Village Voice

After dropping my bags at a guest house, I walked towards the sea. As the ocean drew closer, the streets became more organised and the traffic hushed. Paved footpaths and freshly painted buildings, I had entered another world8230;

It8217;s strange how Pondy manages to straddle two worlds8212;dignified colonial rues streets in French, and the crowded streets of the new town that has sprung up around the old.

While the ocean waves crashed against the rocky sea wall, I walked along the promenade, wandering until dinner time at the Hotel L8217;Oriente, glowing lantern, oversized mahogany doors, elegance and all.

The outdoor dining room was softened by candles that flickered against vines creeping up the courtyard walls. As waiters tiptoed between tables, seated couples whispered over glasses of red wine. My dinner companions and I decided we had found the perfect place to fade into a romantic moment. And then we laughed, remembering our single status and empty pockets. Better to settle for the rosemary seasoned, sauteacute;ed mushrooms. Delicious, trustworthy, affordable.

I planned to spend day two and three at Auroville, which like all communes would undoubtedly generate the most intense and conflicting of opinions.

The following morning I landed in what I thought was Auroville, but it was actually another 10 km of red dirt roads before I got to the town centre. Auroville is a planned village, though the term village appears a little off.

The architecture is New Age, with fancy houses and unusual paint jobs. The commercial 8216;district8217; is a planned jumble of craft shops spread across the campus and yoga centres, outdoor theatres one was showing a French film and more.

With 1,227 acres, the sheer size of the commune is overwhelming.

Founded in 1968, it is organised around the principle of human unity and seems like a workable utopia, especially if you8217;re rich. Nearly half the residents are foreigners who have built houses and settled down for an extended break.

Some resident Aurovillians spend half the year switching between a materialistic life abroad and the 8220;shanti8221; of Auroville, experimenting with the likes of sustainable energy and organic farming.

Some set up cafes, others manage craft workshops, and a few teach at local schools. Many locals do benefit from Auroville, especially the ones employed at some of the commune8217;s eating joints.

Visitors like me usually seek out accommodation at guest houses run by the commune members. The one I stayed in was charming, with a courtyard crawling with vines. I met Christine at the guest house who invited me to visit the school she8217;d been with for nearly 25 years: New Creation.

Like the rest of Auroville, the architecture inside New Creation reflects the ethos of the place: open, free and creative. Doorless kindergarten classrooms opened into a circular courtyard alive with colourful paintings and designs, all done by kids. Nearby, children splashed around in the elevated swimming pool while others moulded clay in the pottery workshop.

I was startled to see a classroom of scrawny Tamil pre-schoolers stretching their hands into the air screaming 8220;Moi, moi!8221;

The teachers told me that parents are eager for their children to learn French because it virtually guarantees a passport abroad.

The next day, an Auroville employee helped me view the commune at work. From the giant solar bowl towering on the roof of the Solar Kitchen which serves hundreds of visitors and residents alike every day, to the women who work the fields in the organic farms, and finally, the kitchen ammas as they are affectionately called who make milkshakes and panini sandwiches while listening to country Western music.

My final evening I saved for Matrimandir, the attraction that brings most tourists to Auroville. With a giant golden sphere as its trademark, the structure is but a meditation room8212;serene, silent, with marble-white interiors. Inside, I contemplated four days of contrasts and questions. Too busy thinking to achieve spiritual bliss.

An hour later I left Matrimandir ready for cities where the pace of life outstrips clocks.