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First day in Pondicherry

The first time I put my feet on Indian soil I was far from prepared for what I was going to experience. I was a little nervous about a whole semester abroad, and tired after the long flight I prepared for the worst as I left the arrival hall and sneaked out in the Indian summer night. Anything could happen, and I was just a little, pale, tired and confused Swede. And in India there are a billion people…

The plane arrived in Chennai where two of my fellow students and myself caught a taxi in to the city. We had not booked a hotel room nor transport to Pondicherry so spent some late night hours amongst the Indians who were awake at that time. Unplanned? Yes. Dangerous? Maybe. It turned out that most people were very helpful, and the taxi- and rickshaw drivers took us from hostel to hostel to find a place to stay. They were of course aware of the business opportunities we were to them, and they probably increased the price, just for us.

After a few crazy rides on the wrong (or at least, left) side of the road we had had enough and fell asleep in the taxi who took us on the three-hour drive to Pondicherry, south of Chennai. It was not much room in the taxi, and sometimes I woke up and looked out only to get a glimpse of the east coast of India. I could conclude with the fact that the tiny villages were just as beautiful as the big city had been noisy. Palm trees and the ocean rushed by under the starlit sky and the breeze was nice and warm all night through. The contrast between the rainiest Scandinavian summer of my life and the beautiful Indian summer was overwhelming.

We arrived in Pondicherry early Sunday morning and the taxi drove crisscross between sacred cows, streets vendors, people on their way to work, curious rickshaw drivers and homeless people. From Kulturstudier’s largest guesthouse in the Indian part of town we were forwarded to a guesthouse in the French part of town, next to Pondicherry’s pier. This was going to be our home for the next ten weeks! Vi rang the doorbell for nearly five minutes before an old lady who barely reached me to the chest opened the door with a big grin and explained that the doorman was deaf on one ear and had not heard the bell, despite sleeping next to the door. We were quickly organised in a room on the second floor with views to the garden. The little cute lady turned out to be the mother of the guesthouse owner, and she was so happy and friendly, despite us waking her up at 5am. We fell asleep to the tunes from the Morning Prayer from the nearby mosque and slept until Kulturstudier’s information meeting the same afternoon.

The following day it was time for school and at 8am, two Swedes and a bunch of Norwegians lined up on Rue Romain Rolland to wait for the school bus. It was already pretty warm and the sun was shining. To see the country in full daylight gave a totally different impression. Vi drove out of the city towards the village where the study centre is situated. Brick houses, rickshaws and cars were quickly replaced with clay cottages, huts and wagons pulled by cattle. Girls in light blue school uniforms were bike riding in the narrow streets, while giggling and waving at us, little children were running alongside the bus whilst screaming “Hi” and waving frantically. They were probably fascinated by how we looked, but they should have known how amazed we were by having a chance to take part in their daily life, a life full or twisted corners, colourful saris and smells my Scandinavian nose never had experienced earlier.

When we arrived at school our feet was met by the sand, our eyes by the river and ocean and our ears by the noise from the kitchen personnel who were preparing breakfast and a welcoming ceremony, a prayer for us. A few dogs were playing around our bare feet, because we had all left our shoes at the door. You always take your shoes of before entering a house in India; even some shops have this practice. We gathered around a statue of Ganesh and got painted symbols in our foreheads. Some of the students were giggling, but it quickly stopped when they saw the kitchen personnel’s serious look around their Hindu God. It was a beautiful ceremony, and despite not belonging to the same religion we felt welcome, even if we did not understand what was going on parts of the time.

I spent the rest of the day listening to exciting lectures on Indian history, eating fantastic food, and relaxing in the hammocks, all whilst getting to know my fellow students. This was just the first 24 hours in to something that turned out to be a different and inspiring semester abroad.

- Jennifer Hankins