Varanasi: Juxtaposition of divergent feelings
Trip Start
Sep 24, 2008
1
10
76
Trip End
Jul 21, 2009
Varanasi,
Uttar Pradesh,
India
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Cows in queue for tickets at train station
. The wonderful thing about Rohit is he wants to soon quit his job as a software engineer in order to go into music production full time. It's amazing how much India is changing beyond just the growth in GDP/capita. Part of the craziness of this train is that they way overbook the amount of seats on the train, particularly during festival season, and there's a group of dudes following the TT around buying under-the-table seats for 5,000-10,000 INR (ticket costs <1,200 INR) for any empty bunk the TT passes. It was absolute chaos to say the least and thankfully we had Rohit with us to translate and keep us tourists in our seats. Eventually, I got moved over to another bunk and met Prashant (Assamese of Nepali descent) with his adorably little baby and a Bihari named Anand. We spent much of the rest of the journey discussing cricket, the upstart IPL, India's World Cup chances and past experiences and Sachin Tendulkar's glories. The day before, Sachin became the greatest cricketer of all time by passing Brian Lara for all-time test runs and the only man ever to cross 12,000 runs. Despite the 61*-style criticism because he has played more tests than all the previous greats, this is some feat and it says something that a man (who used to bowl and bat and has played for more minutes on a cricket pitch than any other athlete in any sport) can remain that fit for 20 years.
dhobi, which is why my clothes were still dirty
In fact, the headline that day in the Times of India: right column 10,000 in huge print; left column 12,000 in huge print. The former is for the Sensex dipping below 10,000 (was 21,000 not more than six months earlier and is now below 8,500) and the latter was obviously for Sachin. I learned more and more about this game that fascinates me (I will attend the last day of the third test between Australia and India in Delhi on Nov 2, it will be a truly unique and wonderful experience) and it is awesome that people of all ages and ethnicities in this diverse subcontinent have one truly uniform love and passion. Reminds me of the beauty of the futbol World Cup. On the platform prior to boarding we met these two Israelis, Osher and Shoval, who we spent quite a bit of time with on the train because they had W/L tickets and no seats in Sleeper Class (this class involves living hell where there are bodies literally everywhere, including people sitting/sleeping in the lavatories). Both environmental engineers, Shoval had a bit of the free spirit inside of him that I do and we shared tales of his previous year in India, learning santoor, spiritual quests, his support for the journey I am undertaking and thoughts on families and the various stages in life. In talking with both of them later regarding Israeli and US politics, I was surprised (but not really when I thought about it) to learn that McCain is much more popular than Obama in Israel
dude who will eventually take one of our jobs
. They were blown away by the ability to vote early, absentee and write-in candidates in the Presdential election. I hope I meet these two again at some point, they were wonderful people. We finally made it to Varanasi after a one hour rikshaw ride from Mughal Sarai train station - though our driver was the man. We found the Shiva Kashi guesthouse, recommended by Osher/Shoval, which was a wonderful oasis run by this Bengali cat named Shashank Mukherjee, but really managed by his two helper boys - one of who was Nippu. This dude was the man and Ankit/I quickly became buddies with him over our couple of days there. From our balcony, we were in the middle of Wild Animal Kingdom as there were tons of monkeys everywhere - it was awesome to watch their behavior, so much like humans, except Ankit and I would run inside like little girls anytime the monkeys got near us. In our defense, these guys are vicious if you let them get near you and they want something you have (like a camera or food).
After some first class paneer masala dosas, Zoe, Ankit and I made our way to the ghats to explore. First reaction: Varanasi is full of tiny, winding and narrow streets that are beyond filthy. As an example: a cow defecated immediately in front of us and a dog came over to eat it. There's trash everywhere, touts offering you every little thing that you don't want (one rupee, one boat, one rikshaw, one blessing, one tour, one DVD, one memory card, one some useless thing i absolutely do not need, etc.), human filth everywhere - it's straight disgusting. When you make it to the ghats, you get some relief as they are quite nice and there you see all the orthodox Shaivite traditions that go on a daily basis. Ritualis, routine and duty are some fundamental tenets of orthodox Hindus and this is a wonderful place to witness these traditions
guardian of Vishnu's feet
. However, the Holy Ganga is that only in name. It is equally as filthy as the city and having heard there are other more brilliant ghat cities on the Holy Ganga, I don't feel sacreligious in saying so. However, our morning boat ride would slightly change our views, but I digress. We finally made it to Manikarnika Ghat, which is immediately in front of the Golden Temple (Vishwanath Temple), a very sacred Shaivite temple. For those who don't know, Manikarnika is believed to be one of the holiest places to be cremated as it allows for quick ascendancy to Moksha. It was fantastically interesting and, while you may disagree with both the sanitary conditions and the principles, powerful. I'm not certain I agree with the philosophy, but there is something quite nice about embracing death, rather than being saddened by it. People come from all over India (and the world) to either die here or to have their ashes committed to the Holy Ganga, as these waters are believed to purify the soul and free it from its earthly constraints. There are five types of wood used in the cremation - banyan to sandalwood, increasing in quality and price. These wood types serve three purposes: bodies don't smell when burned, the wood burns through a rain storm and the wood doesn't have to be dry to burn. It takes 250kg of wood per pyre and, allegedly, people who cannot afford the wood, but choose to die here receive their pyres out of private donations for charities. The body is first washed in the Ganga - the final bath meant to purify the soul - and placed on the pyre (by the Harijan) without any of the ornamental gold clothing that may have been on the body. The feet face the Ganga and the head up - in order to give the soul a more direct path to the other world. The person who lights the pyre must wear white, shave their heads, make chapati balls as a final offering and do a final puja
Hanj at the wheel
. The pyre will then be lit by the eternal flame that is managed by the Harijan at the Golden Temple. Should this flame ever be extinguished (it is moved during monsoons), then cremations will cease to exist here. The flame is lit by the eldest son (father dies), youngest son (mother dies), husband (wife dies). Kids (innocent), sadhus (already pure), pregnant women (carrying innocence), lepers (mother of god) and those inflicted with cobra bites (in order to prevent spreading of poison and because of Shiva) are not burned, but are weighted down and placed in the Ganga. Two hours into the burning (generally takes three hours), the male chest bone and woman hip bone is cast into the Ganga (toughest to burn) and eventually the pyre lighter must take a bamboo pole and crush the skull in order to free the soul. We wandered around some more, eventually making our way to a South Indian temple where I was denied entry and had to prove to them that I was South Indian (there are major security concerns, particularly in Varanasi where there has been a lot of communal violence). Near here, Ankit and I met Ekta, this adorable little girl who was selling postcards. She refused to accept that we didn't want the postcards, but we eventually got her laughing by making faux-translation of the Hindi script she had in the postcards. In actuality, this discussed the 108 divyadesams, which are very sacred
hello, boat? boat building on ghats
. She said Ankit should move to Varanasi to learn Hindi. We should have capped off the day with a meal of pakoras and pizza at this uber touristy joint called Phulwari, but we tried to make it to the ghats for the supposed evening performance of the Ramayana. What ensued was a witnessing of one of the seven plagues as the city was swarming with locusts. It was freaking disgusting - picture the scenes of the locusts or the 17-year old cicada in Planet Earth. We essentially constantly were crunching locusts, Zoe was freaking out from getting attacked left and right and Ankit and I were sprinting to avoid the plague. The kicker, the Ramayana was moved to the streets for the night, so we had to walk back across the city through the plague to the hotel. Then, Ankit and I swiftly moved into the hotel room and I was a bad Hindu massacring about 15 mosquitoes/locusts in our room. We cautiously went to bed, praying for many lizards to come eat all of the insects. Our second day in Varanasi, Oct 19, changed our opinions slightly on the town as we made it to the Ganga for a boat ride to see sunrise and all of the morning rituals. With the morning sun, the river looked beautiful and it was wonderful to see the entire city begin its day the way they always do, filled with rituals. Bathing, brushing teeth, dhobis washing, morning prayers - life relies entirely on the ghats. Though not quite as magnificent as our mornings with Mt. Khangchendzonga, the sunrise boat ride allowed us to feel some of the spirituality and peace of the Holy Ganga and the sunrise was stupendous. Much like smog in LA, the pollution allowed for a magnificent huge orange/red glowing orb to rise over the far banks of the river. Mixed with all of the boats, I can only imagine what life will be like when I get to the Mekong and float around for a while. Our boat "driver" was hysterical. Finding out Ankit was Punjabi:
Driver: "you (Hari) are small, he (Ankit) is big
Look mom, chapati from a train stn street stall!
. It's like Kali (some WWE wrestler), arms and chest so big."Ankit: "big like me?"
Driver: "you, you are nothing. Kali is big"
After the boat ride, we were off to this well-known German bakery, but first the bearded ones had some chais and then hit the barber shop for some flat-razor shaves. Man, was it wonderful and being in India we decided to keep the moustaches. Instead of looking like real Indians, we looked like Mario and Luigi (I was wearing by FFF Zidane jersey and Ankit a green Bolivia jersey) and thus was born the running joke for the next several days (with Zoe being Princess Toadstool). We made it to the German bakery for a lovely meal and lounging on a Sunday with the newspaper; we temporarily forgot we were in India save for the sports section being riddled with cricket articles on Sachin's accomplishment (with every Pakistani bowler paying him compliments and saying he is the most sought after wicket and that he retains his youthful love for the game and even as a 20-year vet still constantly teaches and coaches the young guys) and an article on the chess championships (only in India).
We made an executive decision to get out of Dodge and make our way to Khajuraho a day earlier (an excellent decision), so Ankit and I went to the Golden Temple via a night boat ride for our last few hours in town
Mama and Baby
. This was also wonderful - being off the city streets - as we could see all of the evening rituals and the flames from the pujas and, more importantly, from the Manikarnika Ghat were magnified in darkness, truly adding to the intensity of the experience. Getting thoroughly lost, we eventually found the Golden Temple and because of the intense security (which is good) and the throngs of pilgrims inside, it was anything but a spiritual experience. The temple itself was beautiful, with the sikharas all gilded, but no cameras were allowed inside. We then wanted to hit the German bakery for the free evening music on flute/tabla and some grub, but got lost, gave up on finding it, mistakenly ended up back at the temple, gave up again, and somehow stumbled upon the bakery a mere 50m from the temple. Such are the chaotic and winding streets of Varanasi. Our overnight train from Varanasi to Satna was fairly uneventful, except that we had to buy tickets again + pay a penalty fare (our tickets were for the next day) and playing dumb didn't work (at least in A/C class), though we could cancel our originals later on for a small loss. Our man A.P. (Anand) on the train helped us get to the bus stand and link up with a bus from Satna to Khajuraho. The first bus broke down en route and we were shuttled onto an extremely packed bus for the duration of the five-hour journey. Packed buses are cool, however bus operators with huge bellies and who are a$$holes are not
Mario and Luigi
. He kept forcing me to sit - forceably removing old uncles and aunties - almost causing me to go postal on him by the end. We met this dude Rakesh on the bus - more on him in the next entry - who worked at a cheap, but decent and clean enough hotel (150INR for a double) and everyone (all the tourists on this bus) piled into a jeep once we got off the bus for the 11km ride to the actual villages of Khajuraho. That's not entirely accurate; Ankit was partially sticking out of the back and almost tore his forearm muscle, while I was living it up hanging off the passenger side (almost surfing) flying at 50km/h. We finally made it to Khajuraho, the furthest possible place - metaphorically and almost physically - from the chaos of Varanasi. I could have spent another week in this lovely village area with magnificent Hindu and Jain temples.
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Comments
locusts??
no mention that the entire filthy city had been overrun by locusts - quite possibly the dumbest insect alive as the sit there while you here them crunch under your feet. ahhh, pleasant memories...
stache
can't wait to see the porn staches my friend ;-)