A long due draft..

My field immersion was... quite an experience! I experienced wonderful moments..such that I want these etched in my memory like exactly the way that it happened. I don't want time to take it away, I don't want it to fade away ...

And thus I choose to write. Every detail of it so that I can come back to it whenever memory seems sketchy and the picture is hazy or unclear. And liven these memories again to feel happy. Blessed.

I met a young boy- Ram, who was our help to guide us through to the families residing in the village. He became a good friend and I shall never forget him. The volleyball we played, the hunting expedition into the jungle, the ways of our communication in half english-half telugu, his innocent face and his being ..just so diligent and sincere, so pure and honest, very reliable and reassuring! On the day of our departure from here bidding farewell to Ram of all the people was heart breaking. The next in my line of love and hence difficult to say goodbye to were the children. They instantly start loving you from the moment you meet them. And oh so unconditionally! I learnt their games and played with them- the stick game and the one with the stones. It was beautiful to know that you don't need very much to have fun and play a game. Just sticks and stones and you can have a time! And that I certainly did with the kids. I taught them a catchy but simple chaplin song and they taught me theirs. They are simply my best people in the world!

The hills with the lush green trees, the clouds passing by forming various patterns accross these hills in the morning, the sun peeking through the clouds letting a ray pass here and there, the mist covering the mountain tops, waking up to the cock's cuck-koos with chilly feet, taking a dunk in the open facing this incredible sight of the mountains, the clouds and the mist playing with each other creating splendid views I wonder if they're even aware of.

The mounds of rice I have eaten in satya aunty's kitchen with her gongura pickel and the oil drenched bondas which we feasted on, that first night in the village when we all slept out on the varandah with the hens and the dogs and other animals was certainly a night to remember. And too the other varandah nights that followed.. each making us more comfortable than the last.
The tempo ride to the village market- oh such a whacky ride, the river crossing to get to the other side of the village, the makkajuna (corn) fields, running through the fields as fast as your legs can carry you on the meandering path.

And so much more that I refuse to let time make a hazy memory of.