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Today I traveled with 3 other friends by bus to a nearby village called Mahaballahpurum. We left Chennai at 8:00 a.m. and rode on the express bus an hour and a half. When we got off we were met by a very friendly auto-ricshaw driver—Mamaurm, who named his vichicle “Smiley” with pictures of Si Baba, his guru, on it to protect us. The attractions in this village are temples carved out of single boulders. They are now taken over by the Indian Government and managed as historic sites. This set of temples was carved around 500-650 a.d. They don’t think that they were used as worship sites, but perhaps to honor a king, although not a lot is known. There are Hindu references of the Gods. It remains a mystery why the people making them abandoned them—several in the stages of development. They know that they are carved from the top down, so not to disturb their work. The carving is fine and intricate, with fine details still in the faces. The rock is granite, one of the hardest rocks in the area, and difficult to work with.

When we went to the first site there was a monkey that someone had given a pepsi. He deftly opened the bottle and drank it down to everyone’s humor. Later down the path another mother monkey with baby hanging on passed me by, but chased a woman carrying a Fanta orange bottle—she was persistent and the woman abandoned it to the aggressive animal.

The magnitude of this feat was more than impressive. There were stairs carved into the curved rocks to lead up to the top where there were vistas of the ocean and looking far across the land. The driver waited for us while we climbed and marveled before he drove us to the next set of buildings. The first one was a lighthouse, which was used continually by building fires on top in the nights to warn sailors and bring the fishermen home. It was replaced in 1920 by a more modern one, which is still used.

There were 5 sites in all, a tremendous amount of work. Inside of several of them are detailed friezes of scenes of love and battle. Ancient and current favorite themes. There was a perfect well carved out of rock—a perfect 10’ hole. Thinking of the work and strife that made them is humbling and painful to consider. By the shore temple a man and parrot told my fortune. It confirmed my loving family and devotion to finding a path of truth and integrity—it encouraged me on. Everywhere people selling wares—of course many carvers of intricate small and large granite and marble carvings. I bought 2 perfect moon stones to send to Sylvia to make into jewelry.

The sun was bright, and hot. I wore my bathing suit under my pants, and am turning the color of the rocks. We were taken to a roof top restaurant that served lime soda and fresh fish. We ate and rested and talked. Wonderful strong women. Easy to travel with and fun to share the moment with.
After short shopping we boarded the rickety bus back to Chennai. Hot and tired and happy.

Last Saturday, (9/13/08) I began my classes in ESL (English as Second Language). 10 out of my 14 students speak a different language at home, so I was very excited that the school is providing this class, paying for it and the graduate credits, providing lunch and breakfast and even paying us to attend! The teachers are great—two teachers on staff I work with teach the class and it makes sense and helps provide strategies and encouragement. The class goes from 9-12. At noon I set of on “Rosebud,” my trusty steed and headed to a neighborhood call Besant Nagar. I had a sketchy idea of how to get there, and I think took a long round about way past homes shops and street scenes. I stopped at small shops and a very strange art gallery where no one was there. It was so hot—the hottest time of day to be on a bike, and I passed an opened gate leading into a shaded and over grown area. I saw a guard sitting under a tree and rode over to him. The sign on the building said Montessori school, and it had a big courtyard and garden, but obviously no kids played there. “Sari shop, Madame,” he informed me. I went into a small entry way where they had dusty fabrics on shelves. The soft pounding drew me further in and with permission entered the weaving shop. Ancient looking looms with complicated stringing hung with stones tied to them. The people loved me taking the photos and soon everyone had to stop for tea to view them. They invited me to sit with them and I spent over an hour there. They showed me the dyes from plants, and how they stamp the material. I bought some small items and when I return to buy more will take them the photos.

I found my way to the beach, where there is a giant famous catholic church. They had a big lighting display of Mary, 20 feet high lit with Christmas lights. It is right next to a large Hindu temple. I wished that there was a mosque there too. The religions seem to live in harmony here, a fact that the southern Indians take pride in. This is no small thing these days—so much fighting and destruction up north. Outside of the church was very festive with garish pictures of Jesus, God and Mary rivaling Shiva and Vishnu for sale.

I found material for sale for 75cents a yard and bought several pieces—now to find a tailor to sew it for me. The bike is a marvelous tool for me. It gives me independence and takes me to all kinds of new places. People greet me and laugh at the sight of me. One of the teachers said I look like the Wicked Witch in The Wizard of Oz. I feel more like Glenda, and often like Dorothy—this sure ain’t Kansas.

The next day my friend Barbara and I got up and left our homes at 6:00 a.m. We walked and then took a shared auto to the train station where we caught a train out of this area to the Central Train Station. The train station is a huge building just a year old, and it was empty—like a huge parking garage with nothing in it. There are large cement pillars, and there was something horrid on each one. AAHHH!! I hated to look, fearing it was crap or puke, but on every one? It started at about waist high, and I realized it was beetle nut spit—still disgusting but not nearly as bad as it could be. The ticket agent sold us our ticket and then escorted us to the train which came in moments. He rode along with us, as his shift was done and explained how we had to get off, walk across a abridge through the station, to another one to catch another train heading to Ponneri. We did. The people on the train were curious about us, and several people talked to us, and one showed us carefully worn photos of his farm out of the city. Everyone wanting to be helpful People got on one station to sell, “sweets” and other goodies. No one ever took our tickets or checked, but everyone had tickets.

We got off and walded a long way through the outskirts of a village into the main hub, where we caught a bus to PuliKat—our destination.

Arriving in the city by the sea the smell of fish was certainly apparent. WE walked through it all down to the waters edge where we could walk out on spit of land. “I need a boat!” I called to everyone and no one in particular. Sure enough within minutes a man came up to us and indicated that we could hire him to take us out to the island and the peninsula of land that formed the saltwater lake. No hesitation. The motor is mounted on a long pole, and he steers with the other end of it. We headed out through the shallow waters where people were catching small 3-4 inch fish in nets. WE found them later laid out in the sand to dry—“Chickens,” the man answered simply. They grind them up with powder and feed them to chickens at a factory. He took us to a stretch of beach longer than we could see. The wind was gentle, and so were the waves. NO TRASH!!! I have never seen a more pristine beach or beautiful water. I swam and floated until I realized my face was feeling very tight from the sun. We boated some more and watched the fishermen and painted storks. Later in the season this is a great place for migrating birds. I must return.

The return trip proved just as interesting. The puja-man wanted us to take his picture in front of his little temple. Barbara and I got into one train car with all men, when we realized that the train was segregated. People squenched together to make room for us. We arrived back in Chennai sunburned and tired—and happy.

Pondicherry, Auroville, Ganeesha, and a family festival

9/4/08--Kottivakum--my neighborhood

Some enchanted evening. Some women who have been here a year invited me to come over to dinner with them. Caroll’s apartment was airy with an American kitchen and good karma. We had a splendid meal, and I left on my bike to come home in the dark. I followed the loud music, and found a makeshift stage with an audience of about 100—children dancing in the dirt, women on one side, men on the other. In honor of Ganeesha I think. People doubled over with laughter at my appearance—I rode on past little shrines with people singing and chanting. When I turned into my neighborhood I saw in the streetlight a long table set up at the corner lot where the people live in the “little house.” The table was metal and could seat about 50. “Auntie! Auntie! Come my sister!” I was beaconed to join in the festivities. At first I thought it was a wedding. The young girl came out decked in jewels and a beautiful red sari—smiling and hugging each othe, I got out my camera. “OH! PHOTO!” she gasped! “Yes! Yes! Now come and eat!” I was seated next to the mother and served briani on a banana leaf topped with onions and garlic and spices. A large glass of water was poured for me—taboo, but who is to argue? It was a mountain of food, and I mixed it with my fingers and dug in. Delicious—the spices blending perfectly with the sharp edge of the onion. I had just eaten though. I ate slowly, wondering what to do with the rest? Finally, I pulled out my camera, which diverted the attention, and I stood up for the extended photo session. The girl was Asrani’s sister—14. My heart ached. “Where is your husband?”

“No, no, Uncle.” Snap. More with the baby. “Super beautiful was the cry when I replayed the pictures.” Everyone smiling—beaming. Finally Debbie Baby said in good English, “No Husband! No wedding! Birthday!” A sigh of relief from me. More photos—shot like mug shots in the dark. “You are my very special friend,” Asrani said as she hugged me good bye. I wondered at my good fortune to be invited twice for dinner in one night, and being served food by people with so little to have 2 night in a row. Ah, India.

I had a case of the blues over my birthday. I suppose it the accustomed ritual with friends and family that I missed so much. Earlier in the year we had graphed our birthdays in the classroom, and the kids asked mine and we added it to the graph. We have birthday circles for the children honoring them, giving them wishes from the heart. My birthday was a celebrated holiday in our classroom. The children made many surprises for me—little books, a big card. Esther (the teaching assistant) gave me a beautiful full skirt that’s green and bright yellow with sequins. Several children gave me small gifts from home. The kids told all of the other teachers it was my birthday and how old I am. A parent brought in a big cake and juice for all of us. I felt very loved and appreciated. That was Thursday.

Friday, right after school Barbara, another new teacher and I caught a very full bus to Pondicherry to spend the week end. We sat next to a young man who lives in Texas, but was born in “Pondy.” He talked to us the whole way down. He had met his wife, who is from Chennai, in Utah. He told us about how upsetting it was to their families that they found each other, and that it wasn’t arranged. To make matters stickier, they are from different castes. IT took two years for them to convince their parents that this was a good idea. He explained that the Brahmin caste is considered a higher caste, but that they are the families which the priests come from, and now they are a poorer lot. Both of his parents teach at the University here—He didn’t say what her parents do in Chennai. He was so poised and friendly and the trip was over too quickly. We went back to the Park Guest House, where I had stayed the week before. We were met by a very small man who told us his name was, “Bond. James Bond.” He was very cryptic about signing us in. The next morning the old woman was back at the desk, next to a young woman. Last week she was very sour, but today she was very friendly. She recognized me and when I told her that I was having a lovely time, she responded, “Lovely people have lovely times.” Barbara and I set off and went to the Ashram of Aurobindo and the Mother. It was a beautiful spot, built around a big tree with a tank under it filled with arranged flowers. Flowers every where, and the people sat and meditated, hugged and touched the tree and prayed around the tank. I think it is so interesting how enlightened people are so revered to the point of worshipped and prayed to. I think Eckard Tolle and Thich Nat Han are enlightened people, and teach very much in keeping with Aurobindi and the Mother, but I can’t imagine praying to them, making temples and worshipping them. It is an interesting notion. There was a great book store where his poetry and writings are published in over 30 languages. I bought several small booklets.

We left the Ashram and went a few blocks over to the Elephant Temple, where an elephant lives and blesses people. They sell grass and fruit and the people feed the elephant. He is not tethered, but stays there all the time. His head is painted beautifully and he looks you in the eye with his soulful ones. He places his trunk over your head when you bow to him. I fed him coconuts and grass and we caught a rickshaw to the settlement of Auroville.

Auroville is 40 years old now. Aurobindo and the Mother took a barren spot of land and have planted over a million trees. It is a multinational community working on sustainability. They have many different schemes going. Paper making, art work, dance, cheese, health, and engineering. They use a lot of solar power. They do a lot of outreach to the neighboring villages. They recently got the bid to clean up and restore the Adyar River Estuary and bird sanctuary. The information center has a video about its history and then you can walk out to the Dome. Apparently, it has the world’s biggest crystal in it. You can only go in with written request and an appointment. We walked through beautiful young forests and an astounding stand of banyan trees. It was an impressive moment. No trash, and everything is so well kept up. They have a set of stores that sell clothing, musical instruments, and jewelry, soap, candles. There was a café where we had a wonderful luncheon. The goods sold there are like nothing I have seen anywhere else. Very classy and tasteful. Everyone in the community is considered a teacher, learner, artist and researcher. They produce beautiful stuff at European prices.

We stayed for a couple of hours and then put-putted back into Pondy where Barbara and I wandered crowded streets in the Tamil Nadu neighborhood and bought clothing for very little. Looking, shopping was an experience in itself. We found the Grand Bazaar, an inside fish market where hundreds of women clean and sell fish, shrimp, and all seafood imaginable. I wish these pictures could be scratch and sniff. The next layer in was fruit, and if you could stand to stay inside and wander further you found men selling spices from piles of colorful smells. We ate on the familiar rooftop and drank cold lime soda—tired from our walking.

In the morning we swam in the ocean—rough and warm, a sensory delight. We even saw other teachers from Chennai—small country. After a quick tour through the city, we were shopped out and headed back to the city for a fund raising dinner a group was hosting to raise money for children affected by AIDS. It is a group home for 10 kids. It was my first big party of almost all Indians and they loved the entertainment and laughed and laughed. I left after eating on an early shift, and they were still going strong. Traveling here is exhausting somehow. I think it is the sensory overload of the simplest moments.

When I walked up to my house I noticed men climbing on a bamboo ladder and working on the mess of wires down the street—since then, no internet. How funny to be so dependent on something that wasn’t even available a short time ago. . . I am really missing people now. Hungry for any glimpse of home. (That’s a hint.)

Tonight I came home a long way on my bike, meandering different streets leisurely. I found the nicest surprise when I came home. Permeal, the guard, had dinner for me! Delicious food, some sort of dumplings, some savory, some sweet, egg pancakes, and sweet rice, spicy garbonzo beans. His wife made it for me, and he beamed when he gave it to me. So unbelievably generous and kind. We talk to each other a lot now, he in Tamil, I in English, and somehow we seem to understand comfortably. We drink cold lime water together everyday, and I have been sharing my dinner with him, and now he with me. What a world I live in.

Today is a day in honor of Ganeesha. The town is crazy with festivities which began at 4:30 a.m.

Saturday morning I got up early and headed off to the main bus depot to catch an express bus to Pundicherri, about 60 miles south of here. The bus ride cost $1.25 and took 2 ½ hours. I sat behind the driver with lots of leg room, sharing my seat with two other Indian women who cast secret glances at me when they thought I wasn’t looking. The ride was straight down ECR (East Coast Road)and as we passed through the southern “suburbs” of the city we hit open space with palm trees and simple houses made of fronds and mud. We passed rice paddies all set to go, but dry as a bone. Crossing rivers I was men poling boats as they cast and pulled in their nets. There was a cool breeze coming in the window, and it was a comfortable and pleasant ride. No matter how small the collection of houses was there was always a temple prominently placed.

We pulled into Pundicherry and I was surprised at how large a city it was. There were many dealers in antique furniture on the outskirts, and I longed for a car to go and browse there. As soon as I stepped off there was a young man to offer his services of an autorickshaw to take me to my hotel. I stepped inside and was transported out of the hustle and bustle into the French Quarter, free of trash and with orderly streets—there were even signs that requested “No horns”. Remarkable. I crossed through the gated entrance to the Park Guest House, run by Auroville, where I was sternly told to read the agreement, which said “no tobacco, no alcohol” before they would register me. No problem there. They lock the gate at 10:30. I was shown to my room—two twin beds , a desk, table, chair, ceiling fan and balcony overlooking the Ocean and The Garden of Positive Vibrations. Indescribable beauty. I took a quick shower and headed out along the Promanade. Passing the Tourism office I got a map and the young man Anthony, showed me things I would want to be sure to see. The city is an old French settlement, and it left the beauty of France behind. Everything was painted in beautiful colors, and it did indeed feel like a mini-Nice. There was a large monument to Ghandi in the middle of the walk along the shore, and I turned left into the town.

I visited a museum for 5 cents and saw stone carvings and beads and vessels gathered near-by at Arikamedu. The history dates back to the 2^nd century B.C. It was used a port for trade with the Romans and Greco –Romans. Wine, garum sauce and olive oil were imported and the exports must have included textile, beads, semiprecious gems, glass and shell bangles. The only thing there now are perpendicular walls and a mission house. On to the Tamil Nadu section of town, more honking, lots of street vendors of incredible wares. I had only brought about 15 dollars with me, and so was freed from the idea of shopping, and could honestly answer that I had no money—just enough to buy my two sisters a gift, which I will enjoy until I send them off. I was looking into a small temple in the main square when I was beaconed to enter by 2 laughing women. The puja fired up the incense and blessed me and gave me the red dot on my forehead (Is it made of crushed flowers?) and mint and sugar crystals to eat and a ladle of water to drink. He took a large bell and covered my head with it as he uttered prayers. I went to put some rupees in the plate but was waved away. A first. The women pinned a jasmine garland into my hair, gave me kisses and laughing watched me as I put my shoes back on to leave. Everywhere I went I was greeted with “Hello, Madame. What is your good name?” and each of them would introduce themselves to me as I shook their hand. Lovely.

I leisurely strolled the streets back to the Guesthouse where I collected my bathing suit and headed beyond the Promanade to swim—yes! In my suit! I was floating on my back for an unknown amount of time when I heard the familiar, “Hello, Madame!” A young boy was treading water next to me. Indians are not known to be good swimmers, and women rarely if ever swim. “Well, hello,” I answered. We ex- changed names, but skipped the hand shake, and the two of us swam for a long while, gradually heading in body surfing on the waves. One wave grabbed me and tumbled me violently about, like a rag doll by Winnie. I felt the boys body crash into mine and we were tossed upon the shore laughing and gasping. “You are so super to me, Madame,” he said as we parted. What does it take? Recognition only. I went back and spent the afternoon reading Eckard Tolle in the Garden of Positive Vibrations. It has left me in a quandary—what to do without an ego. I am finding myself passionate about teaching here, and yes, that does seem to have an element of my ego involved. I don’t think that is the driving force, but I am still watching and questioning. I will take him along next week when I return. I think he must have written the book in this garden. Carol Adleman would be quite at home with the beautiful use of flower, water and rock.

On my way to dinner, I stopped at a Tibetan store, took my sandels off and entered a little room about 10 x 12. It was full of beautiful Buddhas, and hindi gods, jewelry. I had trouble focusing on anything, and sat down. Kameer spoke softly to me, asking me what I was doing there, and how I found it.
I explained that I had no money. He took out a prayer bowl made of 7 metals, for the 7 chakras in the body. He took a large round paddle covered with red material and slowly ran it around the rim of the bowl. Like fine crystal glassware it started to sing. The absolutely most beautiful perfect sound came out and filled the room. He took a purple velvet pillow and rested it on my head and did the same. I could feel the vibrations in my feet. I bent over and rested my hands on the chair and he placed the bowl on my lower back and gonged it—my neck, and then I stood in the bowl as he gonged it vigorously—I could feel the vibration in my teeth. I was spellbound. Such a gentle loving man with no ulterior motive, other than healing and love. I thought of my friend Kathy, and sent these vibrations across the universe to her. This practice is used for healing—to align the centers of energy in the body.I look forward to returning to his shop. A life changing experience.

I ate a meal of vegetable curry and garlic naan with fresh lime juice for dinner on the roof of a restaurant overlooking the sea. Entranced by the events of the day, and totally satisfied and happy.

The sound of the surf was rhythmic and constant all night as I slept under the ceiling fan. In the morning I swam again, and magically there was my young friend. He and I swam to the laughter of others and drew a crowd. The people were very concerned about me being in the sun. I told them I wanted to be as dark as they were, and they laughed some more. I had collected a few shells, and so they appeared in a large pile on my cloth. The boys wanted to take me for a boat ride, but I declined. The boats there are merely large timbers lashed together which they pole along—maybe next time.

I sat in the garden before I left for the Botanical Garden—preserved since 1856. I sat down on a granite bench and as I sat silently I realized that there 100s of large fruit bats everywhere hanging from the trees. Why do they hang upside down? I laughed aloud.

Walking with my bags I tripped and fell—in fact it felt as though I flew, and my bags spilled out in front of me. A huge group of people rushed to me with concern, collecting my things for me and helping me up. I feel as though the Indian people are caring for me, watching over me as though a child. I took the afternoon bus home—again a pleasant experience. I was surprised at how exhausted I was when I returned. I have a series of little red dots scattered on my body—bed bugs I think.

I already paid to stay there again next Friday to have 2 days there. I plan to go to Auroville for a day. Check out their web site. Aurowille was envisioned as a Universal Town, where people from different nationalities, faiths and beliefs can live in peace and harmony. It is an attempt to realize the new society as envisioned by Sri Aurobindo and the Mother, a French artist who was his disciple. Nearly 2000 people from 35 countries are living here to realize human unity and transformation of consciousness. Sri Aurobindo was a revolutionary who turned poet and teacher. His spirit feels very present at the guest house and his teachings are pure love and acceptance.