Travelogue 1: Pondicherry

I am fascinated and have been often left in awe of the varied aspects of European culture: the sense of style (fashion specifically), etiquette, architecture, the countrysides, the culture of music, the social culture which is often visible in the form of side walk cafes and restaurants and even the visual design scenario. I have not had many firsthand experiences of witnessing the European culture, but I would definitely love to experience it, especially the culture of music, the countryside experience and the social scenario. There is a certain cosy and quaint associations that I draw when I think of Europe. I draw similar verbal and visual associations when I think of Pondicherry or rather, Puducherry. 

 

The French influence evident in the architectural structures of Pondicherry.

The Pondy Sea

I must have been about 9 yrs old when I first visited Pondicherry along with my family and a bunch of family friends. Little did I understand the history behind the unique architecture and town planning of the place. I conveniently did not bother to understand the relevance of this town with respect to struggle for Indian Independence and the spiritual aura that Pondicherry as a place has always carried with it.

While being a student in Bangalore, a couple of my friends often visited Pondicherry. I rarely joined them, as back then, I was consciously putting in efforts to save some cash and rather enjoy the long weekends in and around Bangalore. However, the urge to revisit Pondicherry has not died since the time I first visited the place. Auroville and the Samadhi of Sri Aurobindo and the Mother has always made me want to visit Pondicherry on my own and experience the spiritual aura of the place.

From the time of my first visit, I recalled the place where we had stayed- Sri Aurobindo Ashram guest house. A compound located by the sea with a huge gate and a few Bougainvillea trees creating a canopy with this beautiful fresh pink flowers. The guest house comprised of couple of buildings, each not more than 2-3 floors in height, all painted in white with simple flooring. The rooms mainly appeared like dormitories with the provision for 5-6 beds. A board at the entrance of each of the buildings, time and again performed its duty of reminding the members the rules that he/she was expected to abide by while being a ‘guest’ at the guest house. I clearly remember two rules: “Whisper” as gently as you can and like good children, switch off the lights and hit the beds by 10 pm (this wasn't the exact language used though). I also remember a very pretty French restaurant right across the street. It served some delicious delicacies, mainly non-vegetarian and some irresistible desserts. I also remember there being a shop that sold leather and handmade products. The Leather was supposed to be one of the most genuine ones and it apparently came with a warranty of 7 years! I somehow wanted to see and experience all that I had experience when I visited Pondy as a little child. How strange that we humans crave for similar “happy” experience over and over again!

Sri Aurobindo Ashram Guest house exteriors

Visiting Pondicherry after more than 15 years of the first visit was different. It was an unplanned trip and the only things planned included the time of our arrival, departure and the hotel we chose to plonk ourselves in- Yes! We literally plonked ourselves at Hotel Annai Residence right from 6:30am until mid-noon.

The first day was spent understanding the geography of the town, only to know the direction in which we could walk towards the sea side and find a decent place to sit, eat, chill and watch the India-Sri Lanka World Cup final match. On the way we stopped by at Choco LÀ (from the photograph below, one can assume the awesome chocolate desserts, sweets, shakes and other drinks they sell); We ultimately settled at The Richmond- a quaint and stylish yet not very visually jarring restaurant cum hotel. A late lunch was regularly interrupted by the interesting India- Sri Lanka final match and the enthusiasm often seen amongst the others in the restaurant.

The Chocolates at Choco LÀ

 India - Sri Lanka World cup finals at The Richmond

 
The following days comprised of multiple visits to the sea face, a couple of coffees, Earl Grey tea and Cakes at Coffee Dot Come, lazy walks across the Pondy streets only to experience the French colony feel and of course, a day’s visit to the beautiful, calm, composed an highly spiritual Matri Mandir. I am glad we could do justice by giving this part of the trip more than just a few hours. Yet, the typical human tendency of dissatisfaction remains since entering the Matri mandir without prior appointment was not permitted. May be I should “plan” the next time I visit Pondy and make sure that I enter the depths of the spiritual centre of Pondicherry!

 The Matri Mandir, Auroville

I would like to suggest a few places to grab some good vegetarian food because we did experience some trouble in finding good restaurants serving vegetarian food (we were also a little picky since we wanted to watch the match on a large screen :P). here's the list:
- The Promenade (This hotel has the best location if you want to sit by the sea and enjoy some pizzas)
- Coffee Dot Com
- The Richmond (That’s the India-Sri Lanka Finals)
- Hi-Design Café

 Some awesome French food and kiwi cooler at the Hi-Design Café

Best part of the trip: The awesome dinner at The Promenade. I must admit, the food wasn’t that great but the people I went here with made the difference :) Also adding to the good memories of the trip is the time we aimless sat by the sea seldom chatting and often listening to the waves roar and appreciating the silence that stood between the "3 best friends that anybody could have" :). I also felt absolutely at peace after having visited the Samadhi of Sri Aurobindo and the Mother. The experience there was one of its kind, connecting indirectly with people who mattered to me and connecting directly to my own self!

All in all, Pondy is an amazing place to unwind yourself in a different way- physically, mentally, and spiritually.

And because it has been 3 months since this trip to Pondy, I am already waiting for another trip, hopefully to Bandipur. Rahul Desai, Dipal Patel, Somesh Kumar and Nirav Mistry, are you guys reading this? ;)

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Butter And Mashed Banana

An atypical weekend: Friday ending at 9pm and Saturday kick-starting at 8 am (yes that is early for a Saturday) with some awesome self-made chai. The pre-planned visit to Rangashankara, one of the best theatres for performing arts in Bangalore, to witness a play made the weekend all the more atypical. I had been closely following the activities at RangaShankara on their website. I was also sure of not missing any chance of being a part of the audience for the play Butter and Mashed Banana. And I am glad we finally made it, after 3 years of first having heard of how amazing the play was. Thanks to Rahul bhai, Dipal, Nirav and Monica for accompanying.

Signage at the entrance

On entering Rangashankara, I could very well relate this place to Prithvi Theatre in Mumbai: the space, the cafeteria, illustrations at various places, the ‘rules and regulations’ and of course, the quality of the plays. Adding some positive responses to the place and play, I believe it was a good decision to book tickets for another play on the coming Saturday: Boy with a Suitcase. I am hoping that this play would be equally good if not better.

The Cafeteria at Rangashankara

The display of masks with various expressions in
the ticketing area

Illustrated walls on the way to the auditorium.

Humour, satire, nasty jokes, witty comments, sarcasm and a whole lot of facts being brought to light, Butter and Mashed Banana highlights the typical Indian scenario where freedom of speech comes with the prerequisites of need to be ‘politically correct’.

Posters, news and info related to the play.

With no well defined characters and three real life people switching roles on stage, the play portrays the story of a boy born to parents belonging to two different political parties. The challenges that the boy faces even before taking birth in this world of choices and conditional living is interwoven with his journey through to success of being a famous author of a internationally bestselling book, which is then made into an Oscar winning movie. The real challenge or rather struggle that the then ‘boy’ faces is to ‘establish’ himself in the Indian scenario where his book and movie are under serious scrutiny by the censor board, consisting of well educated lawyer, economists, artists and other ‘significant’ members. The consistent and failed efforts of the author to publish his book and release the movie in India frustrates him enough hence drives him to take politics as a career. The play ends with an elaborate discussion on why the dictionary would be banned by the government, justified by reasons relating to “socially immoral” use of dictionary to source the meanings of the words that otherwise do not belong to the far and wide spread “Indian Culture”. The last dialogue by the new politician and the 'failed' author highlights all the words that begin with ‘F’, ending with the word “free”.

My take on the play:
3 men clad in dhoti, 1 man playing the guitar, a couple of songs and hilarious dances blending well with the script, a djembe (an African percussion instrument), a pair of ghunghoors, a bright green tub, a meter long white cloth, a good direction by Ajay Krishnan, good production by the team at Harami productions and a very strong subject matter for the play kept my attention held up to the performance for good 55-60 minutes.

Right to the freedom of speech as mentioned in the Indian Constitution comes with conditional exercise of restrictions that can be imposed in the interest of public order, security of the nation and its people, decency or morality. Politicians and all the other famous personalities are expected to maintain a code of conduct, not be explicitly expressive and also politically correct. I, as a not-so-famous personality, am also expected to follow certain similar norms and not “do” and “speak” things that others do not approve of. Being offensive would mean I need to a find a way to be defensive, which would undoubtedly involve a series of statements justifying my words and acts as “politically/ morally correct”.

I don’t always choose my words correctly but then even when I do, the world does not always choose to be decent and accept it. The relative interpretation of the term “freedom” is what often creates differences. But then it so appears that only Indians, or if I may be a little specific, the only the eminent Indian politicians, are engaged in creating disparities, making trivial issues sound as if it would actually make a difference to the country’s growth. I am wondering who and what defines whether something is right or wrong- theoretically, practically, politically, morally or socially. How often do societal norms take a front seat and personal opinions get suppressed in the effort of being “good” and “right”?

The best part of the play: no preaching and no solutions to the issues addressed. A crisp and quick presentation of the situation, leaving the rest for the audience to think and make sense of.

Yes, I am thinking :)


P.S: I issue a public apology via this statement if I have included any politically incorrect and socially destructive opinions.

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Human Bondages And The Feeling Of Void

How difficult is it to understand the uncertainty and ambiguity that life poses in front of you every now and then? How intangible is the love we see, feel and exists around us? How strange is it to experience the feeling of void- especially when you are in a situation with which your mind and body are not aligned to 100 %?

Attachment, bonding and relationships keep me from experiencing the feeling of void- which in a positive sense could be very much related to my personal space. It is because of the less frequent experience of the void or the personal space, that when faced with it in an incomprehensible situation, I run away from it.

The human bondages reflect in most of the activities I engage myself in. Being engrossed in activities or rather the daily chores, I rarely encounter situations which are beyond my capacity of comprehension. Acknowledging the existence of the void (which I presume, is experienced by almost everyone at some point in time) is what often becomes a challenge. The situations in which one is normally expected to experience it is most commonly felt on the death of a near relative. I experienced it- not by choice.

Unexpectedly, ma called me at 1 in the afternoon. With a voice heavy, impatient and extremely harrowed, she asked me to rush back home. Without doubting the emergency of situation, I rushed down the otherwise busy road in my hometown. On reaching home, I see grandma sitting on her bed, leaning towards her right shoulder, appearing disturbed, exhausted and hopeless. Ma was aimlessly trying to console her, helping her sip some water drop by drop with a spoon.

In frantic search of the ambulance that had been called, I ran mindlessly across the streets. As the ambulance roared its way to my home, I guided the driver to take the mobile van right in front of the gate. Her frail and fragile body was gently carried to the van in a stretcher and I stood at the doorstep, wondering what was happening to someone who was just about fine a couple of hours back.

While doctors ran in and out of the room, papa stood quietly observing the situation and grandpa sat in the corner of the room, silently observing the overt hyperactivity around the Intensive Care Unit room. I sat in a corner, at the junction of two sofas, with my legs folded, and knees drawn close to my body, eyes steadily gazing at the hospital logo pasted on a wall in front of me. I seldom thought of anything else but the morning tea I shared with grandma every single day. Thoughts of skepticism made me question myself if I at all wanted to be there, being witnesses to someone surrender before her mortal self. The past experiences of grandma's ill health, maternal grand parent's demise and skeptical futuristic thoughts made me wonder if this was how it always ended, if suffering was given by choice or whether it came along as one tread the path of life.

The intensity of the situation was once more brought to notice when we realized the helplessness of the doctors. At that point in time, papa being a doctor, I wondered how helpless he would have felt and how difficult would it have been for him to play the role of a doctor and a son- a very devoted son. Despite knowing the person lying unconsciously in front of him, he chose to not respond and interfere with the work that the doctors in-charge were doing.

Indeed, the human body is the most unpredictable with 100% vulnerability to immobility, paralysis and a state of vegetative living. That was exactly what we all feared and were sure of no desire to encounter any of those as far as grandma’s health was concerned.

Off went the ventilator and we grew familiar with the terminal stage of life that grandma was closely living with There is a difference in knowing and accepting. And the latter part of the situation is what forced the existence of the void to surface even more strongly than it had earlier.

Bouts of scattered thoughts, uncontrolled tears, hours of silence, broken sleep, worries pertaining to a crucial interview on the same day and complete non-acceptance of the situation had kept me busy all through the night. I woke up before the alarm could shake me out of the bed and on concluding the interview, I knew I had to rush back to the ICU only to share a cup of tea with grandma- probably for the one last time. She did not have tea that day.

A few moments of semi conscious conversations, and I realized that she had failed to recognize most of us. The non-cooperative behaviour was an indicator of distress she was experiencing as she faced her own death. All she wanted was to return back home and have the churan. Her unsettled gaze probably wanted to see papa, ma and grandpa for one last time. She surrendered before they could arrive.

In less than twenty four hours of being admitted to the hospital, we got her back home though in a different state than what we all, except papa and grandpa, had imagined. They knew it all, from the time she was admitted to the time the ventilator was put off. A few hundred had people walked in to seek blessings and everybody had different ways of consoling us. All I wanted to do then was to sit silently, next to grandma for one last time. Ma, didi and I sat for a long time in reverence of her mortal body and immortal presence, which would be with us as far as we continue to live our lives with dignity and peace.

 One of the first pictures with mummiji and dadaji

It’s been a few months since grandma passed away. Even today, I remember the hospital bed that took care of her fragile body. I still remember the room, the day, the time and the place where she lay at peace in the place she called home. I can smell the air surrounding the time of her death even today. I was not at best help to her all the time but I know I was her dear granddaughter. She loved me immensely. She looked forward to see me every weekend while I was working in Mumbai. She was in denial of my decision of working in Bangalore. She was eager to see to me happily settled, even if that meant going to the USA for a Masters program, which was much against her wish (I am glad her wish is being fulfilled now). Today, I just sit back gazing at one of our last photographs together and thank God for her peaceful and resistance-less death.

I wonder if that marked the end of my relationship with her. Time has elapsed, but questions still remain floating in my mind, somewhere making me live in disbelief of grandma’s death.

The feeling of void, apprehension and ambiguity related to death and loss of someone you love is still hovering over my thought process and it surfaces every time I think of going back home and not finding grandma around, sitting in that chair, peeping through the door into the kitchen. It would never be the same going back home. It would never be the same feeling when I visit her room.I know I'll miss her, just the way I still miss Aaji ba-Aaja bapa.

How often do we start 'relating' to people only when they are living at the brink of life and death? How often do the human emotions tend to turn into gratifying actions only when one's physical presence is realized to be at stake?

"It was at this gesture that I felt I bonded for the first time in my life with someone at a level which was not superficial, but one which was built on human emotions" I guess this sentence and the preceding text from the article, Crossing the Line,states something similar.

Article source: What's Happ

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