:)

Attack life, it's going to kill you anyway.

- Steven Coallier

auroville

pic credit: green century institute

i was sitting on a wooden bench, past dusk, outside an old brick and tile dwelling known as ganesh bakery in auroville. note the irony...a french goodie store, hosted by christians, named after a hindu deity.

i fell in love with auroville and pondicherry for a million reasons. the more i went there, the more difficult it became to wean from this ol' french colony. the beach, the roads, white town, the small-scale hand-made paper factories, the ceramic industries, the french bakeries, the streams, the gorges inside the university, the air, the water and the people. i love them all. the seven-hour journey from bangalore to pondi was the first overnight journey i was taking on my own. reaching at 5 in the morning, i was rather surprised to find my cousin at the bus-stop. she'd come down all the way from the university 14kms away at the break of dawn on her two-wheeler. this was just the beginning of all the adventure we were about to have in the following days!

now M and me are two certified amphibians in the family. there have been unanimous warnings sent out by our parents in our childhood - never to let the two of us run wild near any waterbody. even younger cousins have termed us "crazy, juvenile and unpredictable" when it comes to being near water. so pondi, without parents and other watchguards, and with the bright blue bay of bengal spread all over....was undiluted fun. and crazy adventure.
the first thing we did the morning i reached? certainly not check in anywhere and drop my bags. we headed straight to the sea by the Gandhi statue, sat on the rocks and watched the sunrise, precisely at 6.10 a.m. and that's when it hit me....all along, i'd been in the west coast, i'd only seen the sunset. this was my first sunrise view!

pondicherry university, where i stayed, is one of the most beautiful places i have ever seen. no frills and fancies of planned-out lawns and neatly cut shrubs. everything's natural...just like the town. my cousin once told me how they all played holi till they were dripping in colours and then crossed road and walked to the beach to wash off the colours. bliss. i hadn't had enough of the sunrise session, so the second day, i wanted to soak up the rays from up close. one of our friends, who'd acquainted himself pretty well with the mostly-reticent fisherfolks, convinced them to take us on catamaran (kattu maram = logs tied together) rides. 3-4 logs of coconut trees tied together passing off as a boat???? these fishermen go deep into the sea on these pieces! we went 4 kms into the sea, saw the sunrise up close, kissed the rays and came back to the shores.

i still get goosebumps when i think about that ride! we headed straight to pandu's, a thatched roof house on the beach, with wooden planks for benches and backwaters for a wash basin. panduranga ran this place, and the food he served was to die for. pandu, the rotund, pot-bellied, balding, 24/7-hour smiling, tamil-speaking, french-knowing, amazing cook, who refused to let you leave his place unless you're stuffed to the neck. he doesn't bother with the bills too..."you count and pay me...my dosas will turn black if i have to do that..."

matrimandir was just getting its finishing touches when we were there. but the meditation hall (pic above) was complete. so the restless-by-nature me and company set off to meditate. i understood the meaning of silence for the first time. the crystal in between and the sun rays hitting it sends one into a spiritual odyssey. i forgot to meditate and sat gaping the centre of the crystal. in the background, i saw one particular gentleman gently nodding off. was that an advanced stage of meditation? i don't know. but i knew what could happen to humans if they're exposed to true silence and a spiritual ambience. some could attain nirvana, while some others could finally get rid of insomnia!

(there's so much to pondi, but i find myself incapable of doing justice to it. until words strike again...)

the evenings of life

It's an eerie silence that greets me despite the loud noise from the television. With the sound of the doorbell, uncle scampers to find the remote, while aunty hurriedly switches off another television set in the bedroom. For my 78-year old neighbour and his 67-year old wife, any visitor is a welcome change from their usual companions on the tube.

You guessed right, they live alone, but what's alarming is, this despite their children being in the same town. "Would you mind getting me a matka when you go out...? The heat's unbearable these days. I wanted to go to the market but you know how it is..." Aunty's been down with osteoporosis for the last 10 years, she can barely walk within our building, leave alone going out. Taking an auto is out of question too as "the metre just keeps rolling on...! We can't survive on our pension and the autos simultaneously, the two just don't gel!" she laughs.

As with most grandmothers, she loves to stich. A battered old sewing machine still holds a place of pride in her home, "just for nostalgia sake. So many clothes I've made for my children with this..."

I once asked uncle why he never joins the group of retired people who come together every evening in the park and seemed to have some kind of laughter therapy going on. "Bah! Who wants to lead a life like that! Just because I'm old should I confine myself to other old men and join in their pity jokes! I haven't yet retired from life for that!" I gave him a sheepish grin and ran for cover (I also took a mental note to keep all my suggestions to myself!).
The booming economy seems to have had its effect too. "Can you guess how much uncle used to earn when he first started working? Rs. 110. My grandson recently got a job through his college, and they have offerred him Rs. 60,000!! He's planning to buy a flat soon. We had to wait for forty-five years before we could say we have a place of our own. Kya zamaana aa gaya hain...But I'm happy for him..." she trails.

Another day, I hear no sound from the televisions in their home. Slightly concerned, I knock and find the old man and his wife in the kitchen. "Sachin's coming today! We're meeting him after one and half years! He's come down from the US just for two weeks, so his parents have let him spend a day with us."

She's bustling about, knee pain and all forgotten, making his favourite payasa and tomato pickles. Uncle's excited too, for this grandson shares his passion for books. "I need to ask him if he read Dan Brown's latest. I have not been able to buy a copy..."
I leave them in their busy worlds for a change. It's nice to see the television switched off too. I go home and dial my grandma. "When are you planning to come down...? It's been a while..."