Ok, we're back in internet contact, after several days of exploring the tribal areas of Orissa/Odisha/Orisha or whathaveyou. There are a LOT of transliterations, and I have no idea which are correct. Actually, we've had internet for a few days now, but we've been in Puri, and the days have been absolutely packed. I'm writing this on the train to Kolkatta/Calcutta, since this is the first downtime we've had.
There is a lot to cover, and I'm sure I've forgotten all the interesting bits, but I'll do my best to make these posts worth your while.
We left Visak and headed north and west, into the less densely populated state of Orissa. Backinaday, it was the trading empire of Kalinga, with outposts and connections all the way east to Indonesia, before Ashoka, the first real Emperor of India, conquered it in a sea of blood in the 2nd century BC. He felt bad enough about it to convert to Buddhism, so I guess that makes it all better, but it feels like the damage done has never quite been healed. Orissa is way less developed than the south, and is the eastern border of the main tribal areas (which are underdeveloped as well as dangerous, thanks to Dacoits and a lack of government presence). Our guide for the duration was Niranjan, a lovely guy whose ability to get along with everybody we met came in handy on many occasions, and whose English was fantastically good.
We started off seeing a tribal market on the way to a small village named Goudaguda (you won't find it on the maps), where we stayed at a guesthouse run by an Ozzy named Leon. The market was fascinating - there were sellers of dried fish, cheap plastic bangles, metal pickaxes and toothpaste all jostling for space and attention while children, goats and cows ran through packed crowds. We decided to try the palm wine - the local booze of choice. It was tasty, but when we tried to pay, the seller refused our money. So we got free booze from a desperately poor woman that would have cost us about 10p. I'm still conflicted.
The guesthouse was fabulous, the food was the best we've had in India, and there were fireflies in the forest just outside the garden. In addition, we were in the hills, so the weather was much nicer - so cool at night that it was possible to be a bit chilly in the mornings. After the heated horrors of Andhra Pradesh, it was a wonderful respite.
Our second day there, we went on a hike through the area, seeing pottery being made in our village, walking across hills and through small ravines, jumping creeks and being astounded by the number of Eucalyptus trees. Niranjan explained that farmers were planting them in large numbers for the paper industry, despite the environmental problems this causes - it drains the soil pretty quickly, and will be a big problem for an agricultural area in the future. We saw large termite hills (Emma had seen way bigger in Tanzania, but they were still impressive to me), and sat in the shade of corrugated tin roofs as Niranjan ran us through the various tribes in the area and the role the government is playing in integrating their members into the modern economy.
I'm of two minds about this development. On the one hand, something is undoubtedly lost when tribal societies are subsumed into modern capitalist economies. Social diversity is good, the brutality of competing in such a huge market is daunting and old ways of life get dissolved. On the other hand, fewer babies and women die in childbirth, and people live longer and receive education. And of course, given an education and a choice, most village people flee for the cities - and I'd do the same. I don't want them to live in the village for my own aesthetic considerations, because that's absurd, but neither do I want people forced into modernity for my ideology. Thankfully, my desires have exactly zero impact on what happens in India. Hooray for irresponsibility!
On the third day, we left Goudaguda for the New Hope institute - a charity that offers medical care to tribal villagers for thing like leprosy, cataracts and such, as well as free schooling and housing for abandoned children. These kids are mostly special needs, either due to trauma or mental retardation. They are also absolutely lovely. We got to meet them at their school house, where they showed us around the school and to their dorms, and we chatted as much as possible. One girl, whose mother was the cook, had receive a head injury when she was five, preventing her from storing any new memories. Two boys had severe cases of cerebral palsy. The kid who looked after me was named Tuna (nickname) - he had lost both parents in a fire and was burned across his face and left hand. He was about 15 years old, and already handsome. We got on well, and talked a bit, and I ended up giving him my hat when we left - it looked better on him than on me anyway. :)
We also got a lesson in cooking Dosa from the cook - we each made a dosa (much like a crepe) on the skillet while she showed us how to make a delicious (and very sweet) tomato curry to go with it. While we ate our dosas afterwards, we watched Orayan TV - there was an insane soap opera involving a goddess (I think Laxmi) a demoness (the actress chewing the scenery with vigour) and some very fine turns by the men's facial hair. We are still debating precisely what on earth was going on.
Our fourth day we left New Hope, but not before getting to celebrate Holi with the kids. Holi commemorates the victory of the Gods over the demons (this happens a lot in Hindu mythology), but has a nice twist to it. The story goes that one demon-child went good - acted virtuously, behaved righteously, and thoroughly rejected his father's claim to be Lord God of the Universe. The father was pissed, and tried to kill his son, but the Gods kept intervening to save his life. Finally, his aunt, a demoness named Holi who had been blessed by the gods to never be burned, offered to grab him and walk into a massive blaze. The gods of course simply transferred her blessing to the kid in mid-conflagration. And so every year this is celebrated by everyone throwing coloured powder at each other and shouting and laughing and screaming. It's really lovely, utter insanity of the origin story notwithstanding, and it's celebrated without regard to religious profession.
It's also an example of how India is starting to change, culturally. Tradition dictates that widows, who are expected to renounce all pleasure for life and to live utterly apart from family and loved ones, are not allowed to take part in Holi. Last year a group of widows went and celebrated in a temple, right in front of the Brahmins (priestly caste). The government's insistence that caste has no place in Indian society has made it possible for people to start redeveloping older traditions in more egalitarian ways, and I hope this helps break down the sequestration of widows the way that Sati was broken previously.
Well, this entry is long enough, I think. I'll pick up later with our adventures in Taptapani, Gopalpur-on-sea, and Puri.
There is a lot to cover, and I'm sure I've forgotten all the interesting bits, but I'll do my best to make these posts worth your while.
We left Visak and headed north and west, into the less densely populated state of Orissa. Backinaday, it was the trading empire of Kalinga, with outposts and connections all the way east to Indonesia, before Ashoka, the first real Emperor of India, conquered it in a sea of blood in the 2nd century BC. He felt bad enough about it to convert to Buddhism, so I guess that makes it all better, but it feels like the damage done has never quite been healed. Orissa is way less developed than the south, and is the eastern border of the main tribal areas (which are underdeveloped as well as dangerous, thanks to Dacoits and a lack of government presence). Our guide for the duration was Niranjan, a lovely guy whose ability to get along with everybody we met came in handy on many occasions, and whose English was fantastically good.
We started off seeing a tribal market on the way to a small village named Goudaguda (you won't find it on the maps), where we stayed at a guesthouse run by an Ozzy named Leon. The market was fascinating - there were sellers of dried fish, cheap plastic bangles, metal pickaxes and toothpaste all jostling for space and attention while children, goats and cows ran through packed crowds. We decided to try the palm wine - the local booze of choice. It was tasty, but when we tried to pay, the seller refused our money. So we got free booze from a desperately poor woman that would have cost us about 10p. I'm still conflicted.
The guesthouse was fabulous, the food was the best we've had in India, and there were fireflies in the forest just outside the garden. In addition, we were in the hills, so the weather was much nicer - so cool at night that it was possible to be a bit chilly in the mornings. After the heated horrors of Andhra Pradesh, it was a wonderful respite.
Our second day there, we went on a hike through the area, seeing pottery being made in our village, walking across hills and through small ravines, jumping creeks and being astounded by the number of Eucalyptus trees. Niranjan explained that farmers were planting them in large numbers for the paper industry, despite the environmental problems this causes - it drains the soil pretty quickly, and will be a big problem for an agricultural area in the future. We saw large termite hills (Emma had seen way bigger in Tanzania, but they were still impressive to me), and sat in the shade of corrugated tin roofs as Niranjan ran us through the various tribes in the area and the role the government is playing in integrating their members into the modern economy.
I'm of two minds about this development. On the one hand, something is undoubtedly lost when tribal societies are subsumed into modern capitalist economies. Social diversity is good, the brutality of competing in such a huge market is daunting and old ways of life get dissolved. On the other hand, fewer babies and women die in childbirth, and people live longer and receive education. And of course, given an education and a choice, most village people flee for the cities - and I'd do the same. I don't want them to live in the village for my own aesthetic considerations, because that's absurd, but neither do I want people forced into modernity for my ideology. Thankfully, my desires have exactly zero impact on what happens in India. Hooray for irresponsibility!
On the third day, we left Goudaguda for the New Hope institute - a charity that offers medical care to tribal villagers for thing like leprosy, cataracts and such, as well as free schooling and housing for abandoned children. These kids are mostly special needs, either due to trauma or mental retardation. They are also absolutely lovely. We got to meet them at their school house, where they showed us around the school and to their dorms, and we chatted as much as possible. One girl, whose mother was the cook, had receive a head injury when she was five, preventing her from storing any new memories. Two boys had severe cases of cerebral palsy. The kid who looked after me was named Tuna (nickname) - he had lost both parents in a fire and was burned across his face and left hand. He was about 15 years old, and already handsome. We got on well, and talked a bit, and I ended up giving him my hat when we left - it looked better on him than on me anyway. :)
We also got a lesson in cooking Dosa from the cook - we each made a dosa (much like a crepe) on the skillet while she showed us how to make a delicious (and very sweet) tomato curry to go with it. While we ate our dosas afterwards, we watched Orayan TV - there was an insane soap opera involving a goddess (I think Laxmi) a demoness (the actress chewing the scenery with vigour) and some very fine turns by the men's facial hair. We are still debating precisely what on earth was going on.
Our fourth day we left New Hope, but not before getting to celebrate Holi with the kids. Holi commemorates the victory of the Gods over the demons (this happens a lot in Hindu mythology), but has a nice twist to it. The story goes that one demon-child went good - acted virtuously, behaved righteously, and thoroughly rejected his father's claim to be Lord God of the Universe. The father was pissed, and tried to kill his son, but the Gods kept intervening to save his life. Finally, his aunt, a demoness named Holi who had been blessed by the gods to never be burned, offered to grab him and walk into a massive blaze. The gods of course simply transferred her blessing to the kid in mid-conflagration. And so every year this is celebrated by everyone throwing coloured powder at each other and shouting and laughing and screaming. It's really lovely, utter insanity of the origin story notwithstanding, and it's celebrated without regard to religious profession.
It's also an example of how India is starting to change, culturally. Tradition dictates that widows, who are expected to renounce all pleasure for life and to live utterly apart from family and loved ones, are not allowed to take part in Holi. Last year a group of widows went and celebrated in a temple, right in front of the Brahmins (priestly caste). The government's insistence that caste has no place in Indian society has made it possible for people to start redeveloping older traditions in more egalitarian ways, and I hope this helps break down the sequestration of widows the way that Sati was broken previously.
Well, this entry is long enough, I think. I'll pick up later with our adventures in Taptapani, Gopalpur-on-sea, and Puri.
No comments:
Post a Comment