Into Pondicherry, February 1st

---

We left Chennai this morning at 8. But, not before we had had an unscheduled, heartfelt chat with the manager of our restaurant, who delivered himself of the insight that standing in India’s way of greatness was poverty, pollution and corruption, a sentiment which we have received before from the young. Continuing, he was nevertheless confident that they would be steadfast on their march along the path of progress, because of their advances in Information Technology, their developed capability to feed themselves, their goal of landing on the moon by 2020, the dredging of a channel between Sri Lanka and India, of the same significance as the Suez and Panama Canals, freeing maritime trade from going around the east of the island. Most importantly, he says, because they recognize poverty as a huge challenge that has to be met, as a society. Some 260,000,000 of their billion live below the line, definitions not withstanding.

This was quite a brainful at 6:30 in the morning over a vegetarian breakfast of Idly, steamed rice flour; Vadai, a spiced barrah or donut; Sambar, a light dhal or split pea consume; Dosai, herbed couscous; Rawa Ponjal, a seasoned crepe; Aloo Baji, curried potatoes; Buttered carrots, string beans and green peas; to which our fruit juice was Sweet Lime, ripe oranges whose skins are still green. But we were pleased to engage, because he touched on some of the eight piercing questions we always develop and ask of the gentry in every country to which we travel. More of that as we flesh out our Indian eight and begin asking them.

Our first stop on the way to Pondicherry was Mahabalpuram, Mamallapuram, before name changing ensued; we were going south, incidentally, from Chennai. This is a place of rock temples. I mean rock temples, carved circa 700AD out of humungous stones, the feet of which still stand on the ground; indeed many of the stones still stand where they have always been, un-carved. The content of the carvings is of Hindu deities, and the animals associated with them, as fabled in the good books. So, the carvings are of shrines, unconsecrated temples, in honour of Duprati a collective wife, sitting on lotuses of purity; of Shiva one of the Hindu trinities; Vishnu, another of the trinities, Brahma would complete it, but he is not honored here; and Indra, she of the blessings of rain. Into the exterior walls are carvings, still expressive after some 2, 306 years, depicting a myriad of lesser figures in the pantheon. On the grounds are still other sculptures of the bull, the elephant and the lion, who all play a role in stories, myths and beliefs that inform Hinduism.

As architecture, I saw them representing early renditions of the Indo-Saracenic aesthetic I first engaged in Chennai, though the latter was of a more recent circa. This particular earlier rendition, at Mhabalpuram, presents to me as concentric squares, starting from the top with one octagonal; to four, one level down; to eight; and finally to sixteen, except that some fixtures are dome-like and others are half-cylindrical, convex. There seems to be an issue among scholars about whether these monuments are religiously or artistically driven. I conclude that they are spiritual art, which is often at the beginnings of early art, across cultures, as people strive to relate to the other life forms around them; and to explain from whence they came, how and why.

A second such temple site was of one larger, stone temple clearly constructed as opposed to carved, at least two floors, from blocks of stone featuring delicate design patterns. Sure enough, an ancient king saw to its construction. The courtyard is bordered by obedient bulls, Siva’s means of travel, this is a temple dedicated to Siva. Interspersed among the bulls are several oblisques, last saw them at the Vatican. Once off the grounds and into this particular shrine, I have to tell you there is something mysterious, even, mystical, about being alone in the warrens of an ancient house of worship, with nothing but the simple shapes and forms, ever so agreeable to the sense of touch, in the cool of the mid-morning. Close up, there are firm edges to the horizontal columns and curves to the horizontals, there is just random carving, concave, without any particular form or design. Overall, the effect is soothing, and, in its way, functional in the essence, as a place from which to commune, with that which must have moved them, in 700AD, as I did me, today .

It was time to get back to today, in more ways than one; and visit with extant stone carvers doing their craft, conical chisels of differing sizes, small hammers from miniature to medium size, tracing into granite, good granite says the artisan; green granite and white granite, polishing with an emery stone; and exporting, made to order, to all corners of the world. Lunch time was at hand, dosa masala with chutneys, pineapple juice to the side, did the needful.

Back on the highway to Pondicherry, Pondi to the converted, all is routine until, some 60 km out of our destination, the landscape changes. Rice paddies appear between the Bay of Bengal and our highway, no surprise those; then; to the west of our highway, bordering the estuary that flows to the Bay, endless fields appear from which salt, sodium chloride, is being is being reclaimed by waves of people. Then, the vegetation changes to cacti, palms of various types, ferns,a pine-like specie makes frequent appearances, as does what must be tamarinds, all in the company of shrubs, trees and ground cover, thickset, yet yielding to the gentle winds of the afternoon. Emerging is a protective umbrella of deciduous foliage greening, budding, bearing, flowering and creating some as yet un-named genre of creativity to which I will refer as art of the arboretum.

We were soon in to Pondi and the first bottle of wine on our trip, the French were here until the nineteen firties; an Indian Chardonnay, so,so.

Vernon

---