Another, last glimpse of the Indian Ocean on this first visit to far-away India.  A sticky, quiet Sunday in Pondicherry.  Farewell walks around the town and visits to the Sri Aurobindo ashram.  And some farewell photos of everyday life as the sunset paid its daily visit.

Monday is for a honking bus ride back north to Chennai, two hours in traffic, and nearly being cheated by the pre-paid fixed price autorickshaw stand at the bus station.  I think it’s time take a break.

And as I slowly  approach the Western hemisphere, some valuable food for thought on the current unimaginable state of affairs in the US: http://www.thehindu.com/opinion/op-ed/article2311261.ece

http://dhrupaduday.com/

Climbing the path up Arunachala mountain.  Shiva lying down, they believe.  One of the holiest mountains in India.  Small and modest, boulders stacked into tall piles, as if by the hands of the child of God at play.  Complete silence broken only by the scurrying of geckos and small snakes into the dried leaves along the side of the path.  Walking to the Sri Ramana Maharishi caves.  17 years of meditation, but peace for eternity while the town below lives on loudly.

“What will not happen will never happen, whatever effort one may put forth.  And what will happen will not fail to happen, however much one may seek to prevent it.  This is certain.  The part of wisdom is therefore to stay quiet.”

Less than a week left in India.  I am back in Pondicherry and at a bit of a loss for things to tell you… India…

Where I stay in rooms named Spirit, Centering and Spirituality, specially in that order.

Where not just the cows and the soil and the food is holy, but the sinks too – GURU is a common maker of bathroom furnishings.

Where you honk instead of looking at traffic.

Where spirituality happens in between the canals of waste water and the chai stalls.

India.  I know why so many of us dream of meeting you.

The center of Auroville, the living banyan tree.

The center of Auroville, the banyan tree.

http://www.auroville.org

The third attempt to visit Kanchipuram and success.  With a change in departure point – Mamallapuram instead of Chennai – and a change in mode of transportation – old white Ambassador, an Indian classic, instead of suburban commuter train – plus a healthy dose of haggling, here we were, in sizzling, exhaust-ful and urban Kanchipuram.  First temple and a 14^th generation priest triesto shout us around, then to cheat us.  Yes, the most impressive 99-pillar temple (it was supposed to be 1000-pillars… what happened?).  Second temple and a real-life Ganesh stands on the inside of the entrance and eats and blesses and eats and blesses and shifts its weight from one foot to another and eats and sometimes forgets to bless.  It seems to like children.  It wears beautiful long black eye lashes and disengaged eyes.  Third temple and long dark corridors of stone and pillars of images and faces and chanting floating through the shadows.A 3,500-year old mango tree (why is it so small?) in a courtyard that foreigners seem to forget to visit.  Maybe the walk there is too long and too serene.  Fourth temple and an older man from Archeology Survey of India and a silent sari-ed woman in his footsteps actually cheat us.  A still camera fee, they call it.  When there are no ticket counters, no fee signs, no notes in the travel guides, we call it free lunch on the foreigners’ bill.  No matter, madam.  No mention.  We told him he lied, in the case that he didn’t know it already.  It makes sense that Christ threw the merchants and vendors out of the churches.

A comfortable cool bus ride down the Indian Ocean coast from the metropolis of Chennai, Mamallapuram is our second-to-last stop in India.  It feels like the end of the voyage is near as our surroundings become more relaxed and there is salt water and summer vacation in the air.  Down dusty sun baked streets, zig-zagging in and out of 1400-year old rock carved marvels of faith, peaking into shadowed stone sculptor workshops in quiet front yards, feeling the beauty of soft silk leaking color into the summer air from tailor storefronts, and leaving sandals at the doorsteps of seaside cafes adorned in Tibetan prayer flags and incense sticks… and the sounds and the sights and the vibes of the India we all imagine we will find, before setting foot on the subcontinent for the first time.