When Madras Learned to Breathe: My Ladye’s Garden and the Memory of People’s Park

At the very heart of old Madras, in an area that still carries the name Park Town, survives a green space that feels quietly certain of its place in the city. This is My Ladye’s Garden, the last living remnant of what was once People’s Park, the largest and most ambitious public park ever created for Madras.

People’s Park was envisioned in the mid-19th century by Governor Sir Charles Trevelyan as a civic lung for the city. In 1859, Trevelyan proposed the idea of a large public park to the municipal commissioners, to be laid out between the Esplanade and Vepery. The funds for this ambitious project were raised by selling land between the Old Town Wall and the Buckingham Canal. A design competition followed, and Robert Badry’s plan, inspired by the great parks of London, was chosen. 

Management of the park passed to the Municipality in 1866. Over time, People’s Park expanded into a vast public landscape with salt-contour aligned paths, lakes, shaded avenues, sports grounds, a bandstand, and zoological collections. A large Victoria Lake was created on the northern side, complete with an island at its centre. Iron fountains were imported from Glasgow, benches from England, and even an iron suspension bridge was erected to improve access from George Town. Palmyra trees were transplanted from Chepauk Palace, and debris from the Fort walls adjoining Walltax Road was repurposed within the park.

For decades, this was where Madras learned how to gather in public, how to pause, and how to share space.

From the beginning, efforts were made to draw the local population into the park. The zoological gardens, located near the large lake, became a key attraction, though attendance rose dramatically only after a live tiger was exhibited. The zoo remained part of People’s Park until it was eventually shifted to Vandalur in 1979. Conducting annual fairs was another successful strategy. From 1878 onwards, Christmas fairs were held regularly, often stretching from late December into the first week of January. These fairs were elaborate affairs, featuring everything from military bands and decked carriages to wrestling bouts, pony races, Tamil theatre, marionettes, magic lantern shows, and performers from across India and abroad. Guidebooks for these events were published in both English and Tamil.

At the geographical centre of this vast expanse lay My Ladye’s Garden. While most of People’s Park gradually disappeared under railway lines, stadia, roads, and commercial structures, this inner garden remained intact. It was, and continues to be, the Mayor’s official garden, a role that appears to have protected it even as the surroundings changed completely.

Entering the garden today, the transition is immediate. The city’s noise softens, filtered by thick foliage and mature trees. The space is compact but carefully proportioned. Pathways curve gently rather than cutting straight lines, encouraging slow walking. Nothing here feels rushed or temporary.

Within the garden are a small number of statues dating to the 1930s, executed by a student of the Madras School of Art. They are modest in scale, closer to life-size than monumental, and made of stone with a surface that has weathered evenly over time. The material carries a muted, matte finish, softened by age rather than eroded by neglect.

The figures are composed and restrained in posture. There are no dramatic gestures or exaggerated movement. Limbs are relaxed, stances balanced, expressions calm. The sculptures appear grounded, both physically and emotionally, as though meant to share the space with visitors rather than dominate it. They are placed at natural pauses along the pathways and open patches of lawn, not elevated on high plinths but positioned at a level where one encounters them almost unexpectedly while walking.

Because of this placement, the statues feel integrated into the garden rather than installed in it. Trees frame them from behind, shrubs soften their bases, and shifting light through leaves alters how they appear across the day. They invite quiet observation rather than attention.

At the centre of the garden stands the Ashoka Pillar, unveiled in 1948 by Mayor Dr. U. Krishna Rau. Tall and restrained in form, it rises with an understated dignity, acting as a visual anchor for the entire space. During the garden’s long tradition of annual flower shows, which ran for over a century, this pillar served as the focal point, often adorned but never overwhelmed.

Nearby is a modest pond, edged gently and free of dramatic stonework. It reflects the trees, sky, and passing movement, quietly echoing the multiple water bodies that once defined People’s Park. The presence of birds around it reinforces the sense that this garden preserves not just memory, but an older ecological rhythm.

Between 1933 and 1973, My Ladye’s Garden was the venue for the Mayor’s civic receptions and official tea parties. These gatherings, along with the flower shows, took place at a time when Madras had more gardens than buildings, and public green spaces were central to civic life.

My Ladye’s Garden matters not because it is grand, but because it persisted. It shows how heritage can survive quietly, without announcement, simply by continuing to serve its original purpose.

In a city where People’s Park once defined an entire neighbourhood, My Ladye’s Garden stands today as its living soul. Not a relic, not a token reminder, but a breathing space that still does exactly what it was meant to do.

Happy travelling.