The blinding afternoon sun illumines the magnificent structures, the metropolis houses. They stand tall, and how. As I ride into a petrol pump near Marina beach and say, “ Anna , petrol for ₹30 please.”, I am met with condescending glares. “How broke are you?,” ask all of their expressions. On that note, I begin my ride through the blissfully windy Beach Road; almost as if in competition with the never-ending stretch of blue, to reach first. My first stop: Fort St George. From there begins my journey along the Beach Road, to discover spaces that narrate the colonial legacy of this city, a 100 rupee note in hand.
The Fort Museum
Walking into the iconic building in Fort St George, is an experience, peppered with several rounds of frisking and suspicious glares. I continue walking past a bronze statue of Lord Willingdon, to the background of someone screaming ‘no pictures!’, to reach the section with arms and armour. An impressive collection of pistols (from the armoury of the senior prince of Tanjore according to a plaque), military uniforms and cannons later, an underground chamber meets me. This chamber was discovered in 2005 during conservation work. Its purpose, however, remains unknown. The long hall upstairs, an architectural marvel with wooden flooring and soft yellow lights, houses oil paintings of well-known figures from the British Raj. The topmost floor houses megaliths of Tamil Nadu — the centerpiece, a coffin to be precise, catches my attention. The 12-legged-contraption resembles the lower half of a 12-legged elephant. However, a must-see is undoubtedly the first National Flag hoisted on August 15, 1947, enclosed in a glass vitrine, tattered to the point of disintegration; spotted brown with time.
St Mary’s Church
The crowded Assembly building inside Fort St George fades into the background when the oldest British structure in India comes into sight. Flanked by tall neem trees and dangling creepers, the church, built in 1680, takes one back in time. I walk through the quaint entrance (anyone can walk in, except on Sundays), past the blackboard with mass timings written on it — the church is now part of the Church of South India, Diocese of Madras. Wooden pews with wicker backrests run along the building’s width, and a stone floor leads up to an altar housing a painting of The Last Supper. The otherwise-silent church hall is filled with the excited laughter of a child who has come to visit. A host of Bible s, written in different Indian languages, contain browning tattered pages. And the board reads, “Kindly return after reading.”
An inside view of the St Marys Church
Vivekananda House
The circular, light pink building with layers running around its length, stands tall mid-way between Presidency College (another architectural marvel) and the Lighthouse. Soaking in the early evening wind — humid, but surely a respite — I walk into Vivekananda House or Vivekananda Illam , as they call it. Halfway through, I realise that the exhibition, which maps the life and teachings of Swami Vivekananda, is not entirely what I expected. Poorly curated and unartistic, some of the paintings and installations are disappointing. But, 25-year-old Lokesh, who has been working at the illam for six years now, thinks otherwise : “I used to play cricket at the Lady Willingdon School grounds beside here. I never thought I would end up here. But I am convinced that there is no other job that would give me such peace.”
The illam was not intended to be an architectural splendor — erected in 1842 by Frederic Tudor, founder of an American ice company, this building was meant to store ice imported from other parts of the world and was called the ‘Ice House’. Later when Tudor closed his business, the structure was bought by Biligiri Iyengar, a lawyer, who played host to Vivekananda after he returned from the World Parliament of Religions held in 1893. The circular facility used for storing ice was the core of the building, around which (almost 150 years later) came the atriums that now serve as circular corridors to walk through.
A view of the Vivekananda House
Lighthouse
Clutching on to the precious 25 bucks left, I drive straight to Lighthouse without any second thought. And, in other news, I am down to the last red line indicating the level of fuel. Stationed at the southern end of Beach Road, the Lighthouse with its characteristic red and white stripes, welcomes visitors with a board: “Adults: ₹ 20”. Sighing in relief, I walk in past the security guards. “On a weekday, at least 600 to 800 people visit. The number increases to over 1000 on a weekend,” one of the guards informs me.
On a hot Thursday afternoon, the viewing gallery on the ninth floor is surprisingly brimming with people. The L-shaped gallery, offers a breathtaking view of Beach Road that runs along the Marina beach. As I peer through the grills, I see the shadow of the structure sprawled on the sandy shore. From a 46-metre height, the people sitting right under its shade are nothing more than specs of colour.
View from the Lighthouse
In this column, we explore the city to unearth its most interesting facets for both tourists and locals. There is just one catch. How much can you do with ₹99?
