Last 2 days India

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October 12, India

This might be my last blog from the trip. Today we fly from Varanasi to Delhi then on to the United States, land of showers that you can open your mouth in, land of salads that don’t terrify and for me, land of beef! If you can’t tell, I’m ready. It’s been remarkable, by far the most different place we’ve ever been. If we’ve bitched a bit about the long bus rides, the food, the beggars, the air pollution, the disorganization of the trip and the chaos of the country, these things pale next to the important things, like the people, the culture(s), the sights and sounds, these were all terrific experiences. I too loved scratching the surface on how to take good photos. Having Vincent Versace leave, while probably better for my disposition, was a loss to the educational aspect of the trip. But there are other photographers on the trip that helped me; some novices and some serious pros, one of them being the famous Francie Bishop Good. Each photographer had or began to develop their own sensibility.

Yesterday was a long day. It started with a five hour bus ride, the last hour and a half through the slums of Delhi (in Delhi we really saw nothing but slums), with oppressive smog that you could feel and taste, visibility that challenged airplanes taking off and landing and it was a clear day. Our group was getting tired and getting cranky and the leadership of the group, Fatima (the Executive Director of the Workshop) and Rashiv, our local guide, were not communicating and telling us different things. There was no breakfast, no lunch, and dinner was to be at 8:30 or so. Power bars were beginning to taste awful. At a rest stop we bought candy bars and drank cokes. A lot of tension was building and at one time or another, Dan got in Fatima’s face, Erica got in Rashiv’s face, Jan got in Rashiv’s face, Hugh walked out of a meeting, and I was extraordinarily well behaved. Ok, you got me there. I was snappy. Not at my best. And, my dear sainted wife bore the brunt of this. Lest you think that my abolutions and groveling are for some nefarious or selfish reasons, please be assurred that I am sincere and the fact that she has been giving me “the look” for several hours, has nothing to do with my apologizing. Buy that?

Another piece of important information. You may recall the query about the use of the pitcher and nozzle in the Indian bathrooms as a replacement for toilet paper. Yoga positions were considered as a method of using the pitcher. Now we have the real answer. Ready? Truth. Indians dip their hands in the bucket and use their hands in place of toilet paper. The bucket is to rinse one’s hands after the digital clean-up. We are assured that the Indians always carry disinfectant wipes with them and have been carrying them for at least 600 years. Reminds me a story Paul Newman told me. Paul was at a race with his friend Mario Andretti. Nature called and the two friends walked into a bathroom where Mario proceeded to go directly to the sink and wash his hands with soap and water. Then he went to the urinal. Paul turned toward him (we assume Paul had finished but it would be an even funnier story if he hadn’t) and asked why he washed his hands before going to the bathroom rather than after. Mario responded, “I know where my dick’s been, it’s my hands that I’m worried about.”

Back to the travel log. Arriving at Delhi airport yesterday, we flew on Spice Jet to Varanasi. It was a new 737-900, well equipped to carry at least 600 people or so I thought when I tried to get my fat ass into the seat and my carry on into the overhead designed to carry a small briefcase. It had to compete with the Indians’ carrying their entire home with them while the cow in the isle and manure on the stairs created another challenge. Just kidding. The flight was fine, though late and we went to the hotel where, when it appeared that we would not be fed until sometime in early December, a revolution commenced which resulted in the leaders preparing to send out resumes to Indian companies for available positions in laundry or street sweeping.

But we survived, took the bus down to where we had to walk, walking through traffic infested streets to the main Gat. Gat means something like the bank of the river. And this was a special Gat because it is in the Ganges, the Holy River of the Hindus, where people from all over come to bath in the Holy waters and be cremated on its banks. More about that later. Each night at the Gat there is a ceremony with fire and dancing where they worship Lord Shiva, a big macher god in Hinduism, Lord of the river. Then we boarded a big row boat and headed down river toward a big fire (actually several big fires) where we observed the big crematorium at work. Hindus believe that if they are cremated at the Ganges, good stuff happens in the next life so not only do all the folks that live in Varanasi (pop approx 2 million) get cremated in the Ganges, but traditional people and religious people from all over India come to Varanasi when they are old or, often, they’re packed in the car when they die and are driven here, for cremation. National Lampoon’s Vacation with Chevy Chase - where they were driving around with the dead grandmother - was funny. It’s reality here.

The crematorium. When we approached from the river there were dozens of fires burning, each a cremation. This place operates seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day. Along the bank there were six or eight bodies on bamboo stretchers, each either in the process of or having recently been dipped in the river. Then they are laid along the bank while the family goes to buy wood for a pyre. There are “untouchables” called “Dom” that help the family prepare the the fire. Only men are there. And the husband, or oldest or youngest son of the deceased shaves his head and wears a white robe and supervises the process. Once the wood is purchased and the wood prepared, the family, again, only men, lift the body, undress him or her, cover him or her with a piece of white linen and place the body on the fire. The guy in the white robe then lights the fire and the family waits until the flames are really roaring then he reaches in with a stick and taps the head of the deceased 5 times then they leave and go home. It takes from 2 - 4 hours for the body to be consumed. The family comes back the next day to sift the ashes for gold, silver, or anything else and then they push the ashes into the river. There is no crying or mourning at this place. But as with all places in India, there are cows and dogs walking around, garbage and cow shit, mixed with the solemnity of the ritual. We were covered in smoke and ash and trust me, it didn’t smell good. Even my neighbor in NY’s brisket on Friday evenings smells better.

After rowing back to the Gat from which we left, we got on bicycle ricshaws to go back to the bus. That is another adventure, dodging cars and motorcycles. We survived, got back to the hotel and, believe it or not, were famished (we’ve avoided saying we were “starving” because that would be in bad taste in our environment where people really are starving). In bed by 11, 5 AM wake-up call for a dawn shooting and more sight seeing.

We all showed up, on time, ready for our last sight seeing adventure. Bus down to the Gat, boarded a row boat and headed up river to see the people bathing and doing religious rituals in the Ganges. Seeing the Ganges at first light, Holy as it is, it’s really gross, disgusting, with green slime and garbage floating along the banks. Doesn’t bother them one bit. They brush their teeth in it. Soap up in it and I’ll bet you they pee in it. The cows wade in it and you know what cows do. As gross as you think from my description, it’s worse and whether it smells or not, I’ll never know. My smeller is so desensitized by now that, well, never mind.

We walked through the narrow streets and saw huge piles of wood, well organized, shop owners opening their stalls, tiny houses, religious shrines, well-dressed children leaving for school, beggar children not going to school and then a family carrying the corpse of their family member down the street on a stretcher over their heads. There were the usual cows and cow shit. It's remarkable.

Back to the hotel where we had a slide show of our best 20 pictures of the week. it was really great to see everyone's perspective. The work was great to at least my surprise. Then a special treat. Dan found a pizza hut and ordered in pizza, American junk pizza, which we all savored intensely. Off to the airport for our flight back to Delhi. No problems. And now I sit in the lounge finishing this blog.

Ashley had us play a game; Rose, Stem, Thorn. Each of us was to talk about our own personal Rose, Stem and Thorn for the trip. The rose is what we will remember most pleasantly, the thorn, most negatively, and the stem is that that held it together. For me, there were two roses. One was the experience of being with the Indian people, the friendliest people in the world. Never have I been with people that so loved having us around, having their picture taken, generally smiling, in spite of the overwhelming challenges they face - and those challenges are such that we can not even imagine. The other was the sheer difference from any place, any experience I have ever had. India is not like a trip to Europe, or Mexico, or the Bahamas. The culture is so completely different, the belief system so at odds with ours, that it is truly a mind blowing experience. And that different culture is good and positive and that has to be impressive. The thorn I guess was the disorganization of the trip, with the torturous bus rides, the lack of good decision making of the leaders, the mediocrity of the guide. All of which combined to make it a grueling and exhausting trip, frustrating in many ways. And the stem, that's an easy one. The stem had two branches. First the photography, which was challenging and yet, with such a rich target environment, almost easy. The constant push to take pictures and the instruction and review was something that moved us all forward together. But even more important, the second branch, was being with our friends, Richard, Erica, Ashley, Dan and Jan, and, though lesser so, with our traveling companions, kept the spirit high in the face of exhaustion, lousy food, mediocre hotels, polluted air, honking horns, deathly driving and plans that changed minute by minute, not always for the better. It was a great trip.

Now off for our 16 hour flight home.

Best wishes to each of you,

David

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Comments

[theo]

The last Blog
Thank God the trip is over. I never left Fort Lauderdale and I just can't take anymore. Off to Bimini in the morning to recover from my grueling trip to India. Look forward to seeing you next week.

[Bruce]

Brilliant!
That was the best Sunday morning reading material to date. I feel like I just toured India on two cups of coffee. Every American should be required to go there. Thanks for sharing the trip.

[Melanie]

We are on our way!
Thank you David and Fran for the perfect trip guide! The Camp Family takes off soon...It has been 36 years since I was last in India--I see the changes and feel connected to the great experience you all had in India...you made it a very real blog!