COMING SOON HOUSE ADVERTISING ads_leader
Saved: February 12th 2014
i saw jesus two days in a row at varanasi, but more on that later.
meanwhile, don't think dirty.
a hop, skip and jump in the air transported me to a completely different world where serenity is overrun by chaos, where muted tones rupture into a palette of psychedelic hues, where agoraphobic criminals are banished for life as punishment, where amiable, well-mannered touts morph into their rude, aggressive, almost violent alter-egos, where dust and dirt are joined by their buddies namely pee, poo and a bunch of other unmentionables, where a one-road town transforms into a labyrinth of unlit, unsignposted dank alleys which you would think twice venturing into after dark lest you trip over a sleeping bovine!
welcome to varanasi.
i had been in india for a week. already accustomed to the low prices of almost everything, i balked at having to pay close to 500 rupees for a taxi ride into the city. to be fair, the airport was really far, about 20 kilometres from the city. well, pardon me, i hail from a miniscule city-state. everywhere is far to me.
about an hour later, i was dropped off at the fringe of the
old city, off limits to automobiles, with the exception of auto-rickshaws and motorcycles. i looked up at the gargantuan signboard that said, "↑ dasaswamedh ghat 1.5 km"
what the ...
lugging two backpacks while trudging through thick clouds of brown dust kicked up by every passing vehicle and breathing in copious amounts of charcoal black exhaust fumes in the mid-afternoon heat is not anyone's idea of a leisure stroll. surveying the traffic situation, i weighed my options. should i pay 20 rupees for a cycle-rickshaw ride but risk being stuck in traffic for an indeterminate length of time? or should i just walk and probably get to my destination sooner?
the cheapskate in me won that round.
forty minutes later, incidentally the time it took to get me to varanasi from khajuraho by plane, i collapsed on my bed at my guesthouse, but not before being accosted along the way by numerous offers of cheap accommodation, quality authentic silk and get this, a boat ride (not with my two backpacks and a foul mood, mister).
before an early dinner, i made a brief stop at the manikarnika ghat, also known as the burning ghat, where
dead hindus are cremated and their ashes are scattered over the holy river ganges. i did not have an emotional experience that some had had as described in their travelogues, much less an epiphany. watching partially cremated remains being tossed prematurely into the river was, nonetheless, a sobering sight. i was not grossed out as much as i was sad because i knew the family of the deceased could not afford to buy enough wood to have the body burnt completely to ashes.
even in death, money issues continue to haunt the poor.
even in death, enterprising indians find opportunities to make a quick buck.
i was approached by a teenage boy who claimed to be working at a hospice nearby and offered to explain to me the rites. i declined. he was very persistent, and so was i. after many failed attempts to bait me, he switched to plan b. he invited me to the upper floor of one of the buildings at the ghat where i would have a better view. he may not have mentioned it but i am sure i would be asked for a 'donation' at the end of the 'tour'.
"please, don't try and cheat me," i said, blank-faced.
taken aback at first, his initial shock gave way to anger. he insisted that he was really working at the hospice and said how dare i accused him of being a cheat, or something to that effect.
words were exchanged, and then he left. good riddance.
touts and auto-rickshaw drivers in varanasi were the most unpleasant. they never took no for an answer and would cajole me for a long time before giving up and moving on to their next prey. sometimes in their exasperated bid to get my attention (ignoring them did not work) or to make their point, they would grab my arm.
"don't touch me! don't you fucking touch me!"
"okay. okay. no touch. no touching."
some of the little children selling postcards and flowers were just plain rude. instead of asking if you would be interested in their wares, they demanded your business. a "no, thank you" would earn you a few choice words in hindi or a dirty look of contempt or both. i pity the demise of their innocence.
i can never forget the smug attitude of that
repulsive paan-chewing auto-rickshaw driver. i tried bargaining with him for a more reasonable fare to sarnath, but he would not budge. he pointed his finger in my face, and in his most condescending tone, he said, "150 rupees. indian price."
i walked further down the street and got a ride for 100 rupees without bargaining. i prefer the tourist price, thank you very much. it sure is expensive being an indian.
sarnath, one of big four in the buddhist pilgrimage circuit, where buddha gave his first sermon after attaining enlightenment, was largely forgettable, except for the museum, which houses some really impressive relics. the biggest takeaway from the side trip was my discovery of hot ginger lemon honey tea. since then, lassi had been relegated to my second choice for drinks in india.
the sunrise boat trip came highly recommended. was it so? at most hours of the day and night, one could hear legions of boatmen chanting,
"boat trip. boat trip. boat trip. boat trip. boat trip. boat trip. boat trip. boat trip. boat trip."
i walked out of my guesthouse at 7 a.m. it was still dark and foggy, but the riverside was
already bustling with activities: pilgrims taking a dip in the septic waters and performing puja, dhobi-wallahs beating the lives of their laundry load, locals brushing their teeth, getting ready for yet another day. i am sure somewhere along the river, someone must have urinated or defecated into the river.
fortune tellers and sadhus lined the banks of the ganges, some of whom offered to tell my fortunes and pose for photographs (for tips, of course) respectively. i declined.
the sun did not appear out of the mist until much later. dawn at varanasi that morning was underwhelming, as were the many dawns and dusks i had seen in northern india. just a red glob juxtaposed against a greyish sky sans any visual fanfare. i waited until the rising sun burst into an indiscernible shape of white light, which made it bright enough for some decent photography, before getting on one of the boats.
observing the myriad human activities along the ganges from the boat was indeed better than doing so from the steps of the ghats. i wished i had brought along my telephoto zoom lens for some close-up shots. however, frankly, i thought the conversation i
had with my boatman had provided more entertainment than the ride itself. he was telling me about his work as a boatman and how competitive business was. there were simply too many boats and almost always not enough customers. furthermore, he had to spilt his earnings with the owner. on a good day, he could make up to 200 rupees, but 100 or less on a typical day, and much less during the monsoon season. i was hit by a sharp pang of guilt for a fleeting moment. my dinner the night before cost more than what he would earn on a good day.
the sights became less interesting as we rowed further away from the main (dasaswamedh) ghat. when we reached raja ghat, which marked the southern fringe of the old city, i told him i did not want to proceed further and we turned back.
my most memorable experience in varanasi, and one of the most unforgettable travel experiences ever, was watching the ganga aarti ceremony performed every evening on the bank of the dasaswamedh ghat. i am neither a religious nor spiritual person, so the meaning and significance of ritual were lost on me. however,
purely from an aesthetic point of view, it was a spellbinding performance. the graceful but not effeminate moves of the performers against the aural backdrop of beautifully sung aarti songs had me hooked, entranced and mesmerized from the get-go.
it was at the ceremony where i saw jesus or someone who looked like jesus (not that i or anyone for that matter knows what he really looked like) on stage performing the aarti. the 'resemblance' was uncanny. i could not help but articulate my surprise, perhaps, a little too loudly.
"jesus?"
next stop, bodhgaya.
COMING SOON HOUSE ADVERTISING ads_leader_blog_bottom
Tot: 0.184s; Tpl: 0.013s; cc: 22; qc: 107; dbt: 0.1299s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.3mb
the soul cultivator
Claire Hall
Jesus Christ or Jesus Luz (Madges man!)
Which ever Jesus....JESUS! He does! Nick I have been in a fowl mood today, I studied your great pics and I laughed from start to finish with every word. Loved it, you captured Varanassi with perfection. Great to be reading your words again. Happy New Year my dear, where ever you are in this fabulous world Claire XOX