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Published: June 29th 2008
I’m having a hectic little week of it at the moment. It’s actually really nice to feel so engaged with my world, though it comes at a cost. Fitting in the dull-but-vitals of life was tough enough already, so unfortunately sleeping has now gone by the wayside. The madness started on Friday because I got sick again. I was up all of Thursday night sharing my innards with the world and beating my exhaustion into submission. Friday I was off work, but spent most of the day lying motionless on my bed, wired and woeful. As I believe I mentioned in a previous blog, I was heading to Varanasi on the Friday evening. My wired self was shuddering at the idea of an overnight train ride, my woeful self knew I had no choice but to leave Kolkata; I needed the headspace. Thus, 6pm came, Rose returned from work and, feeling slightly better, I crawled onto a bus to begin the mammoth journey to Benares (This is what Indians call Varanasi).
It might actually be appreciated if I advise you at this point that this will be a good news, many-smiles story. I realise it hasn’t started with joy and
it certainly has its dark moments to come, but really, there will be joy I promise…
So there I was, back at Howrah Station (Kolkata) again. I was wandering around waiting for my train thinking about my first and second visits to that station during which I was abandoned and given food poisoning respectively. ‘This time, it would be just classic if I have my bag stolen or something equally grim’ I said to myself; oh what foresight! For this is exactly what happened. Clearly I was clutching my bag for dear life whilst on the platform, but the train came, we made ourselves comfortable and then I relaxed. My bag was up on the bunk above my head, pretty inconspicuously I thought. I had my head in a particularly excellent book and I was beginning to feel better and excited about the weekend ahead. I was then tapped on my shoulder by a guy with haste in his voice and concern in his eyes. ‘Do you have a bag?’ He barked. ‘Do you have a bag!!!! Which bag is yours? Where is your bag?’ Its usual practice to be asked endless meaningless questions throughout the day, but it
only took an instant to realise that this question demanded an immediate and precise answer. Having stood up and pointed to the space on my bunk that no-longer contained my bag, the guy finally got me to confirm that yes, my bag had indeed been stolen. In an instant, he marched at great speed down the train carriage shouting after me to follow him. It took some moments to shake myself out of my stunned state, but eventually I decided I had nothing to lose; I followed after him. As we passed the crowds of passengers who by this time had become fascinated onlookers and a most appreciative audience, we collected another random guy and then descended from the train carriage. It was while we were positively striding down the train platform that it was finally explained to me what was going on. The first guy had seen a man pass my bunk, grab my bag, and walk on casually. He decided that something may be amiss and so watched his movements. He saw him get off our train and on to the local train on the adjacent platform which was a clever little tactic as the train was due
Puja View
This picture is from the Puja Ground I mentioned before it all kicked off.to leave any second and so he would have been away and clear. We were now making hasty progress in our search for this guy in each and every carriage of the local train. I didn’t have a thought really of what was going to happen if or when we found this bloke, I was simply in a haze of bewilderment and fear being drawn along the platform by the rage and fervour of my two burly allies. In fact the only thought I do recall of those seconds was an explosive conviction to give up on India and go home to England - an Alanis Morissette style irony - having just had my passport stolen! Back at the manhunt, a phrase I don’t use lightly as you’re about to hear, the guy was soon spotted and we entered the carriage where he was sat with one other bloke. With a vocal violence that transcends any language, one of my guys ripped into this man as I watched with reservation. Mostly this reservation was based upon the fact that I had no idea that this man was in fact the person who’d half-inched my worldly goods. I didn’t relish apologising
Puja Performance
This is a poor shot, but you see the point. There were seven Sadhus performing the rituals of the Puja from small platforms along the front of the ghat. for the tirade which was being inflicted on my behalf. However, my guys were very adamant and persisted despite the dumbstruck innocence projected by the accused. Finally however, my bag was sighted under the seat. It was grabbed and thrust in my direction. Having confirmed it was mine and noted that it was now empty, all hell let loose! Thankfully, neither train was yet in motion - it’s not the first time a delayed train has been a friend of mine. The thief and his mate (definitely playing the innocent bystander card, though no one was having any of it) were duly jettisoned from their train swiftly followed by their luggage. On the platform a small army of other men (voyeurism is very much a male dominated pastime in these parts) had gathered and now people could see some real action and so people began to swarm down the platform towards us. My two original guys soon became General and Captain or my own personal army that I was rapidly becoming reluctant to have anything to do with. There had been a popularist coup and any control or say in proceedings that I believed I had was instantly usurped and
the army of vigilantes became one living breathing organism set about to beat the life and breath from my assailants. Having been scared with minor violence and the shear scale of the attack, the thief guy decided it was prudent to start returning my possessions. I’d already got some of my clothes back as they were in his luggage, but all the valuable things he’d already concealed about his person, The first thing he relinquished was my camera. I guess he figured that that was the most valuable thing and therefore I’d give up after that and call off the attack. The two things he’d clearly overlooked were that I was by this point freaking about my passport and secondly that I was really in absolutely no position to be negotiating with the nigh on 60 angry men who were vying to give him a kicking. So, there I was bizarrely alone on the platform bellowing the word ‘passport’ from ten metres away as the occasional items of my possessions was thrown in my direction. Eventually, the guy being beaten managed to convince the crowd that he’d now returned all the possessions and amazingly the assault had subsided. At this
point I was called forward to do a stock-check. When I saw the thief for the first time since the crowd had set upon him my heart sank. The poor guy had been utterly pummeled, sadly though, I still didn’t have my passport back and although I knew what the consequences would be, I felt that I had no choice but to tell them. The General now took firmer control and quite literally threw the guy on to our train; his new tactic was to personally work him over with a dose of negotiation interspersed. I was commanded to follow them into the vestibule of the train whilst the Captain tried to restrain the baying mob. There, my resolve to have my passport retrieved dissolved into a keen desire to have them stop laying into the guy who was so keenly guarding it for himself. I think I was scared they would kill him; I know I was thinking that surely if someone is prepared to endure so much for the sake of a few of my things, he is clearly in far greater need of them. Knowing I could never stop the rage of the General, I just wanted
to slope off and lick my wounds, but they were having none of it: I had to be there to identify my goods. From this point onwards I managed to avoid seeing much of the proceedings. I know that at one point the guy was on the floor of the toilet cubicle with the mob taking it in turns to give him a hefty kicking and at this point I know that my sympathies were firmly with him and not the vigilantes. I had a new tug at my heart with each kick. I’d never seen such intense violence before and my sheltered sensibilities are absolutely not cut out for it. Finally, the thief was gone; I have no idea where or indeed how, as surely he couldn’t walk, but by some means he disappeared along with the dispersing crowd. The General then berates me for being scared and not joining in and tells me to recover the final few things from the floor and from the luggage which was still unceremoniously strewn. By then I had my passport and I had my money and so I was starting to breath normally again. Finally, I turned to return to my seat only to be brought back again in order to reexamine the few things that remained unidentified. Embarrassed and feeling scavenous, I recovered my toilet roll, my guide book and two pairs of underwear. For some minutes the train was abuzz with the news of my misfortune and the heroism of the General and Captain, who, having offloaded their testosterone surplus and lost the rage in their eyes, slowly returned to the helpful passers-by that they first identified as. Through my teeth I offered my thanks. I was of course hugely thankful to have my passport back, but not necessarily to them. I was thankful for their vigilance and for their efforts to return my things, but that aggression was not about dishing out justice, those men clearly had stored anger and an agenda of their own. I was disgusted and absolutely not thankful for that.
So where’s the joy? I hear you ask, and it’s a fair question. Actually the real joy came in Benares, but even from this hideous experience at Howrah there was some positivity. I feel like I’ve now placed the first piece of my Indian cultural jigsaw puzzle; it’s inscribed with the phrase ‘driven by necessity’. I’ve written this paragraph a few times now trying to express what I mean by this, but have failed miserably so this is going to be a wholly unsatisfying paragraph to read. I certainly refer to ‘necessity’ as an ingrained psychological imperative rather than a simple lacking of resources, but beyond that I’m afraid I can’t illuminate. It suffices to say that I now feel like I have a framework for understanding the cultural nuances that have, until this point, caused me great frustration and occasionally bewilderment. So hurrah, and lets move on…
At 3pm on Saturday, we slumped off the train in a state of shock, exhaustion and utter relief. I’m pleased to say there was also a good dose of excitement. The journey had been six hours longer than expected and so our two short days in Benares was already reduced to 1 and a half. We were determined to be on it and make the most of our fleeting visit so we headed to our accommodation intending to head straight out again to explore. After finding our way through the maze of plastic and cow muck that lines the city’s streets we arrived at the Lonely Planet-recommended traveller’s hostel which would become our base. I tell you this because I believe that every place recommended in the Lonely Planet anywhere in the world will host the same characters, in the same venue, and foster the same culture -thus no doubt many of you can picture with great detail exactly the kind of place it was. In fact the people staying there amused me greatly, the generic post-student traveller is still wearing the same floppy orange trousers, smelly sandals, bleached dreads, nose-piercings and prayer beads as they were ten years ago when that was me. They are still sharing amongst themselves a whole smorgasbord of diseases and they still talk exclusively about the next great adventure; indeed no doubt none of this has changed for the past 30 years. Thank goodness, because I love it! But I’m so glad I’ve moved on. Anyway, having gorged on a quick, but divine Western lunch at the hostel we headed out to see the wonders of Benares. The city is a special place for Hindus as it is the home of worship for Lord Shiva (Kali’s destructive husband) and it is also situated on the Holy waters of the Ganges river. What draws people in pilgrimage however, is the belief that death here releases you from the Hindu cycle of life and death and thus you achieve what is known as ‘moksha’ - a state of higher being. It is for all these reasons that the famous Varanasi Ghats are absolutely swarming with worshippers, bathers and dead bodies. The latter are literally being stockpiled awaiting a slot on the pyres of the two official ‘burning ghats’. As you might expect, this is where people bring their relatives’ bodies from all over the country in order that they might be cremated here in Benares. These burning ghats make for quite a sight. There is a real expectation that foreigners will be freaked by the sight and so we were only allowed to view from a distance, but really, for me, it’s a very beautiful process, much more civilized than our cremations. To see the body actually burn and so the person return to the Earth (or wherever it is your belief suggests) is truly wonderful; certainly beats a mahogany door and imagination. Sadly, but completely understandably, photography of that ghat was forbidden. Further along, having strolled past only a few of the 80 or so ghats that are central to the town, we came across the start of a Puja. ‘Puja’ basically means prayer, but it can also mean festival or celebration. This Puja was deliberately held outside of the temple to include all and sundry and so we went to watch. The wonder of Hinduism is the endless rituals and symbolism, and this Puja was such a very beautiful example. By a stroke of happy circumstance I was asked to be part of performing the Puja that evening. My job was to wait for my cue and then ring two bells with as much gusto as possible. No problem, and a great way to get a front row seat! Two hours of bell-ringing later, I was very happy, full of exhilaration and in not a little discomfort from my numerous blisters. Thankfully there were two of us on bell duty and so we swapped in and out during this time. This swapping also meant that I could take some pictures - hence those attached. I couldn’t begin to describe all 2 hours of ceremony, but it was a stunning display of dance and ritual that was all about attracting Shiva’s attention and then saying thank you. The most amazing moment came when hundreds of us in the Puja ground were all asked to place burning candles in lotus leaves and set them floating down the Ganges, it was of course dark by then and the spectacle was breathtaking; very much a movie moment. Having been blown away by the dancing Sadhus (religious men), we went for a night walk along the remainder of the ghats. Night-time in India can feel like it’s reserved just for me. It seems that locals are eating and spending family time before going early to bed and tourists are scared to leave the sanctuary of their hotels. For us, this afforded a stunning moonlit walk along one of the World’s most historic and wonderful promenades. They say that Benares is the World’s oldest inhabited city, but who ‘they’ are and how they know is not stipulated. It’s certainly got its fair share of historic sites and stories however. The following morning we were up by 4am to get a sun-rise boat tour along the Ganges - now who’s being Lonely Planet! If I’m honest it was the zero-rupee price tag that dragged me out of the bed at such a ridiculous time of the morning rather than any need to be boating more than 4 hours earlier than anyone else. Regardless, it was lovely and a very gentle way to introduce yourself to the day. After a long morning of seeing a few more sights, we hopped on a bus to Sarnath for the afternoon. This small place is just outside Benares and manages to draw very few visitors away from its beautiful big brother, but it is every bit as historic and holds just as much spiritual draw. It is in fact one of the four key sites of Buddhist pilgrimage. It is the first place that Buddha came to teach of his experiences after the Enlightenment. For us it proved an interesting, but ultimately relaxing afternoon. That was the end of our brief holiday. The journey home from Benares to Kolkata was far less eventful than the outward one, though no more punctual. I eventually arrived at work on Monday at 2pm having not slept properly since the Wednesday night, feeling less than perky, but very happy. I so needed that break and although it was very short, it was also very lovely. It’s now time to plan the next one me thinks!
That's all I have time for now I'm afraid. Stay well lovely people. xxx
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Sophie
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Stuart, It's so wonderful reading about your endlessly interesting experiences. The collection of all these collated blog entries could make for a dynamic book! Your writing is really visual and evocative. I've been meaning to write for ages. Baby is taking up all my time. But i'm thinking of you all the time. lots of love Sophie b