You've probably seen the photo by now; you are one of thousands who have seen me shaved up.
How? Why? When? What do I mean?
Here's the story:
The first day I went to Simhacalam, I wanted to meet the executive officer of the Simhacalam temple to ask him if he could help me meet some of the important pujaris and persons knowledgeable about the temple for my research. He was busy that day, with the hair auction, where the temple auctions off the hair that is cut from pious paap-reducing pilgrims. Like Tirupati, Simhacalam also has the facility and tradition for people to shave off their sins and letting their tresses of beauty fall for the Lord. Not only do they offer their beauty and piety, but they also offer an amount of money, as the hair is sold to companies that export the money to wig manufacturing companies across the globe. The two year lease for the hair sold for 5 crore, 1 lakh, 16 thousand rupees, the equivalent of around 1.3 million dollars. I took it as a sign: I had been unsure whether to shave my head and now I was going to do it.
As I was waiting for the Executive Officer, the local media caught me, curious what a sari-clad white woman was doing at the auction. At first they thought I was a bidder--a foreign company coming to buy the hair, but I explained I was a student coming to research Narasimha. This had them even more interested, and they took my photo and a small interview for the newspapers. The next day, to my surprise, my color photo appeared on the middle of page three of the Andhra-wide Telugu daily. I joked with a friend: "If I had have shaved my head yesterday, I would have made it on National television :-)"
The next day I returned to Simhachalam, this time to stay a few days. To my surprise, several reporters with large video equipment had seen me in the paper and arrived to make a further interview. They asked to video me surveying the temple, taking photos, and "do what I do" as a researcher. We strolled around to a building where the pilgrims offer their hair and since I was planning on shaving up, I suggested we skip the building: I was planning to go later. It would be more sensible to do the TV interview with a head of hair. Somehow they did not understand my english quite clearly, or I think they simply did not dream that I was actually planning to shave up and they urged me to go inside. "Yes, this is where people get tonsored" (Tonsor? must be some indian-english word) "Yes, I understand, I also want to shave my hair." "Just you see this building for tonsoring." "Yes, I will see it later. Better TV show with hair, no?" "You just come inside, People, they tonsor." okay. no use arguing.
So I bought a 5 rupee ticket and walked in. It was very quiet. Now, at siesta time, no one had come to shave up before their darshan. They told me to sit in front of one professional razorer, who ritually cut three strands of hair from my head. "Shave everything" I told him. I figured since I was sitting right there, better to do it now than later. The TV crew were quite surprised and gathered for a good angle.
The next day my shaved scalp shone on the front page of the Andhra Telugu daily newspaper. And I made it on national television! My slowed down, indian-flavored accent was broadcast on TV9--most popular telugu news channel.
I'm officially famous. I met some people who knew my name, and I hear "research" and "simhacalam" and "america" when I walk by. Not to mentions staring stubbornly--even if I stare back there is no difference. Some point and some laugh and some even bring their friends to see the fun. I have to remember to keep my bald head high and dry while I walk by.
I actually don't really enjoy the fame. I always wanted to be famous, but now I realize that there is so much responsibility with it, to keep up with the image, and to fulfil people's expectations. And it's very lonely, but I can never be alone. No one can understand, I am radically different from everyone, but I can never be by myself. I can never be invisible, left alone, an anonymous observer, unnoticed, and un-wondered about. I'm always in the spot light, verily a spot of light :-) and my role as "researcher" is ironically an observer of my audience.
Observer or Observed? 
love, Nila
