The Grand Old North
North Chennai. This abundant neighbourhood is picturised by narrow lanes that swirl and slither like countless slender serpents, thrust hastily into the space, wreathing desperately without a definite heading, just to relieve themselves from the clutches of the sordid structures, cramped and colly, perpetually cropping up beside them, diverse and anachronic in their designs. The neighbourhood is peopled by a bustling population, exercising multifarious vocations, whose diversity stands unparalleled in the entire region. The streets are always hustling with hawkers in ostentatious clothing and beggars with deformed limbs, trying every trick in the book to eek the sympathy out of one’s heart. Reminding one of Lord Kubera’s Alaka, the realm of Yakshas, Kinnaras and other preternatural beings, the entire neighbourhood is a world of its own.
But the romantic onlooker will find tremendous heritage entombed under the sheath of malignance and stink that characterises today’s north. The locality’s first tryst with history occurs in the year 1639, when the idea of a city was ingrained here; thereby making North Madras the seed from which the entire Metropolis of today’s Chennai blossomed. But few people know about the hormonal slant of one man, Francis Day, that ultimately led to the founding of Fort St.George at its present location. Francis Day was an English merchant and a representative of the British East India Company. He brokered a deal with Venkatadri Nayak for setting up a trading outpost. He was smitten by a Portuguese noblewoman who resided in San Thome, a Portuguese establishment, and therefore wanted to set up the outpost as close to her as possible. This humble trade post, burgeoned into a fort and, at the behest of merchant Beri Thimappah, soon bustled with native merchants and craftsmen who traded and served their sahibs inside the fort, thus establishing Black Town outside the walls of Fort St.George. Ironic, that our diligent and conservative Chennai had had such a sultry genesis.
The year 1677 saw another event that would be etched in the memory of the history of this locality. Chhathrapathi Shivaji, the indomitable Maratha came to worship the deity of the Kalikambal temple located in Thambu Chetty Street during a recce mission for his battles against the British and the Nawab. The fort was under perpetual turmoil, due to its strategic location and the lack of a supreme commander in the south. Originally, a wall was built to protect the populace of the settlement, owing to the fickle political atmosphere. Vast tracts of land were left vacant in front of and behind the wall, for a clear range of fire during an attack. But the area behind the wall was later, during more peaceful times, developed into a road; the construction cost of which was taxed from the people. Thus was born Wall Tax Road. A few feet from it was established the city’s first organised water supply, in the form of a set of wells. These wells, famously known today as The Seven Wells, supplied water to the entire populace of Georgetown. A machiavellian plot of poisoning the wells by Haider Ali was discovered and suppressed by a valorous Irishman named Sylvester Nicholas. The fort changed hands several times between the British, French and the Nawab, and only by the latter half of the 18th century, after the British emerged as victors of the south, was stability restored.
Invigorated and jaunty, the settlement grew to become an important commercial district in the sub-continent and saw the immigration of entrepreneurs and craftsmen from all parts of the country, particularly Gujaratis and Marwaris from the north and the telugu speakers from the Deccan. The East India Company looked to exploit the budding demand in the cloth and textile market, thereby opening several vocations related to clothing and textiles. This led to the immigration of several workers, especially telugu speakers from the Deccan. They settled down as communities of washermen, washing and bleaching the cloth, and led to the establishment of localities like Washermenpet. Employment in the cloth industry was very much sought after in those days (no wonder Amy Wilkinson fell head over heels for Namma Paiyan Paruthi!). The arrival of a multilingual populace gave rise to the vocation of middlemen or interlocutors, locally known as Dubashes. The arterial, commercial lifeline of North Madras or Georgetown, frequented by the washers came to be called Washers Street. This street, more commonly known today as Mint Street is one of the most historic sites belonging to the Colonial era in the entire sub-continent. Hailed as the second longest street in the world, it is the birthplace of several commercial and cultural institutions that have established legacies in the region and some, in the world. The street was re-christened during the mid 19th century after The East India Company’s coin making facility that was moved here. The street has also had a long and close association with the publishing industry. One of the earliest establishments to be founded in the sub-continent was the Navala Vidyanupalana Press set up during the mid 19th century. The first editions of Ananda Vikatan, the oldest surviving Indian city magazine, and The Hindu, a tri-weekly in those days, was printed at Mint Street Press, during the latter half of the 19th century.
A few feet towards the coast from Mint Street, in today’s dark and narrow alleys between Thambu Chetty Street and Front Line Beach, was practiced, pretty promiscuously and vibrantly, the world’s most ancient trade. Chennai, which is the only Metro city in India that does not host a designated red light district, had flaunted the Amsterdam of South India during the colonial era. Apparently, the alleys were not as dark and orphic as they are today, and Georgetown, the commercially bustling port that it was, saw the unremitting influx of sailors. The women would stand out of their inns, attired garishly, calling out to the sailors, “Sir, please come!” The sailors would in turn jokingly ask, “Why do you call?” This led to the naming of Vodacalu Street, where “Vodacalu” is a phonetic adaptation of “why-do-you-call”. The usage of this street and its name has sadly been lost to time.
Thus stands the Grand Old North, defiant against the tides of time. It stands strong, like a weathered, omniscient old man, covered in chaotic, decaying ostentation, who looks at every passer-by with wise and shrewd eyes that have borne witness to the unfurling of a Metropolis through dynamic centuries. Under every ounce of the chaotic filth that enshrouds this realm, is an object of historic significance. If it were in Europe, this monument to modern civilisation would have bloomed as a popular tourist attraction. Maybe the destiny of the North, like it always has been, will continue to be too uncanny for us common folk to fathom. Maybe the wise north, knowing the thoughts of us “modern” folk, has devised the shroud of tawdry filth, in order to protect its unequal heritage from the civilised men that inhabit it. May the deity Parthasarathy of, arguably, the oldest temple in the locality bless the old bloke throughout his eternal journey.