Pondicherry: A long drive in a long weekend

The French Connection

Pondicherry or Puducherry, whichever way you call it, was one name that I have heard innumerable times since childhood. It shares an invisible bonding with my native, Chandannagore in West Bengal. While Chandannagore is where the French first landed in India and made it a part of their colonial empire, Pondicherry is more famous (than Chandannagore) for being the French colony in India. Pondicherry is also spiritually famous across the globe for saints like Sri Aurobindo and Sri Maa. Aurobindo was a nationalist in his young age in pre-independence India and turned to a yogi and spiritual reformer in the later half of his life, when he moved to Pondicherry. Sri Aurobindo Vidyamandir, perhaps the only school in India named after the great personality, was where I did a bulk of my schooling. Pondicherry, which is about 300 KM from Bangalore was where we drove to in the long weekend of 15th August, Monday.

I had been to Pondicherry about 15 years back and only have vague memories of it, primarily due to unorganised planning. I took a normal night bus from Bangalore in the month of April or so, when it was quite hot and humid, reached there early morning, searched a room, didnt know where to go...so just roamed around, got exhausted in the scorching sun and returned to the room which didn't have a TV. Soon I got bored. This time, it was much more planned.

The Drive

On 13th August, Saturday we started early in the morning. Around 6 AM. The route was through national highways, which had toll gates. As soon as we reached the first toll gate in the EC Flyover, we realised we were definitely not the early birds. We stood behind dozens of cars for a good twenty minutes. People seemed to fly out of Bangalore, as if an epidemic has struck the city. This was also the first time I was driving our Baleno car, bought in February this year, for a long drive, or rather for any purpose I should say. It is generally used by my wife for going to office. Bidyut, our driver, drives it. I have a more compact and cute car for me, Nano, which I often lovingly call my "Limo".
"We should have asked Bidyut to drive."
"I am skeptical about you driving this new car."
"Why are you not able to restart the engine at one go?"
Expert comments like these kept freely flowing from the back seat whenever Debreena felt bored in the long drive. It was not that I was driving badly, its just that I was talking less while driving and Debreena was searching for some instigating lines and sentences to keep me talking and maybe keeping me awake! But then after sometime, she herself fell asleep. I played my favourite songs and drove merrily at more than 120 kmph. It was a great drive. My wife woke in between, referred to the GPS system and ensured we are on the right track. My daughter was following the rhythm of sleep, eat, drink, repeat.

The Quiet

Though we can say we went to Pondicherry, technically speaking, we were not in the Pondicherry town. We booked a resort called, The Quiet, which was a few kilometres on the outskirts of  Pondicherry on the famous East Coast Road, which runs in parallel to the Bay of Bengal. My wife using the precise GPS navigation guided the car to the gate of the resort, negotiating an unexpected left turn, followed by another left turn through a narrow single-lane road.
It was quiet, indeed! It was part of the Auroville Ashram Society, almost cut off from the rest of the world, except the Bay of Bengal, whose waves swept the boundary walls of the resort.
"I know you have booked sea-facing non-AC rooms. But we also have garden-facing AC rooms. Would you like to change, sir?" asked the polite tall almost-bald-in-late-thirties person at the reception.
"Who would trade the fresh air from the sea for the artificial air-conditioned air ?" I asked myself.

We had our lunch in the beautiful natural surrounding. The cook was a Bengali, staying here for more than three decades. That is quite common in Pondicherry. You find more Bengalis here than people from any other province of India. Aurobindo himself was a Bengali. The cuisine had a Bengali connection. There were foreigners who seemed to relish the rice, lentils and curry, not missing the lemonade to start and Gulab Jamoon to end as dessert. In the afternoon I tried to catch a nap as I had woken up quite early in the morning. Debreena sat on the balcony, appreciating nature; Gudiya was playing with her dolls. It was cloudy.

As the day rolled into evening, the sky became overcast. A gentle breeze blew. We filled our lungs with the purest of the pure air. It was like giving a shower with rose water to our countless alveolis after torturing it for months in the polluted Bangalore air.
"We serve the dinner at 7:30 PM. Wrap everything up by 8:30 PM"
As the sun hid itself behind the clouds, never to be seen for the rest of the day, we walked around the sprawling area - strolling, pausing, admiring the beas in the flower, the flowers, the buds, the fishes in the pond, the butterflies on the lotus, the dragonflies on the grass....

Dinner was vegetarian (or as they typically say: pure vegetarian. Though I am yet to figure out what an impure vegetarian meal would consist of!), just like it had been for lunch. There was no option of any non-vegetarian food. After all, its a part of an ashram or religious and holy place. So, it was detox not only for the alveoli, but also for the digestive system. We returned to our room with the orchestral sound of frogs croaking and crickets chirping loudly.
There was lightning at times that momentarily illuminated our path and the nearby tress, before they fell back to complete darkness once again. Same with the boats which were tied on the shore. Before we could step into our room, a few drops of cold rain water pattered on our head and arms. We hurried inside.

When we went to sleep, it was still drizzling. Suddenly a huge thunderous roar woke us all. The Nature has burst into fury. There was lightning every couple of minutes, followed by the huge thunder that seemed to shake the rooms. The waves seem to hit the shore with monstrous ferocity. The coconut trees in front were swaying violently. The torrential rain hit the ground hard. Nature was more like a mad elephant, rampaging all over. And we little creatures stood helplessly in front. The power went off. Now in total darkness it was only ears that brought news from the outside world. The Quiet was no longer quiet.

A Day Around

We woke up to a sunny morning. The only signs of last night's rampage were the wet patches on the ground and some thrown-away leaves. The sky was spotless white. The sea was calm. Breeze blew playfully through the long and slender coconut leaves. After the storm comes the calm...

We enjoyed the sunrise from the balcony sipping Darjeeling tea.

From our balcony

We went to the Aurobindo Ashram and from there to the famous dome-shaped Matrimandir amphitheatre. After walking a good kilometre or two, we had to remain content with the view from outside. To go inside, we needed special passes which got exhausted since they allow only a handful each day.We walked back. Debreena bought a few soaps and incense sticks from the shops in the ashram as Gudiya and myself did more of a window shopping. When we were returning, we found the parking lot full and cars waited in a serpentine line on the roadside.We were back to our rooms and then at the lunch table.

"Lets have non-vegetarian tonight. Enough of detoxification! ", Debreena said after another round of "pure vegetarian" food. She searched in the "Tripadvisor" portal and started looking for good restaurants around, something that she does almost in all our trips. While I plan the entire vacation, her role is limited to searching good restaurants in those places from Tripadvisor. And she is good at it!
So, after playing with my daughter in the water, splashing water and building molehill the whole afternoon, we set off for the restaurant that,supposedly, serves some of the finest sea food in town. Overlooking the sea waves break on giant rocks in a sea of foam and froth, we negotiated the grilled fishes with forks, knives and hands. Then back to the resort and back to sleep. It didn't rain anymore that night.

The Return Journey

I woke up very early in the morning. Much like the birds. The sky was just turning orange. Debreena and Gudiya were still asleep. I stepped out of the room to the shore. The beach was more of a private beach. It was clean. The only things scattered all over were broken shells and fishing nets. Some
fishermen were working on those nets. A few sparrow hopped on the shore, where fishermen were returning from their daily catch. A fishy smell filled the air.as they emptied their nets.I heard the shrill voice of a koel from some nearby trees. The voice rang bells of childhood in me. There were lots of tress beside our house, especially the room where I studied. Typically our final exams were in the month of March/April, just after spring. During those spring mornings, the koels used to perch on the branches of one of those trees and call their partners (the mating season of koels is spring). I used to imitate the voice and ,liked to believe, that what they shrilled back was in response to my imitation.

After having breakfast, we started the return journey. Debreena, by then, was comfortable with my driving skills. It was a non-event. Just the plain and simple drive back home. We started early in the morning and did not stop,except for a lunch break to have Biriyani.
We were in Bangalore much before sunset.

The Childhood Connection

Both Pondicherry and Chandannagore have the historical French connection; The Ashram and my school are namesake: Aurobindo. But beyond those, I started discovering more connections with the town. For example, that thunderous night reminded me of the monsoon in my native, where coconut trees were at times charred when lightning struck them or thatched roofs of huts caved in as the branches of jackfruit or mango trees fell on them. Or were all of these discretely different and unconnected events, where I am trying to find a link and meaning? Am I the one who is seeing a pattern, where none exists? Am I the one who is knitting a story with some disjointed events?
And yet, the orchestra of frogs and crickets were so much part of the nightlife in Chandannagore. The sound of Koel reminded me so much of the studytime and how I always looked for an excuse to leap out of the books, just like daughter does these days.

And the waves, they reminded me of time, which once gone never returns....

We cant get back the time...we treasure them in the form of memories