“Boy, those French. They have a different word for everything.”
— Steve Martin
Dear Pondy,
I know we’ve only known each other a couple of days so far, and I always hate to rush into these kinds of things, but I’ve got to be honest here:
Whenever I’m with you, I feel like I’m cheating on India.
The last two months have been pretty great. India and I have really hit it off. Sure, we have our moments–me yelling at the rickshaw walla, “The railway station. I need to go to the rail station,” or me getting angry when I can’t find my berth on the train, only to realize I’m looking at the wrong ticket–but on the whole, we’re doing well, you see.
Eating is a never-ending discovery of new flavors and killer spices, each state brings its own vibrant history and culture to learn about, and I’m even picking up some Tamil (in which I can officially say, “Good morning,” “I have finished my breakfast,” and “You please sit down”). Up until now, I thought I was falling in love.
But then you came along. You with your wide clean streets which actually aren’t a deathtrap to cross. You with your French colonial heritage and all the street names beginning with Rue de la and little cafes named–ever so imaginatively–Le Cafe. You with your rocky, picturesque seafront and long sandy promenade that does make for the most delightful evening stroll.
When I wander through your old French quarter, I’m taken by your wrought-iron balconies and painted balustrades. I don’t care if the French are long gone and most of what remains is just a facade kept up by the tourism board. I still love it.
The Sacred Heart Cathedral. The classical, columned white monument in the center of Bharathi Park. And the roadblocks that read “Consulat General De France” in front of the stately buttercream building, with its French and European Union flags flapping proudly above in the sea breeze.
Two days ago, I sat in one of your posh little restaurants built inside a boutique and supped on a vegetable wrap with falafel. A falafel wrap. In India. It just felt wrong.
There were two children at another table eating warm chocolate crepes while their father talked in French to the manager and sultry French music played on the stereo and oh, how I was reminded of what a beautiful language it is.
Suddenly, I’m not in India anymore.
Don’t you see what you’re doing to me? You’re bringing out my inner francophile. You’re making me nostalgic for the streets of Montmarte in January, for breakfasts of coffee and baguettes in Papeete, and for dinners with Jen in French gastropubs in London.
You’re making me listen to Carla Bruni and the Amelie soundtrack instead of the new Tamil love songs I picked up last week.ย So I hope you understand why I have to leave you tomorrow. Because India and I have this great thing going, and I’m just worried that if we keep seeing each other, I might blow it.
Pondy–it’s not you, it’s me.
All my amour,
Candace xx
Ah! Awesomely put! It was amazing going through every part of this post. Well, you see, not every city in India looks like an Indian city! ๐ There are many more examples I can give, but, as you conclude, you better stay off from those places. ๐
Keep exploring INDIA!
And yeah studies going perfectly well, apart from the exhaustion that is there when you are in this world of utmost competition. By the way, I got a call for internship in University of Southampton!
Take care and Enjoy! ๐
Thanks, Nirmit! No way, keep the examples coming…maybe I can swing by them on my down south and up the west ๐ So glad you enjoyed my little journey through Pondicherry–I loved it there and was sad to have to leave today. And yes, I can only imagine how competitive your course must be…but Southampton! Congrats on that–you definitely have to let me know if you make it there and I’ll come pay you a visit from London ๐ Glad to hear you’re doing well, take care!
I’ve been to Pondicherry a couple of times, and absolutely loved it every time! But I feel it’s wrong to say that you’re cheating on India by falling in love with Pondy. Because, like so many other places in India, the beauty of the place arises from the confluence of different elements that get together to gorm the place. In Pondy’s case, it’s the French, for Taj Mahal – it’s the Mughals.
p.s. What’s your next destination in India? ๐
Ah, Abhijit…you are so wise ๐ Thank you for justifying my love for Pondy! It was such a cool place and I only wish I had more time to soak in its atmosphere. I’m now back in Chengelpattu before catching my train to Tuticorin tonight…I’ve got two more weeks in Tamil, then Sri Lanka for ten days, and then a whirlwind two weeks through Kerala, Goa, Bombay and Delhi ๐ I’m in denial that my time here is officially halfway over, haha. How’s everything going with you? I’ve heard the UK has had a lovely Indian summer!
I’ll ping you on email!
Best ‘dear john’ letter ever, Candace. I’ll support your love of France ANY day!!! Do you think they speak French in Guernsey?
Merci, mon ami! And I’m not sure…but if they don’t, we can start. Well…you can, and I’ll nod along enthusiastically with a few “oui, oui”s thrown in ๐
Hello there!
My goodness…loved this post. I mean more than loving it…it was just mindless fun ๐
Hilarious…when you go “Because India and I have this great thing going, and Iโm just worried that if we keep seeing each other, I might blow it”
Aside, happy to know you are enjoying your gig #2 in India. See if you can go 80 miles south from Pondy to Tranquebar (Tharangambadi) – you will see some Danish influence.
My native tongue is Tamil. It is a fun language and the dialect keeps changing every 100 miles inside Tamil Nadu.
Have fun, Vinayakan
Hey Vin! Thanks for such a great comment ๐ And thanks for the Tranquebar recommendation – I actually have a good friend from Chennai who has told me lots about it…and I would definitely love to get there one day and explore the Danish influence. As you can probably tell, I’m a big fan of these old colonial outposts ๐ Hope you’re well!