Home and Rajahmundry

Home is a fluid concept. For me, home can come in the shape of the pan handle state, or the hills of southeast Washington, on the road in a small two door Toyota or in the embrace of a loved one. Right now, home is on the opposite side of the world I know. Its taken the shape of a mosquito net, in a neon green house in the middle of a city bursting with a population of 3 million. Home is a place where the red soil is so bright it looks orange. The sewers are open, and available as public restrooms, the mangy flea-ridden street dogs number in the thousands, and I always have to watch my feet to be sure that I don’t step in poop (dog or human). At the end of the day, my skin is covered with a black film from the pollution created by the nearby steel mill. But that is India. My India. My Vizag.

I’ve found another home. This last weekend the group made a trip to Rajahmundry, a smaller city about 200 km north of Vizag. Rajahmundry is on the grand Godavari river, and is the hometown of our Site Director Krishnayya, and also happens to be the location where most of my research will be taking place. I immediately loved it for it’s less chaotic atmosphere and its riverside deliciousness.

Priests on the Godavari River

On our first full day there, we took a trip through what Krishnayya called “the green-belt” of the East Godavari district. For 2 ½ hours we drove through villages that farm mostly rice patties with some other unfamiliar crops. The drive was amazing, and soooo incredibly gorgeous. The air was untouched by steel mill pollution and filled with the freshness of agriculture. I would love nothing more than to spend a day with the villagers working in the rice patties, and watch more of their life-style. That also would have given me the opportunity to actually take pictures—pictures from inside a car don’t really work too well.

After driving for a while, we stopped at a sweet shop to watch how kaja is made. The sweets in India are, like the rest of the country, unlike anything else I’ve eaten. One of the most popular is Burfey (pronounced barfy), a sweet so rich and heavy that it makes me want to barfy. Clever I know. Kaja is made by rolling thin dough, then cutting it, so each piece has a billion layers, and then fried. I’m not entirely sure where the sweet part comes in, but I know its there somewhere. Many of the girls were freaked out by the number of flies that crawled

on the finished kaja. I chose not to worry about it. I’m 100% sure I have eaten things that were made in much less sanitary kitchens. Later we made another stop on the coast of the Bay of Bengal, where the Godavari ran into the ocean. It felt really nice to be in such a secluded area away from any overdeveloped areas. We still couldn’t avoid being stared at by the locals however.

Five O'clock on Sunday morning was the day of our big boat trip down the Godavari. I had never seen the streets of India as quiet as they were that morning as we walked to dock to catch our boat. There were no rickshaws, no bike carts, and even the street dogs were still sleeping. The boat was… Well, lets just say I think the boat would be more appropriate for smuggling immigrants from Cuba to Florida than as a touring boat. It was a good size boat that easily fit 50+ people. We were also fortunate enough to have the company of Peter, our “warden” from the American embassy. He came to India for the first time with the Wisconsin program 20 years ago, and couldn’t stay away for too long after and took a job as the warden over American residents in Vishakhapatnam. Good guy.

Our boat and its passengers

And for those of you who don’t know, the University of Wisconsin established the program over 20 years ago, then 2 years ago, when U of W dropped the program, BYU picked it up.

As the sun was rising, we got to watch as the fisherman started their day. As is true to the spirit of India, their boats were heavily painted with bright oranges, yellows, and pinks—which I don’t think would be exactly conducive to productive fishing.

Fishermen on their boat

In the light I could finally see the lush tropical forests, and what is the stereotypical eastern mountain/hill. At the base there would be a few small huts, often with a cow or a goat tied to it outside, and the line of drying laundry blowing in the wind. Then I asked myself the question that I often ask myself here; “is this real life?” And as I always do, I look around at the people next to me, and think of all the crazy things that I’ve done with them, and realize “there is no way that I could make that up.”

There were a few stops at some temples, and some to stop and get supplies at a random hut. Finally around 1 or 2, we reached our destination, a hermitage practically on the river with one of the coolest trees I had ever seen. After travelling for 8-9 hours of travelling, we visited for only 30 minutes. To some, that might seem a little ridiculous, but in India you just learn to take things as they are. I also didn’t mind seeing all that scenery again. The short visit was also unfortunate for me because most of that time was spent taking “snaps” with other visitors. By the time I reached the hermitage, everyone was about ready to go back to the boat. I didn’t feel like I was really missing out on anything though.

The coolest Tree ever. I just wish that I could have done it justice.

We stopped at another village so some of the other passengers could visit another temple. I chose to stay, not wanting to climb off the boat and hike up a lot of steps in a saree. I instead pulled out an apple and started snaking on it as I “creeped” on the village. One of the cutest little boys I had ever seen was on the shore as I watched, and walked to the side of the boat, begging for food. It is normal to see beautiful children that are poorer than the dirt they wear. The problem is when you give anyone something, they never leave you alone. Seeing how I was in a boat, he down at the base, I decided to give him my other apple.

“Randi! Randi.” Come here. Come here. He got an excited look in his eye as he tried to make his way onto the boat so he could get the apple. His first attempt failed because a passenger was getting back on, and he had to let him go first. The second attempt was no better because someone was getting off. Ah, third time was the charm. As soon as the apple landed in his hands, he dashed as quick as he could to get off the boat, and took a seat on the large rock by the shore. The poor kid either had never eaten an apple before, or his mouth was too small to get a good bite in. The men that were watching the whole interaction just a few meters away laughed, and looked like they asked him if he needed help to which he firmly said “NO”. He struggled more, eventually running to a friend to help him break the skin. Sweet victory, he did it, and ran happily up the steps taking a huge bite out of his apple.

"Apple Boy"

Our boat ride continued as the sun was setting. The fishermen were bringing up their nets, rowing home for the evening. My heart felt so full as I was looking over the lush green trees that stood on either side of the river. The surreal feeling was again touching my thoughts. I looked around and saw a boat full of these Indians with dark as black skin, wearing bright, neon clothes that would never sell in America. Not far from the shore was another temple, with a man on a cart selling goods. “Yes this is real life. My life. In my India.”

Godavari River at Sunset

The inner dialogue continued, thinking and wondering. I told myself before leaving that this wouldn’t be a dream, a perfectly fluffy dream without scratch or nick. In reality it has been a perfect dream in both the challenges and bliss. It’s been unreal to be part of things that I would only see in National Geographic magazines, or in the Bollywood movies (that I watch too much of). There were pieces of my heart missing and I found them in India. I have a hard time imagining having to live without them again. How do I go back to real life after this? Where will I experience such a beautiful yet grim and sobering adventure? My dreams had only extended as far as the voyage would take me, but stopped at the return journey.

My thoughts were interrupted at a floating figure in the water. Was it a dead pig? No…. A dead… person?

“Huh. That guys is trying to swim across the river,” says Peter. Oh, what a relief! We got closer to the figure and I could see that the man was floating on some apparatus, barely kicking as a way to get to the other side.

"After living in India for 20 years, I am still seeing things that I don’t understand.”

Yep, that’s my India. My home.

Home is a fluid concept. After my time here, home will return to the familiar desert hills, then back to the pan handle state. I may not know what is next for me, but I know it will be what I need.

At train station in Rajahmundry