Desperate to indulge in something a bit more
soulful after the brashness of Bombay, I decided to seek out a place called
Auroville, an eco-community-cum-social experiment, situated 160km south of
Chennai. Way more ambitious than some happy-clappy ashram, this was a universal
city in the making, a place where people from all over the world could come and
live, “in peace and progressive harmony”. And it sounded right up my strasse.
I was in no mood to faff around with trains and
buses. So I opted for indulgence and booked a flight to Chennai and arranged to
have a private car scoop me up at the other end so that I could be dispatched
to my destination in style. Not exactly slumming it, but I could feel my inner
diva stirring and I needed to do something to placate her.
I was on the road again. And I was full of
anticipation.
I found Kumar my driver waiting for me as I entered the
airport arrivals hall. In fact, he was pretty hard to miss. Armed with a ginormous
sign emblazoned with “ Miss Kelly” in large bubble letters, he’d clearly given
the task of identifying himself to me much thought and I have to say I was
really quite dazzled by his efforts. Kumar literally had me at “hello”. With
equal aplomb he maneuvered me into the air-conditioned splendor of his Fiat
Padmini and within moments we were on our way. Seconds after that, I was fast asleep.
My peaceful slumber was rudely interrupted some two
hours later by a deafening rumble of thunder as a jagged bolt of lightening
transformed my bleary eyes into dilated saucers of shock. Raindrops the size of
golf balls were hurling down with such force, I thought Kumar’s already
somewhat precarious Padmini might split in half. An insouciant “this is monsoon
season, Miss Kelly” was Kumar’s only mollification as he continued to career
through the deluge at full tilt. Brilliant.
I’d chosen to stay in a gorgeous looking guesthouse
comprised of a series of wooden cabins spread out across a verdant landscape.
It was located in a district of Auroville called “Certitude”. But the only
thing I was certain of when I finally arrived to find my shack submerged in
water and the local mosquito population taking shelter in my room, was that my
decision to come here had been one giant mistake.
The mozzies had a feeding frenzy that night and I
felt like a piece of human sushi. I barely slept a wink. When I arose the next
day I was itchier than a whore’s va-j-j and covered in angry red welts. My
prayers for better weather, had remained unanswered too – it was still
bucketing down and it didn’t seem like it would be stopping any time soon.
I was hungry for food and some human company. Intrigued
by what I would find on both counts, I decided to brave the rain and set off in
search of the dining hall. This proved to be an epic expedition that not even
Sherpa Tenzing would have taken lightly and along the way I encountered a snake
the size of a house, several rat like critters (which I later discovered were
mongoose) and a couple of crabs (although we were inland, miles away from the
coast). By the time I finally located the dining hall, I was a jangle of nerves
and sweatier than a fat bird in a sauna. I’d lost my appetite – and frankly, my
will to live – but I headed inside, hoping to find some comfort and
companionship from my fellow guests.
What I found however was a bunch of tree-hugging
eco-wankers, swaddled in robes or some other wafty, hemp-based ensemble. I was
in hippy hell. Auroville had been hi-jacked by the white, middle class new age
brigade and thanks to the monsoon, I had no way of escaping these hippy, hippy
fakes.
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