Showing posts with label tamil Nadu. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tamil Nadu. Show all posts

Madras bound

I am off on work to Madras aka Chennai , the place I call home, although I live in Bangalore...Just realized that its been four years since I actually moved bag and baggage to Bangalore and yet, Madras has always been home. I don't have a return ticket as yet, so I have no clue when I am back..The next few days are bound to be a bit hectic - work , parents, friends..November looks otherwise empty as far as my travel plans are concerned..not an issue though - Ive loads of posts and articles to write and photographs to download and share..so I guess that will keep me busy for a while..Just getting set to pack a bit..Catch you all from Madras then ..


The garuda in this picture was on the parapet walls of one of the old houses in a suburb called Teynampet in Madras


~ Thursday, November 18, 2010 0 comments

Welcome to Pallava cave hunting

A small rusty board brings our car to a sudden halt. Surrounding us are lush paddy fields set against massive boulders . A lone woman is working on her crop, as we cut through the thorny bushes and walk across the fields. Following the path, we meet a huge hill loaded with boulders , standing precariously, one on top of each other. The hill seems to open out to us, as we walk through the narrow opening to reach our destination- the cave temple at Mandagapattu carved out of a 100 feet hillock.

“Welcome to Pallava cave hunting. You will probably find it addictive , “ says Vijay Kumar, who had initiated me earlier into the world of  Pallava and Chola temples through his website poetryinstone .  At Mandagapattu, I realize that I am already lost in the world of stone. A flight of steps leads us to the cave temple, carved  for the trinity, flanked by the door guardians or the dwarapalakas. The shrines are empty . “This is the first prototype of the Pallava rock cut cave temple, built by Mahendravarman 1 in the 7th century, “ says Vijay .

 To me , Pallava architecture has always been synonymous with Mahabalipuram or Mamallapuram or Kadal Mallai , as it was originally called . Built by Narasimha varman or Mamalla, the rock cut cave temples here , I am told ,owe their inspiration to the early Mahendravarman  caves shrines ,which are  strewn around Ginjee, Tindivanam, Kanchipuram, Arakonam , Chengelpet among other districts . “ The early pallava style has bulky pillars, not too many embellishments either in the form of relief sculptures, even the door guardians are not too bold in their depiction, but later on you will find the architecture being more evolved as they move towards building structural temples, “ explains Vijay.

Our companion Arvind shows us the Sanskrit inscription. Here , Mahendraman declares that he is not building the temple from any perishable material – brick, wood, metal  and limestone or stucco.  “ That is why he is titled as Vichitrachitha, an innovator in many ways,” he explains. The temple in the inscription is referred to as Lakshita Yathaanam .

“Mahendravarman showed leanings towards Jainism initially and then he moved towards Hinduism- which is probably why one would find jain settlements near his cave temples” adds Vijay. We are at Thalavanur, closer to Mandagapattu where the temple, Shatrumalleswaram is carved at the edge of another hillock, overlooking boulders. 


 The temple houses door guardians flanking a linga.  “Note the advancement in art here, “ mentions Vijay ,” as we take in the makartoranas in the front façade .” A small flight of rock cut steps carved on the hill takes us to the shelters of Jain monks who probably meditated here and used this as their beds.

An old man walks up to us from across the fields and proclaims he is the caretaker.  A stray dog follows him, his howls echoing through the hills, as we retrace our steps .


The story was published in Inside Story, my column in the Metro Plus, The Hindu. A detailed travelogue will soon be published in Windows and Aisles, the inflight magazine of Paramount Airlines

~ Friday, September 3, 2010 0 comments

Seeyamangalam-cave temples of the Pallavas



When we think of  Pallava art and architecture, the rock cut caves and the shore temple at  Mahabalipuram comes to our mind. However there are quite a few cave temples built by Mahendravarman 1 in early 7th century which were the inspiration for his descendants to build the monuments at Malai or Mahabalipuram as its now called.

One such place is Seeyamangalam, which is about 80 kms from Madras (Chennai). Dedicated to Stambeshwarar, a form of Shiva, the temple has been further extended by the Chola and the Vijaynagar kings who have built the Gopurams and the Mandapams, besides the Murugan temple atop a rock with small steps carved on the stone.

A simple shrine with pillars and pilasters , the temple was called h“ Avanibhajana Pallaveshwaram, Avani, being a title of Mahendravarman 1.

The temple has one of the earliest interpretations of the Ananda Thandava posture of Shiva that we know as Nataraja carved  in one of the pilasters, while the other has a low bass relief of Rishabhantara.  We were anyways not allowed to take pictures of the deities inside the cave,  but were allowed to take a few of the sculptures on the pillars and pilasters - so am sharing the Nataraja or the Ananda Thandava here .


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Tranquebar beach - Skywatch Friday


Tranquebar or Tarangambadi as its called today was once a Danish colony , nestled in the Coromandel coast of India. Walking around the old fort, I could see the view of the beautiful beach from the windows. The fishermen had just finished their early morning catch and their boats bordered the shore..

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~ Thursday, August 26, 2010 0 comments

Celebrate Madras Day

The settlement called Madras is very young as it celebrates its 371st birthday today. This settlement slowly grew over the 300 odd years adding villages , older than itself to its boundaries, growing into the metropolis that we know today. Nestled in South India and often dubbed conservative by those who are yet to experience the multi dimension spirit of the city, the story of Madras , the settlement started with Fort St George. Probably it started even earlier , 371 years ago on this day when the Britishers leased a piece of fishing hamlet and converted into their southern headquarters. Ive dedicated an entire post last year to the birth of this city, but today, I would like to celebrate by speaking about the oldest surviving monument in the Fort complex - the St Mary's Church on Church Street.

Built in 1680 , this is where apparently Robert Clive got married. You can ask to see the marriage register at the Fort Museum. Clive's house , which was called Admirality House  today houses the office of the ASI, but coming back to the church - this is probably one of the oldest Protestant churches in Madras. Designed by a gunner, built through local subscriptions, there are several tombstones and memorials here - of missionaries, governors and former officials and their families

A statue of General Conway, known as the soldier's friend stands here , as he was known to improve conditions in the army.The organ , which is the fifth to be installed dates back to 1894 and is still played during service.The altar plate is said to donated by Elihu Yale, Governor of Fort St George and who later founded the Yale University in 1687 , but the most interesting aspect is a painting by an unknown painter. The painting is a replica of Raphael's Last Supper , which is now in the Vatican. The British apparently brought the painting from Pondicherry in 1761 . 

As the sun streams in from the garden, you sit here for a while and imagine the days of colonialism, the era of Black and White towns , of Armenians, French and British ruling over the country .


This post was written on behalf of AffordableCallingCards.net, which offers different long distance calling cards, such as calling cards to India 

~ Sunday, August 22, 2010 0 comments

Mannavanur Lake - lost somewhere near Kodaikanal

The mist tip toed upon us , all of a sudden ,like a mysterious visitor. Wrapping everything in its fold, it moved silently around, as the forests and the mountains disappeared in front of our eyes. I squinted through the haze and gazed into what was earlier a grove of eucalyptus trees . As visibility was almost near zero, we stopped by in our journey and walked right into the mist. A pair of glassy eyes squinted through the trees , untouched by the mist . I walked towards it and found it to be an abandoned large sized soft toy – a tiger , looking like its straight out of a Calvin and Hobbes cartoon.

I am in Kodaikanal , a retreat tucked away in the Palani Hills , thronged by tourists and honeymooners all through the year.  Although it is believed to have been discovered by a British missionary way back in the 19th century, it has an ageless spirit around it . Locals say that the earliest inhabitants of Kodaikanal were the Paliyan tribes, whose descendants still live near Kukal caves.

As you gaze into the green fabric laced with dense vegetation and the tall eucalyptus trees, you understand why Kodaikanal has been called the Gift of the forest.  Lakes, mountains, forests, plantations , caves, waterfalls, temples, myths, legends – Kodaikanal has them all. The romantics are lured by the misty lakes and the waterfalls,  while the hard core trekkers prefer the caves and the dense forests. And yet Kodaikanal is filled with tourist traps.

 My guide book lists out  lakes, parks and gardens. Most of the tourist attractions are still reminiscent of the colonial period.  Coaker’s Walk, Bryant’s park are just some of them, while the tourists prefer to crowd over the lake in the town.  “ Would you like to go to Guna’s caves ? This is where the actor Kamalahassan’s film was shot ! “ asks our host , referring to Devil’s Kitchen , the giant boulders filled with bats. “ Or maybe to Dolphin’s Nose and Pambar falls ..”

We carefully avoided the tourist traps. I asked him to suggest a small retreat which is not just beautiful, but is lost to mankind and he smiled. “ Have you been to Mannavanur ?”  The name did not ring a bell. At first it just sounded like another dusty south Indian hamlet that would not even a milestone named after it. Looking at my blank face, he went into raptures of it. “ You can see a lake, some farming and even a sheep research centre ,” he added as I refused to be taken in by his salesmanship. And then he took out a picture of a sparkling lake bordered by distant mountains, lost completely to mankind. On an impulse we decided to hit the road.

The journey was enveloped by mist .  We stopped by near a grove as the mist moved directionless, caressing our cheek and embracing us. We let the moments pass and then continued our journey downhill. The forests morphed into meadows and the mountains tapered down towards us with terraced farms on their slopes . The mist gave way to a drizzle as the journey took us downhill towards Munnar. The hills were getting closer as we drove down towards plains. A distant lake amidst the mountains came into view, tempting us to stop over, but we carried on . An hour later we were in our destination.

The silence was deafening. There was not a single person around. The village looked deserted for a minute. My mind had drawn its own pen pictures – a lively market scene, small shops huddled together, a local bus stand bursting with gossip, mud houses, a collage of movie posters,  a small temple   and shy village belles walking around it. But we could see none of these stereotypes.


Surrounded by green rolling hills with terraced fields sloping downhill, the road took us down through meadows and farms. Fresh under the spell of the rains, the greenery blinded our eyes. We walked until we found some cattle and sheep   grazing in the meadows.  And then our first sign of habitation – a couple of shepherds sauntered into view. We asked them about the rest of the people and they pointed to distant fields around . We chatted for a while and we continued strolling along without any particular agenda.

We walked towards the sheep research centre and although we were not given permissions to visit it, we spoke to a few locals here who gave us a peep into their idyllic lives. Mannavanur is primarily an agrarian hamlet and the slopes yielded a variety of vegetables from potatoes, broccoli, cauliflower, cabbage , beans and peas . There are hardly 600 households here and most of the people are farmers . The village had a school, a bank, a post office and a medical centre located amidst the grasslands which is unique to these areas. “You can even see wildlife here,” cautioned one of the men as we take leave .” Deer , gaur and even wilddogs , “ he added as we asked him for the directions to the lake.

We walked along intercepting small streams and waterfalls before running into an entire field of bright orange carrots. We heard some voices and followed them to find a group of men diligently washing the carrots and packing them off in sacks. The men stood on the carrots , cleaning them after the harvest. They humoured us by performing the action for our camera. At first the carrots were left lying near a small stream and then the men would do a little dance on them, rubbing them with the soles of their feet , probably kicking them a bit as well. Finally they were once again shaken and stirred as they were packed into the sacks and sold in the markets . The men told us that some of the carrots find their way into cities , while very little was left for local consumption.

And finally by following the path of a small stream, we reached our destination. A huge sparkling lake amidst all the greenery, bordered by mountains,  awaited us. Reflecting the  cloudy sky and the hazy forests , it flowed there unmindful of its own beauty. Words failed us as we tried to describe the moment . There is a certain lure in the still waters and we sat there for a long time, lost to the world, absorbed in our own thoughts. The butterflies came fluttering and the birds sang for us. A common kingfisher fished into the waters, while a brahminy kite scooped down . Soon the mist came calling and we decided to tear ourselves away from this piece of lost paradise.

As we retraced our steps back to Kodaikanal, I realized that the most beautiful stretches of nature are those that are virgin and untouched by man. Mannavannur is no place for revelers and picnickers . It is only reserved for the pantheists, the high priests of nature who revere nature and carry a piece of it with them wherever they go and not for those who leave a piece of themselves behind in the form of cans, bottles and plastic covers .

Getting there
Mannavanur is downhill from Kodaikanal and at a distance of 40 kms, it is little more than an hour’s drive from the hill station. There are neither  proper accommodation options nor eateries around here. However there are certain camp sites close by that offer some basic accommodation. There are several trek routes that pass via Mannavanur. Kodaikanal is about 520 kms from Chennai and 135 kms from Madurai and it is also well connected by road and rail. This article was featured in Windows and Aisles, the inflight magazine of Paramount Airlines



~ Saturday, July 31, 2010 0 comments

The Misty Nilgiris


We were in Masinagudi a few weekends ago, a town located at the foothills of the Nilgiris. The mountains were giving us company as we drove around and giving the mountains company was a thin veil of mist..

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~ Friday, May 28, 2010 0 comments

Back from the jungles


I was lost somewhere in the dense forests of interior Masinagudi during the weekend ; not amidst the row of touristy resorts, but somewhere in the interior where forests and wilderness merge in a place aptly titled Wilds.I will blog about this sometime when I have a little more mind-space , but for now, a quick update to say I am back in rain swept Bangalore

~ Monday, May 17, 2010 0 comments

Driving down the Coromandel Coast - Part 3

We are back at the coastline as I bring you the last leg of my journey down the Coromandel Coast . A quick recap here for those who have just joined me on the trail.We left Chennai and drove down to Sadras in Part 1 and then we continued towards Pondicherry where we crossed Alamparai and the salt fields at Marrakkanam in Part 2. I now bring you guys back to the coastline where we will visit more erstwhile colonies of the colonial era.


The traffic shakes us out of our reverie as we continue towards Cuddalore, an ancient port which wears the mask of an industrial town. We leave the bustling town and delve into the past. The old town presents itself, boasting of a Roman connection. But in Cuddalore, was the very foundation of the East India Company .The seas have witnessed battles fought between the arch rivals here .We skim through layers of history and learn that Fort St David, an erstwhile fort on the banks of the river Gadilam was the headquarters of the British before Fort St George in Chennai took over. A passer by tells us that this fort was under the control of the Marathas and it was later on bought over by the British . The story goes that the purchase was decided based on a shot from a gun. The area which came under the range of the canon included the entire town and Cuddalore became a British settlement.


We move on as canons echo in our ears as we take another detour to enter a crowded town.“ This is where the Parangis stayed , so its called Parangipettai,” says a school teacher with whom we have a cup of tea at a local stall.” In Tamil, Europeans are called Parangis, but this small port is a trade centre for the Arabs and the Yemenis. Parangipettai or Porto Novo as it was called by the Portuguese was also colonized by the Dutch and English . I couldn’t find any ruins here, but I heard that the Nawab of Arcot minted the Porto Novo Pagoda, the gold coins from here. I leave another noisy town and move on towards Tranquebar or Tharangambadi.


The breeze lifts our spirits. We know we are getting there. The roads get narrower as we finally get to hear the music from the sea shore. Tharangambadi means just that – the town of the singing waves. And as we walk towards the waters, the lilting tune haunts us. The waves gently stroke the rocks which seem to be a remnant of an old wall. The beach is littered with colourful boats .The nets are scattered as the kids run around. A big Indian family jump on to a boat and take pictures , while a few enjoy a swim. Couples stroll around as I watch the skies come alive with the evening colours .


Tharangambadi or Tranquebar (Trankebar) as this Danish settlement was called found its way in the history map in the 17th century when the Danish East India company built the Fort Dansborg . Today the fort , with a Scandinavian feel about it opens out into the sea and is now a museum that tells a story of a busy port which has now become a wind blown village.


We take a heritage walk with Asai, an architect from INTACH who are doing their bit to preserve the unique architecture here which is a blend of European and Indian styles. When we enter the portals through the “ “Landporten” or the town gate, we walk into a past that has a washed out charm. The gateway sports the Danish Royal seal and leads us through a row of colonial bungalows and ancient churches.


Asai takes us on a historic trail. He says that in 1620, a Danish fleet landed here and the captain identified it as a strategic trading centre. The village was then ruled by the Nayaks from Thanjavur . A deal was struck between the king, Vijaya raghunatha and the Danish admiral Ove Gjedde. A small strip of an insignificant fishing hamlet was leased from the king for an annual rent of Rs 3111 and Trankebar was created with the Dansborg Fort built right in the centre of it. While the Danes traded in spices and silks it was finally sold to the British for Rs 12.5 lakhs in 1845 .


The quaint streetscapes lend an old world charm. We walk down the small bylanes called King street, Queen Street, Goldsmith Street where buildings have been restored. “To begin with the bungalows of the British Collector and the Danish Governor ,” says Asai pointing to the Bungalow on the Beach which is now a sprawling mansion overlooking the beach. “The latter is next on our agenda,” he adds.
The tsunami he says swallowed close to four streets in this lost forgotten town and he takes us to see the ravaged Masilamani Nathar temple, the oldest monument that has survived in Tranquebar, An inscription says that this partially eroded temple was built on a land granted by King Maravarman Kulasekara Pandian in 1306. The village was then referred to as Kulashekarapattinam or Thayangambadi.

We walk with Asai to the 18th century Zion Church, the oldest protestant church of India . The New Jerusalem Church, he says was built a bit later by german missionaries Bartholomäus Ziegenbalg and Heinrich Pluetschau who translated the Bible into tamil . The trail ends near the beach as we see many tattered monuments waiting to be restored.


It is dusk and the melody from the waves reach a crescendo. We sit on the rocks and watch the sun set sipping a hot ginger tea when I hear a haunting tune from the past. The little snippets of history from these forgotten ports play in my mind. The passage of time may have eroded their identity and they may have slowly faded away from the political maps , but the glory of these long lost towns would probably never fade away . Its hidden , waiting to be discovered…

Thanks for joining me in this journey. It would be wonderful of you travelled with us as well.Travelwise, managed by Arun and I will soon be doing a trail in Tamil Nadu. Windows and Aisles, the inflight magazine of Paramount Airlines published this story in their December issue.

~ Tuesday, December 22, 2009 0 comments

Driving down the Coromandel Coast - 2


We had paused in our journey from Chennai to Tranquebar at Sadras in Part 1. Part 2 continues as we drive towards Pondicherry . This article was published in Windows and Aisles, the inflight magazine of Paramount Airlines in November 2009. Travelwise is launching this trail in January 2010. Join us as we resume the journey again and take you down to the coast.


As the past merges with the present, we are driving into another time zone. Bordered by coconut trees, the backwaters looks inviting. A few boats lie scattered. We take a detour from the village of Kadapakkam and enter the portals of another port lost amidst the ruins, located right next to the seashore. There is no one in sight. Coconut and palm grooves shelter the broken bricks as the rubbles resonate with the glory of the past .


We are at the 17th century Alamparai fort also called Alampara. Built during the Mughal era it was ruled by the Nawab of Carnatic and was later on gifted to the French for their support. The British eventually destroyed the fort and the dockyard which was more than 100 metres long.

A rusty ASI board gives us more information. Alamparai, it says was the ancient land of Idaikazhunadu, mentioned in the literary work, Siruppanatruppadai. The sea port was used for trade by the Arcot Nawabs and zari , salt and ghee were exported from here. Coins were minted from here as well and later on the mint was shifted to neighbouring Pondicherry. The mint built on a highway near Alamparai here even housed a Shiva temple, a “choultry “ and a pond and was built for the benefit of the travelers coming down this route towards Rameshwaram.


We are unable to find the highway, but the breeze takes us on a different route. A local fisherman offers us a ride in his catamaran. The sky and the sea merge into a vast expanse of blue . We watch him deftly stroke the waves as he entertains us with stories of film crew who have shot many a scene here.


The sun gets kinder as we drive towards what is left of French India in Pondicherry. The smell of the salts however makes us pause at Marrakkanam . The entire stretch is filled with heaps as a group of workers extract the salt. We chat a bit about their day as a couple shyly walks up to us and asks us to photograph them. “ They are getting married,” laughs another woman, while a grumpy man wants money to talk about salt extraction. We take him with a pinch of salt, show the couple the photographs and move on towards the quaint streetscapes of Pondicherry .

The French connection with Pondicherry is often waxed eloquent by the tourists . But not many speak of the Portuguese , Danish and Dutch who have all laid claim to this port which was another centre of trade . Eventually the French, though defeated by Dutch bought it from them for 16000 pagodas. Pondicherry or Poudoucheri as it was called became the capital of French India. There was a time when Madras was controlled by the French from Pondicherry, says the local policeman with his tall unique hat.We stop at Auroville , grab a quick bite and slip back in time again as we continue our journey.

~ Friday, December 18, 2009 0 comments

Driving down the Coromandel Coast - Part 1

It has always been my dream to traverse down the coastline and lose myself in dusty fishing hamlets. The smell of the sea lures me . The waves tell a story of their own. Dripping with foam, they gather around my feet as my toes snuggle into the sand refusing to let go. I stand on the edge of the shore and watch a pair of juvenile brahminy kites dive into the sea. They miss their catch, but they continue to scoop down into the waters until they succeed.

Elsewhere the echo of laughter drowns the rhythm of the waves. The silent shore suddenly transforms into a bustling market. The fisherfolk arrive brightly clad with a variety of catch . The women carry their baskets while the men drag their trawlers ashore and fold their nets. The boats bob on the surface as the women display their fares. The creatures of the sea lie serenely on the colourful rags as they attract customers. Their silver scales glitter as the day’s bargaining begins. It is business as usual.



I catch snippets of gossip. Their loud voices pierced with laughter cuts through the silence. The women try to sell me the crabs and prawns, but I walk away towards the backwaters close by where the nets are still cast by the fishermen. A pied kingfisher looks down from the branch scanning the surface for fish. I lose myself in the crowds and carry on with my journey .

It’s a long drive cruising down the coastline from Chennai to Tranquebar. Along the way, several hamlets interrupt my journey as I pause by to take in the local culture. Some of these nonchalant villages once wore a cloak of a different identity. They were erstwhile thriving ports of powerful kingdoms or bustling settlements of Europeans but are today lost in a maze of huts and fields overlooking the shores. While some became popular tourist spots, a lot remain hidden behind the garb of a simple village. My tryst with the Coromandel coast begins with the quest for these lost pieces of history.


The highway runs parallel to the Bay of Bengal as I drive from Chennai towards Mahabalipuram . The East Coast Road rushes past stretches of blue and green as the casuarina groves interrupt the ocean view. Tsunami camps bring back memories of a furious nature as I look at the contrast of a tame sea gently lashing the shore. We buzz past the ancient Pallava port of Mahabalipuram and drive down towards Kalpakkam , the centre of atomic research near Chennai. My first destination was an erstwhile battlefield .

They say the power of imagination can recreate anything. However , it took me a while to imagine that a quiet fishing village with a handful of shops could be anything close to a battlefield. I go back several centuries when the entire landscape was dotted with fortresses which were seats of power. The seas were choppy and filled with fleets which fought each other. The maps altered and the boundaries changed. The tamil speaking locals had morphed into European nationalities. The Dutch, the Danes, the Portuguese, the French and the British were all here fighting for control over present day Tamil Nadu and Pondicherry.


I am in Sadras or Sadarangapatinam, looking at a restored 17th century Dutch fortress and a cemetery that tell the story of the Battle of Sadras fought between the fleets of the British with the French and the Dutch. An inconclusive battle, the wars were an aftermath of the 18th century European politics set against the American War of Independence. The canons , a watch tower , the warehouses and the tombs at the cemetery are the possible reminders that this was once a centre of power. Although the British fleet suffered a setback in the first war, eventually the British East India Company took over the settlement in the early 19th century.


Sadras , often assumed as a twin city of Madras (today’s Chennai) has a history that even dates earlier to the Chola feudatories and later on was ruled by the Vijaynagar empire. A weaving centre, it is known for muslin which was exported to Europe. The colonial hangover suddenly disappears as a self styled colourful tourist guide accosts us . He looks straight out of a Kollywood film studio and offer to take us around. It is amusing to listen to his stories as he tries to extract money from us and even wants to take us for a ride around Sadras in our car.

There is glitter all over him, he wears blue rimmed plastic sunglasses, an orange whistle around his neck and has pink nail polish. He looks straight out of a Kollywood set, speaks only in English and calls himself ‘a furniture doctor’ who does part time guiding around the fort. A sensible decision would have been to walk away while he is on the phone, but we decide to take his picture. Pleased as punch, he introduces himself as Anand and says that he has just returned from his daughter’s birthday party. We know he is a trickster and as we leave , a local policeman walks past us saying, “He is mental, madam.” We leave them yelling at each other, wondering about the colourful people we meet while travelling and move on towards Pondicherry.

This story was published in Windows and Aisles, the inflight magazine of Paramount Airlines recently. I will be posting them in parts as its rather long..Travelwise will be launching this trail in January.

~ Sunday, December 13, 2009 0 comments

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