Part 1
Prior to coming to India, I had talked about spending a week working on tsunami relief efforts.  This week was supposed to be that week.  After emails to numerous aid organizations I found that the government of India has taken responsibility for relief efforts.   Without a clearly defined mission I decided that I would simply spend time in Pondicherry (Pondy) instead.

While planning that week I came across articles about how survivors just down the coast in Cuddalore were angry at “tsunami tourism” where people come to devastated areas and take photos and then leave.   I decided that I would not have anything to do with that and for my “Beach Day” in Pondy I would find an isolated beach and spend my day reading V.S. Naipaul’s “India: A Million Mutinies” and swimming in the ocean.

I rented a bicycle and headed north on the East Coast Road.  After 5 kilometers I found a sign that pointed to a private beach at an Ayruvedic Massage Center.  I coasted down the narrow road indicated and came to a small grove of trees, the ocean and an open expanse of beach visible in the near distance.   Pushing my bike through the trees I could see people off to my left.  As I walked on I stopped between two piles of large bricks.  In the sand were some more of these bricks arranged in a tight rectangular pattern.  I instantly realized that these were the foundations of homes and the piles of bricks were created by the tsunami when it leveled the homes.   In a flash I knew, without a doubt, that people had died on the spot that I now stood.   As I looked up to leave a man approached me and said “What you want?”   His tone was not friendly or inviting.   I replied “Beach” while pointing to the open beach behind him.   He said “Go far over” and turned to leave.   I agreed with him and went to the middle of the expanse, equidistant between the little villages on each side.

In my mind I resolved to write no more about the tsunami other than what I mentioned above, that I would take no photos since there was nothing constructive to add, I would leave it at that.

I stayed on the beach only for an hour.   I had not brought enough water to endure the 90 degree heat, and I realized that the beach served as the communal restroom for the village, both factors urged me to move on in search of even more isolation.

Part 2
Moving another 14 kilometers up the coast highway I found an open stretch of beach that looked totally uninhabited.   Riding and walking down a dirt path I arrived at a patch of palm trees.   The day was impossibly hot.  Stopping in the shade of a palm, I rolled out the small rug I had bought in Puri and laid down, intent to sleep through the mid-day heat after my long bike ride.  

My nap lasted about 30 minutes.  Three women woke me up by saying “Sir, Sir”.   They were standing right over me and startled me, causing them much laughter.   They were motioning at my water bottle.   On the ride up to this location I had bought a new liter bottle.  I handed it over and they each took a long drink, leaving me with the amount of water that had forced my first beach retreat.   As I have learned to say in India “Oh well”.   They thanked me and moved on.

I returned to sleep and was awoken 30 minutes later by goats.   Turns out this was not an uninhabited beach after all.   The goats were tended by a young girl who came and sat down near me.   She didn’t seem to want anything, but I offered her water.    After a few minutes I showed her my camera and asked if I could take her picture.  Though she spoke no English, and I spoke no Tamil we understood each other.  I snapped her picture and showed it to her in the screen of the camera.   She was delighted with it and ran off after a few minutes.  

She returned with her younger sister.

I had nothing else to give them except music.   I gave each of them an earpiece of my iPod and queued up some Grateful Dead, thinking that would be more appealing than punk or Pink Floyd.   They sat in joyous captivity.   I got out my book and started to read.

A man appeared shortly and motioned happily at the girls.  Through rough sign-language and limited English I understood that they were his daughters.  

The man went on to explain that his wife and son were killed in the tsunami.    He explained that he and his daughters were farther inland, near the road when it hit and were spared by hanging on to a tree.   He said that 21 people along this single stretch of beach were killed.   The bodies washed ashore for days afterwards.  Three days later he recovered the body of his wife.   He never found his son.

He went on to explain that the government of India had given him 2,500 rupee.   The boat on the shore was his, but he could not afford to buy nets, which cost much more than that.   His home had been destroyed.  He now lived in a small grass hut, no more than 4 feet tall and 6 feet across, visible in the distance.   He said he had no money, but that was OK, since no amount of money could bring back his family.   I nodded and turned to leave.   At first all I offered him was “Good Luck”, but a few paces later I called out to him.  Reaching for my wallet I gave him all I had, 500 rupee.   He thanked me repeatedly and then left.

As I started to pack up, my “Beach Day” no longer seeming interesting or appropriate, thee more men walked up to me.   They told me similar stories of wives killed, children missing and lives devastated.   They must have found out of my gift to the other man and were obviously hoping for something similar.  I rummaged through my bag and found a $5 US bill.  I explained that it was worth about 200 rupee if they took it to a Bank of India.   I gave them the last of my water and the Cliff bar from my bag.   One of the men opened a canvas bag he was carrying.  It was filled with a couple dozen small crawdad type animals.    He explained that this was their subsistence, roaming the beach for these small creatures.   He invited me to eat with them.   I was amazed that people having so little would offer me some of their food.  I indicated I was not hungry.   Raising my hands between theirs to tear filled eyes, they repeatedly thanked me and turned to leave.

I also turned quickly to leave.   The road back to Pondy was very hot, not having any water or money made for a sunburned heat stroked ride.   I thought no complaints though, having nothing to complain about in comparison to those I had just left.

Last night in Pondy there were fireworks sounding off at wedding celebrations.  Shops were open and the city was busy.    The next morning as I write this, processions of grooms from the weddings are making their way past the hotel in noisy processions, on the way to the home of their new bride, ready to start a new life together.

Life goes on, but somehow along this coast and beyond I get the sense that it probably will not be the same as before the tsunami.

If you have not donated to tsunami relief please do so.  If you can give more please do so.  I don’t have a recommendation of what organization should receive your contributions, but suggest you research organizations that are giving loans and grants to coastal fishermen to replace their boats and nets.