While I was in Varkala, I met two brothers who were there carving and selling their work. One of the brothers, Ramesh, speaks Hindi, and we talked. I mentioned to him that I was heading to Tamil Nadu for Pongal, and he invited me to his house to celebrate.
His family lives just outside a small town about 17 km from Mamallapuram. His father, and they have a small house (built by the father) on the edge of rice paddies. I was given a tour of the area, including the fields. To suppliment their farming income, many people in the area also make and sell bricks.
Ramesh’s mother invited me to help with the Pooja (prayer ceremony) for Pongal. A small flame was lit on a tray, and the ash was used to mark our forheads. A coconut was blessed over the flame, then it was cracked and the water poured on the ground. We then went inside to do another pooju at the house shrine.
Following the poojas, we sat down in the house to eat. We started, of course, with Pongal, a dish made from coarsely ground rice. Pongal I have had was always savory, usually with whole black pepper. This pongal was sweet, and delicious. We then had a traditional South Indian meal of rice, sambar and rasam.
Finally Ramesh and two of his brothers took me back to town to see the local Shiva temple. It is at the top of a large hill, and is reached by climbing 550 steps. The temple dates from the 7^th Century. From the temple, we had a view all the way to the coast, some 15 km away.

My next stop was to be Pondicherry, a former French colony. Calling ahead, I found all the guest houses full. Despite this, on Sunday, I packed up my things, and stopped by for one last cup of coffee with my friends. Then I hopped on a bus to Pondicherry, a former French colony, about 1 1/2 hours South. Having only been returned to Indian control in the 1960’s, it still has a very strong French feel to it, including delicious baked goods.
On the bus, I struck up a conversation with a guy who studied wildlife biology. He offered to help me find a hotel. We got off the bus, and he drove me on his scooter to the Park Guest House (where Mr. Patel in Ahmadabad had told me to stay), and knowing them, got me a room. Once again it was a matter of having personal connections.
It was early evening by the time I had deposited my things. I wandered up the sea-shore road, which was closed to traffic for the day. It was packed with families and teenagers strolling about, and eating chaat (snacks) at small snack carts. I stopped in front of a 20 ft. tall statue of Gandhi to listen to a trio playing classical Indian music. Then I stopped and had some chaat myself.