So KronoS' ineffable priorities are holding back the best of him, and he is unable to post the gory details of HIS Pondi trip. Which was a parallel enterprise, mutually exclusive of my trip in the sense of space-time intervention *surreptitious wink*. And Spoiler Alert : This is going to be one long post with obsessive compulsive detailing of attention deficit detours. And not to forget photographic evidence backing up statements and facts. Enjoy, ardent reader.
Continuing with my narrative, I left off the curious reader (god bless), at the point where Samwise left us off famished in strength in the not-so-labyrinthine roads of Ambur Salai, leaving once and for all the search for the lodge at the loss of sanity, which was never to be found, standing at the doors of The Mother's Lodge, with chrysanthemums floating in panes of water, their humble welcome note at midnight. At 700 bucks, the only antidote to hesitation was an obvious lack of other places to put up at, the ungodly hour of our demand, this being at the heart of the city and AC rooms, per se. Come morning, and I would declare it as the BEST place to stay in. It is right (quite literally) next to HOT BREADS. The most ambrosial titillation of any gastronomic enthusiast. You enter, pick up the aroma of fresh dough and espresso, reach the variety bread basket, and before you can utter "not fair", the olympic level glutton in you will be loading the tray with Danish Delights, Sugar Doughnuts, Croissants, Pies and goodies from the Gods. And why not succumb to the instincts of an inhibited epicure, when the costs involved are outrageously affordable. Even the college canteen with its godforsaken culinary impertinence seems exorbitant as opposed to this unified heaven answering to the hungry and on a strict budget.
Tempt me not
First actual distinctive-of-Pondi location we went to was Paradise beach. There is a fee you have to pay to enter paradise now, regardless of the illustrious sinner you might be. And if you have a camera on you, there's an extra fare. Not the kind of treatment you'll expect at heaven's gates. On entering you realise the inner workings of the subterfuge. You have to pay another 75 per head to cross the lagoon. Ofcourse, you may just abstain, but what good will THAT be? Unless you intend to photograph some random guy showing off on a jet ski or the dramatically overloaded boats ferrying people across the lagoon. So good Anand queues up to get the tickets to the inner domains of Paradise. And that is when we see 3 independant (and ofcourse new) VIT groups. Immaculate.
The beach is like 2 kilometres and a lot of random snapshots away. The sand was scorched, with thorny creepers curiously looking up for an unwary foot to make their existence evident to. The beach ahead was not unlike one we had ever seen. Only ever so overcrowded. It was like Paradise was dropping subtle hints of its misnomer every 5 minutes. More VITians, only engaged totally in their never-seen-a-beach-before wannabe beach activities. Don't blame them, though. It was SO insanely bright and hot, that the LCD on the camera showed faint signs of display at times. We had to draw conclusive decisions about the photographs using only the histogram. And take my word for it, once you start photographing, every trip changes. Rather than sitting on a rock with the wind caressing your face and the sprays of water crashing on the rocks in a flirtatious retreat and promising returns, you worry about the framing, white balance and the occasional spray coming dangerously close to the camera, the microfiber cloth and the lense cap. Priorities change. So I spend like half an hour sitting next to the fishermen's boat, trying to get the best framing and perspective.
The vessel of sorts
Samwise was enjoying the beach from a condescending perspective. Hands in pockets, walking right next to the farthest reaches of the waves, nodding occasionally commemorating the ocean's presence next to his own. (In his defence, he DID write his name on the sand.) Though later after the imperial march, he DID take off his shoes over incessant cajoling and became more beach-friendly. We took some shots of Karna, Anand and Shefin, then of Shreyas' bursts of hyperactivity, a distinctive bicycle on the beach, had a drink and marked our exit from Para-populated-dise. It was hilarious when Shefin joked to Shreyas about paying him 10 bucks for sipping his drink, at which Shreyas started tipping it into the sand and said "Ask the sand for 10 bucks".
"Ssup, Beach?" - Samwise
In our defence, the decision to eat AGAIN at Hot Breads for supper was not an act of obsession. Just conceding to inevitability and an enticing board outside blazoning their exuberant offerings of combo-meals. We odered a different facet of their menu, this instance, with Italian bread sandwiches and subs. Filling apart, the sub was long enough to humble a Subway footlong. Just short of olives and jalapenos, the chicken tikka sub was a challenge to photograph before eating. But that I did boldly live up to, and after a few quick shots, dug into with a hungry and determined fortitude.
The typical Sandwich
Next stop was Auroville beach. The auto walah, a local jester had this bad sense of humour of dropping us off precisely midway between two rocky junctions, atleast three kilometres apart from each other. Anand had confirmed local sunset timing to be exactly 6 pm, and with 15 minutes in hand, we decided to transgress the inhibition and the distance to the rocks. We began our stagger across the sand, and terrain impregnated by discardings of civilization. Halfway through, we had left the "visiting" crowd way behind, who were too engrossed with the sight of water so as to find a spot exclusive to themselves. We ran across jubilant localites, children digging sand, a couple of hounds totally displeased by the universe in general exclaiming their grief and distaste to every passerby, unvisited-by-tourists villages, eroded architecture, a resolute and garlanded statue of Lord Ganesha to be lain in the ocean after the festivity, plant carcasses and dead crabs and starfish.
Expressions
The Joy of Creation
The walk was worthwhile and we finally did reach the rocks for sunset in time, but sadly enough, the sun was to set the other side, which would have been visible from rocky beach, perhaps. We finally also answered to Shefin's disdain at us not having used the tripod even on one instance, and him having to carry it all along. We could although not bring it to good use, because of heavy winds jittering the stability of long shutter photographs. We got down just in time for darkness to engulf the ocean and the distant lighthouse casting its beam through the mist for the seafarers. Interestingly, we did NOT know our way to the main highway from here. GPS to the rescue, we found out we were in the middle of nowhere, and decided to walk in the opposite direction from the ocean. After a couple of GPS jokes, we DID reach the highway, opening up to a restaurant called the Neem Tree. We went in just for the heck of it, and had a coke for namesake. The journey back to Mother Lodge, with Shreyas having to sit on the uncomfortable divider was marked with a callous profanity directed at no one in particular and marks of discomfort wherever the state government had been casual with road construction.
The Neem Tree
Dinner, the next big question, had the group split into a lactose intolerant and his sympathetic friend, and the three blind mice vehemently adamant for cheese, and consequently Pizza hut. So Samwise and me decide to have the buffet at Promenade with its lavish offerings of seafood and terrestrial entrees, desserts and a live lazz performance. We although were made to sit outside in the lawn, and we took turns at awing at the decour and contemplating the meal. (As I write this, I am very hungry as of now, and I KNOW that the lunch is going to be a disappointment. It really makes me miss the buffet all the more, but I shall still recollect the best I can, for sake of reference later on, and ofcourse, memories.) The aperitifs had Orange Mojito flowing in discordant proportions with alliterative spice in the food. The spread was a romantic array of food to the cancerian in me. We start off with baked prawns, chilli prawns and authentic Filipino Chicken and Pork Adobo to go with a variant grilled fish. Samwise and me relished every morsel. Main course couldn't have been better with an outrageous Roman Lamb and a sauteed spread of mushrooms and veggies tossed with prawns, sliced pork and a variety of breads, Lasagna, beyond me ofcourse, an assortment of pasta that we could not even venture towards, more Mojito, and with ambient Jazz, we delved into ethereal cuisine. There was a mime taking care of the overall mood and keeping it to jovial levels with his magic tricks, acts and dances. I had high hopes from the dessert, and I couldn't have been better satisfied with it either. In one word, Tiramisu. The one thing I can go to any lengths for. And truth be told, it was the closest one had gotten to authentic Tiramisu, which I had at Post '91, Pune, one year back. And the 5 times I had it in between, at different places, were sheer disappointments. The one at Promenade was surreal (specially the espresso marination), although devoid of the vital Irish Whiskey, adding to the ambrosial brilliance. The one we had at Rendezvous the day before, in the "5 Rupay ke Chai ka Gilaas" for 100 bucks was the worst, till date. There was Vanilla Gateau too, the sole valiant competitor, and others we could not afford to be distracted with. On our way out, we decided to greet the mime over his good humour, and yes, true as it is, he fell for the "Handshake trick". I could not have been more surprised. And I had anticipated his comeback to it, so that didn't work either. The man who was conniving in merryment got conned himself, albeit in a minor gesture.
The brilliant JAZZ performance
We regrouped at rock beach for the Pizza hut returned triad, to hear their version of the story, and unlike me, they chose not to pound on the details and adjectives. They although did mention this certain someone who had very interesting eyes sitting at their 7 'o clock's 12 'o clock. The night was a humble stroll at the Gandhi rock beach, with cool cross breeze and soon a sudden downpour, forcing Shreyas and me to retreat to the room asap, or risk damaging the cameras, and along with Shefin, we run amock the streets of Ambur Salai, now making our way through the labyrinth with practiced precision.
Come morning, we are to leave for Vellore by noon. Aurobindo ashram was a two minute walk from our lodge, so after yet another breakfast at Hot Breads, we visited the shrine. Photography being prohibited, we could only look and be part of the silent remembrance of Sri Aurobindo. And strange as it may be, bowing to the sage's tomb was a liberating moment. We reached the bus station by noon, as anticipated. And ran into more VITians, going back. The process of getting into a bus was intricate which involved standing in an entwined queue for the tickets. Inacceptible as the condition of the buses were, and the time involved in getting to it, we opted for a car pool back. The guy took certain pleasure in making us wait in his non conformant insecurities about where exactly the vehicle was. A long wait later, we did get a dilapidated vehicle, whose being in running condition was a feat of miracle to say the least. Now the adventure was reaching its climax. The driver was as clueless about the terrain as a lost as a romantic in a mask dance. We had Anand and Karna both to navigate us through the roads no one knew in particular, apart from the same "couldn't-give-a-damn-less" satellite. So we have to keep ourselves at this Pink line which is a state highway. Now the problem is, we could not keep up with the "Pink line". We kept going off track, in circles, curves with unknown equations, straight lines away from the destination, into blue/green/brown terrain on the GPS map, and everything in between and beyond. Asking the locals to confirm google's accuracy, we did approach Vellore on the map, at a very humble pace. There was this particular instance when we were looking for a water body, which was "right ahead". 15 minutes later, it was still 10 kilometres on the map. 12 Kilometres later, it never turned up. I could although imagine this random guy at google working on the maps with a smirk on his face going crazy with the fill colours. We made it to Vellore just in time for dinner. And dinner was bad.
Although it was the Sunday chicken curry which I shall be having to face today too. And trust me, it will taste better than it did that day. I dont have a Pondi trip hangover to bask in, today.
That shall be all.
Dramatis Persona
People who made it memorable ( L to R - Karna, Samwise, Shreya, Anand)
The spice of the event : GPS
GPS courtesy : Anand
Model of the trip : Karna (Goggles included)
Guy with a new name and indifference towards the beach : Samwise
Photographer in Chief : Shreya
Most mutilated name : Pomegranate
Most interesting VIT group : A group at Paradise beach in Riviera T Shirts
Most creative pun : Homeopathetic
Most visited : \m/ Hot Breads \m/
Background Casting : Fellow VITians in obscene profusion.
Commentary by : Yours humbly
