I am still catching up from our time in South Odisha, when we had no signal. We are in Mumbai staying in a hotel with all the mod cons: we are appreciating particularly the hot water that comes out of the tap rather than waiting fifteen minutes while the geyser heats. We are also appreciating beer which has been somewhat lacking, though we did discover the pleasure of Old Monk (rum) toddies, thanks to Nikhil.
We have visited lots of different kinds of villages during our time here, each somewhat different in who lives there, how it looks, what’s being produced, how it’s arranged and what religious practices are followed.
Some are scheduled caste and some are scheduled tribal villages. There are apparently 62 scheduled tribal communities and 93 scheduled caste communities (so-called Dalits or ‘untouchables’ from the Hindu caste system) in the state of Odisha, making up nearly 40 per cent of the population. The terms are official designations recognised in the Constitution (and invented in part before that by the British) and certain resources are reserved for such designated and often disadvantaged groups, although increasingly membership of, for example, a scheduled caste does not necessarily align with disadvantage. But that’s too complicated a story for me even to summarise properly – I am sure my more knowledgeable readership will be able to correct me.
Some of the tribal groups have converted to Christianity, as in the case of the first village here. They bury their dead as in the Christian tradition and the usual Christian prohibitions around sexual practices etc apply.
The second village we visited was also tribal, but animist rather than Christian. When we arrived, we heard loud drumming in the middle of the village which turned out to be part of a local ceremony and definitely not for our benefit! We left the musicians to it, but the sounds followed us round the village.
The third village is a scheduled caste village (I think) where families are engaged in weaving from bamboo. We met this family sitting on the edge of the village, working together in the shade of the late afternoon.
Lit end in mouth? Just how did that practice start, I wonder.
God knows! It apparently means you get a massively stronger hit from the tobacco ( plus, obviously various forms of lethal cancer).
Besides all of this being fascinating, I really like the idea of sheltering under my food. I’d make a blanket of it and pull it around me to keep me snug. And it’d taste delicious.