Rachana

Pondicherry: Where My Soul Took a Stroll There’s a kind of quiet that isn’t silence. It’s the sound of your soul syncing with the sea breeze. I found that quiet in Pondicherry. When most people write about Pondicherry, they talk about the French architecture, the croissants, or Auroville’s calm. And yes, those are wonderful. But I’m here to tell you about the kind of Pondicherry you feel when you walk—not drive, not ride—a long lane without a name, and find a little Tamil auntie selling jasmine for your hair. The Shore Is a Storyteller I stayed at a homestay two lanes off Serenity Beach. Not much on the maps, but my window opened to coconut trees swaying in a rhythm older than time. I’d walk down in the mornings barefoot, a mug of chai in hand, just to hear the waves before the world woke up. Not Instagrammable, maybe. But sacred. And in the evenings, I’d go to Rock Beach not to “see” the sunset but to feel it melt behind the horizon while the sea whispered secrets I promised never to write down. Shopping in Pondy: It’s Not What You Think Forget the big names and curated boutiques. Take a walk along Mission Street, and you’ll find old Tamil textile shops with shelves stacked so high they touch the ceiling. The shopkeeper will climb a ladder like it’s second nature and pull out a mustard cotton saree with silver threads woven in. I bought a handmade journal from a woman who folds paper like it’s origami and binds stories with a thread of love. And let’s talk about Cluny Embroidery Centre—a heritage bungalow run by local women who’ve been hand-stitching hope into linen since forever. Every stitch has a story, and if you stay long enough, they might tell you one. Walk, Don’t Ride One of my favorite things? Walking the hidden alleys of the Tamil Quarter. While everyone flocks to the French Quarter for yellow walls and bougainvillaea, the Tamil side offers old columns, terracotta-tiled homes, and whispers of history if you’re quiet enough. I walked without Google Maps. I got lost, and that’s when Pondy started revealing herself—one mural, one incense trail, one smiling stranger at a time. A road without a name Taught me mine. A sea with no end Became my breath. — Pondicherry, in verse A Bite of Stillness While cafés are lovely (hello, Café Des Arts), one of my most memorable meals was at a nameless mess near the market, where a lady in a cotton saree served lemon rice with hands that had learned love from feeding others. We didn’t speak the same language, but I nodded. She smiled. I returned the plate empty and left with a full heart. A Goodbye That Stays On my last evening, I sat at the Promenade wall and wrote in my journal. A child ran past, chasing pigeons. An old man nodded at me like we were both in on some secret this city keeps. I didn’t want to leave. Because Pondicherry isn’t a place you tick off a list. It’s a mood. A rhythm. A love letter you write slowly—one step, one sip, one breeze at a time. Why I Wrote This I didn’t go to Pondicherry to see it. I went to feel it. And that’s what I bring to travel writing—the details you miss when you're too busy snapping photos. I walk slower. I notice more. I write from the gut. Because some places deserve more than pretty words. They deserve honesty. They deserve poetry. They deserve to be remembered like this.