NAMASTE!

© AGHIL MENON

story   |  PERHAPS AT PONDICHERRY

Perhaps at Pondicherry N°6

ATHEENA WILSON

Ten years from now, we would remember how we set off to Pondi one summer. Sometime again I suppose, I would be sauntering in eye-clashing clothes in another city, but my first one would always be Pondicherry.

© AGHIL MENON

story   |  PERHAPS AT PONDICHERRY

Perhaps at Pondicherry N°2

ATHEENA WILSON

A flurry of auto drivers rushed to us chattering away in Tamil. Dawn seeped in, the sun rose fairly early at Pondicherry. It was another day of sun, but there was a sweeping wind of laziness that suddenly slowed down time.

© AGHIL MENON

story   |  PERHAPS AT PONDICHERRY

Perhaps at Pondicherry N°1

ATHEENA WILSON

My uncanny taste for flamboyant textiles hailed from a land of curious glances. Markets always stir these peckish desires in you to experiment, it’s the one place where you can tailor your dreams. But that’s not what I loved about markets.

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