Bienvenue à Pondichery

I might not know the back of my hand, but I sure know Pondicherry. Ok- there is not much to know, the grid layout system of roads take care of it. Anywhere you go, you can always find your way out. Dead ends in streets might exist- I’ve hardly seen any though.

A perfect weekend… sleeping late and waking up with half the day gone. Breakfast is never eaten. Cinnamon tea. A whiff of that and my day’s almost perfect. I never drink or make cinnamon tea at Chennai. That’s a smell and taste I associate with home. Only home.

Lunch is a spread. I might as well have been in Kerala.

An afternoon sleep which begins when the afternoon is almost over and stretches into a good part of the evening.

Evenings with great music on the computer and at full volume sometimes. My mom’s convinced “Deaf” Leppard was named so coz they went deaf hearing themselves sing. Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan died of a heart attack- not surprising at all.

Late evening we go to the beach. Mom has a correction to make- its not evening at all, its called night! But Pondicherry is very safe a place. And I live but a couple of streets away from the beach.

My sister and I head to the beach. I carry a book along. There are these benches very conveniently made under orange neon lights. I remove my slippers, fold my legs under me and sit and read. My sister takes a walk all by herself. She comes and sits beside me sometime later. I close my book and we both watch the sea. There are lights always from ships that dot the horizon, someone is away from home always.



We buy an ice cream and sit and lick it as if we have all the time in the world. We just might… time does wait for you in Pondicherry. We cross the traffic devoid street and climb the rocks there. We sit forever on the rocks. We remember a person called our mother almost simultaneously and look at each other. Dusting the sand from our denims we ride back home in perfect lethargy.

We see a new restaurant that’s opened. We just have to investigate. It does not matter that its almost 10.30 and girls from decent households should be asleep by then. We walk around looking at the interior décor, glance at the menu, we talk to the owner. Kind shopkeepers are found only in Pondicherry, this I am convinced. They’ll tell you all you want to know and more. “You should include more chocolate flavors”, my sister advises. “Of course and thank you” we are told gratefully.

We buy another flavor and head out. I sit behind on the bike holding both ice creams. My sister rides and stops every few meters to take a lick at the melting ice cream; even that melts in harmony to the speed of Pondicherry- slowly in quiet trickles that are caught by the tongue before they fall onto the ground or your clothes.

Tomorrow is another day. The night is still young. We reach our home and sit on our bike for some more time. People still walk on the roads. No one hurries home. We ring the bell and wake up mom who’s asleep. It doesn’t matter we have our own keys. We are the latchkey kids who never use them.