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Pochampalli Handloom Park

Things are going well. Hyderabad is a beautifully vibrant and raw city. India on the whole is so different from most things I've experienced that I'm still trying to get my head around it. My mind is still somewhat scattered, but I am gradually settling in with the group and the university life.

Yesterday Libby, Mae and I visited Pochampalli, a small village in the neighboring state of Andrhra Pradesh. I live in the state of Telangana, which was awarded separate statehood from Andrah Pradesh in June 2014. Although Hyderabad is officially in Telangana, it will serves as the joint capital city of Andhra Pradesh and Telangana for the next ten years. 

We had little idea of what to expect from Pochampalli - Libby’s friend had recommended we visit the village off hand. Two hours and a multiple stops for directions later, we reached a small village tucked away in the rice paddies. Women squatted on their porches peeling vegetables while little boys drummed tin-pots. Goats wandered the dirt road, setting the seemingly tranquil pace of Pochampalli life, only disturbed by the occasional moped carrying a family of 4, speeding through the village. A group of tightly gathered people threw flower-pedals, slowly making their way to the nearby graveyard to bury a loved one.

Eventually we reached the Handloom Park. A number of the village people, primarily women, are employed by the factory when agriculture is not in season. We asked to tour the factory, to which the owner agreed to with an eager Indian head-bob. I am learning to head-bob along, but I am everything but smooth and am embarrassingly often left feeling more dizzy than integrated. 

A girl named Sanja, who was accompanied by her parents, joined us on the tour. Sanja is from Hyderabad and is in her first year of university to study Product Design. She had come to the Handloom Park to film a documentary for school, in which I am fairly certain we will be starring! Sanja’s parents knew a surprising amount about Vikings and we ended up discussing Norse mythology as we waited for our tour to begin.

A while later, the owner introduced us to a man he referred to as ‘The Master’. The Master had a kind demeanor, a thick mustache, wide eyes and was dressed in all white. He smiled and blurted something out in Hindi before leading us to the factory. The intricate factory process can be roughly divided into three main stages. First cotton and silk are spun into unbelievably fine thread; next, the thread is dyed, sometimes mono-color, sometimes in patterns; and eventually the thread is set up on a loom where it is made into fabric. 

The Master showed us a number of types of looms, including one that Ghandi was keen to use. Sanja’s dad told me that before the mechanization and mass-production that followed British colonization in 1858, a six meter sari would be produced so fine it could fit into a matchbox. 

Despite being post-colonization, the fabric produced was very beautiful, or “bahut khoobasoorat”, as I learnt to say in Hindi. When we got back to the shop, I decided to buy a shirt that I could wear back home - a men’s shirt admittedly, which the women laughed at. Who was this white, bald lady trying on men’s shirts? We were quite the attraction and naturally posed for photos with several curious handloom workers. 

The sky had turned a gentle pink when we headed back to the car. People were slowly making their way to the temple as the Hindu call to prayer echoed all around us. We had missed dinner, so on our way back home we stopped for delicious street dumplings at Momo’s. My stomach did not react well the next day, but I have no regrets! Tomorrow we start class. I looking forward checking out British Romantic Literature and Development and Disaster. 

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A new home

I write this while sitting on the Tagora porch, basking in the midday sun as the call of prayer sounds around me. I missed Asia.

This morning I awoke at 5:00. Still so very jet-lagged and thrilled to be here, I couldn’t possibly sleep longer.

I stayed in bed and contemplated what I want to achieve whilst here until Mecca burst into my room ready for the run we had planned. Maggie and Salana joined us.

The air was cool and inviting as we stepped out, reminding me of a fall morning in Provence. I’ve been wanting to go back to Provence for a very long time now; I hope manage to do so in the summer. It felt so good to move again. In Sweden, the pricey gyms and freezing weather made exercising unappealing. 

We ran passed several other early birds, including a group of bored children waiting for the school-bus who stared at my shaved head with wonder. Running is an excellent way to get to know the vast Hyderabad University campus and its inhabitants, thereof the occasional peacock, water-buffalo and warthog. We passed a yoga place, a shooting range and a gym, all of which I want to explore. By the gym we discovered a large field where a number of young men were playing football and volleyball, while others ran around the track, kicking up the dusty ground. I sat there for a moment and took in the scene, the foggy golden sky merging fully with the yellow terrain.  

Later that day we were back at the SIP (Study in India Program) house finishing off the last registration reports. While doing some research on Hyderabad history and Hinduism, I overheard someone describe what they were studying “back home in Norway”. I turned around in excitement and asked “Hej, förstår du Svenska?”. Ingrid is from Oslo and will be here for 5 months. We had a lovely chat in Swedish/Norwegian and have planned to watch some Skam together!

Yesterday, Libby, Mae and I ventured off campus on a little rickshaw. We negotiated a price with an old man chewing beetroot at the side of the road, jumped into his rusty, bright-yellow vehicle and sped through the vibrant Hyderabad streets. The warm wind felt amazing against my face. It was hard to take everything in at once; the strange new smells, the spectacularly colorful saris and the myriad of faces, often times only a couple of cm away from me due to the absolutely insane traffic.

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Halló Hyderabad

And so I have arrived. New year, new hair, and now new adventure awaits!

I sit at the breakfast table at the Tagora house and wait for Mae to finish filling out a report we have to return to the Study In India Program officials; the amount of paperwork we have had to complete has been immense. That’s Indian bureaucracy for you. 

I want this trip to be as eye-opening and fulfilling as my trip to Indonesia. To my pleasant surprise, I have begun recalling my Bahasa Indonesia readily since I arrived in Hyderabad. It’s inspired me to take the Hindi classes that will be offered here. Hopefully speaking some Hindi will open me up to a more intimate experience of India, as speaking Bahasa did in Indonesia.

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