
Great changes await
the one that wills to endure
the chaos within
There’s nothing quite like it: Standing on the sandy shores, sipping warm comfort, and staring at foamy waters crashing into rocks.

And that’s how I remember the city of Pondicherry. With her manicured streets, fresh-brewed coffee, and a view that demands attention, the city it still one of my all time favourites.
The beach played a major role, of course, but so did the no-vehicles policy. Every evening, the police ensure that no vehicles enter the beach road. That time’s for the tourists to walk along the beach, get a cup of cocoa, or a bite of corn, and retreat to a fancy restaurant for dinner.
The entire area is built and managed in favour of the visitors. No wonder people love it there. Plus, it helps a lot that Pondicherry is a French colony. The street we stayed in — the Beach road — and a neighbouring streets were all so well furnished.
I stood in the street looking up at the looming concrete. They were unlike any other building I had seen, and it was obvious the government wants to please their tourists.
The infamous Aurobindo ashram is a huge attraction as well. So many Europeans have made the ashram their life, and the city their home. Even the shopping sites in the city seem to favour the their tastes. Wool, cotton, linen, and hand-loomed — it was such a pretty display of material and colours.
Oh, and the food. Since it’s a coastal city, there’s no short of fish, and all things sea food. And, the city’s a bit relaxed in alcohol rules. With the best of both worlds, most restaurants serve alcoholic drinks throughout the day — something the south of India never approves.

Pondicherry welcomes modernity in moderation. From where I come, however, people frown even at the idea of drinking in social conditions. It’s sad that folks sometimes look at the city as a bachelor’s haven, a place of mischief and misconduct.
But when I bit into those fish fingers, the sauce tingling my tongue and the steam seeping through my teeth, I stopped caring about what the world says. Pondicherry is a great place. And I’ll never pass an opportunity to go again.
Sacrifice —
Sleep.
Desire.
Grandeur.
And glamour.
Palate.
Privilege.
Longing.
And craving.
For —
Moments.
Meltdowns.
And marvels.

We are naught without our beliefs,
they said
We have to defend our rights,
they said
We should show them who we are
they said
“Forward! Charge for the guns,”
they said —
based behind ballistic glass.
I’ve spoken far too many times about tea in this blog. I can’t help it, it’s my poison. That, and coffee.
But I don’t cherish just the cuppa in my hand. I admire the entire process of tea estates, from plucking the leaves, and adding pressure to them, to pressing them to extract every essence of goodness. It’s such a sensitive job — to treat every leaf as a drop in someone else’s wake up call.
Morning tea is the most important part of my day. And I don’t believe in portion control. I try to do some reading while I sip my tea, but it never happens. When I sniff my tea, my mind goes blank and only tea matters.
I’ve visited a few tea estates in my life, lived in one of them too. It’s a divine feeling to walk amidst tea leaves at 6 am and get a whiff of the leaves, even months before they’re ready to go in my cup.
