Village life

Still somewhat groggy at 5:30am, I stumble along the crumbling concrete that acts as Kammasamudram's main street. A faint hint of gray has tinged the deep black of a pre-dawn sky, and all but the brightest of stars have already hidden themselves for another jaunt through the invisible heavens. Though the streets are still lined with the shadowy sleeping bodies of those avoiding the advent of another day, most of my neighbors are already well into their morning routines.

Bright plastic buckets surround a common pump head as women and children transmit brute physical strength into cool clean water from the bore well burrowing into the water table deep below. These wells, paid for by the government and scattered across rural India, loudly demonstrate what two decades of relative stability and economic growth can do. Old women, their backs bent ninety degrees from years of hard labor, reinforce this unnatural angle as they make good use of reed brooms in sweeping the street and earthen alleyways around their homes. Why make the effort, I'm tempted to ask, when these same paths will only be dirtied again so soon? Then I realize how silly a question it is: why does any group of people use valuable time and energy in keeping their homes clean and presentable? But what about when the same exertion is expended in the intricate rice flour kolams designed anew early every morning? Why is it jarring for me to watch the poor using valuable resources in such temporary expressions of aesthetic beauty? I'm clearly not used to seeing these efforts in the vivid reality of crooked spines and gnarled fingers.

As I make my way past an eclectic mix of concrete, aluminum, mud, and thatch houses, the rapidly brightening sky enables me to see the questioning eyes of these dark figures. A beautiful young woman combs out her thigh-length black hair, shiny with coconut oil. A mother nurses her naked baby while sitting in a bright doorway lit by the glaring glow of an equally naked fluorescent bulb. A man about my age crouches beside a skinny Jersey cow, pumping away with his wiry fingers at her sagging udder. Some smile incredulously, others just stare. I'm gradually coming to accept the stare for the innocent curiosity and questioning wonder that it is. It's tempting to interpret these soul-searching, unbroken gazes as having some hint of malicious intent or at least an inexcusable uncouthness to them; after all, most of us have perfected the unassuming half-second glance in our attempts to assess and evaluate a stranger. Can we really expect to attain the same knowledge of someone from such a poor imitation, however? I've always been tempted to stare (and been caught at it often!), so I am enjoying this newfound freedom to take my time in looking someone over. When my eyes meet these questioning gems of deep coffee brown, I hold that gaze and question right back.

I am here in Kammasamudram for a two week Community Orientation Program with the second year medical students from the Christian Medical College (my home base in Vellore). The program serves two purposes. First and foremost, it enables the medical students to gain a better understanding of what life is like for many of their future patients. The vast majority of Indians still live in rural village settings, while most medical students come from more privileged urban environments. They need to learn about the social and economic limitations their patients will be coming with so that they can design their medical approaches accordingly. The second purpose of the program is to contribute to a longitudinal data set detailing health parameters, access to health services, and general socioeconomic factors affecting the villages around Vellore. Kammasamudram has been visited every ten years since the 1970s: this is the type of data public health types dream about! In pursuit of these goals, we are living in the village for two weeks (with a break on the weekend) and spending time getting to know our assigned households through the informal administration of a number of surveys. Given my lack of ability with Tamil, I am most effective at communicating with the kids (who needs words anyway?). Given my white skin, they are immediately attracted to and fascinated by me. So it works out well.

Nearing my destination at our temporary base and clinic in the village (and a hot cup of sweet coffee from a huge clay jug), the gray horizon gives way to an explosion of color. Another day is here.

Sunrise over Kammasamudram

An early morning conversation

Painted for worship, but unfortunately this cow doesn't have
enough rope to move more than a couple of feet

90+ year old widow discussing the trials of life


Plowing up an old rice paddy


A carrom game with the cool teenage guys


I love the macro function on my camera! (and God's creativity)


The boys are all obsessed with pro-wrestling
(yes, every hut has a color cable TV)


"Helping" to plant rice in a flooded paddy


The beginnings of a silk sari


This woman's daughter was a veterinarian until she died of
an unknown disease a couple years ago

These guys took me on an early morning birding trip to the local marsh

One person who correctly identifies this item (previously pictured
in a photo from this post)in an e-mail to me will be randomly
selected to receive a postcard in the near future!