The Pondicherry ADVENTURE STORY

I walked up the creaking metal stairs. Initially painted bright red, but which have faded over time to a dirty brown with spots of rusts spattered all over. I tried holding on to the railing for support, but the rickety tubes of steel did nothing to ease my nerves in preparation for what was to come next. Oddly enough, at that moment I felt a special connection with Rose Calvert (played by Kate Winslet) in Titanic as she climbed towards the ship’s Starboard, trying to save herself from drowning. A Rabbi behind her, morbidly murmuring, “…As we walk to the valley of the shadow of death…” Those were the very thoughts going through my head. Unfortunately, I didn’t have my Jack Dawson saving me; instead, I had seven heartless friends who’d make me walk the plank if it gave them enough amusement. And the knowledge that a ten year old child was in charge of the controls didn’t help much.

We were in Pondicherry for the weekend, and on our way back to the bus stop. Already late for catching a bus to Chennai, it was then that Srijoy had an ‘aha moment,’ “Let’s go back to the fair…I want to go on the Mary Columbus.” Now for the uninitiated, ‘Mary Columbus’ is a huge boat that swings 35 feet into the air, from left to right to left to right and on and on and on. Bad memories. Something always went wrong when I boarded any of the ferries wheels in the fairs.

The last time I boarded a Columbus was when I was 12 years old. Appu Ghar in New Delhi is a famous children’s amusement park and a must visit for any child living in or visiting Delhi. I was not to be left behind. The prospect of boarding a huge ship that swings in air can be a very daunting thought for anyone, but for a 12 year old, it seemed as if her life was in peril. The Columbus in Delhi is painted in beautiful vibrant colours of red and blue, with a base of black, and three layers of gold coloured waves painted on both sides. On one side is a gorgeous red dragon head breathing fire…not a heart warming sight…but magnificent nevertheless. While at the other end is its tail beautifully painted in red green and yellow fiery designs.

Sitting in this behemoth with at least forty other screaming children, securely pinned down to my seat with a handlebar, life wasn’t at its best, but it wasn’t at its worst either.

Wait…

I spoke too soon…

The ride was to be for five excruciating minutes right? Why wasn’t it over?

A throb of fear stuck in my throat, I looked down for some explanation. Something had gone wrong with the machinery, and the mechanics could not be found.

We were stuck in a perpetual purgatory upon a swinging boat!!!
.

.
.

I don’t know why these boats have to be called “Columbus.” No one in my group knew why. After all, Columbus didn’t fling himself 35 feet in thin air when he set out to look for India-- ramblings…but that was all that I could do sitting squished in between Shutapa and Leon. It was all I could do to stop reminding myself of my last ride in Appu Ghar.

I held on tight to the handlebars, which were uncomfortably a little far from the seats. Oh! How I wished these people had the Delhi handlebars, which would pin you to your seat. The four rows of seats in front of us were empty, and I could see straight into the eyes of a middle aged gentleman, wearing a yellow shirt who was with his son.

The ride started with a slow and ominous prolonged screeching sound.

Screeeeeeeeeech….Once….we went left…10 feet in the air

Screeeeeeeeeech….Twice…we went right…15 feet in the air

Screeeeeeeeeech….Thrice…we went left again…more than 15 feet in the air

And suddenly without a moment’s notice the boat lunged upwards at angle that was as close to 90⁰ as they could get. Gravity was taking over as I was slightly lifted from my seat. For a terrifying moment I thought I might fall, when the boat went the opposite way, but the relief was short lived, as I was once again thrown up in the air, in a precarious position of half hanging on a rickety handlebar. One…two…three…four…five…that was supposed to be it.

Stop…

Stop it…

Ohkay….this is enough…..

Just Stop…

Why isn’t it stopping?

Oh My God!!!

C’mon stop already…

Looking down towards the controls, I couldn’t see the boy who was supposed to stop the swinging boat and get me down. I panicked…my knees were knocking…my voice was hoarse with all the shouting…

“Look at the light,” said Leon, and I did. It was so beautiful. The huge lights...reminiscent of the fairy lights that are supposed to beckon you when you’re dying. The thought was NOT comforting. I looked down to the seemingly flimsy strip of rubber that was responsible for the machinations of this particular Columbus, only to see the boy who was supposed to be handling the controls, climbing on the engine and tinkering with the rubber strip. Life did not seem promising as I once again looked at the incandescent light alternating it with the eyes of the gentleman with the yellow shirt sitting in front of me, seeking solace in both.

Screeeeeeeeeech…the boat slowed down…

I looked down at the controls again…the darling little boy had returned to his position.

Screeeeeeeeeech…he pulled one of the levers and the boat slowed down a bit more…

Screeeeeeeeeech…he pulled another lever and we almost stopped…

Screeeeech….he pulled the final lever and we stopped.

My legs wobbly and hands shaking, I carefully got out of the menacing boat, holding on to Shutapa for support. Walking down the creaking tin faded-red stairs and onto terra firma…I vowed never to get on a Mary Columbus again.

Time had never passed so slow, making myself aware of each passing moment as it did from 8:30 pm to 8:40 pm on January 29, 2006.

Anna Land

Life in Chennai can be very amusing at times. There is just so much that you can learn when you’re in a strange place and you don’t know the language. Even if you’re trying to be a smart aleck and make a sorry attempt to speak the language and get yourself understood.
A conversation with the auto walas is the paradigm of any such doomed—from—start conversation. Now most of us are kinda proud of our almost real Tamil accent, the problem is…at times it just gets a bit too real. The end result, the guy starts a tirade in Tamil and we’re left struggling to find a one-foot plank in a rough sea. That is nothing compared to the humiliation you feel when the auto guy starts speaking in full-fledged Tamil, and you have to brace yourself and quickly tell him…“Anna, anna….Tamil Teriyada….Tamil Teriyada.” (I don’t know Tamil) And then the auto guy will give an exasperated expression as if we’ve stopped him just before the final countdown of a rocket launch, take a deep breath…his eyes gleaming with a wicked smugness, and curtly throw the exorbitant price at you.
But the war doesn’t end there, because for him, it’s just one of the many battles won. Next come the directions to the actual place you want to. You can count your lucky stars if you’ve gotten an auto who knows where exactly he needs to go, and is ready to take you there without saying more than twenty of the choicest words. Or maybe I should be saying…you should count your lucky stars if you get an auto that will take you to the place without creating unnecessary trouble, because for some inexplicable reason, the guys here seem to just be in love with the concept of haggling. They will take you near your final destination and just stop…asking you to pay more money to cross a meager road or go another twenty feet. At moments like these, you just can’t but see red, especially when you’re late for a class.
My most amazing experience (upto now) is recent. I had to go for a rock concert in IIT-Madras. The problem was, I didn’t know the way, nor did I know which bus to take. The only solution – take an auto. My friends had told me that an auto ride would cost about 50 bucks. Now the friend in question invariably manages to spend more on auto than what’s required, so if he tells me any rate, I automatically quote at least ten bucks less. Standing on the main road I manage to flag my first auto.
“Anna…IIT…..Indian Institute of Technology.”
He nods his head and says, “Fifty Rupees.”
“Ille anna….naapada…forty…anna…forty…it’s not that far…forty is fine…”
Resignedly he motions me to sit. I’m smiling ear to ear in my head while maintaining a poise and cool demeanor on the outside. It wouldn’t help if he knew that I had got myself a bargain.
Basking in the glory of getting myself a profitable deal, I sit pleased with myself and the world as the auto meanders its way through the winding lanes of Kodambakkam and T.Nagar to unknown territories. Suddenly he stops in front of a board with the letters “S.I.E.T” painted on it. Things were not working out for me.
To cut a long story short (and also because I’m tired of typing) I ended up visiting at least three different universities before getting to IIT. Serves me right to keep on complaining that I haven’t been around Chennai as much as I’d like to.
No matter what…the auto walas always win!!! Come to think about it…that’s not very amusing….maybe I should revise my first line.