Puducherry experience

Written 11-2-07 4:45 PM

On the train from near Pondicherry (Puducherry), en route to Madurai.

Ponicherry:

Sizzling, seething humanity. Hot, wet, stinking. Colored lights flashing, gleaming. Beggars at every step. Dirty forms sleeping amongst piles of trash and garbage, inches from open sewers. Flash of fire below grills covered with round flat breads, eggs frying, piles of steaming meats. Tiny storefronts, a counter on the sidewalk stuffed with goods - candies, drink bottles, cookies, nuts - bags of chips hanging from above framing a smiling brown face. Behind more goods to choose. Hurry! A queue is waiting and pushing for service. Street sides lined with bicycles, motorbikes, trash, broken pavement. Micro merchants touting sunglasses, mini chess games, flutes, flowers, postcards. A pull on the elbow. A pitiful beggar woman carrying a small child in swaddling. Her hand out. Her eyes brimming with tears. The stink of food, sweat, spice, shit, rotten garbage, incense, flowers, black clouds of diesel exhaust. A group of police in odd French uniforms carry wooden sticks used to hold off traffic to allows others to cross. A failed effort shrugged off. Rickshaws with drivers ringing bells and shouting for a customer. Others filled with riders, too full, the thin driver's muscle strings straining mightily, for a few cents. Hot and thirsty. A cold Sprite, a sweating bottle, supremely delicious. Quickly pressing my bladder for long sought relief. There are  no toilets. The side of a building in a dark alley is fine as citizens pass uncaring a whit. How far is the hotel? I think I know. The vendor looks at my sweaty damp map, wobbles his head in the inscrutable Indian way and points across the street. Where? There? Women in shop laugh. Crazy tourists! Shopkeeper locates on the map. Six blocks to the hotel. Recording a video as we walk and navigate the melee. Fantastic! Impossible to experience this second hand. Every step is dangerous. Bicycles and buses ring-a-ling and trumpet tremendous blasts. All in motion. In every direction at once. A miracle every second as no one is killed, and rarely even bumped. All senses on full alert. Girls in school uniforms with white blouses and purple scarves folded and carefully draped navigate bicycles with calm demeanor. Little boys with book bags on their backs cycle on, waving goodbye to their friends as tuk-tuks skitter about them. Do their parents worry? Susan is seriously distressed. I am in a state of hyper alertness. I wish she could share my exhilaration. Excitement and madness are close kin here. Return to the hotel soon. A loud band is playing drums and nadaswaram (Indian oboe). Friendly fellows wave us in for a listen. Just 4 guys playing. Rehearsing. Have to return to the hotel. Can't stay. The hotel room brings relief. I head back out for more. Need to find new sunglasses. How? Where? An Indian supermarket packed with citizens. No sunglasses. Ha! The optical shop has $5 (200 rupee) nice ones. Another cold drink. Delicious. A cook at a grill on the sidewalk quickly pills out batter into a crepe, a doisa, tops it with an egg and spice. Mmm. 10 rupees and it is mine, along with a bag of curry gravy. Susan opens the door. She feels much better now. My street food is eaten over the bathroom sink. Delicious. A shit and the stink tell me my gut has adjusted. It smells like India.

--
Michael & Susan Kuhn
Trip email: indiaadventure2007@gmail.com
Trip blog: www.indiaadventure2007.blogspot.com