Some places you visit, become a musing for your soul, in a jiffy. Like a secret affair. Like those rose petals you hide away in thick, old books for the smell to stay. It might be the charm, the vintage buildings, culture (being all old-school), the food, people, whatsoever. This musing keeps growing becoming an inevitable part of you in no time. One such place to this humble traveler is Pondicherry.
Tucked away in the eastern coastal belt of India, this historical french-colony-turned-french-vintage-town, opens up myriad hues of life for a wanderer. The promenade that awes at the Bay of Bengal over a ledge, vendors selling sweetmeats across the pavement, spicy Indian snacks frying in deep pans, the whizzy noises they make, cut fruits displayed artisticaly, the incipient bell-ring of that of the cotton-candy vendor, yellow boiled corns with groundnuts waiting for buyers, excited children dashing across like jet sprays, cunning crows lurking around snack wagons, scuttling and sniffing dogs, shell jewellery displays, people walking across the Gandhi Statue, the orange-yellow sky and a setting sun; all seem to add up to the bounty.
A few glimpses down the south of India.
|The pink cotton candy and a blue ocean|
|A vendor waits for his bustling sale|
|A cozy tea cafe overlooking the promenade|
|A walk across Bodhi Beach|
|sumptuous omnomnom Pizza at Cafe Xtasi at Mission Street, Pondi.|
|Tomatoes and cheese! mmmm splendid! Tummy says thanks!|