Deafening Worship

The Hindu religion is confusing. On the one hand, there is deep philosophising in some of its sacred works, while on the other hand there are the fanciful cavortings of its mischievous characters that are described in the anthology of Hindu myths and legend. Hindu temples are filled with multi-limbed humans with technicolour complexions, alongside semi-human beasts which have alternately animal heads, or animal bodies. I do not find this aspect easy to take seriously. 
By contrast, I can meditate for a long walk on the deep wisdom of some of India's sages, like this quote from Paramahansa Yogananda:

Be as simple as you can be; 

you will be astonished to see how uncomplicated and happy your life can become.

This is so true for me over the past three years: my life is much richer now that I am poorer . . . But now is the time to return to our sheep, as the French would say, and write about the colourful display of religious observance we've been watching here for the past few days.

A couple of days ago my breakfast bowl of porridge was disturbed by drumming in the street outside, as the first procession wended its way along the road.

There was the hammering thud of the drummer, competing with the Shehnai, a wind instrument that looks a bit like an oversized clarinet.

The music of the shehnai is definitely (like much in India )an acquired taste. It reminds me of a cross between a kazoo and a child's plastic trumpet. 





The shehnai is, however, a serious instrument in Indian music scene, and no wedding would be complete without a virtuoso shehnai musician, both in the parade through the town and at the celebration with a few hundred guests.

The procession for this week's religious festival was not a wedding, so there was no groom on a white horse, such as can still be seen in many modern Indian weddings, whether they are being celebrated in the city or the country. 









The parade on this occasion was entirely of women, who each carried a brass pot on the head. I couldn't see what the pots contained, but each one had some sort of greenery making a fringe that hung down to the bearer's brow.





All the women were dressed in smart, freshly pressed saris in every imaginable colour of the rainbow.

The column walked on at a measured pace, sedate and gracious, while the drum thundered and the shehnai wailed.

I took an auto-rickshaw into town to collect some trousers that had been altered (alteration fee 99p) and we were constantly held up by similar processions coming in all directions.

India has its priorities right. If a sacred cow wanders down the street, traffic stops, and if a procession of women strides slowly down the street, traffic stops.

And in the evening, the pedestrians take over completely, as all the temples and shrines are illuminated, and neon tubes are strung up along the roadside, wherever there is limited street-lighting.

Ganesha - the houshold god of hearth and home

This morning, I awoke to the sound of mortars exploding with monotonous regularity. 

I had a sense of déja vu, with memories of ongoing terrorist activities on a nightly basis in my first overseas posting after University, in the then-still-British-colony of Aden.

A pause, and then a shattering boom, but it couldn't be anything to worry about, as the strings of loudspeakers were still wailing their mournful melodies. In time I realised that for just the same purpose as similar explosions in Mediterranean countries, these were all part of the process of driving away the evil spirits.     

And then I wasn't worried, because my childhood nickname had been Jumbo, and I knew I could rely on the patronage of my dearly revered Ganesha.

Living in Pondicherry

Small-scale fishing is the traditional local industry

Puducherry (as it has been known since 2006) is a Union Territory within the republic of India. 

There are seven Union Territories, each of which is ruled directly from central government, whereas the 29 states each have their own administrative capital. 
Back in the 17th century, France established various possessions in India - mainly trading posts, the largest of which was Pondicherry, which remained under French jurisdiction after the independence of India in 1947. In the plebiscite of 1954, there was an overwhelming vote in favour of being incorporated into the Union of India. 

There is a strong French influence everywhere, with cafés, courtyards, restaurants bookshops and trendy boutiques.

I have had to discipline myself not to be too much of a tourist because the temptations are everywhere. I have still resisted the renowned "Hot Bread Bakery" which is famous for its genuine, flaky croissants.

I have, however, promised myself a Sunday lunch on my birthday on 21st, and keep scouring Trip Advisor and other listings to decide where I might celebrate in reasonable style.

The pool building from the lower verandah

For the moment, I am spending most of my time with my laptop, sitting at my table and developing the ideas that have been maturing ever since I started this project almost 3 years ago. 

But what better environment could I have? My studio is on the first floor of a restored building away from the centre of town in a fishing village. The garden is lush and flourishing and the pool is everything one could want. I have an hour per day for my exclusive use, included in my rent.


It's a dusty street that is a rat-run for motor-bikes and bicycles. The buldings are a mix of workshops, and old and new apartment buildings. 


Here and there you'll find a hole-in-the-wall shop selling a mixture of oddments like packets of crisps, toothpaste, exercise books, pencils and boxes of matches. 


Sometimes I treat myself to a little packet of Marie biscuits - they taste just like Huntley & Palmers, - and a 100g packet costs just 10p and lasts me 2 days.

The local Hindu temple

There's a traditional Hindu temple just along the road, lavishly decorated with figures of gods and animals. 

On Saturday there was a celebration of some sort, and the residents just cordoned off a section of the street and set out tables and chairs for the event. 

Traffic and pedestrians had to find another way through. By the evening everything had been cleared away and the only evidence was a neat pile of rubbish awaiting the morning refuse collection.

There is a thriving central market zoned for fish, meat, fruit, flowers, vegetables, etc.

There is a great variety of produce, but you have to know how to haggle to achieve a price that is fair to both parties. 

I have been feasting on prawns - which are really delicious.

India's fast-growing economy is evidenced by the surge in the number of locally manufactured cars and motorbikes.

I could have hired a bike for my stay, but on balance, I think I am safer relying on the auto-rickshaws.
The experience can be equally terrifying, but at least someone else is bearing the risk.

The bicycle-rickshaw is an increasingly rare sight around town. They do have the benefit of the breeze, but I have never seen one anywhere in Kerala, where all the 3-wheeled auto-rickshaws are rapidly being replaced by the TATA mini.