Modern Lives, Sacred Hills

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But we remember that we are supposed to be here for my mother, to make a pilgrimage to pray for good health.

She steers us back toward family matters, and as we make our way I find new surprises around every corner, connections to a past I'd forgotten was mine.

WHEN MY BROTHER finally arrives from Japan, we hit the road.

On my mother's list of stops is a visit to the home of my wise little uncle in Hyderabad, who wakes up at 4:00 a.m. to listen to classical Indian music and perform his prayers to Jesus, Allah, Buddha, Sai Baba, and Venkateswara. "They are all the same -- there is only one God," he declares matter-of factly as he inches his way past me to his morning pot of ginger tea. He is quite a contrast to my father, who wakes every morning to a cigarette, a cup of coffee, and a copy of American Cinematographer. Uncle's home is peaceful and in his bedroom there is a picture of Venkateswara Swami, the presiding deity of Tirupati. I ask him why people go to Tirupati.

"People have desires, so by doing a pilgrimage they can have their wishes answered," he replies.

"And why do people shave their heads and give their hair in Tirupati?"

"It is only a belief and we offer it to the Lord," says Uncle.

This extremely slight and charming 85-year-old creaks from room to room conserving energy for more entertaining endeavors, such as his daily prayers, complaining about the news, and, today, giving his youngest brother, my father, a hard time. My father wants a better answer.

"Why? Why do they offer?" my father demands.

"What do you mean? What is the belief? What am I supposed to tell you? If you believe, then there is the belief, that's it. Are you following me?"

I am following him, slowly but surely.

The next morning we are on our way to my mother's childhood home of Eluru. Pavement drops to dirt; cows and goats decide to share the road with us. We go deeper and deeper into Andhra Pradesh. The farther we go, the more I realize how little I know about my mother.

We enter her hometown, and it is like a snapshot from the past. I can see her as a little girl living in this neighborhood and playing on these streets. Streets that haven't changed much since her days.

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