In Old Madras by B.M. Croker — Read

The following morning a sonorous "Five o'clock, saar," awoke Mallender from his too brief slumbers; his first struggling thought was "Where am I?" The cool crisp atmosphere felt strange, so did the sounds of an unknown tongue, and a stamping of impatient hoofs, in his immediate vicinity; then, in a second, he recalled his wits; he was in a tent in India, and pledged to play polo within an hour. A strong cup of Neilgherry tea, and a cold tub dispersed his drowsiness, and with the car's swift passage through the invigorating air his spirits and energies awoke. Lumbering water-carts were already allaying the red dust, and evoking a curious and unfamiliar smell of wet and pungent earth. From all directions people were sallying out for the morning ride or drive; portly cooks, attended by obsequious coolies (carrying empty baskets), flocked towards the bazaar, pallid Europe children were being herded forth on ponies, or in prams, in order to "eat the air," which, at this hour, was deliciously fresh, the sky incredibly clear and radiant, quivering with brightness and life. At six o'clock, all Madras was astir, and everywhere was activity, and bustle. As the smooth-running Napier sped noiselessly onward, Mallender looked about him, and realised that he was now in the tropics! Dense masses of purple Bourgainvillia draped and veiled the roadside bungalows; above their low brick walls, luxuriant bananas waved graceful, if somewhat dusty, leaves; "Sally Bidon" creeper and the scarlet gold mohur flung out their blazing signals. Vivid flocks of green paroquets -- "the pretty dear" of barracks -- flashed across from the banyans to the tulip trees, and tall toddy palms seemed to nod their heavy heads in languid greeting to the stranger, as he skimmed onwards, across the Marmelong Bridge, and away into the expanse of Guindy Park -- where on the polo-ground Captain Byng and three smart polo ponies were awaiting him.

A subsequent practice proved fairly successful; the fourteen one waler ponies were well trained and handy. As Mallender galloped, and shouted, and wheeled, and hit, he was once more experiencing the _joie de vivre_, and feeling the sap of youth in his veins! Mallender Court and its melancholy memories were forgotten -- as was also the great quest; that he had no other reason for coming to India than to play this uncommonly fast game, was 'number one's' firm (if momentary) conviction, as he rode off the Governor's Private Secretary, and scored the winning goal. This polo match at Guindy seemed to be a social spring-board, from which the new arrival took a headlong dive into the mäelstrom of Madras society. He now appeared to live amid the whirl of engagements: golf, boating on the Adyar, hunting, paper-chasing, bridge or dinner-parties, and a dance almost every other night. Also he found friends in the regiment quartered in the Fort and among the artillery at the Mount, and was almost "snowed under" with invitations. As the Tallboys' relative, a popular and presentable young fellow, who played polo, bridge and golf, his company was in continual, and even anxious request. However, his cousin Fan had always the first claim, and a quiet evening at home, with music and bridge, with Mrs. Villars for his partner, was always an attraction. Mallender and the lady became, as she predicted, great friends; unfortunately it was a friendship that aroused Sir William Bream's ill-concealed jealousy, and wrath.