Pondicherry... the ashram... and finally the monsoon

Chidambaram to Pondicherry:26th May

By lunchtime I had arrived at the ashram guest house (Park Guest House) in Pondicherry; in Tamil it’s called Pudducherry, or affectionately just “Pondy”. The guest house must be one of the loveliest places I have ever stayed in. Not because of its comfort but because of the tranquil location. Every room is named after a virtue, joy, peace, compassion etc. and has a balcony facing the sea. There is a meditation garden where all you can hear are the sound of lapping waves. The large windows of the vegetarian canteen are yards from the shore and give the semblance of being on a boat far out at sea.

There is an unmistakable French feel to Pondicherry. There are Alliance Francais, restaurants that serve Bordeaux and cigars, and the police wear red kepis like Gendarmes. The well-planned streets, all arranged in right angles have French names like Goubert Avenue and Dumas Street and are lined with trees that provide shade from the unbearable 45 degrees lunchtime blaze. The houses are whitewashed, with old wooden doors and well-watered blooming gardens. Today the Frenchness is but a hint alluding to bye-gone days of a colonial past. Pondicherry became Indian in 1954 and there is the unmistakable busy feel of a typical Indian city in the more inland parts of Pondicherry, dusty streets, hooting vehicles and people scurrying around.

The ashram in the city was founded by Shri Aurobindo in 1926, and after he died the Mother took over as spiritual guide till she died in 1973 aged 97. Their bodies are laid to rest in tombs of the courtyard of the main ashram building on Marine Street. Auroville is the ashram community 10 kilometres north of Pondicherry in Tamil Nadu (Pondicherry itself is a Union territory); it was started by the Mother as an experimental place where people could live in a higher spiritual awareness, and harmony. It has 80 settlements over an area of 20 kilometres each devoted to projects ranging from alternative technology, agriculture, tree planting and handicrafts, education and health; the many buildings are spread out connected by roads winding their way through newly-planted trees. The centre of the settlement is the imposing Matrimandir with a huge bronze-coloured dome. Inside most of it is still under construction but the white marble meditation chamber at the top is complete – it has a hazy light coming from a mirror on the roof which is refracted through a solid crystal 70cms wide. The room is cool and has strong calming feeling about it; a steward advised me that at 4.30pm some people would be allowed in to meditate there, once the crowds had gone home.

While I queued the rumble of thunder resounded and electric-blue lightning flashes cracked the sky. Rain fell in torrents and the air cooled as people sheltered under a large banyan tree, leaning on its vertical roots. The red-earth path to the Matrimandir turned in to a mud-track and the meditation session was cancelled. I rode my motorbike back to Pondicherry through paths of mud, round puddles and past fallen branches, soaked to the skin. The rain felt strangely pleasant, the heat and humidity was gone. The Monsoon had eventually arrived in full measure, loud, spectacular and very wet.