Festivals are such an important and colorful part of life in India. Unfortunately over the last decade our trips to India have been too short to really spend time at these celebrations. This time, however, we were lucky to be here in January. Sankranthi, the harvest festival, is a three day event in mid January (no longer at the time of harvest as planting cycles have changed with changes in agriculture). It is a time when family comes together, celebrates, eats, lights bonfires, gifts new clothes, and relaxes. Most kids are off from school and people often take a few days off from work.
We spent Sankranthi in my mom's village Gudimellanka in East Godavari at my late grandparent's home. Almost everyone on my mom's side was there- minus my brother and one of my cousins, both of whom we really missed. We spent a week relaxing among coconut groves and rice fields. It was a relatively raucous week full of stories, laughter, music, some dancing, and of course food. With 12-16 of us there at any one time, we slept anywhere, almost piled on top of each other and ate in shifts. With one indoor bathroom, showering basically required almost six hours. And since none of us are quiet, the stories never stopped.
There were stories about sibling rivalry between my mom and her sisters and brother. There were stories about our childhood and my late grandfather making sure our older cousins (who he used to call monkeys without tails) would not lead us into too much trouble. We heard stories about Indian history (or at least each person's own version). We heard about how India is changing- the people, the land, religion (the most obvious change in the huge number of churches that seem to be popping up in every town). My oldest uncle, a playwright, told us stories about his plays and about literature in India. He is completing the first ever book in Telegu on play production.
I wish I could recount some of the stories to you in person. But for now, here is one that continues to make us laugh. We have a great uncle who has been nicknamed Tuqluq after an old king. He is a kind but unfortunate man with a history of alcoholism who is full of wild comments. Though he knows my family well, his memory periodically lapses. So, as we sat out on the veranda and introduced ourselves again, my mom explained..."Remember, I am the daughter who went to the US. I have three children....". His reply..."So what's the big deal if you went to the America, I am planning on going the moon!!" We all burst out laughing, including him, almost to the point of tears. Later on, as the cousins walked to the fields to chat, he followed along. His is a bit afraid of water so as we approached the fish ponds, he whispered to my cousin Vineeth about the men trying to guide him on the narrow path, "Help me, these guys are hell bent on killing me".
Our week was punctuated by occasional trips to visit the Palakol (a town nearby where my mom's youngest sister lives) and by a visit to the beach. The beach on the Bay of Bengal continues to reflect some of the havoc caused by the Tsunami with the sand shifted much higher and the tide much lower.
Our trip was sandwiched in between visits to my dad's aunts and uncles and friends in the town of Bhimavaram. As my mom, sister, Nima, and I reflected on the train back to Hyderabad, we realized that this was a rare time for all of us-- so much time with our family in an almost idyllic place.
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