THANJAVUR SUNSETS AND PONDICHERRY SLICE

So here I am in Pondicherry, the ex-French city on the coast of Tamil Nadu which only became part of India in 1954, just as Goa only became part of India in 1975, having been a Portuguese possession before that. Its a lovely place, but utterly surreal. It looks completely French. Indeed I could be on the French coast - very wide streets with a boulevard feel, lots of trees, French architecture - but it is still India. I suppose you could say it looks French but speaks Indian. Its a strange, but fascinating combination of realities. Last night I spoke to my Grandmother who had lived out here and she mentioned that Pondicherry was the one place the Brits could get wine from thanks to the French bringing it over from the homeland. Once again this magnificent land pulls another magic trick and catches you off guard.

I left Thanjavur at about nine o'clock this morning. The night before I went, as planned, to the Temple for another taste of its sunset charms. If anything it was even more extraordinary than before. I got there a little earlier this time and, being on my own, found myself able to have a more intimate relationship with the Temple life going on. I had timed it perfectly. Whoever was in charge of the Temple clearly had spoken to those same Mexican Shamen, as I was able to watch as the religious life of the complex began as the light began to fail.

I sat in a different place this time facing the main entrance of the Temple. Somehow I had a hunch this was the place to be. The hypnotic, other-worldly feel of twilight was already starting to effect the grounds - the same hazy light, the same hazy effect on sound. I watched as different worshippers sang to different shrines, deeply moved by one man who was singing to the image of Nandi in front of the main building. Then I watched as a Brahmin monk with a full beard came in through the gates and began to give devotion to Siva. I hadn't been impressed by the monks before, but this man was the real thing. You could see his connection with the things he was praying to. In no way was he going through the motion.

Bells began to ring, just like in a Church, and I saw two Brahmins moving from shrine to shrine activating each one with sounds, instruments and singing. I began to follow them as the sun continued to set. I realised that the whole Temple was like a kind of spiritual machine which needed to be 'switched on' at this crucial moment of the day. People continued to mill around as the light fell, visiting different shrines. The atmosphere was very special.

From a staircase, a little girl and her elder brother waved to me and started to descend the staircase to say hello. Before they could, an elderly gent came who was walking towards a shrine came up to me and said, 'Which country are you from, sir?'

'England,' I said.

His eyes widened.

'Ohhh! England! And what do you do?'

'I am a theatre director,' I replied, 'Drama. Shakespeare.'

'Ah yes!' he said, 'And you are travelling where?'

I told him and explained that I was going to Agra as part of my trip as that was where my grandparents had fallen in love.

'Oh,' he said, 'During the time of your rule?'

'Yes,'I said, worried that I was about to get a 'Brit go home' response. Had I met my first Nationalist? But no...

'We love the British,' he said, looking into the distance, 'You gave us... the railways...'

'Yes,' I said, 'And you gave us wisdom.'

He laughed. 'We suffered a lot. But we must forget the bad things,' he said. 'You left and now we must forget the bad things. We must be... friends...'

'Yes,' I said, and offered him my hand, very moved.

'No. Not friends,' he suddenly said, taking my hand, 'Brothers. We must be brothers. Friends are distant, but brothers...' and he tapped his heart with the other hand.

'Yes,' I said, 'Brothers. Brothers are close.' and tapped mine.

'Brothers. Tell your friends, your family, all of them, that there are brothers here for them,' he said and began to move off. 'God bless you. God bless you...'

It felt like a good benediction and I felt blessed. The boy and his sister had waited for me and shook my hand too. I continued walking and suddenly found myself in front of another shrine to Siva with three old guys lounging outside talking. As I watched, a young monk appeared and opened the shrine doors to reveal a magnificent image of Siva as the Lord of the Dance, one of my favourite images of all India. That day at the Museum I had found myself in a room full of Chola Bronzes of this image and stood mesmerised in front of them. I began to understand how quintessential this image was for India. All the crises I had had were to do with what it represented - the Sivaic energy which smashes up and destroys what is dead, including dead ways of thinking so that something new can emerge. So what feels like a horrific crisis is in fact part of a necessary death and rebirth just as, I had been told by some of the devotees of Sai Baba, Sai Baba had said was happening to the world now, especially in the West. What seems like a calamity is in fact a process of purification. Siva is always shown smiling serenely in the centre of the wheel. Perhaps if we understood this process more we would not go through so much suffering. As an archetype, the only equivalent I could think of in the West was the Crucifixion and Resurrection, but we have long since lost any sense of that going on within us, or maybe the Sword-wielding Christ of Revelation, but the total misunderstanding of THAT book is best left undiscussed!

I watched as the lights were switched on in that shrine and stood there for a while before moving on. The sun was still going down so different colours were still in the sky. Birds were flying around the Gopura of the main Temple and for a moment I thought I understood something all the Great Traditions say about Matter being the Mask of God. In other words, just as Science is now saying (although deeply resisted by the traditionalists), the material world we see is only the most superficial aspect of what is there. It was quite a moment, delivered in the Mystic atmosphere of the Temple bathed in the suns dying colours.

As I turned around the Gopura it was really starting to get dark and I found myself outside a shrine in which a crowd of devotees were sitting, chanting to the God within. It was very simple and very moving and I sat on the flagstones and watched and listened. I don't know how long I sat there but I was struck by the honesty of the feelings and the sense of equality. I recognised how formal yet informal Hindu spirituality was and how there was a complete lack of sermonising. Like the Greek and Roman Temples, you weren't there to be moralised to by a Priest but to have a direct connection with whichever Deity it was which you wanted to connect with, whether you thought it was without you or an aspect of yourself. Everyone was sitting in their ordinary workaday clothes. No formality at all. It was very nice.

The singing and chanting ended and everyone started to leave. People shook my hands, someone offered me sweets. It was very gentle.

Night was really drawing in and with the poetry of it all in my heart I set off to leave. As I approached the main gates the young Monk at the Siva shrine earlier was singing to the God - mantras I assume. I didn't want to leave and stood at the entrance just listening and taking in the sounds, drinking deep on the Mystic atmosphere the place had created as the sun went down. It was very special.

Eventually I dragged myself away. I remembered as I left how as I was coming to the Temple I was thinking about the Hindu Gods and my favourite, Krishna. Just then I heard a flute being played and in the sun a group of Indian teenagers were turning the corner. One in a bright blue shirt, the very colour of Krishna, was playing on a flute. They all smiled at me as I passed. I thought it was a lovely coincidence. Perhaps Krishna was showing me a sign, just as Vishnu had been doing with his Eagle, one of which, I forgot to mention, could be seen on both evenings flying around the Temple.

So it was a good night and I went to sleep feeling nourished and inspired. The trip to Pondicherry by two buses was terrific. The autorickshaw driver who drove me to the Bus Station in Thanjavur didn't leave me until he knew I was safely on the right bus. Having made sure where it was going from he dropped me there, grabbed my bags and hauled me onto the bus as it was going. He asked for nothing more. That was Thanjavur as far as I was concerned. A great place.

The journey to Pondy stretched across Tamil Nadu and involved an hour' slong wait in a boiling bus in a nearby town beginning with K. The landscape changed as we went from the more harsh, Tamil Nadu landscape I had grown accustomed to to a lusher, more fertile land as neared the Bay of Bengal. Although dust in my eyes meant my lenses were giving me agony for most of the way until I could replace with my specs, I still caught glimpses of wonderful things - cows grazing serenely on islands in massive rives, people fishing and bathing in ponds and lakes, mud huts by the road, vibrant market towns and at one point, in the town beginning with K, a beautiful, glistening Temple Tank of water for pilgrims to bathe in with a little pavilion-like shrine in the middle. Quite wonderful.

If ever you come to India, use the buses to get around as much as you can. For the longer journeys, use the trains, which are great places to recharge and centre yourself as well as meet interesting people, but with the shorter journeys, use the buses, as you can look out of the window at India passing by. Better still, you meet the ordinary Indian people.

And its cheap. Four hours journey across magical landscapes costs only one pound...

One other tip - always make sure you have your own toilet roll as not every hotel provides it. The one here and the one in Thanjavur didn't. Thank God I had been warned by my cousin Eleanor and later Julia from the School (her words were 'It will be needed!')...

This is indeed Incredible India. Let's see what Pondicherry holds... Tomorrow will be interesting as it marks the end of my second month in India. I came out here to Mumbai on Jan 20th, the day of Obama's inauguration. I have been here since then. So much has happened in between. Let's see what tomorrow holds...