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

Ramanaidu, Thotlakonda, and Bimli

Saturday was the day that the group finally made a trip to Ramanaidu Film Studios. Since our first week here, we collectively have been wanting to tour the studio; but it was far from being as exciting as we had imagined. Although, that could have been different had we been there while a movie was actually being filmed.

After our quick tour, we drove another few kilometers to see the ruins Thotlakonda, an ancient Buddhist Complex that was said to have "flourished" 2000 years ago. About 20 years ago excavations began after it was sighted during an aerial survey by the Indian Navy in preparation for construction of the nearby Naval Base. Thotlakonda is on top of a hill that overlooks the Bay of Bengal, with a few small buildings, most of which looked like they used to be round structures. I should have brushed up on my Buddhist culture and architecture so I could know what each of the buildings could have been for, and better imagined what the buildings might of actually looked like. Oh well.

Hilary exploring the ruins of Thotlakonda

After Thotlakonda, we made our last stop in Bimlipatnam, another coastal city, at the base of the hill that

A day in India

Clangclangclangclangclang!

Oh, good morning Krishna. I recognize that you are an early riser, and admire your ability to wake up at 5 each morning, but I don’t think I’ll wake up just yet. Unfortunately my night owl habits kept me up late, and I therefore am not eager to wake up for another 3 hours. I’ll let your priests ring their bells, while I blindly run my hands around my pillow in search of the earplugs that fell out during the night, and plug up again. Ah, silence. A little too much silence actually. Its 8:26 now, and telegu class is in four minutes. Crap.
Dive under mosquito net. Put pants on. Throw of the sheet that pretends to be the door that I don’t have. Ru-u-u-u-n down the stairs. Slab my breakfast PB&J together. Crap! Notebook! U-u-u-u-p the stairs, notebook, ba-a-a-a-ck down, out the door, down the street around the corner, around the cow grazing on garbage, and into the program house for class.

As engaging as my telegu Instructor Siva Prasad is (insert heavy sarcasm here), my mind can’t help but wander and think of what I’m going to do today, putting it to the soundtrack of “Anaganaga O Dheerudu,” the Disney Telegu movie I saw a few weeks ago*. I draw a blank of what I want to do, so I just sing the little parts I know from the soundtrack over and over in my head.

According to BYU, I came to India to do research. As much as I would like to act like I am taking my research seriously, I can’t. I would rather wander around the city by myself, and absorb the culture. But the idea of being accosted by the men asking me where I’m from, and if they can have my phone number so I can help them “learn English” doesn’t ever give me motivation. Maybe I should start wearing toe rings (the Indian wedding rings), and then they’ll leave me alone. I’m going to have to muster up the motivation to do my research.

Clangclangclangclangclang!
Krishna’s making his racket again. Is it really noon already? I go downstairs to each another delicious lunch made from the talented cooks we have. Oh! And what a feast! Goat curry, rice, chopati, dahl, and potato curry. Mmmm, good for the soul.

Although, the direction changes of my project has increased my interest level. Instead of studying tombstone imagery, I was going to compare the funerary customs of the smaller cultures within the