The most civilised hour to fly into Chennai – the beloved city that I left two decades ago when it was still called Madras – is 4am. In the crepuscular pre-dawn light, its silhouette is softer, its cacophonous traffic muted. The air remains humid and heavy but cooler, scented by a combination of jasmine and gutter. Roadside stalls serve aromatic coffee in stainless steel tumblers. The muezzin’s call echoes from blue-domed mosques. I am home.
Well, not exactly. Where I am is at the brand-new Taj Mount Road hotel, its cool, spare interiors providing welcome respite from the colour and chaos outside. I fall asleep as the sun comes up. Later, over an excellent north Indian lunch at Beyond Indus, the in-house restaurant, I plot my itinerary. I am playing tourist in my hometown, boldly going to places I have never gone before, before travelling 100 miles down the coast to the former French colony of Pondicherry.
Here in Chennai, I plan my visits to the Government Museum, which houses 1,500 Chola bronzes, including a stunning Nataraja (a depiction of Shiva performing a cosmic dance) and the Santhome Church, said to be one of three basilicas in the world that entomb an apostle of Jesus Christ, in this case St Thomas, who brought Christianity to India in 52AD.
The Santhome church was down the road from my high school, St Antony’s. I used to pass it on daily bus rides but never got round to going inside. Then I left for college in America and didn’t come back. Twenty years abroad have changed me. Chennai’s languid pace, which bored me as a teenager, is a comforting counterpoint to my now frenetic life. Its cultural touchstones, which I once found stultifying – filter coffee, sari-clad matrons, bazaars, afternoon siestas, Carnatic music concerts and evening walks on Marina beach – remain reassuringly unchanged. Chennai is the sort of place where, ‘My, you’ve grown fat’ constitutes a greeting, where candour is seen as a virtue and curiosity as a birthright. Nosy neighborhood ‘aunties’ kept track of my youthful indiscretions. These days, however, I am pleased that those prying eyes watch over my two daughters with the same vigilance they accorded me.
For a coastal city, Chennai is deeply conservative, taking pride in its traditions and viewing change with scepticism. Its location on the Coromandel coast has long attracted tourists and plunderers, but neither have been able to change its essential character, nourished over 2,000 years. From the second to the ninth centuries, a series of dynasties – Cholas, Pallavas and Vijayanagar kings – ruled over the city. They built many of the temples that still function today. The popular Kapaleeswarar temple in Mylapore is said to be at least 1,000 years old. I pray for absolution there, and then shop at stores nearby – Rasi Silks for silk stoles and sandalwood perfume, Giri Trading for Carnatic music CDs and incense, and Sukra Jewellery for silver and antique necklaces.
If Old Chennai is Mylapore, Triplicane and Santhome, modern Chennai is Mount Road (recently renamed Anna Salai). This is where young Chennaites come to drink – at Distil, dance – at Pasha, dine – at Zara, The Raintree or Annalakshmi, and shop – at Higginbotham’s books and Spencer Plaza.
Chennai used to be the capital of the Madras Presidency, which covered much of South India during colonial times. The British established Fort St George as the seat of their government in 1639 and today it continues to house the legislative assembly and ministers’ offices. I skip the corridors of power and go instead to the capital city during the Chola period, Kanchipuram. Two hours outside Chennai, it is a hot, dusty town. Save its sprawling ancient temples and its silk weavers, it has little to recommend it.
Mamallapuram, however, is a different story. Right by the Bay of Bengal and leavened by its breezes, it is located on the East Coast Road from Chennai to Pondicherry, one of the best-paved roads in India. Although it is tempting to whizz through, there is much to make a stopover worthwhile.
The Madras Crocodile Bank, established by US herpetologist Romulus Whitaker, breeds and conserves about 5,000 species of alligator and crocodile. Cholamandalam Artists’ Village is a leafy refuge for painters and sculptors who sell their wares at the in-house gallery. And DakshinaChitra is a museum of folk arts and crafts. There are also theme parks with weird names like MGM Dizzee World and Mayajaal, to which kids are bussed for excursions.
