Pondicherry has been calling out to me for a few years now and I was happy to finally make it here, in a totally serendipitous way, filled with happy coincidences and accidents. The Universe was definitely sending me signs I could not ignore.

As soon as news of my plans got out, I was flooded with well-meaning suggestions for places to go, and eat and do, and see.

But my local host, the lovely Arnab Bose, who owns the utterly charming The Hermit Crab guest house on Serenity beach, refuses to let me make a checklist for my trip, and takes it upon himself to show me his Pondi, his home. This couldn’t be more fortuitous as he and his circle of friends are all foodies, and love Pondicherry. Arnab, who used to Chef professionally, is a thorough local, having studied here at the Ashram school. He is quite the polyglot, speaking English, Hindi, Bengali, Tamil and French without batting an eyelid. Apparently this is not a big deal in this quaint city, a melting pot of global cultures.

I definitely get very lucky and meet some charming, down to earth people who love to eat and are such super company.

Arnab refuses to point me to touristy places, instead taking me only to the most deserving local legends worthy of worship.

I am shown White Town, the French quarter with beautiful streets named Rue Saint Laurent, Rue Suffren, Rue Romain Rolland, and the ubiquitous Sri Aurobindo Ashram, because it’s my first time and I have to do a few touristy things ( eye roll).

Elegant colonial buildings in grey and white belong to the Sri Aurobindo Ashram. Other buildings are elegant white or happy yellow with white trim, frangipani trees peeping over sombre walls and arched doorways.

The streets here are calm and shady, devoid of the urban clutter, vivid posters and signboards, so typical of our colourful Indian culture. This quartier is restful, inviting you to reflect on your own journey at the many Ashram facilities and tours offered. I haven’t tried any yet. I think I have found my inner peace, and don’t want to complicate that feeling just yet. The Ashram has a simple philosophy: knowledge for the sake of knowledge; and all work is yoga, so do it well, do it with care, do it perfectly.

Boutiques are hidden amongst the lanes but I am yet undecided about spending time window shopping in the humid, hot air. I choose to hide out in the local favourite Bread and Chocolate, in the blessed air conditioning, eating vegan chocolate peppermint ice cream and sipping passionfruit sodas.

Pondicherry town itself is one huge rambling Mapusa market, my most favourite market in the world, and I am determined to walk through the local municipal bazar to discover how people live, what they buy, how many kinds of bananas and flowers they appreciate, what they eat. It fascinates me to see how different cultures go about their food, how local, how authentic it is. You will find me in wet markets across the world, walking past rows of spices or flowers, gory carcasses and fragrant herbs. Supermarkets across the world are equally fascinating.

It is Vinayaka Chaturthi, aka Ganesh Chaturthi. The streets are crowded with people buying clay idols, hand made decorations, and flowers of all colours and fragrances to adorn the deity with. Women thread delicate blossoms and lotus blooms lie in their deep, brilliant pinkness, waiting to be part of a pooja.

The streets are chaos, filled with hawkers selling idols, and Pooja ka samaan. Traffic laws have been forgotten and every street is a melee of noise and chaos.

Arnab is grim and determined, on my rented scooty, not to mow down a few silly people who refuse to allow us to pass. We discuss the value of paint guns and sigh about what fun it would be to mark consistent defaulters.

We finally squeeze past the bottleneck and arrive for my first breakfast at Murugans. Murugan is over fifty years old, a vast, no frills dining hall. But what is marvel it is: I could eat here every day of my life.

We are seated at a table and promptly given fresh banana leaves, which we have to sprinkle water on and wipe clean.

A set of steel containers with two types of fresh coconut chutney and a bucket of sambar is plonked unceremoniously before us.

I choose a masala dosa, my favourite. And a medu wada. Arnab has the idlis and something I have never heard of: a kaju uttapam. We have filter coffee, and I learn the right method of drinking it. It is strong but still sweet, and I dislike coffee with sugar.

My dosa is heavenly- not too crisp, tasty and feather light. The masala inside is moist, light and flavourful. Such a simple preparation but never have I had one so sublime.

The idlis are soft and fresh, not filled with soda. They are exactly like pillows of cloud. My medu wada is exactly how I like it: perfectly crisp and fresh, not soaked in oil. I could eat a dozen but I take a taste of the kaju uttapam and fall in love. What on earth is this absolutely decadent, ghee soaked, kaju embedded pancake with a very delicious yet strange spicy curry? Arnab, sagely says it’s a spicy curry made with the same dough as the medu wada. Sounds like. South Indian version of gatte ka saag?

I manage to steal several bites from Arnab, finishing all the curry. My fingers are dripping in ghee and chutney, and I can tell you my fingers are damn delicious. I intend to return and have an entire kaju uttapam to myself, which I do later this week. What bliss!

Thrilled with my first foray into local food I dream of getting back to my room and floating off to a nap.

But Arnab takes me to their local coffee adda, Pondybucks, where I gladly drink two strong Americanos as Arnab and his friends catch up. This is quite the local hangout because everyone knows each other and have long, shared histories from school.

I look around me and envy the easy and familiar camaraderie and jokes. It must be nice to have friends from all your life and be so at ease with each other. I don’t have many friends like this and whoever is there is now part of the great Indian diaspora, we meet occasionally when someone visits home from Dubai and Melbourne and California and London, Texas, New York. Strangely, I am the one who never flew away and came back home to roost.

And now I am here, in unexpected Pondicherry, to rediscover who I truly am.

Who I am has a lot to do with coffee.

Most of the gorgeous photos are by Arnab Bose. Thank you so much for allowing me to use them here.