Recovery and contemplation

I had much that I wanted to discover in Pondicherry, but as it turned out I had to take things as they came. I needed some down time to rest, recover, and build up the strength I was going to need for two weeks of Ashtanga Yoga in Goa, my next post. That first night I eventually managed to haul myself off the bed for a wander around town, and was pleasantly surprised at the cleanliness and grandeur of the French side of Pondicherry, complete with seaside promenade, spotless tree-lined avenues and quaint cafes lit with fairy lights. Was I still in India? Yes, indeed, all I had to do was turn the corner and, like day turns to night, walk back into the dirt, grime, colour, chaos and dilapidation, the throngs of people hanging out, sleeping, living under makeshift tents on the streets. Pondicherry is perhaps the strangest place I have ever been to - a city of two extremes coexisting side-by-side, with no apparent middle-ground or sign of change. The Indian population seems to confine itself to the ‘Tamil’ parts of town, living in true Indian style on top of each other and largely in the rubbish-filled streets, while the tourists and the inhabitants of the Sri Aurobindo Ashram (which takes up a good chunk of the posh part of town) stick to the pristine ‘French’ side, hanging out in cafes, bistros, overpriced boutiques, art galleries or, of course, in Ashram grounds. Enjoying wandering through the peaceful streets that night, I nonetheless couldn’t help feeling that something was amiss in this ‘balance’. How can this city have enough money to keep all of these colonial buildings and their streets shiny and polished, yet there are clearly too many people here in dire need of a roof and a decent meal a day? Is it really too much for the French and Indian powers that be to wake up, communicate and work together on this? In my few days there, I noticed more hostility towards me (as a westerner) than I have experienced anywhere else in India. My guest house was actually just in the Tamil part of town, and as I strolled down the road I would try to smile and greet those who crossed my path, much as I had become accustomed to so far in India, being gracious to the lovely people who were my hosts in this amazing country. But here in Pondicherry the vibe was different. I felt that people didn’t want to smile at me. I didn’t feel welcome. I felt hostility. Negativity. Unexpected, unpleasant and odd.

On my second morning I managed to get myself up and out and over to the Sri Aurobindo Ashram, a big reason for coming here. Although I hadn’t managed to get myself a room in the much-reputed Ashram accommodation, I wasn't fussed as there is no ashram schedule to speak of. Rather the Sri Aurobindo Ashram is a place for you to follow your own personal sadhana (spiritual path/practises) in the way you see fit, studying the teachings of Sri Aurobindo and The Mother (his main disciple/successor), meditating, doing selfless service in one of the numerous ashram businesses. So, after a record-breaking, long-winded conversation with the amazingly (over-?) eager man in the Ashram visitors' centre, I made my way to the main courtyard to spend some time contemplating and meditating around the Samadhi Shrine, the collective tombs of Sri Aurobindo and The Mother. At this point I didn’t really know much about their teachings, but something had sparked my interest and I was eager to find out more for myself. The energy in there was lovely – peaceful, vibrant, nurturing, uplifting. I sat there for a good while as people came and went, a wonderfully and equally mixed crowd of international and Indian devotees all coming to pay their respects and JUST BE in this unique energy. Without even having to try, and despite the more-than-thick state of my head that day, I found myself transported to a calm, quiet, peaceful place, not wanting or waiting to be anywhere else. I still have a good way to go with the somewhat intellectual and circular nature of these teachings, but one thing I love about them at first sight is that they are non-dogmatic. You are not told how to progress, which practises you should follow, how to follow them. You are told to follow your own path, to look inside for the answers to your questions and to let your inner teacher be your guide. I love this...perhaps because I have always loved working alone, practising alone, working things out for myself, trying, testing and discovering. Yes of course it's vague and difficult and leaves a HUGE area for people to slide off the map; but if you are able to stick with the program, it strikes me that this is the way you will find what is true and right for you in your life, rather than mistakenly lusting after someone else's tempting strawberry-flavoured beacon.

Despite my best intentions to spend a good proportion of the following days sat in contemplation in the ashram, in reality I ended up in bed, sneezing my head off and, once that subsided, staring at the ceiling with the lights turned off as my head throbbed incessantly. The blessed Arianna travel headaches, I just love ‘em. Not. Alas, they do make me stop and rest, which is probably the point, even if that was totally inconvenient and scuppered my plans (again). Still, I was thankful for lovely caring Indian hosts and their generous offerings of tiger balm, and for just about finding the patience to tolerate the oversized French School party who took over the entire guest house and its noisy stairways. Omm.

I had planned to spend some decent time in Auroville, an idealistic 'township' still developing and establishing itself, founded by The Mother in the sixties in an area just outside of Pondicherry. But alas all I managed was a quick day trip and a squizz at the visitors' centre and the outside of the amazing golden MATRIMANDIR - the spiritual heart of the place 'symbolising the birth of a new consciousness seeking to manifest,' where the Aurovillians go to meditate in an inner chamber dominated by the rays of light diffusing off a crystal-glass globe.

But I didn't really get to taste Auroville, which was what I was looking for. The visitors centre is impersonal and is there to deal with the hoards of visitors who come every day to peer into Auroville like it's a tourist attraction. But Auroville itself is made up of lots of little communites each with their own focus - eco-gardening, body-mind-spirit healing, whatever. It's had some bad press about its relations with the local community and reports of violence, which obviously are completely at odds with the idealistic values behind this 'experiment in human unity'. But at the same time others who I know and respect report it to be an amazing place full of amazing people who are dedicating everything they have to make this experiment work. So I wanted to find out for myself. Alas, I didn't get very far (this time).....but that day I resolved that before long I would be back (in true Schwarzeneger style), to spend some good time living and breathing the Aurovillian way (watch this space).

As I packed up my belongings to head North to Goa, I decided it was time to offload some of my clothes - the bag was just too heavy (the first of many such decisions since, though the bag doesn't appear to be getting smaller or lighter....how uncanny). Following the example of yogi Amelia, one of the wonderful Christmas boat crew, I walked straight up to the first needy looking person I saw - a tiny, wasted, elderly man - and gave him my bag full of my female western clothes. Perhaps not the best choice of home for my wardrobe, and he did look a bit bemused as his expectant hand found these bizarre items in the place of a few rupees. I placed my hands in Namaskar at my heart and smiled as I looked him in the eye. But as I walked off, although I knew they'd fit, I did wander if they'd quite suit his fashion sense.

I'd managed to spend a month in India and not yet use the trains - truly prize-winning. And as a result, for some reason I seemed to have developed train-o-phobia. No doubt something to do with the accumulation of reports I'd heard from various travel buddies - the impossibility of booking a ticket, 36 hour delays, having to leap on and off moving trains as you only discover at the last minute that they are/aren't going to where you think they're going, and the trials and tribulations of being stuck on a platform with barely an excuse for a toilet as travellers' tummy comes on good and proper. Yummy. Just another unknown really, but for some reason it took me a while to bite the bullet with this Indian train lark. So, I am ashamed to admit, that I took the easy way out and, rather than enjoy my first 24-hour journey on India's historic railways, I hopped on a (very cheap but not a patch on the trains) flight to Goa. Yes, I do feel very bad about it. And, to make matters worse, I even indulged in a taxi to the airport, a whole 10 pounds for the 2.5 hour journey...it felt like SUCH an indulgence and a luxury, but one I allowed myself rather than entrust my timely arrival at Chennai airport into the hands of Tamil Nadu State Transport Corporation.