Reflections on a Chappal: My First Year in Auroville

Today I wore my shoes after one year. On my first day here they were pushed aside for the casual and light sandals that suited the new environment better. The sandals clung on for some time till the rains came and since then the bata chappal has reigned supreme. The sandal joined the ranks of the neglected shoes. My companion for the long kilometres on BIT roads enjoyed the initial rest. But soon cobwebs began to form and when the monsoon came fungus grew. I put them in the sun, brushed them clean and promised to use them in sunnier days. Those days did arrive but the ease of using the bata chappal was a comfort I was reluctant to part with. Slip it on in the morning for the bathroom, wear it to work (not really, because everybody here de-shoes themselves at the threshold), wear them to site and sometimes even to sleep. Today I decided to suck it up, clean the shoes and wear them for the full day. It wasn’t so bad you see. In fact, it made me reflect on my life over the last one year.

It seems that I have found my bata chappal. Let’s begin with the work. After shuttling here and there to find the architect who was green inside out I think I have found mine. He is brown though. An earth lover to the core who does not budge for lesser projects and does not paint a false picture sometimes even at the cost of losing a project. It is nice to see someone who has fought the battle of ethics and emerged victorious and in now on the other side enjoying its fruits. Projects trickle in from all sides and people beg for consultancy. He however hand picks a few and takes them till the end.

Then it’s the site. You are responsible to make your own drawings, take them to site, show them to the mason and see that it is built. That’s the way it is supposed to be right? Not so in the big world of construction where you sit in an air-conditioned office drafting toilet details of a client in some first world country and release a sigh of satisfaction when the contractor sends a picture of the complete work. And boy is it humbling! Five years of education does teach you a lot however they leave behind the important bits that make architecture work: The ¾” flowing into the 1” via reverse reducer, the four coloured wires inside the electrical conduit, the pressure valve behind the WC, the “tippy level” Mani uses for foundations, dipping the block wet before putting and the three times a day curing. You learn and learn and learn and learn. Everyday.

Then is life in the biggest man-made bio reserve. The very fact that this tree filled land that I walk on today was once a barren plateau gives me enough hope to walk on. Yes, there is an alternative way of life that does not cut trees but plants them, that shits in a dry toilet, that separates garbage, that uses mooncups, that rides a cycle, that lives under a keet roof and that eats organic rocket spinach. All for the polar bear to have his piece of ice to sit on. Bienvenue Auroville!

Auroville, the Mother envisioned, would run without money. Services would be exchanged. You be “a willing servitor to the divine consciousness” and rest shall follow. Though this may have been far from achieved it is heartening on how they feed you vegan cookies at Sadhana Forest for coming to watch their movies, how you can walk into town hall auditorium without a ticket, how Matrimandir does not have an entry fee and how volunteers from all over the world come and contribute in body, mind and spirit to make this place grow.

Something about the women who shared my living space over the last one year: the curly haired crazy Palestinian who tried to understand the Mahabharat every night and who in turn explained how her country bled each day. The lovely American who let me lick her on moped rides and who cooked up a feast each night (am living off the garbage since she left). The Italian tornado whose pertinent questions helped me understand structures better and who inspired much craziness. The gentle Spaniard who talked about Marquez and saw the human side of each worker. They will be loved and remembered always.

They say work on your self and I tried. Odyssey classes with T every Friday for an athletic break never went beyond “Choke-4”. Mudra Chi turned out to freakier that we ever imagined and was dropped after the first week. Swimming became monotonous too. Pranayama stretched for two weeks till it breathed its last and the warm blanket hailed victory. Hammock knotting classes never happened and the punching bag was never hung. Still we tried and are happy for it.

For the things that did happen: swam in the sea, paddled in a pond, jumped in a canyon, climbed a mountain, saw a gopuram, waded across the back waters, biked the bullet and cycled for 40Km.

An Aurovillian once said that in a city you run into unique characters once in a while. In Auroville, however, every second person is a character. Aviram is growing a forest, Gerald is tending to his red tomatoes, Jeorge is making his own wind pumps and Gecko is tailoring bamboo fabric. Each individual has a story to tell and his life is experimentation with either matter or spirit. It is invigorating to be a part of this madhouse of ideas.

Life always plays this cruel comfort game on you. The green field of Chetham Lines made you wish that childhood would never end, D’s letters made you seek no more in love and the walk back on the OC road on a wet monsoon day made you wish for time to stop. Along your journey on this interesting path of life you reach a point which is the perfect meadow, clear skies, blue water, plenty to eat and you stop and wonder. “This is it”, you say. Life couldn’t get any better. I must pitch my tent here and stay on forever. But alas! It is only the cruel comfort game. The black temptress begins to act on the mind soon enough. What next, you wonder.

My day shall come too. Acknowledging my shoes is a step in that direction. Rest shall follow. Till then I sip some cool mint refresher and eat organic tofu and watch the world go by from the comfort of this hammock hung between the Two Banyans.