Holy cow! - the sensual experience that is India
Trip Start
Oct 09, 2008
1
5
10
Trip End
Jan 16, 2009
Varanasi,
Uttar Pradesh,
India
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
India, oh India, land of fables, history and culture. But also of grime, blatant poverty, deafening noise, putrid smells and persistant close contact with way too many inhabitants crammed into the labyrinths of the inner cities. A true sensual overload taking every human perception a step further, sometimes beyond levels one would have deemed tolerable.
Sadly from a tourist's point of view the first contact with India usually has a bitter taste. The frontline of rikshaw wallahs and salesmen of everything beneath the sun hitting you front on at any tourist destination can be overwhelming. The amount of sweet-talk, pushing, touching and lying in your face that greets you can only really be dealt with with good humour, sarcasm and a clear willingness to become very harsh indeed should the pest persist after 2 clear "no"s. That's how we do it. Regine is often still too nice. And in this macho, male-dominated society if Hindus and Muslims sometimes I have to step in to make very clear that whoever is peskering us should shove off. We're a bit gentler to children who are sometimes the most tenacious and Regine has made a habit of jokingly asking them to give us pens, chocolate, rupies, etc. A prize they would usually expect to extricate from us. Like in Nepal begging by children is discouraged, but some kids are a family's main bread-winners while some just give it a try for the heck of it. There are still plenty of tourists who don't flinch at giving kids money.
Behind this first wave of onslaught the vast majority of Indians is actually very friendly, helpful and often very well educated. Although a few words of one of the local languages is helpful. English and hands and feet go a long way here. We've met quite a few authentically friendly Indians and had fascinating exchanges or a great deal of fun with them along the way.
An interesting fact is that although Indian languages know a clear-cut "yes" and "no" (as opposed to the other great heckler nation, the Chinese), they don't really have a word for "thank you" or "you're welcome" that they'd actually use. Instead they just wobble their head side to side, a gesture that could also mean yes. So an interaction of buying could be ended by soundless (now that's a rarity in India!) head wobbling by both parties signifying "yes", "thank you" and "you're welcome". Regine had a classic situation the other day when she was trying to indicate with vehement shakes of her head that she did not wish certain ingredients to be added to her plate of street-food rice. Of course the vendor interpreted the shaken head as an invitation to add just those ingredients. I ended up eating it and switched to hand waving to rectify the situation for Regine's plate.
Another gesture that may cause confusion is the Indian sign to come over. It's a palm-downward gesture with waving of all fingers, a sign more like the "shoo" sign in the west indicating people to go away.
Talking of gestures. A hand-shake in India can be truly unpleasant. It's often either too soft which we're fine with. But what really irritates the pants off us is someone that klings on and doesn't let go. We met a guy the other day who was very nice and had a nice conversation with us (we didn't have much of a choice as we were eating in his restaurant and had bargained him down to a very agreeable price). But he had one of these hand shakes and also didn't stop slapping Regine's thigh (something I wish I'd have corrected him for). An example for the fact that often there is no perception of personal space here.
Another annoyance is the constant chewing of the beetle nut, a slightly euphoric red saliva-drawing speech impediment. Not only does it stain and rot the teeth, but most people that chew it (especially rikshaw wallahs) don't realise that whatever they say with this stuff packed behind their lower lip renders them completely unintelligible, similar to a man trying to speak with a throat full of water. We've also made the mistake of trusting our lives to a young hotshot completely stoned on the stuff whom I had to order to slow down and move back to the right lane several times before we reached our destination. I would have kissed the ground there, but doing that probably would have cost me my life given the amount of cow dung from the free roaming holy buggers soiling the street. The feaeces and gunk from humans and stray dogs together with the ubiquitous trash adds to the mix.
But despite all these factors, if you're ready to take the plunge, India is a fascinating place. The people are beautiful, the ladies clad in the brightest colours. Indians are rightfully proud of their country which has had an enormous economic upsurge despite expansion of population and poverty. And the treasures from former times strewn across the land as well as the cultural diversity truly justify the marketing slogan "Incredible India!"
Now onwards with our itinerary:
Varanasi
Once over the border at Sunauli we crammed into a tight bus to ride to Ghorakpur from where we took a train Varanasi, one of India's holiest cities.
Varanasi stretches along the holy River Ganges, the left bank of which has over 2 km of so-called Ghats, steps leading down to the river for ritual bathing and cremation. We stayed at a small family guest home, JPM guest house, that was down a quiet alley at the southernmost gaht, Assi Gaht, and run by a lovely Brahman family. We had got the recommendation form the proprietor's brother-in-law whom we'd sat with in the crammed second-class car on the train. He had taught us our first Hindi while I showed him how to solve Sudokus. Although we only spent 3 nights there we soon felt part of the small Assi Gaht Westerner scene. Some of the westerners here were studying at Varanasis largest and very prestigious university while others were stranded for various other reasons, having gradually to some degree or completely assimilated an Indian dress style.
We started our visit here with a sunset boat trip with our boatman slowly rowing us up and down past the worshipping bathers, ramblers, washing brigades and cremations on the ghats. What a colourful and diverse scenery. The whole spectacle was augmented by an assortment of birds, the fasciniation of which to Peter's delight increasingly also captivated Regine.
Washing laundry here is doen by immersing the laundry in the incredibly filthy Ganges waters, soaping them up a bit (I hope) and then whacking them repeatedly with full force against a flat stone resulting in the demise of all zippers, buttons and textures. The colours remain, yet I doubt the clothing leaves this proces much cleaner, especially as after this treatment they are simply spread out on the stone or earth of the ghats to dry.
After this early morning trip we dragged our weary selves to the not too spectacular Durga, Tulsi Monas and Monkey temples. It was interesting though to see the bustling Monkey temple's own bakery/confectionary stand which apparently serves up excellent sweets. Everyone takes a box of sweets to the deities, gets them blessed, maybe leaving one or two behind for the sweet-toothed gods, to then take the box home and share the conents with their household.
After a nap we went for an evening stroll along the ghats dodging various touts and meeting up with a crazy Belgian and his friend who shared tea and rice crispy hearts with us while watching a cultural performance on a barge and afterwards a daily hour long Puja (ceremony) to worship Mother Ganges, holier than any temple in the ancient city. Here various objects are presented to the River Goddess (conch, peacock feather whisk, fire, etc). Apparently all faithful Hindus hold a similar if smaller-scale and shorter Puja in their houses every morning and evening. In India as well as in Nepal the day begins with a round of offerings and smudging of colour and rice at the temples and shrines of various Gods. The long day ended with a delicious Thali courtesy of our hosts.
The next day we were fished off the streets by Mr Kahn while trying desperately to get to the nearby town of Sarnath by Bus on a Sunday. We were bombarded with Rikshaw touts at an intensity and tenacity we had never experienced before when he convinced us that the only way to get there is by hired vehicle. We agreed and hopped aboard his 25 year old motor rikshaw named "Palace on Wheels". On the way he showed us his log-books full of entries by satisfied customers. We agreed to use him as a sightseeing guide and ended up having 2 wonderfully packed days we had certainly not bargained for on planning our stay.
We started by visiting Sarnath, the site of Buddha's first sermon. No one was interested in his teachings at the time after his enlightenment and he found himself preaching to forest animals in the deer park here. Since then all Buddhist temples are crowned by the Buddhist Wheel of Law (Dharma) flanked by 2 deer. The deer park still exists here and like a mini-zoo is complemented by aviaries and a few crocodile pools. The most notable monument here is an ancient large phallic stupa. Sarnath also boasts a beatiful small museam which holds India's national emblem, the beautifully preserved top of Buddhist emperor Ashoka's column: four lions facing in 4 different directions, depicted on every Indian banknote. Similar to Lumbini Sarnath boasts a "Concrete Playground" of modern temples. Mr Kahn also took us to a Tibetan temple with nice Mandalas on the ceiling and a tastefully furnished Japanese temple with a lying wooden Buddha. The central temple albeit fairly unspectacular also has some modern Japanese drawings of stations in the Buddha's life on the walls.
We also paid a visit to a Jain temple. The Jain religion is about as old as Buddhism (founded ca 500 B.C.), is also centred around reincarnation and is all about purity. This goes to a degree that Jain masters don't wear any clothing and never wash in order not to harm microorganisms on the skin. They whisk away all organism on the path ahead of them with a peacock feather duster. Jains are vegetarian, but take this a step further as they also believe that plants have a soul. They only eat fruit already fallen from trees and avoid certain vegetables that grow underground like onions. To enter temples you need to be barefoot and remove any leather belongings. Another interesting religion we'd never heard of before.
Afterwards Mr Kahn took us to the Muslim Quarter to show us the stages of the silk weaving process. By the vast numbers of curious children trailing us you could certainly tell this was off the common tourist trail. We saw how silk freshly spun from the cocoons was cooked to blanch it and then dyed. We then witnessed how hand-painted patterns were transferred onto punch-cards similar to those used in ancient computers. These could then be read by the machines attached to the weavers' looms. This way part of the texture was added by the machine while the waever themselves made sure the material was compact whilst weaving in extra strands of colour, silver or gold thread. Afterwards we witnessed a family of fast-handed ladies removing extra threads from the finished fabric.
We then agreed to sample some silk in a wholesale emporium of one of Mr Kahn's many friends and agreed to have a beatiful yellow and green Sari tailored into a Punjabi costume for Regine (pictures to come) and buying a few beautiful scarves. Bargaining was a bit of an adventure (involving constructs like honour and pride) and, aided by Mr Kahn was completed to the satisfaction of all involved.
The next day Regine had her hand and forearms painted with beautiful patterns of Henna (wait for the pictures!). This took 3 hours, time I spent by adding an entry to Mr Kahn's book and buying an Indian mobile phone SIM card under Mr Khan's name (this is otherwise a very difficult process for foreigners since the Mumbai attacks which also involved fake mobile phone IDs). Afterwards Mr Kahn drove us to the University's Faculty of Performing Arts who were hosting a free week of performances by their teachers. We were awed by some phenomenal displays of classic Indian dance telling stories beautifully choreographed to the live music. We were met here by Anna from Slowenia who lived at our guest house and was in her second year of studying classical Indian dance. We had a lovely evening together at our main dive "Asheesh" and were presented with the Baghvad Gita by Anna on our departure.
