ashokbhatia

On the brightly lit beach road of Pondicherry, one is apt to run across a wide variety of people of different hues, sizes, and shapes.

There are the casual ones who can be found munching on a snack and gazing ceaselessly at the ocean’s waves, as if contemplating the divine. A bunch of wide-eyed youngsters bonding with each other could get spotted. Young couples murmuring sweet nothings in each other’s ears might be sitting in secluded spots, blissfully unaware of the goings on around them. One could also run into a few impeccably dressed newlyweds, sharing a bar of ice cream, with dreams in their eyes. One notices families whose kids are enjoying their evening out, with hassled parents in tow, making futile attempts at curtailing their sprinting ambitions.

Elderly persons, comfortably perched on the boundary wall, can be seen enjoying the mild south-eastern breeze caressing their mortal frames. Some might be huddled in small groups, perhaps sharing notes on the condition of the lining of their stomachs. Groups of elderly ladies can be spotted, animatedly discussing between themselves either the kind of cruelty they suffer at the hands of their daughters-in-law or the severity of the knee pain they bear.

Besides leisurely walkers enjoying a saunter down the road, one is apt to see spirited pedestrians trying to achieve the daily quota of brisk walking prescribed by their physicians. Newton, were he to witness the scene, would heartily approve of their nimbleness in deftly trying to avoid colliding with the ones coming from the opposite side. After all, this reaffirms Nature’s law that a given spot on a given plane shall at a given moment of time be occupied by only one body. A couple of fitness enthusiasts cast in the mould of Ashe Marson can be noticed vigorously doing Larsen exercises at different spots.

The benign gaze of Mahatma Gandhi keeps encouraging all those present to spend more time on the beach road. Diagonally across, the well-lit old lighthouse beckons all those feeling lost in existence, motivating them to keep navigating through the choppy waters of life wisely and be clear and persistent about the goals to be achieved.

Managers in hotels and restaurants can be seen perspiring, trying to manage the queue of weary walkers trooping in, looking for some nourishment to put down the hatch. Behind the Promenade Hotel, one can see unruly crowds of customers gorging on tangy snacks being served by carts peddling street foods of all kinds.

Just a stone’s throw away stands the majestic structure of Raj Niwas, the office-cum-residence of the Lt. Governor of this union territory. On the back side, nestled amongst other buildings, one can easily find ‘Surguru Spot’, an establishment which serves South Indian cuisine. It offers only vegetarian fare, though one does not know whether the inspiration for the same comes from the poet Percy Bysshe Shelley or from Madeline Bassett.

As opposed to the boisterous surroundings one experiences on the beach road, the ambience inside the hallowed establishment known as ‘Surguru Spot’ is sombre, serene, and cosy. On the day in question, the place was full of customers who had permitted their greed to win over prudence. They could be seen wolfing down a wide range of South Indian delicacies.

Into the hall walked a fan of Plum’s, handsomely upholstered like Eve Halliday. An editor of impeccable reputation, she might as well be assisting Aunt Dahlia in running Milady’s Boudoir. To identify yours truly, sitting huddled in a corner with a morose expression on his visage, was the work of a moment for her.

When Plum fans meet, it always feels as if one has met a long-lost bosom pal. Books get discussed. Challenges faced by editors are mentioned. Life’s vicissitudes get shared. Movies come up for a loving mention, especially the ones which have loads of subtle humour. Characters created by the Master and many of his books come up for a detailed analysis.

Suffice it to say that it turns out to be a feast of Reason and flow of Soul, which is never punctuated by intervals of uncomfortable silences that arise when those meeting each other for the first time come together.

The more, the merrier, you might say. But I wonder if the number of fans present at such an impromptu meeting of the Drones Club really matters. To me, what is far more important is the depth of discussion, as well as the wide range of topics covered.

Of course, one winds up such a meet with the fond hope that in the future, a few more fans who might be hiding themselves well in a small city like Pondicherry may also get prompted to join in the festivities. Throwing medu vadas duly soaked in delectable sambhar at ceiling fans could also be fun, right?!

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