When I think of a village
several things come to mind. I think of self-sufficiency, dirt roads, strict
social rules, and hand made homes. Although from my short visit I did see most
of these things, I saw a lot more that cannot fit under the tight term of
village.
The people of Pochampally do not live much different that
those of more urban areas. I found that the similarity outweighed the differences.
Their mannerisms, transportation, clothing, and daily practices were all the
same. These people were doing their daily work, socializing with friends, and
going to their religious areas. What I did see that set them apart was overall
more happiness. This “small town” feel was throughout the village. When we
first got there we were advised not to smile at the locals. But most everyone I
made eye contact with greeted me with a smiling face. I felt safe there.
It’s hard to talk about a group of people that I merely
got to watch and look at for a few minutes. This village and this culture have
been around longer than I can even equate. I have no place or power to judge or
collectively pass a generalization on an entire village. I wish that we could’ve
gone in smaller groups and sat and learned with a family. Had a meal with them
or even learned their names. But with this large of a group, such excursions
are hard to set up.
I think one of the reasons I also feel this way was
because some of the other students were taking pictures and talking amongst
their selves as if we were touring a zoo. It was so disrespectful to get in a child’s
face with a digital camera. It was as if they were mocking their lives from
behind their literal lens as well and their thinking lens.
We were disrupting their life, we were strutting around
in their homes with shoes on, and we were the ones that should be seen as
“uncivilized”. It honestly broke my heart to see a group of privileged college
students act as if they were naïve children. I hope that we or at least, I
didn’t offend them in anyway. I have so many questions for rural and urban
citizens of India. How can I gain their perspective or trust when my peers are
stomping around like monkeys?
Enough of the unleashing of my frustrations, I was so
grateful to see and understand the work and person behind the products I have
bought and seen on backs of citizens in my foreign home. It was incredibly
powerful to see the start to finish product of cloth and clothing. 45 days to
make one sari is mind-blowing. The patience and love that going into each
string has a story that then carries on once it is carried by someone else. I
find it poetic.
The children mischievously ran around us, following us,
and staring at us in curiosity. What I found to be surprising to me was the
amount of western clothes on the children. There were two girls that were
interested in us and came around for our tour. One was dressed in a white
sparkly spotted dress with thin straps. The other girl was in a floral button
up and black jeans. Eventually we shared a smile and I asked them to take a
photo with me. They nodded and we posted for a snap shot. I then showed them
the picture and told them that they were beautiful. I meant it. They both beamed
and nodded again in thanks. I didn’t see them again after that.
The products at the shop were prettier and more
interesting than the ones I have seen at the markets. I happily bought five of
them for my family and I. As we made our way out to the factory it was tucked
away in the middle of nowhere. I wondered how people go to work everyday, how
long of hours do they spend here, and do they wish they could do their work in
the comfort of their own home. The factory was large and relatively empty. In
all separate rooms men and women were doing the different stages of the
looming. In the factory the feeling was less friendly and I felt as if we were
disrupting more so than in the village. Or maybe it was the fact that they were
not enjoying their type of work there.
Apart from the factory was a school to help women and men
learn the trade of weaving to help support their family. A man that I didn’t
recognize paraded us through the school showing off the different stations and
practices. He was proud of this school, as he should be. But I couldn’t shake
the feeling that these women were not as proud or perhaps not getting the
rewards of their work.
The last stop of the factory was a small one-floor
building. As I walked in it was noticeable nicer than either areas of the
factory. It had bright white smooth tile, the goods were organized and placed
on rich wood shelves, and there was even a display bed for different sheets and
blankets. I took off my shoes and glanced around. I sat down on a chair, a luxury
that none of the workers in any of the factories had, and noticed that most
everyone was much more keen on buying from this shop, even though it was much
more expensive. This store was set up for western eyes and this technique
worked. Twice as many people bought something compared to the other store.
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