Ze French getting a beet Indian - Pondicherry

• Ze French being Indian
• Utopia in marble with croissants
• Trannies on a train 

What sort of a city has a nickname?!  A french one of course.  Pondicherry, or Pondy as it’s affectionately called by the locals.  Even sounds French don’t it?  The name originally comes from Putucceri (the Tamil words putu (“new”) andceri (“village”)).  According to the Britannica Encyclopedia, the French corrupted the name by calling it Pondicherry.  Well I disagree and think it’s a lovely name and a lovely place (and am not sure why the hell the Indian government renamed it again in 2006 to Puducherry but then again India does love pointless processes).

In the 48 hours prior to arriving in Pondy I’d spent 15 hours sitting on very bumpy buses and one all-nighter at an airport so after the final 5 hour bus ride from Chennai I decided to bling it up and stay in the most luxurious hotel I've stayed in in India.  I was told Pondy was a good place to get a bargain so I splashed out $30/night (the most I've spent in my whole time here apart from being ripped off last Christmas).  I got a suite.  $30US for a suite, Pondy certainly was a good place for a bargain.   After getting excited about the hot water and working plug sockets I had a quick nap then headed into the French Quarter.

The British Rule of India has lots of legacy in India such as the language, the law system and the railway none of which seem overtly English.  The French quarter in Pondy has french road signs, architecture, Indians sit sipping coffee (and this is not the rich ‘starbucks’ set), and upon seeing a white face they utter ‘Bonjour’.  To maintain the romance of the French culture there are no car horns, instead the rickshaws use squeaking horns, a delight to the senses.  J’ai adore J’ai adore!

Garcon, un cafe et un criossant 'masala' s'il vous plait!

I wasn't here for ze French.  I was on my way to KSV my next project where 90% of the volunteers are French  so I knew I'd get my topup of the sexy French vowels there.  I was in Pondy to see Auroville an experimental township setup by Mirra Alfassa or ‘The mother ‘as this French dame was locally called, a  follower and lead guide of Guru Sri Aurobindo.

The morning I left for Auroville I sat in the luxurious confines of the hotel lobby having a gorgeous Indian breakfast whilst reading the Matrimonial times.

A God fearing read......

I was happy to wait as I had a treat on order.  'Machine' washed clothes. Something I hadn't had in more than 3 months.  The previous day I’d handed in a bag of toxic garments.  I’d got to the stage where I would be wearing something long enough so that Indians wouldn't want to sit next to me on a bus; quite an achievement.  So when the receptionist walked over with a laundry back my senses jumped up in a land of Persil Automatic adverts.  There was a slight problem.  The bag was brand new but my clothes were still the same, toxic.   The guy wiggled his head and said “sorry sir rain yesterday no wash”.  There had been no rain.  He then handed me the bill wiggled his head and walked off smiling.  A bill for clothes that had not been cleaned.  10 minutes later the manager was in reception, I had a free lunch and a 1 hour express service cleaning done.  Maybe they were used to French tourists just shrugging their shoulders but I wanted my whites white god damn it!

I was very skeptical about Auroville, it sounded like a bunch of French hippies thinking they are better than everyone else.  Kinda similar to Paris.  I saw a lot of older French men on motorbikes with long locks of white hair flowing into the faces of their young Indian female companion.  For a minute I thought I was in Thailand, surely this couldn't work.  This is India.  Rural girls aren't even supposed to look at a white guy let alone sit on the back of a big vibrating engine with them. 

By the time I arrived at the visitor centre to get my ticket to visit the Matrimandir, the big golden golf ball surrounded by manicured gardens in the centre of town my mind was set.  It wasn't for me.  I hadn't seen one person give me a genuine smile and so was confused by all the messages saying ‘Evolution of a new consciousness, realize human unity’ muddying the waters.  However, I had set out with a negative view myself so I decided to give Matrimandir with it’s white polished inner meditation chamber a go.  And boy am I glad that I did. 

The Matrimandar tour is well organized.  It’s a 24 wait for your ticket to ensure it’s people who really want to see the site (it’s free) and then the tour is strictly managed with an excellent guide (Bob a guy in his 60s from London).    He explained the history, with town's objective being the "progress of humanity towards its splendid future by bringing together people of goodwill and aspiration for a better world."  It even has it's own governing board following an act from the Indian government. The township was started in 1968 with the goal to house 50,000 people, it's quite a long way off that now but it's growing every year.

The inner chamber is what people queue up to see.  It is the most amazing room I've ever been in .  Built to the exact plan as seen in a dream by ‘The Mother’.   I’m guessing she’d been to the multiplex to see TRON and had a few sherry’s the night before as the interior resembles the TRON filmset.  Down to the power-source which in the inner chamber is a beam of light coming from the ceiling. 

(not my photo.......no cameras allowed inside)

You are guided into the chamber after removing your shoes, been given white socks and told not to touch anything.  Meditating in the room is an awesomely powerful experience.  Regardless of whether you  are a spiritual person or not you cannot fail to recognize the power of this place.  It was the first meditation I've had in a room full of Indians that hadn't been interrupted by a fart so the feeling was obviously mutual.

There are +125 business units in Auroville that keep the town economy totally self sufficient from agriculture to software services and that’s where I started to see the process working.   I spent a few days driving around on a bike; just like those French hippies, admitted without the hair or the girl on the back.  

I was still in a trance from the inner chamber experience when I met with some friends who lived  in Auroville.  They described their life and the businesses, the one I spent the most time with Unlimited Tamil Nadi,  a social entrepreneur think tank.  Phrases such as ‘not earn a living but express yourself’ sounds impractical until you see it in practice.  I met the head of Ecofemme (washable sanitary pads) who I had included in the WaterAid India Fundraising plan as a potential partner (not knowing it was anything to do with Auroville) and visited the Spirulina farm only to discover when I saw the end product that I’d bought Auroville spirulina on the web.

A thought arose.  I could live here.  I am returning to Europe at the end of the year.  

However, I am going to consider Auroville as a possible option for my next move.

I left the peace of Auroville on the back of my hotel owner’s motorbike.  I’d been teaching his family yoga and got a lift to the train station in return.  Quite familiar on a bike as a driver or a passenger this was a surreal 15km journey.  Loaded with both backpack an front pack my knees touched other motoribikes and I felt the heat of metal from passing trucks whilst we leaned into potholes just once too many times.  A long way from the Auroville utopia and one of the safest places to drive in India, the roads in ‘normal’ India see c500,000 deaths on motorcycles every year.    

Next stop Mysore via a night train then local train.  The journey was quiet, aided by my neighbours offer of a few shots of ‘Old Monk’ rum.  The morning was the usual noise awakening of chai wallahs but this time we also had the local cross dressers on the train.  Called Hijras, they are an Indian community who beg by threatening curses.   I have friends who are cross dressers whose only curse is too much makeup but these guys made sure everybody felt quite uncomfortable by hissing at anyone who didn't cough up money.  I've only come across them a few times but it’s interesting to see how the majority of Indians just open up their superstitious purses and give in.  I was no match for them, if they think a chap wearing a bit of lipstick is going to scare me they need to have a night out in Temple Bar. Here's a library shot....