I saw Madras for the first time in 1951, when I was 10 years old. It was a townish village. I was thrilled to travel in a tram. Buses were not very frequent. Pleasure, that was how a car was called, was rarely seen on the then narrow unmetalled roads. All roads were avenues lined with trees on either side.

In the house that I stayed in, the milkman would arrive by 6 a.m., along with a cow and its calf. Vendors selling vegetables, fruits, flowers, and curd would mark their attendance everyday without fail. We had pure drinking water, both from the wells and taps. Barely three years later, when I visited again, I noticed a few changes. No trams. More pleasure cars and buses. Yet, taxis were more popular.

From 1962, I became a permanent resident. My stay at a lodge on Pycrofts Road in Tiruvallikeni is still fresh in my memory. At Sydoji Mess, 30 meal tickets cost ₹10; ₹12 with curd. It was a small outlet capable of accommodating twelve persons at a time. We, the inmates of the lodge, would walk up to a nearby movie theatre for the second show and have ice cream at Buhari past midnight.

Those days are never to return. Life in this vast metropolis has changed beyond recognition. It is mechanical. Yet, I love Chennai just the way it is.

(As told to R. Srikanth)