Around 500 AD, the Romans who had occupied the land we now know as England got bored of the endless game of test-cricket and headed back to their roman-orgies in, well, Rome. Besides, they really didn’t fancy the British habit of drinking warm beer. (Neither do I. A subject I shall touch upon later) But before they did that, a dude, answering to the name of Hadrian, built a teeny bit of wall across the breadth of the island. He believed that this little wall would keep the uncivilised Celtics to the north.

One special unit of the Celtic tribes were the Scotti. An enterprising bunch of people, these Scotti. Happy to see the back of the Romans, they soon left their little vacation place in North Ireland, bought up the land just north of the wall and settled down. So peaceful their lives were, one Johnnie even set up a shop that sold scotch whiskey to tourists who came to the wall.

In the meanwhile, somewhere in northern Europe, a hormone-strung dude of the tribe Saxons met a nubile girl of the tribe Angles. Chemistry happened, so did children. And the great joint tribe of Anglo-Saxons was formed.

The Anglo-Saxons, in search of fame, glory and (this is unconfirmed) a good willow tree to make cricket bats from, landed on the northern shore of Britain. And with a little help from the climate and early morning fog, multiplied in profuse numbers.

What happens next is a not our concern, this moment. Perhaps the Scottis and Anglo-Saxons fought each other, and then kissed and made up. Along the way, William the Conqueror, Edward Longshanks and other such mob-bosses came and went. Also, someone somewhere invented a dialect called English to talk to his girl-friend.

As I was saying, the ensuing 1000 years or so after the Anglo-Saxons settle down, is a big blur. Things start clearing up around the year 1600. The Scots and the Anglos decide to pitch their troth together and unite the kingdom under the House of the Stuarts. By then, ‘the Company of Merchants of London trading into the East Indies’ was given a charter and a monopoly for trade east of Africa.

Not soon after, to wit the year 1639, two sprightly descendants of the Scotti tribe, Francis Day and Andrew Cogan land on a great sandy tract bordering a large bay.

They wonder, much like I do now, in awe at the vision in front of them. They also pull at their ties and collars nervously. Nearby, their friend, Beri Thirumalaiappan sips hot chaya. The two Scots start feeling the heat. Literally. For they are standing on the sands of the aptly named Coramandel (Caaram=hot + manal=sand)
But wonder of wonders, Thimmappa (please, Beri Thirumalaiappan is too long) is the proverbial cucumber. Discussions ensue. Day & Cogan come out of the discussion with the Killer app: Madras Cotton.
They promptly set about hiring soft-wear engineers and set up an off-shore development centre. They call it the Fort St. George. North and around this fort is born the Georgetown. 300 years later, Georgetown and the surrounding villages become the second Indian city to go Metro – Metroblogging

This, dear folks, is the city of the old (Madras) and the city of the new (Chennai).