Pondering in Pondy

At present I’m in Puducherry (formerly Pondicherry), India, still affectionately referred to by the French and locals as Pondy. Gorgeous. For a city of about a quarter of a million souls this former French coastal community has a small-town feel. Perhaps a population of only 250,000 is small-town India! Given the masses of humanity that inhabit India’s largest cities (for example, Mumbai at 16,000,000), one might think most Indians are city mice. As it happens, 75-80% of Indians are village mice, and they all, more than three for every American, spend their days together in a space about one-third the size of the U.S. The place where I’ll lay my head tonight is an ashram, a place for religious retreat and meditation. I have a room on the water and can hear the waves breaking from my balcony. It’s like living on a postcard. The only problem is that there are no screens on the windows, so I can’t (or won’t) leave the windows open at night to fall asleep to the rhythm of the pounding surf. Not in the mood to invite another round of malaria.


The Indian students I’ve met have displayed an amiable and enthusiastic curiosity toward me. Most I’ve encountered are studying “b-commerce,” what we would just call business. Speaking English well apparently is valued highly here, especially for young people. One’s command of English influences their selection of a mate (or said another way, their being selected by a mate!) as well as their prospects for employment. Although I have encountered more business-minded young people, there seems to be a certain reverence held for people studying science and engineering. I have seen more school buses carting labeled with the names of engineering schools than any other discipline. Often I see students moving together in clusters of three to ten, and often there’s a brave one who shoots me a glance, smile, or greeting, which I take as an their invitation for me to engage them in conversation. They’re giddy and insatiably hungry to know more about the enigma that the U.S. is to them. They seem to have a great respect for our country, as they do as well for their former British overlords. A couple days ago in Chennai (formerly Madras), I met a Christian Indian family on St. Thomas Mount, which overlooks the city. This is where the apostle Thomas is supposed to have been killed for his faith. There were two brothers and two sisters and their mom and they were very jazzed to bump into someone from so far away.

Indians are a colorful people, personally and in their dress. I shared a backwater boat ride from Alleppey to Kollam, with a group of “middle class” Indians ranging from their twenties to forties. I mentioned class because one woman gave me the impression she thinks all Americans are independently wealthy. She had the hardest time understanding why, as she put it, “you would be on this boat with others when you can hire out a boat for yourself?” Despite my protestations to the contrary, I guess the images she has of Americans have been cemented by Hollywood, what she’s read, and no doubt, myths she’s heard from other Indians. Speaking of class, every time I see a woman sweeping the street of picking up trash, or a man doing some distasteful menial labor, I wonder if I’m seeing Dalits (meaning crushed or oppressed ones—like the Indian dish dah/dahl consisting of crushed lentils) or “Untouchables,” out-castes in India’s social system. I asked a man I was sitting next to on a train about this when I was in Kerala and he denied it, saying that they don’t adhere to that in Kerala. Yesterday I went to have a look at the Notre Dame de Anges church in Pondy. It was built in 1858. There are now pews per se. They used what we might call deacons benches, ten- or twelve-foot long wooden benches that are caned. Caning involves interweaving a yellowish cord of fiber at horizontal, vertical and both forty-five degree angles. It doesn’t take too much imagination to envision that at one time this cord was gotten from sugar cane. What they were using looked synthetic, but what do I know about such things?! I couldn’t resist chatting it up with five adults sitting in the shade re-caning two benches. I told them I thought they must have strong fingers. The youngest of them replied, “Sometimes this work causes paining in our fingers.” I’ll bet it does. I’d imagine it’s not great on the eyes either. It takes three people two full days to can one bench, and this lasts about seven years.

Throughout southern India I’ve noticed many chalk or painted images on the ground, especially outside the entry way to one’s home or business. Many of them are masterfully done. I’ll have to find out if they have some meaning or symbolism, or are a seasonal display.