I found my first job
before the ink dried on my final exam—
Trivandrum behind me,
Pondicherry ahead,
a name I’d met in Doyle’s pages,
a mystery wrapped in sun and salt.
Four interviews in a single breath—
the city opened its arms.
I left with a promise,
returned with a purpose:
Industrial Engineer,
fresh from the classroom,
ready to measure the pulse of machines
and the rhythm of streets.
The job was good,
the company proud,
the pay enough to chase dreams
down cobbled lanes.
Each evening, I wandered—
Pondicherry, a city dressed in French lace,
stitched with Tamil thread.
Here, cultures danced:
spices met baguettes,
temples bowed beside cathedrals,
and the air sang in two tongues.
Architecture wore yellow like joy,
roads played chess with my bike tires,
and the beach stretched like a sigh
at the end of a long sentence.
Beer cheaper than water,
food rich as memory—
grand restaurants and humble stalls
served stories on steel plates.
I bought a bike,
rented a house with sunlit corners,
and rode into the heart of the city
each evening, each Sunday.
I found my places—
bookshops with whispering shelves,
eateries that knew my name,
theatres, churches,
and friends behind counters
who smiled like old songs.
Archie’s steaks sang in flame,
Sadguru’s Punjabi warmth filled my plate.
Bookhive lent me worlds for a coin,
Crossword gave me twenty percent off
and a hundred percent joy.
Seagulls perched over the ocean,
serving kebabs kissed by sea breeze,
beer chilled like twilight,
sun slanting like a blessing—
a place to forget time
and remember yourself.
The Ashram held silence
like a sacred bowl—
Sri Aurobindo and The Mother
still walk its corridors
in hush and light.
Beyond the city’s hum,
Auroville waits—
a dream of unity,
no caste, no creed,
just soil, soul, and sky
woven into sustainable breath.
Two years I lived there,
each day a gift wrapped in sunlight.
Then came a better job,
a new city—Madras.
But Pondicherry stayed,
tucked behind my ribs,
a place with magic in its dust,
calling me back
in dreams and quiet moments.
