WARNING: The following images are pictures of bodies being cremated. May be graphic.
I was approached by another man, who I believe to be "the chief mourner", close relative of the deceased, and lead role in the rituals. He wanted me to take pictures of him performing some of the rituals, next to the fire, to which I obliged happily.None of it bothered me, which was another surprise. Based on what I chose as my research, you wouldn't think I was afraid of dead bodies, but I really am... was. I am good at lying to myself, stepping away from reality, so it was easy to pretend that this wasn't real. I'm still not bothered by it. I can't believe I actually did it, but I'm not disturbed by it.
There are many unique services offered at Kailasbhoomi, one of them being collection of the ashes. Traditionally the ashes are left until the family returns on the third day from cremation, when the family collects what they can and put them into the river Godavari. Kailasbhoomi collects the ashes in Urns, and stores them in a locker room, much like at a gym. I wanted to wait and see how the ashes are collected and see the locker room, so I waited. Fifty yards away from the cremation area is a covered sitting area next to the graveyard (for those who choose to bury instead of cremate). I settled there and waited for an hour or so, while the body was still burning.
I waited for a while, two hours maybe. Some visitors would talk to me, as well as some of the other employees. A man who I had assumed was another employee came and sat about 8-10 feet away from me, smoking a cigarette. I was occupied with my camera, looking at the pictures. He started breathing odd, and was mumbling things I couldn't hear. I waited a few minutes before I looked over at him, unsure if he was trying to talk to get my attention or not. I glanced quickly at him and saw that he was making a strange motion with his hand.
Surely not. Surely not what I'm thinking. I look again. Yup, that's a penis.
His eyes were darting between me and his hand. He had "whipped it out" and was masturbating.
Immediately I grabbed my things and I booked it out of there. I got in a rickshaw, and sat in shock and silence as the driver took me to a restaurant. I quickly sat at a table, and ordered the first thing I saw, egg curry. I sat for minutes holding my food in my hands, pretending to cool it as I breathed in and out slowly. I couldn't eat much. I got the rest of the food in a parcel and gave it to a beggar outside of the restaurant.
I needed to distract myself. I could get the image out of my mind. I walked to a saree shop at the far end of the main road. I made them pull out saree after saree, thinking that the more they brought out the more likely I would get distracted. No use, it was still there. I walked for a few more kilometers, looking at everything that I could. Still there. I reached the rickshaw stand. I just wanted to be home, or the closest thing to it.
I bargained a rickshaw. As I walked to the drivers vehicle, he and his buddies mutter something in Telugu, and he laughs. For a moment I was sure they were laughing at me, and I wanted to scream at him, "What are you laughing at dickhead?!" But I, of course, say nothing.
The confusion and anger are boiling, rising. I make him drop me off half a kilometer from Krishnayya's family's home where I was staying, and walk the rest of the way. I'm tired, angry, and confused, and I just want to be alone.
I get to my room and close the door. A few minutes later, Krishnayya's sister-in-law walks in, asking me something in Telugu
"I don't understand."
I don't understand. Why would he do that?
I look in the mirror. My skin is sunburnt, and breaking out from all the pollution and dirt that I can't get out of my pores. My roots are coming in long and blond, my hair is a ratted mess, and most of all I'm disgustingly fat, and my muffins are out of control. I don't understand.
I was angry at him. I was angry at myself. I should have done something. Yell, scream, throw rocks at him. But I was completely alone, and my instinct was just to get out of there.
I stuck in a movie in attempt to distract myself again. A long one. A telugu one. Although I enjoy it for some brief moments, my mind still goes back to it. The movie ends and I still can't shake the images in my mind. I try reading for a little while. Krishnayya's brother comes in to see how I'm doing. "Fine." He remarks on how I'm still working, and suggests I read on the roof to get some fresh air.
"Yeah. I should"
Immediately, there is some release. I look around and people watch, as I do best. The buffalo farmer next door is trying to make two buffalos mate.
Don't make them do that! What if the cow doesn't want that! I laugh, and remind myself that they're just buffalos.
Ramini, Krishnayya's neice comes on the roof and stands next to me. I think she could tell that something was up. "Do you feel better in Vizag or Rajahmndry?"
I would usually say Rajahmundry, but not today. Not after what happened.
"Rajahmundry. The air is cleaner, and there are less people." She looks at me for a moment, then looks back out over the neighborhood. She knows that something is up, but she doesn't try to ask about it. We stand in silence, watching.
As I thought about it, I determined he was mentally ill. No mentally stable person does that in public. But it still didn't make me feel better.
I look up at the moon, and it looks different. I see a rabbit.
