DukeEngage | Duke Center for Civic Engagement

Today we met a man from Koyyalaguddem village.

He can transform any design you give him into geometric drawings that somehow turn into strings with ink dots on them that will eventually translate into a weave of your design.

As we sat on the floor of his work room, where many colorfully dyed threads of yarn lay drying, he showed us pages after pages of his designs. Although we couldn’t understand what he was saying in Telugu to the Prasads, we could tell from his expressions just how excited and genuinely interested he was in his work. I knew I was in the presence of an artist, and a talented artist at that.

But the talented artist hasn’t had anything to do in the past 4 days. Why? Because there isn’t enough demand for the weave he produces.

Our entire group found this fact astonishing. How could you not want a piece of his work? The colors are vibrant, the patterns are gorgeous and you could get anything you wanted. What else can you ask for? But because of globalization and inflation and a bunch of other economical and social factors at work, the artist has found the price of his raw materials to be increasing and the selling price of his works decreasing. So the artist, along with the other weavers in the village, often finds himself out of a job.

Our guide told us that a while ago there were around 2,000 weavers living in this village, now there are only 1,000. The skills of the trade are passed down from father to son, but now because of the instability of the trade the younger generations are branching out into other sectors of the economy. Our artist’s three sons now all live in other parts of India, some have completed medical school, some are in the IT industry and some are ready to embark upon a trip to the U.S. His wife has also moved out of the village to live with one of their sons to enjoy a more comfortable lifestyle. And the artist has remained to live in a two-room house on around 2,000 rupees a month.

He teared up when he told the Prasads how he cannot afford to have his whole family back for a reunion. And how he can’t afford to do anything for his grandparents because he just doesn’t know how much money he will be getting each month.

He says he believes the specific technique of weaving he knows is at its “twilight” stage.

As we walked around the quaint village some more and visited a few more houses we see what he has been telling us. Everyone makes a living through weaving, so when there is no demand for these weaves, there is no living to be made.

It was hard to imagine that these heartbreaking stories are hiding behind the beautiful weaves and saris we purchased from the stores; the cloth looks so innocent as it sits there in all its glory.

We woke up bright and early today to embark upon our 3-hour long trek to Warangal, a city that is approximately 145 km northeast of Hyderabad. The city, according to Wikipedia, is home to 2.8 million people, which only brings it to be the 42nd biggest in India.

We visited the Thousand Pillar Temple, which dates back to the 12th century, and the Ramappa Temple, which was built in the 13th century. The temples themselves were, of course, amazing and some of the details were beautifully preserved. They were both still in service, which came as a surprise to us given their ages. Other than paying our respects at the temple (and getting photographed, stared at and laughed at by some of the other temple goers) we had one of the most interesting lunches I can remember.

Because the Prasads didn’t trust the restaurants around the temple, they had asked someone to prepare lunch for us ahead of time and we brought the food to the temples. We thought we could just have a nice and pleasant picnic near Ramappa Temple, which was surrounded by trees and grass (a rare sighting in Hyderabad). But what we didn’t anticipate were the other frequent goers of the temple – namely monkeys. Some of our group members observed one monkey stealing some food from a gathering, which quickly broke up the party.

So we learned from others’ mistake and decided to take our lunch elsewhere. Although we successfully avoided the monkeys by eating near the lake, we instead encountered goats (some in heat), dogs, huge ants and a lot of flies. It was a struggle to distribute the food to everyone’s plates (especially when some of the containers fell apart from the bumpy ride), and it was an even bigger struggle to eat the food before the flies got to it. Some people resorted to walking continuously while eating, hoping the movement will deter the flies. It goes without saying that it was a hurried lunch. And it was an experience that built character – no doubt.

Something curious happened today as we wandered around the city’s bookstore, clothing store and restaurant – we saw non-Indian people. And we stared at them (as they stared back).

Upon arriving in Hyderabad three weeks ago, I realized that for the first time in my life I stood out in the crowd because I am Chinese. That’s probably because the places I spend most of my time are China and America – I’m not so much of an anomaly there. But in India, although a country bordering China, it is a different situation. I found myself to be the subject of blatant stares, but these were not stares of malicious intent but pure curiosity.

Now imagine the amount of curiosity generated by a group of eight students, where there are one white boy, two white girls, two Chinese girls and three obviously-from-America Indians. Everywhere we go, we find ourselves to be the center of attention. Remember, we even made it into the gossip-pages of a newspaper? And there is apparently a reporter interested in writing a piece about us.

These experiences should have taught me not to stare at others, even if I’m curious, because it is unnerving to be at the receiving end of such intense stares. But when I saw the British ladies buying kurtas at a clothing shop and the group of Korean students at a Chinese restaurant, I stared.

I found myself going through the following process: I see them, then register what I saw and think to myself: what are you doing here? I have to tell myself not stare so blatantly then proceed to sneaking peaks at them. Similarly I find my eyes lingering a little longer on Indian females who choose to wear western clothing (what I have grown up wearing and seeing) instead of traditional Indian kurtas and sarees.

I believe my group members share in my curiosity of the familiar, and I wonder why we find the sighting of people and things similar to us so shocking.

The only answer I can really come up with is that we have grown accustomed to our surroundings and things that were familiar to us are starting to be slightly foreign. For example, I find myself surprised every time we come home and the electricity isn’t out, and we always joke about how in America we’re going to find the traffic too organized and the streets too free of honking.

And hopefully we are becoming less foreign to those we work with here. We now walk into Adigmet (the government school we work at four days a week) as veterans. Both the teachers and students are expecting our arrival instead of being surprised by it. And although the students still swarm us and bang on the windows of our van, they’re now crowding their new (favorite?) teachers instead of just a group of strangers who look different from them.

When I first saw the city of Hyderabad, with its crowded, dusty streets and busy traffic, I would never have thought it to be a city that fostered romance stories. 

But it is.

For the past two days we’ve been exploring the city and its history with Uncle Narendra Luther and Uncle Tayabji Abbas. And as much as it was a journey through Hyderabad’s past it was also a journey through romantic tales.

Friday afternoon we attended a private lecture by Uncle Luther on the history of Hyderabad. Uncle Luther, a former civil servant in the state of Andhra Pradesh (which made him second in command in the state), was definitely an expert on the subject matter. He began by telling us the story associated with the founding of Hyderabad.

In 1591, Muhammad Quli Qutab Shah, the fifth sultan of the Qutb Shahi dynasty, fell in love with a Telugu dancer named Bhagmati. He used to ride across the country, braving all conditions, just to see her. The sultan referred to her as “Hyder Mahal,” and named the city in her honor. Bhagmati was from a little village named Chichlam, it was once located where the four-tower mosque Charminar stands today as the most symbolic structure of the city.

The lecture itself was on the campus of Osmania University Women’s College, which was one time the British residency in Hyderabad. The house, which is overran by pigeons and filled with desks and whiteboards, is the setting of another Hyderabadi love story.

At the beginning of the 19^th century, Captain James Kirkpatrick, an East India Company resident of the city, fell in love with a Hyderabadi princess. To marry his love, the captain had to convert to Islam, which displeased many of his superiors. This love marriage bore two offspring – a boy and a girl (pictures of the family can still be found inside the house). But sadly, the captain suffered an early death, and after the captain passed away, the children were sent to live with their grandmother in England and the princess remained in India – separated from her children until death. The novel The White Mongul documents the love story, perhaps with a little more flare than factual.

And today, on our tour of the city with Uncle Abbas, we crossed the so-called “Bridge of Love.”

Legend has it that in 1578, a Muslim prince fell in love with a Hindu girl who lived across the Musi River in Hyderabad. And every night he would swim across the river just to see her and be with her. The king was (of course) unhappy with this relationship and warned his son to stop seeing the girl. But the prince never did. He continued to swim across the river everyday despite the weather conditions. One day the prince nearly died during his trek to his love, and the king was finally moved. The king realized that his son was truly in love and decided to allow this union. So he built a bridge across the river so the prince could cross it safely any day, anytime.

Looking back at these stories, I feel like they are more than just stories of love; they are also stories of acceptance. All of the above mentioned unions were across cultural groups, many of which did not necessary mix often or well. But the protagonists of the stories overlooked these differences and it appears that the people of Hyderabad have looked past them as well as the stories are being told today in a glorified manner. One can feel the Hyderabadi’s acceptance of other cultures just by travelling around the city, where you will find churches, mosques and temples – all in close quarters of each other. The DukeEngagers teach at a school where Muslim and Hindu students learn together with no division among them. Although the students are separated at the government school by the different medium the classes are taught in, the Urdu- and Telugu- medium students play together during their free time. I feel like growing up in China and living in America somehow painted this image in my head that Hindus, Muslims and Christians do not get along – but I see it isn’t so. At least not in Hyderabad. Perhaps all we need is a little acceptance and maybe even a little romance.

On a separate note, we quasi-successfully communicated with Mahesh, our happy and quiet driver, in both Hindi and Telugu. And in doing so, we made him laugh. It’s been a good day.

Like any big city one is surrounded by a myriad of people.

On Saturday we were exposed to a stalker and the paparazzi. At the stationary store, where we proceeded to buy half of the supplies on the shelves, a man in dark impenetrable sunglasses followed us from children’s toys, books to markers. Then later in the day we were treated like celebrities at the Hyderabad Convention Center when we attended a concert. The photographers (who may or may not be connected with a publication) proceeded to take pictures of us from every angle possible. We’re currently eagerly waiting for the day our pictures show up on the gossip pages. We also encountered a musician, who played a lot of his songs through a computer and wrote the following lyrics: “Love is a beautiful thing. Love is amazing. Love is divine. Love makes you crazy. But when it ends, oh God.”

But the people we have encountered at the school sites is a whole other story. I would like to introduce who they are and their commitment to achieving their goals.

Who: the students. Goal: to learn.
Two days ago I saw in one of the local papers a picture of students who no longer have a classroom to study in, but they continue showing up to school and the teachers conduct lessons under the shade of trees. And if monsoons hit, they will go take up shelter in a nearby building. At Adikmet the classrooms don’t have desks or lights, and some students don’t even have a writing utensil. But they continue to show up to school day after day, because they want to learn.

Who: Madhulika. Goal: to teach.
Madhulika is an Indian engineering student who will be joining our group until she has to go back to school in mid-July. She will be teaching the students English with us and from what I understand she has engaged in such activities in the past. We learned a couple days ago that she lost her mother a year ago, but despite that painful past she was with us the day before and the day after the first anniversary of the tragic event. She always appears in front of us with a smile and ready to help us in any way possible.

Who: Dr. Rao. Goal: to cure.
Prasad told us that Dr. Rao, our doctor in Hyderabad, moved his practice into a less-affluent area in the city to help the less economically well off residents of Hyderabad. He has made it a policy to charge his patients the absolute minimum so he can provide eye treatment to all who need it. From what I can gather, being a doctor in India entails a lot of the same social status and income that it does in America. But it appears that Dr. Rao has chosen to live a modest life himself so he can provide for those around him.

Who: Suraapa and Vidya. Goal: to help.
Suraapa is the founder of the Safrani Memorial High School. She has poured all her funding into the creation and maintenance of this school so students from lower-income families can get a high-quality education. Suraapa was also able revive a lost weaving technique and runs a small loom on the school grounds – again for close to no profit. Similarly Vidya, a graduate of both UPenn and MIT, has decided to forgo a life of luxury to teach students at government schools that are understaffed.