I sat in the women’s section of a train that rattled to Fort St George. This was the only place where I enjoyed a real footpath that skirted the circumference of the fort. There were no crumpled sections or potholes.
Locals were body searched before entering the grounds. Was there a perceived security risk? Inside I was shooed away from some sections. I asked one officer if I could take a photo and was told, only if I took it at a certain angle. Most buildings were definitely not to be photographed.
I stepped into the building where Clive of India had worked when he first arrived in India as an unruly nineteen year old. There were no remnants from his past though had I been Tamil, I might have wanted to wipe away evidence of his two year stint in the fort. Years later he became infamous for his blunder of India, both for himself and the East India Company.
The church within the fort grounds was plain but tasteful. On my exit I stepped on large stone slabs that covered the entire entrance where the English who once resided in Chennai were buried as long ago as the 1700s.