 and 1907. 

In the 141 years it has been around, the TS has had only 8 presidents - the current one, Tim Boyd, began his term in 2014. He is just 53 now, and has a good chance of beating Radha Burnier's record. At this rate, it will be few centuries before all the paths and byways of the TS get their names!

In the name of the son

In 1749, the British laid siege to the fort of Devakottai and succeeded in taking it over. That was a battle in which a young Shropshire lad, Robert Clive, caught the attention of Major Stringer Lawrence, who was heading the East India Company's troops in Madras. It could possibly have been a quirk of fate that had Clive playing a lead role there; it is tempting to think that, had a note of dissent against the campaign been accepted, there would have been no Tanjore campaign. Without it, that mad soldier Clive may have been hard-pressed to find another theatre for his success and history may well have been different. 

But that note by Foss Westcott was not accepted; despite that, he was still considered a reliable enough civil servant for him to be appointed as one of the two - or was it three - Commissaries to speak for the Company in the treaty for the evacuation of Fort St George (effectively the city of Madras) by the French. He negotiated terms with Dupleix and took over the fort from the French. Foss Westcott remained in the service for only a short while thereafter, going back to England in 1756. 

Foss left behind him his first wife, Ann Pye, who he had married in 1743, and a teenage son, George Westcott. George followed his father into the civil service, joining as a writer. He, however, stayed on in the service for long, going on to become a senior member of the Board of Revenue in Madras. During his tenure in the service, he acquired property at Royapettah and in the manner of the times, the road leading up to his house came to be known as Westcott's Road. The house is long gone, but the road continues to retain the name, even if some liberty has been taken with its spelling!

Mixed languages

The meaning remains the same, but the way it is written indicates a mix-up between the Portuguese and English versions of the road's name!

Cover-up?

That is what it seems to be; this road sign on Radhakrishnan Salai has been given a coat of paint that dulls, but does not entirely hide, the words underneath.

No idea why it should be this way. Do you have any guesses?

Ba-Ba Street?

The area to the west of Mowbray's Road, in the early 19th century, was largely paddy fields. Further down was the 'Sudder Adawlat', native courts of the time; the main building was called Sadr Gardens - whether that was a corruption of 'Sudder' is a debatable point - and probably was the judge's residence. The Sudder Adawlat was abolished by the Indian High Courts Act of 1861, so by the time its most famous resident was born, Sadr Gardens had forgotten its courtly history and was just a comfortable garden house. 

But destiny had a way of re-connecting Sadr Gardens with its legal legacy. One of the most respected judges of the Madras High Court, Justice Basheer Ahmed Syeed, lived at Sadr Gardens for most of his life, certainly from the time he became a judge, in 1950, to his death in 1984. He had professional company in his neighbours; many lawyers spilled over from Mylapore into Alwarpet, on the eastern flank of Mowbray's Road. Among them was Bhashyam Iyengar, a senior lawyer and one who, like Basheer Ahmed, was involved in many public causes. Bhashyam Iyengar had his residence at Champaka Vilas, just south-east of Sadr Gardens.  

By the middle of the twentieth century, the paddy fields had gone. Basheer Ahmed was at the height of his social activism, having served on the committee of the Music Academy and also having set up the South India Education Trust; Bhashyam Iyengar was in the twilight of his life. There was a road, or more probably a path, between Sadr Gardens and Champaka Vilas. It was probably after Bhashyam Iyengar's passing away that this road was named after both these legal giants. Since then, many who see this sign for the first time are left wondering how this confusion of a Muslim name beginning with an obviously Iyengar appellation could have arisen!

Many connections

At the very basic level, this bridge connects Blackers Road to Adithanar Salai across the Cooum. Adithanar Salai was earlier known as Harris Road and it would not be out of place to call this one the Harris Bridge; not that it was known as such earlier, but other connects spring from Harris and he has to be introduced sooner than later.

The road was named for George Francis Robert Harris, 3rd Baron Harris, who was the Governor of Madras from 1854 to 1859. If nothing else, his term as Governor saw the massive upheaval of the political landscape after the First War of Indian Independence in 1857. Madras was largely untouched by that rebellion (was the quelling of Vellore Mutiny still fresh in memory?) to the extent that Governor Harris sent almost the entire Presidency army out to lift the siege of Cawnpore. He oversaw the transfer of Madras from the British East India Company to Queen Victoria before his tenure as Governor ended in 1859. In the meanwhile, he is also said to have introduced 'Devil's Pepper', which he brought over from his earlier position as the Governor of Trinidad. There is some speculation about this variety going on to become the Bhut Jolokia. 

Compared to that culinary connect, it is a much more straightforward connect between this bridge and Mumbai Schools Cricket. Harris Shield, for the winner of the inter-schools cricket tournament in Mumbai is named after Governor Harris' son, George Robert Canning Harris, the 4th Baron Harris. The 4th went on to chair the meeting which launched the Imperial Cricket Conference in 1909; it is tempting to think that Master Robert would have learnt the rudiments of his cricket in Madras!

Just a reminder

This road sign is almost all that is available today to remind us about what was once a leading insurance company of Madras. Leading not necessarily in terms of business, but in terms of heart, more often than not. 

Prithvi Insurance Company was founded in 1943 by S. Parthasarathy Iyengar. Its main office of business was most likely at Kondi Chetty Street in George Town, where the Prithvi Insurance Building today houses City Branch 1 of the LIC of India. Parthasarathy Iyengar was a deeply religious man and very soon, Prithvi Insurance was being run by T.S. Swaminathan who was one of the first Indians to be admitted to the Institute of Actuaries, London. As with most insurance companies at that time, Prithvi was into both general and life insurance. The general insurance business did very well and turned in profits; the life insurance business was another matter altogether. Prithvi was a large-hearted insurer, going so far as to partially sponsor the cost of hospital stay for policy holders who had been struck with tuberculosis. Prithvi claimed that the losses of the life insurance business should be set off against the profits of the other business lines, a claim that the Income Tax department contested - and it was decided in Prithvi's favour by the Madras High Court, in 1963 and finally upheld by the Supreme Court in 1966, 10 years after Prithvi's businesses were nationalised.

Prithvi also treated its staff very well. The company picked up a large tract of land in Ambattur in the late 1940s and converted that into housing plots for its junior and middle level staff. A house of roughly 400 sft, on a one-ground (2400 sft) plot, was sold for Rs.5,000/-, with a scheme to make that payment through monthly payroll deductions. That area continues to be known as Prithvipakkam, though the original houses are probably long gone. It is quite likely that a similar scheme was used to allow their senior officers to own houses off St Mary's Road; again, a large area of land was bought and carved up into plots. Today, there are two sets of flats for LIC's officers on Prithvi Avenue. Surely at least some of the residents there would remember the Prithvi legacy!

Sinking in

This is one of the smaller roads in the Vepery area. And the mystery behind the name has been guarded very carefully. Maybe one of those reading this post will be able to throw some light on who Letang was. That it will be a person is not to be doubted, for there is a record of a couple of people who were born with that name in Madras between 1850 - 1880. Alfred Otranto Letang was the older one, coming into the world in 1853, while Constance LeTang followed him 26 years later. This road could have been named for either of them - or for their fathers: Peter (Alfred's) or Charles (Constance's). 

Or, it could be Ambrose Pierre Antoine, Chevalier de L'Etang. de L'Etang was stable-master for Marie Antoinette and had to leave France in a hurry after the French Revolution. In 1788, he was in Pondicherry, where he married Therese Blin de Grincourt. He also seems to have been an author, turning his experiences - and those of others - into a volume on farriery in 1795. But this connect seems to be a little far-fetched, for Antoine seems to have gone on to Calcutta....

So, the mystery remains. Can someone solve it, before the story sinks - like the road sign is threatening to?

Crossroad

Perambur has always been the nerve-centre of the railways in Chennai. True, the Chennai Central and the Chennai Egmore stations are always more in the public eye, but that's only because they were the faces of the railway. Perambur was - and is - where the railway heart throbs.


Large tracts of land in Perambur belongs to the Railways; public access is permitted only to pass through. When you do pass through, you realize that you're in the middle of a huge 'company colony', with differentiated residences for employees at different levels, clubs, playgrounds, and even a trade union office. Trees on both sides of the roads give the whole space a very sylvan feel.


And the roads - not very broad, but never appearing narrow, they're all neatly black-topped for the most part, fitting well with the 'colony' image. Adding to that of-time-gone-by feel are the street names. Almost all of them are English names, honouring railwaymen of long, long ago!

Pugh the Bug

There is going to be yet another round of road re-naming in the city quite soon. The obvious targets in this drive are the 'British' names, which are to be replaced by ones which are more representative of the Chennai-ness of the city, rather than its Madras-ity. Several rounds of such re-naming have taken place earlier, with varying degrees of success. TTK Road still answers to Moubray's Road, but Pasumpon Muthuramalingam Salai does not ring the Chamier's Road bell.

One attempt was made to include the old name in this sign. Sundaram refers to a prayer hall (?) further down the lane, which explains the plaque below the road sign. But "Bugys Road"? (In the Tamizh version above, it easily reads as "Bugs Road"). Well, that's a little bit of weathering and mis-spelling at work. In the early 1800s, the senior partner of the firm Pugh & Breithaupt bought some land on the stretch between Chamier's Road and the Adayar river. When his garden house was built there, he called the place Pugh's Gardens. Naturally (for that time), the road leading to Pugh's Gardens came to be called Pugh's Road. Over a couple of centuries, not only has the road been re-named, but Mr. Joseph Pugh has had the misfortune of his own name being mangled beyond recognition!

Where elephants dared?

Once called 'Anaikara Konan Street', the name was shortened after references to caste were removed from public names. Because it is close to the Elephant Gate, it is easy to figure this as having been the place where the mahouts gathered.

But then again, it might have been anything else - street names sometimes lack logic, you see!

Resident's road

Like many of Madras' roads, Boag Road was also named after a senior civil servant who had his official residence there. It is likely that it was the only house on the road, when it came up sometime in the early part of the 20th century. In any case, the road leading up to Sir George Townsend Boag's house came to be called Boag Road, and continued to be called that until almost at the end of the 20th century.

Boag's name did survive for almost fifty years after he left India in the wake of the country's independence. His residence was then taken over by Kysamballi Chengalraya Reddy, the first Chief Minister of Mysore state. K.C. Reddy didn't stay there for very long, for his political ambitions and interests were outside Madras. In 1959, the house was purchased by Sivaji Ganesan, who was by then a very popular movie star. It was probably during the renovation carried out by Sivaji that the building acquired its Art Deco frontage; that renovation took quite a couple of years. When he moved into the house, Sivaji re-named it "Annai Illam" ("Mother's
Abode") - was it because he was also acting in a film of the same name during that time?

In 1995, Sivaji Ganesan was awarded the title of Chevalier of the Légion d'Honneur; in 1998, South Boag Road (Theyagaraya Road had cut across Boag Road by then) was renamed 'Chevalier Sivaji Ganesan Salai'. Though the actor moved on to a higher stage in 2001, the house continues to be occupied by his sons, who consider it a memorial to their father. Surely, Sivaji's name will live on in the road much longer than that of Sir G T Boag!

Music Street

Madras of the 19th century was an attractive destination not only for traders and business-people, but also for many others. Among them were the musicians, several of who relocated to Madras. They were then influential in bringing in some of the musical greats, if not to stay in the city, to at least make their visits regular occurances, typically coinciding with one of the many festivals.

One such musician/composer was 'Veena' Kuppier. Although he moved only a short distance to reach George Town from Tiruvottiyur, his hometown, it must have been a significant decision in the early nineteenth century. His patron was Kovur Sundaresa Mudaliar, who made Kuppier the samasthana vidwan of Kovur, a village that Kuppier had probably never even visited earlier. Kuppier was not only an expert vainika (veena player), but also a violinist and singer - accomplishments which led him to be called gana chakravarti (emperor of music). It was Kuppier who, on behalf of Kovur Sundaresa Mudaliar, persuaded Thyagaraja to visit Madras in 1839. Though the great composer stayed at Sundaresa Mudaliar's town-house on Bunder Street, he did visit Kuppier's house and also sang in praise of the family deity.

All this information was gathered much later. This photo was taken more because the street sign is of a style that was used maybe 50 years or so ago; the name 'Kuppier' sounded odd; familiar, yet foreign. I guess I couldn't have been more mistaken about that!

Extreme cycling

As on many other streets of George Town, walking up Mint Street is an art; put in a couple of conditions - one, that you will not pause in your steps and two, you will not come into bodily contact with anyone - and the walk can easily be turned into an urban challenge that cannot be easily overcome. Though it widens at certain points, Mint Street is predominantly narrow, the kind of narrowness caused by lack of pavements, vendors sitting on the sides and haphazard parking. People on two wheels - or on feet - will probably travel one-and-a-half times the distance they intend to travel, having to constantly veer off to avoid the traffic and fellow pedestrians.

But here was a set of travellers intent on taking the shortest path to their destination; the little fellow must have been just 6 or 7 years old and he was putting all his might into pedalling, trying to stay ahead of the truck. The truck, in turn was looking for an opening to get ahead of the tricycles and did not seem to be paying attention to the kids - thankfully, one of them jumped off the cycle, bringing the whole set to a halt before anything more damaging could happen!

Time on the Mint

Ah, so I've found another of those old clock towers around Chennai. Like the one at Royapettah, this one is also maintained by P.Orr & Sons. This one is at Mint, where Mint Street, Vijayaraghavulu Road, Basin Bridge Road and Old Jail Road meet.

Just as the minute hand of this clock moved to 12, the siren at the PWD workshop nearby went off, signalling the end of a shift. Not that it matters much, but yet, it was nice to know that the PWD clock is synchronous with this!

Forgotten gate

We normally keep complaining about how progress and modernisation has stripped away nature and greenery in the cities. But here's one example of how progress has rendered a certain highway obsolete and turned it back to a quiet path shaded by lots of green.

Today's Fort St George sees a tremendous amount of activity on its eastern side, with the secretariat, the Fort Museum and other offices being accessed from what were once upon a time the North and South Sea Gates. In the olden days, however, these gates were the minor entrances; even the long eastern wall of the Fort is not as thick as the ones on the other four sides. At the apex of this pentagon was St George's bastion, with walls thick enough to house a eating-place inside them. St George's bastion is flanked by the St George's Ravelin on the north and the Wallajah Ravelin on the south; the gates are also named after the ravelins. Wallajah Gate can still directly access Mount Road, as it has always been doing. St George's Gate - the most important one in those days, because it led directly out towards Poonamallee and the Nayaks - is today little used because the direct road has been cut off by railway tracks; even if you want to walk in that way, there are policemen who have instructions not to let anyone come in this way!

Southward bound

On a lazy Sunday afternoon, when most of the roads are empty, the Anna Flyover sees a ghost traffic jam. And that only on the south-bound roads. Thought migratory season was over, everyone go back north!

Unheard of road?

The nationalistic (parochial?) fervour of the 1970s saw several roads being renamed. In many cases, the old names continue to be used, with the younger generations still being able to associate the old name with the new one. The older names will die out, surely, but some are sticking on for much longer than others.

One name that seems to have vanished completely is that of Brodie Road - now known as Ramakrishna Mutt Road. It was this sign that reminded me of where Brodie's Road had disappeared to - funnily enough, I haven't heard even any of the old-timers calling it by this name, ever!