Advertisement
Published: January 23rd 2020
You can’t avoid India. Try to hide out and it will make a way to find you. I was in my bed at 10am when I was awoken from a blissfully deep sleep. It sounded like all of Varanasi was right outside my door. I peered through the curtains of my room’s window. What I saw was around two hundred people crammed onto the hotel patio, some sitting right up inches away from my room. If I wanted to leave my room, I would have to push my way through and step over the multitudes. Breakfast? Forget about it.
They appeared to be some kind of Hindu pilgrim group. I could see a microphone setup with huge loudspeakers. Then the speeches began. Speech after speech booming through the amplifiers, saying lord knows what. You have got to be kidding me! Just when I thought things couldn’t get any stranger, an all out prayer service broke out. Clapping, chimes, hands thrown in the air and a rhythmic call and response chant that seemed to have no end. I couldn’t make out much, but the word jiva was repeated frequently with great glee.
I have to admit it was kind of
cool to have India brought right into my very bedroom, but at the same time I was sick and starving. I just lay back and let the commotion roll over me. It wasn’t until about 11:30am when the noise died down and the crowds began to disperse. When I finally managed to get out of my room the Hindu pilgrims still dominated the terrace, groups scattered around various tables. I managed to find a free table, although my favorite tables on the railing overlooking the Ganges were all occupied. Probably because of the large number of people it took forever to get the attention of a water. So, I just sat and stewed in the sun until my breakfast was finally ordered and served.
After breakfast I went back to my room to rest and reassess. I was feeling better than the previous days. The emergency antibiotic, that my doctor prescribed before leaving, having finally begun to kick in. My head cold was on the way out and stomach settled a bit, but I still felt washed out and drained from the entire medical event. I decided that I would do what I had done before, and not try
to push myself into a day trip outside of Varanasi. I would simply walk along the length of the Ganges to the semi-pastural ghat on the outskirts of the old city where I met the three friendly guys a few mornings earlier. There I could sit, relax, listen to calming ragas, and get back into the flow of my trip.
I started down the steps to edge of the river. It wasn’t long until I became drenched in sweat as I marched along the Ganges. It took mental fortitude just to keep my mind focused on the task of putting one foot in front of the other. This left little time for looking around and appreciating the scenery. I kept my mind locked in on the goal of reaching my peaceful ghat. The walk seemed to be taking a lot longer than I had remembered. I was sweaty and my legs had begun to chafe. My breathing was heavy, but at last I finally reached my destination. I sat down at my peaceful ghat. Let recuperation and contemplation commence!
I had only been there about five minutes, when a cute seven or so years old boy sat down
next to me. He said hello with a big smile and asked me my name. I returned the greeting and asked his name. This was a little strange. Where had this small boy come from? And how did he have the courage to come up and sit next to this gigantic foreign stranger. And then it began.
Can I have a hundred rupees? It angered me that I had been taken in by the friendly unthreatening greeting only to be treated like a money bank once again. And also, who knew what adults were looking on waiting for me to reveal my stash of money. My jaw stiffened and I said no and looked off across the river, hoping he would get the message and leave. However, he remained. The kid began saying please one hundred rupees for chapatti, an Indian bread. I again said no and shook my head, but still he would not quit with his rehearsed lines. Finally, I said quite sternly and forcefully. “No! No Rupees! No Chapati! Nothing.”
This seemed to quiet him, but he wouldn’t leave. I didn’t want to leave either having worked so hard to get to where on previous
days had been my place of refuge. Then he began running one finger softly across my forearm. What was going on here?! Then he moved on to probing and tapping my pocket seemingly to gauge its contents. With this I rose to my full height and angrily spat out “Bye!” and struck out once again along the hot riverbanks of the Ganges.
Due to the fact of this inexplicable encounter, I had not rested nearly long enough, my heart was still racing and I was sweating all over. I was a mess of overexertion and fury. My shorts were completely soaked with perspiration and began to dig painfully into my thighs. As I walked numerous denizens called out to me. And it was all a variation of the same thing. “You want boat. Hash LSD. Hey White Man I have opium for you.” This place had taken a decidedly unpleasant turn.
I was almost back to my hotel when I hear someone say, “Hey. I know you.” I look around and it’s the sketchy looking guy who shaved my head back at the beginning of my stay. He asks if I want another shave. I politely decline. He
asks how many days I am staying and puts out his hand for a handshake. I shake his hand, but he grabs it strongly saying how about a hand massage. “No! I’m going!” I say as I simultaneously wrench my hand free and speed off for my hotel.
At dinner for the first time in the six nights I had been here flies kept landing on my face, arms, and neck. Why hadn’t this happened on any of the previous nights? Why tonight? Afterwards, I went to the office to try to organize a day trip to Sarnath for tomorrow. The guy just looks at me blankly and says come back after 9pm when the night manager arrives.
Nothing was working out. All seemed lost. A low point had been reached. And I am not proud of what follows, but I retreated back to my room and scribbled an epic rant in my journal. Here it is, unedited, in all its messy glory.
---Journal Interlude #1: “At the moment I am so over India, well at least Varanasi. I cannot wait to get to Goa on Monday. And as far as my beach accommodation goes, I don’t
care how built-up or resorty it is. I just want civilization. And meat. Yes, civilization and meat would do nicely right about now. All this exoticism is special and will stay with me forever, but when you are ill and weak all you want are some creature comforts.
I don’t know if the memory of the past thing is going to work for this trip, at least this portion of it. The first week was brilliant, full of successes and wonder. But ever since I was at the burning ghats it has been nothing but shit. Well practically nothing but shit. The illness has colored everything about this country. At least I can say I have had the full “INDIA” experience. However, I need my health and strength to deal with India. And I did for the first week and it went swimmingly. Now it’s just a struggle to stay afloat. Get through to Monday and see if Goa can change my fortunes.”
--- I thought that was rock bottom and it felt good to get that rant out, but my world could go one notch lower. Out of nowhere my lifeline to the outside world, the hotel’s
wifi, got knocked out.
---Journal Interlude #2: “Without the internet all of a sudden my room feels like a prison cell. Why am I here? I wanted to give a better account of myself and I did...for a week. Now India is kicking my ass every which way but Sunday. I do not want to ever come back to this country. I’ve done it now. And now I’ve HAD IT!!! At least that’s one thing off my list. After this trip I will have seen India to my satisfaction. Delhi, Mumbai, Varanasi and Goa. Goa? Will I even make it there? At this rate I don’t even know for sure.”
--- There it was in every honest and brutal syllable. It was rock bottom. After 9pm I walked slowly over to the office. The night manager was mercifully kind and to my surprise, I was actually able to organize a driver to Sarnath for the next day. I would finally be getting out of the city, and seeing something new. Perhaps, better days were on the horizon. As I turned in for the night, I prayed to God for these bad vibes to finally lift.
Advertisement
Tot: 0.105s; Tpl: 0.013s; cc: 11; qc: 23; dbt: 0.0625s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.1mb
Kuan Yin
Karen Johnson
This, too, shall pass...
While I've never been to India, I, too, have had my "just get me out of this shithole" moments. And then this cute little girl tried to steal my bracelet - right off my wrist. But the good news is that with a little time and distance these moments become stories, and my sense of excitement and exploration returns. But it's hard to find anything charming when you are sick.