A Whiff of French Breezes—at Auroville and Pondicherry!

Thursday, January 10, 2019

Chennai-Auroville-Pondicherry-Chennai

A Whiff of French Breezes at Auroville and Pondicherry!

Namaste from Chennai!

Although I was pretty sure I would wake up in time, I was sleeping in a new place and in a strange bed—in my niece Menaka’s room in her mother Blossom’s home in Chennai. I, therefore, set my alarm for 5.30 am for our 6.00 am departure on a day trip to Pondicherry.

     I was excited to be returning to Pondicherry after more than three decades.  Chriselle was little more than a toddler when we had last visited this last colonial bastion of the French in India. I had vague but quite lovely memories of a seaside town with loads of atmosphere.  I was not mistaken.

Off we go—with Southie Brekkie first:

     Our Uber driver (we hired him for the day for Rs. 3000) arrived on schedule at 6.00 am and off we went while Chennai was gently stirring to a new day. We caught the East Coast Highway soon enough and enjoyed the glories of a bright orange sunrise as it skimmed the ice-apple palms all along the coast road. We tried to stop for breakfast about an hour later at a place called Mammala Hotel (famous, it appears), but even at 7.00, it was not open and we were told to return in half an hour.  Not wishing to waste time, we headed on and stopped at a place called Hotel Naveen where I feasted on a sada dosa, large and crisp, with its accompanying little vatis of multiple coconut chutneys and sambhar. I washed it down with a tall glass of masala  milk with additions of turmeric, pepper and honey—yummy. Blossom had idlis and vadas with the same accompaniments.  And a more delicious Southie Brekkie would be hard to find!

We continued on past beautiful rural Tamil Nadu. The fields were lush with recent sowings that have begun to germinate and sprout.There were occasional villages but hardly anything was open as we flew along. Soon, we arrived at Puddupatinam, a village that borders the Indian nuclear science settlement of Kalpakkam, where Blossom and her family had spent 26 years as her late husband was a nuclear scientist. In a much younger life, we had visited them and seen quite a bit of South India in the bargain. We could see the vague outlines of the township as we continued on the highway. 

A little later, we entered the Union Territory of Pondicherry which was marked by a sculpture featuring a ‘chatri’, an umbrella monument. We skimmed right past it, however, as our first port of call would be Auroville. 

Getting to Auroville and Exploring the Settlement:

     Long before we actually arrived in Auroville, we knew we were in its vicinity as we passed by a whole lot of white folks on bicycles or motor-bikes raising dust along the red mud roads. Our driver actually lost his way, and took a wrong turning and as we tried to get back our bearings, we drove through a thickly forested area that was rife with ancient banyan trees and other tropical vegetation. It was actually one of the best parts of my day as our vehicle wound its way through the dense growth of centuries through miles when we could not see the sky as the green canopy above us concealed it completely. It was truly beautiful.  Robert Frost is so right about the road not taken. It makes all the difference! I loved it.

     Eventually, when we did get back to the desired path, we had already passed by the living quarters (hidden bungalows) that belonged to the inmates of this unique settlement that was the brainchild of a French woman who is known universally as The Mother although she took the Indian name Mira. She was a disciple of an Indian philosopher, poet (author of the epic work Savitri) and sage named Sri Aurobindo Ghosh and she went on to spearhead his philosophy of thinking and living close to nature. He passed away but she went on to found a township in 1963 that would be devoted to a non-religious way of life that was still steeped in spirituality. Her ideas caught on rapidly. In due course, she found a French architect called Roger Anger whom she commissioned to build a township that would house people who shared her views of living at the highest spiritual level possible. Anger found an ancient banyan tree that was surrounded by highly forest plains. There, he suggested, she develop her ideas. 

     Construction began and progressed in successive but slow stages so that today the place is a fully-fledged township that is self-sufficient. It attracts a large number of people from Europe (France mainly but also Germany and the UK) who come for short periods away from the regular world. Almost invariably, they get so seduced by the place and its ideology that they end up settling here and putting down roots. As a result, various restaurants, cafes, laundromats, etc. have developed as these inmates use the skills and expertise that they acquinthe real world and transplant them to Tamil Nadu soil. We passed many pizzerias (started by Italians), bistros (started by the French), coffee shops (Aura Cafe is a chain run by a Catalonian woman called Mathilda who happens to be a friend of Blossom. She bakes the goods that she sells in her bakeries and coffee shops herself while her husband Marc has developed a huge interest in coffee). 

  

Viewing Matrimandir:

     The biggest attraction at Auroville is a structure called Matrimandir which was built more recently than my last visit there about thirty years ago. It is not perceived by the Aurovillians as a tourist attraction and visitorship is strictly restricted.  You have to arrive at a certain hour in person to pick up passes that allow you to enter (during which process you are screened). No talking is permitted inside as it is seen as a place of concentration—not necessarily meditation. Blossom tried hard to fit in a visit inside the structure for me but given my tight schedule, it was simply not working out.  She has been inside and was able to describe it to me. 

    For our parts, on this visit, we could only see the outside--it is a huge gilded spherical ball that is quite ingeniously conceived and executed. Anger has done himself proud as I discovered when I viewed a short film at the Visitors Center which explains both the philosophy and the ideals that went into the creation of so magnificent a structure. The top is flattened and opened. Sunlight enters through a single microscopic opening and falls directly on a huge crystal sphere that is called The Crystal. From there, it is diffused to send dim light throughout the inside of the globe. The same light is then filtered one level down to a Lotus Pool built entirely of white marble through which water snakes and finds its own level. The sound of falling water amidst the utter silence of the rest of the place and the faint lighting must seem magical when one is inside.  Perhaps another time, on another visit (because I never say never about visiting places multiple times—I have learned that life has repeatedly thrown me multiple opportunities to visit and re-visit places I never thought, in my younger days, that I would ever see again!)...

We did, however, follow a path that led us past a lovely sculpture garden and wind chimes placed high on trees to get to the Viewing Platform from wer we had a brilliant, uninhibited view of the structure. The serenity of the entire place is what strikes the visitor recurrently. Everything is beautifully landscaped so that Man and Nature seem to live in perfect harmony together.  Blossom, who was a superb guide to the place and the philosophy behind its creation, explained to me that the inmates use complete environmental consciousness in their daily life. Recycling bins are everywhere. Paper cups are not given for take-away coffees. There are segregated areas where one might eat and drink—but there is no snacking encouraged anywhere. It was quite the most remarkable way to live. And the local Tamilians who are employed in the township are also trained in the same way—they smile, they provide help graciously. No one looks glum or angry. Blossom told me that she loves coming to this place as it has a rejuvenating and relaxing effect on her simultaneously.  I could understand that—I feel the same way whenI visit Amish Country in the USA. The simplicity of the lifestyle and the lack of stress factors communicates itself to you instantly. 

    When we had taken in the grandeur of the Matrimandir monument, and clicked a couple of pictures there, we left and made our way back to the cafe area where Blossom had a cold hibiscus syrup flavored drink and I had chocolate gelato (probably made by an Italian inmate). This cafe is the only area where one has WiFi and the place was filled with residents typing on their laptops. There was the fragrance of Marc’s Coffee wafting around but there was no decaf!

Right after we had refreshed ourselves, we went into the stores where all sorts of merchandise is available. I bought Orange and Ginger Marmalade and a few odds and ends—some incense sticks, perfumed sachets for one’s drawer, a notebook and some jewelry as I looked for small gifts to give away.  I also asked about silk scarves as Blossom had gifted me one, many years ago, that was printed with the marbling technique. However, they had none. These items are now sold in dry fancy boutiques but the prices were quite reasonable. There was a lot of jewelry and a lot of clothing—light, cotton items—that are so suitable for this humid warm climate.

    When our visit was done, we called our driver who arrived at the pick up point and drive us to our next destination, the city of Pondicherry.

Visiting Pondicherry:

The French arrived in Pondicherry after the Portuguese did and about the same time as the Dutch—ie in the early 1500s.  They lost no time in turning from traders to colonizers and, as did all other Europeans in the various parts of the world to which they traveled, co-habited with the local women and produced mixed race children. There are still large numbers of Anglo-Indians in Pondicherry who are more properly Franco-Indians. They brought Catholicism with them, built churches (the Church of Norte-Dame des Anges that we visited was founded by French Capuchins in the early 1600s), schools, administrative buildings, etc. and fancied themselves to be living in Paris by the Sea! 

     As a result, in a formerly colored world, their quartier or residential area came to be called White Town—separate from the area in which the native Tamilians lived—a name that has stuck. It is, today, one of Pondicherry’s biggest attractions and for very good reason.  White Town is beautifully maintained, the old colonial homesteads still standing proudly and reminding me very much of the old plantation homes in Charleston, South Carolina. They have grand gated entrances that lead into a small front yard, front reception areas that serve as common visiting space, dual staircases that are well-balustraded that lead up to the second floor where the bedrooms are located. They are colored in vivid primary shades such as yellows and oranges. On the other hand, the official buildings of of the French administration are in off white or dove-grey. They too have a decidedly European architectural aesthetic about them. 

Visiting the French Institute:

As we knocked about the town, we passed by a gracious and very stately manor.  I realized at once that it was probably one of the heritage homes that is being maintained today by tourist visits. It calls himself a Mini-Museum and it turned out to be serving as The French Institute of Pondicherry. While still a French colony, it had devoted itself to Oriental arts and culture and it continues to do so today.  Doctoral students studying Indo-French history and culture can register to come here as residents for short stays while conducting research in the local Library. 

     Blossom, who was avoiding climbing stairs if she could help it, elected to sit it out while I paid Rs. 100 for a ticket to go inside and see the grand interior proportions of such a home. Indeed the garden itself was quite delightful and after surveying the lower floor, I used one of the curving staircases to enter the top level where there was a lot of literature and exhibits pertaining to the early colonial history of the French in India and in Pondicherry. There was a 200-year old grand piano in fine repair and on it was placed a glass vitrine containing the entire Ramayana of Valmiki written in Sanskrit on Palm leaf—quite similar to the number of ancient manuscripts I had recently seen in the temples and libraries of Orissa.

     For my money, however,the best part was being able to step outside on the terrace and then walk forward towards the parapet where I was poised above the road and overlooking the promenade from where I caught my first glimpses of the nightly Bay of Bengal.  It’s fierce waves crashed on to the sandy and, in some places, rocky shore line. Swaying palms amplified the effect of a seaside resort and with sunlight pouring over the entire panorama, it was indeed spectacular. 

When I had my share of taking pictures from this grand vantage point, I went downstairs again to join Blossom.

Exploring White Town:

     French Town or White Town is best explored on foot but since Blossom has aching knees that are soon headed for knee replacement, we hired a cycle rickshaw man who also doubled as tour guide.  For Rs. 300, he pedaled us all around the Town and showed us the main sights—the French Consulate with its proud Tri-color (The Blue, Blanc, Rouge) flying from the rooftop, the Customs Building, the Pondicherry Museum (formerly a stately home), etc. He also drove us along the waterfront which is characterized by a wide and beautifully laid out Promenade on which, later in the evening, after the sun had set, local people came to take their daily constitutional. There are lovely monuments that dot the city from the sculpture of Dupleix, father of the French empire in India, to Nehru who ‘liberated’ the colony in 1954 soon after Indian Independence to Mahatma Gandhi who has a lovely canopied memorial monument on the Waterfront. There is also a wonderful monument to the French soldiers who died for the Patrie in the Great War—also facing the waterfront, it carries the names of all of the white residents of the French colony in India who gave their lives for a just cause. I noticed that there is no monument that recognizes the loss of life of Indian ‘sipahis’ (foot soldiers) in the same war! Someday, the current French government might decide to rectify this error!

     Our cycle rickshaw man was wonderful. It is, in fact, a great way to see the township as the open vehicle allowed me to take a number of pictures of the tree-lined streets with its pretty shops, boutiques, eateries, etc. When we had surveyed the township quite thoroughly indeed, we decided to go for lunch.

A Keralite Lunch in Tamil Nadu:

     Blossom was keen to take me for lunch to a place called L’Orient which, she said, was set in a heritage building and offered fine French cuisine—which would have been appropriate in the circumstances.  But when we had run into her friend Mathilde and Marc at one of her coffee shops, she had recommended a place called Palais de Mahe as they said that L’Orient had changed hands and they could not vouch for the quality of the food there.

We took their advice and found the Palais and discovered that while it was set in a heritage house too, the menu was decidedly Keralite as the management was Keralite. Still, it was a lovely experience to be seated on the upper level of what would have been the terrace overlooking the pool below and the crashing waves of the ocean just beyond our viewpoint.

     As it was a Keralite menu we saw before us, we decided to have Prawn Moile, a typical curry made with coconut milk (similar to the Goan Prawn Caldine) with appams (frilly, lacy rice crepes) for lunch. It was superb and we ate well to the accompaniment of fresh lime sodas—delish! The entire experience was lovely—the setting, the taste of the food, the service which was gracious and the fact that everywhere we went, we had the place to ourselves. It was fantastic to be relieved of crowds (if only briefly) for just like New York can get overwhelming, after a while Bombay seems the same way—as there are simply too many people everywhere.  Here, there was vibrant human life that never seemed oppressive.

    We settled our bill and decided that our next visit would be to the Pondicherry Museum.

   

Visiting Pondicherry Museum:

This place was actually the least satisfying part of our exploration. We were astounded about how decrepit it looks and how badly the place is run. Layers of dust everywhere, items in such awful condition they actually belong in a junkyard rather than a museum. The less said about it the better.  I had a glance at the Visitors Book and was ashamed at the kind of comments left by foreigners appalled by the place. “Look after your heritage”, they wrote. “This is the most senseless Museum we have ever seen”, wrote another.  “Please caption the items so that we know what we are looking at”, wrote a third. Clearly, the Museum needs a curator badly and more pleasant staff.”Train your staff to smile”, wrote one visitor. “Why do the staff look so angry?” Asked another. The Museum has a good collection of archeological finds from places in Tamil Nadu but those too are horribly displayed. Upstairs, the French section should be entirely scrapped as everything belongs on a scrap heap.  Really horrible. I heard Indians coming out of the place with such a look of dejection on their faces while expressing their horror at what they had seen. We paid Rs. 10 per head for entrance fee but I would gladly pay Rs. 500 if only I could be sure the money would go towards regeneration of this entire enterprise. Truly a crying shame.

Visiting the Samadhi of Sri Aurobindo and The Mother:

  Perhaps the biggest attraction in White Town are the samadhi (final resting place) of Sri Aurobindo and his companion The Mother. They are housed in a grand old heritage homestead that belongs to the Sri Aurobindo Foundation at Auroville.  Apart from prayerful devotes who flood the place, there are tourists who enter out of respect and curiosity. 

     The most horrific part of wanting to visit the venue is that you have to take your shoes off on the road outside the building. This means that you have to walk across a public road barefooted! Knowing how filthy Indian roads are, this is asking for a lot. The man who guards the entrance, meanwhile, and insists you take off your footwear, stands there smugly wearing his own flip-flops.  If the ground is so sacred, why is he violating it? And in a sprawling house with so much courtyard space inside, why cannot some space be carved out for leaving our footwear inside and eliminating the need for walking barefooted across a public road to get in? What is the management of this place thinking? 

Blossom waited outside.  She refused to take off her shoes as there was no place where she could sit down to do it and she was afraid she would lose her balance and fall if she attempted to do so while standing.  I went in alone, on tiptoe throughout, as I was simply disgusted by the operation. I skirted the samadhi which is basically two large raised slabs of marble decorated lavishly with fresh flowers around which several devotees could be seen praying and mediating. I was there for just a few seconds. No photography is permitted. The place is run as if by despots. Awful!

     The rest of the place is devoted to commercialism—selling books and other materials produced by the Foundation.  Everything smacks of materialism—probably the very values that the two people being honored n these premises would have abhorred. 

  I could not get out of there fast enough. Get your act together, people.  Do not get carried away by your influence in the area.  Be a bit more humane in your expectations of visitors. Live in the spirit in which your leaders instructed you.

Visiting The Church of Notre Dame des Anges:

     The last item on our agenda for the day was a visit to the beautiful sea-front Church of Notre Dame des Anges which wears a rosy pink hue as it gazes out upon the azure waves of the ocean. In design, it is a cross between the Cathedral of Notre Dame and Sacre Court de Montmartre—both in Paris. It has the twin squat square steeples of Notre Dame in Paris together with the grand Baroque interior design of Montmartre. The church was built in the 1880s by the French Capuchins who arrived first in Pondicherry in 1632 and set up a house of worship on this site. It was grand to walk around the sheer silence of the interior and take in its essential Frenchness—all prayers, signs, even the Stations of the Cross are marked out in French. It has a grand dome with faux (troupe l’oeil) effects that imitate the kind of plaster of Paris rosettes you see in grand French churches. 

     Blossom and I prayed to Our Lady of the Angels in this lovely quiet and vey serene place that is filled with light and beatific spirituality. There was a sprinkling of other people—all deep in prayer. After the debacle of the visit to the samadhi, it was good to partake of genuine spirituality in such an uplifting place. This is what spiritualism should feel like, I thought. 

Before we left, I stepped outside to take a closer look at the statue of St. Joan of Arc (Jeanne d’Arc to the French) which is in the vast courtyard outside that overlooks the seafront promenade. The grounds too are so lovingly maintained. 

We were told that this is just one of the three famous churches of Pondicherry—the other one is the Sacred Heart Church and the biggest is the Basilica which is just outside the Station. We decided to visit just one of them and were happy we chose this—it was a superb way to end our tour of the charming, elegant, beautifully maintained town of Pondicherry with its history, culture, ambience. 

     We returned to our car and driver and made our way out of the city with instructions that we should stop at Mammala Hotel for dinner. Dusk set in slowly as we passed by more swaying ice-apple palm trees and fields lying fallow. At the restaurant, I opted to eat a cheese-corn dosa with a mango lassi—and they were both superb! Blossom is known well by the waiters as she has been coming to this place since its inception—more than 40 years of eating in the same place. 

After we’d enjoyed our meal, we got into our car again and in 45 minutes, we were back at Blossom’s place. It did not take us long to get ready for bed and hit the sack after what had been a superb day of reliving the best aspects of colonial culture.

Until tomorrow...