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Published: November 16th 2006
Open Kitchen
You know how some fancy restaurnats gimic you into walking through and getting a good look at their busy kitchen? Big deal! THIS kitchen shot was taken from the balcony above where we waited endless eras of time to get our meal.Well folks, for reasons you will read below, we have no photos to go with this piece but thanks to some of our fellow bloggers (who are much more talented with the camera anyhow) you can still see this amazing city for yourselves.
Click here for great Varanasi photos and then... Click here for more great shots! After leaving Kaza and realizing that the experience had changed our lives forever, we digested our two months in India as we headed south-east to Varanasi and then finally into Kolkata. We once again found ourselves traveling through Manali again- it is sort of a pit stop from the Himalayas into well...everything. We'd gotten ourselves pretty familiar with Manali after the weeks we'd spent there before venturing into the remote Spiti Valley and Kaza.
Manali is supposed to be this ultra romantic getaway for newly-weds, though we found that the people defecating alongside the road and constantly being hassled to buy mini-chess sets by a group of under-cover drug dealers took away from the romance. Griff and I got a kick out of how different this town of Indian newlyweds is from the American hot-spots dominated by western love-struck couples. I guess that to understand Indian honeymoons, one must understand Indian marriages, which for the most part are arranged. There are many steps involved in the choosing of a spouse. Each family investigates thoroughly the reputation and history of the potential spouse's family. The prospective couple may see each other a couple of times before their wedding, while others are not even allowed to speak to their bride or groom until their wedding day. Most of the time a woman's family is expected to pay a hefty dowry to the groom's family. A dowry can consist of things such as jewelry, furniture, appliances, money or cars. Some more liberal thinkers are emerging and object to this practice as they do not believe that a woman's worth should be based on the material goods that she brings into a marriage. Others think that receiving a fee is only fare to take on the responsibility of having another female in the house...after all she is just a girl. Bride burning has been officially banned in India, though many still claim that it goes on; in these cases the wife is usually dowsed in kerosene and set on fire giving her husband the opportunity to re-marry another woman with a higher dowry. This was a big problem during the 70s and 80s in India and received a lot of media attention from western journalists. The government now strongly condemns the practice and it is much less common.
The wedding celebrations usually go on for a few days, until the grand finale of the ceremony which always involves a beautiful bride who is breath-takingly decorated with ornate jewelry, colorful charms, paint and cloth. After the wedding celebration there is the honeymoon, an event that Griff and I spied and experienced from the outside looking in:
A couple sits across from each other at a restaurant table and awkwardly roll a few noodles onto a fork. The young and timid bride sips a yogurt lassi with downcast eyes while her groom slurps a Coca-Cola in between drags on a short bidi. They rarely make eye-contact and wouldn't dare hold hands. Occasionally one will break the silence with a few words of Hindi. The woman, younger than the man, has hands covered in henna from fingertips to elbows and on her wrist jangle the mass of white and red diamante bangles that declare, "I am taken." to any onlookers. The man sports a poofy Liberace hair-do and a mustache thick with course blackness. After a meal filled with awkward gestures and conversation, the newlyweds leave the restaurant and walk into their new life.
The scenario was strange for us westerners who as on-lookers found the situation unfolding in front of us painfully uncomfortable, but to Indians this is all part of the process of marriage and the beginning of family-building. I am thankful for my "love-marriage" (as it was referred to in India) but also see some of the advantages of an arrangement and understand why it has maintained its place in Indian culture for so many generations. I spoke with several young woman while I was India, and teased them about boys, but they received this pestering as nothing more than western foolery. For Indian women dating is non-existent, events like prom and school dances are just things they see on American movies. "But aren't you excited?" I would ask. "Aren't you nervous?" I'd quickly add. "No, not at all." they would always shrug. "I trust my parents to find someone I can raise a family with. We do not marry for feelings like you westerners, marriage is a duty, another step in life." My mouth dropped the first few times I heard this, but the more I got the hang of India, the less shocking it became, in fact the less shocking EVERYTHING became!
After only a couple of days back in Manali, we booked a bus out- at this point we were more than ready to scram outta there. As we walked to the line of busses waiting to carry tourists away from the "love-haven" of Manali, we approached one that looked as though it should be in the wrecking yard- in the
back of a wrecking yard. No way could this thing make it a mile down the road! Its body was all bashed in and it must have been a hundred years older than all the others. Of course... this was our bus. We found our place inside and got ready for the sixteen hour ride to Delhi, where we would take a train to Varanasi to see the wonder of the great river Ganges. As you might have guessed where this story is headed, the trip into Delhi took much, much longer than anticipated! After breaking down a couple of times in the middle of dark streets with nothing near ear or eye-shot, we ended up sitting and sweating on the stinky bus for a total of 24 hours...by the time we hit our destination, we were beat but we were also on a tight schedule, so in less than a day's time we boarded a train to Varanasi. The journey wasn't too terrible, though I was the only younger woman traveling in this class and was surrounded by a hoard of men who were less-than-discreet with their stares, causing me to stay in my bunk for most of the time and only to stray away when absolutely necessary to use the bathroom. At about 6:00 am every man on the train woke up "cleansing" their lungs from phlegm, snot, and remnants of bidi smoke. It is totally acceptable for Indian men to burp, fart, and hock loogies in public and kudos go to the man who can do it the loudest and in the most disgusting manner. This particular morning on the train was as if a plague of toads with laryngitis had taken over the men's throats and were being cast out by their hosts. Sick- very sick.
Our arrival in Varanasi was relatively quiet. We got into town before most of it had woken up, though temple songs and chants could still be heard at this early hour. We later learned that Varanasi has no "quiet hours" and depending on the ceremony, offering, or chant you get wind of, the noise that goes on during some of this is pretty freaky. But this particular morning, the music was actually quite pleasant and exotic so we gave it a good listen as we sat atop a hotel roof and waited for a decent time to call our hostess; a woman we had met through our hippie-high-voiced friend in Manali. She took us to her comfy home and for the next few days allowed us full access to all her amenities. It was wonderful! I must admit, that this city held much better things in store for me than it did for Griff. I got the company of another female and the opportunity to have her show me around the city's best shopping- we had a blast! Griff on the other hand, came down with a high fever and a nasty bug. It was about 100 degrees ("Dees-grees" to you Californians) outside and Griff had the fan off with two blankets covering him! Poor guy! After he healed up a bit we went to the place that our friend volunteers at which is a workshop for adults who are mentally challenged. It was really inspiring to see and we even got to help out a bit by cutting some paper for cards that the organization sells. The adults are paid to come in and create handicrafts like batik cards, pillow-covers, and wall hangings. This sort of establishment is not common-place in many parts of India, as those who are not considered "normal" are often hidden or thrown away as infants. A few of the workers there instantly grab your heart! They worked so hard and really felt special having their own place to hang out at and earn money in.
Finally, after Griff's strength had increased a bit, we had to see the ceremonious River Ganges! This holy river is world-famous and for good reason! Hindus believe that if you die in Varanasi and your body is cremated on the river, your soul escapes the cycle of reincarnation. Apparently there are quite a few Indians who decide that the circle should finally be broken. They arrange for their deaths to take place in this sacred city and for their body to be burned in a pyre and floated down the Ganges. The water that flows through this river is considered holy- and everyone wants to be blessed by holy water right? The Ganges is used as a place to wash clothes ("wash" is a relative term- can something really be clean after being sloshed around in feces-ridden water?), take bathes, drink, and water their animals. On any given day one might see an animal carcass floating down the river and if you are lucky, there might be a wild dog on top of the carcass biting out chunks of delicious flesh. Burning human bodies are deposited into the river and so it is also normal to see body parts float to the surface. Griff and I were at the river on a slow day so the best we caught was a cow head bobbing on the surface being fished out of the river by a pack of lean wild pups, but we have heard many an unbelievable story from others. After viewing throngs of Indian tourists dipping their healthy bodies into the holy cesspool, I still wasn't convinced that I was in the mood for a swim- so I admit that not even the tip of my toe was dipped into the Ganges. (Though I will admit that my toes have tread through some equally filthy water in public squat-toilets and monsoon mud puddles sopping up cow dung- isn't this also deserving of some sort of special blessing?)
As bizarre as it all sounds, we actually really enjoyed the antiquity of the holy city and found its cobbled alley-ways and ancient streets to be inviting. The tall brick buildings from which freshly-dyed saris hung to dry and blew gently in the breeze, creating rich banners of exotic color; the Indian market bursting with bangles and cloth and everything Indian-beautiful; the wild monkeys jumping from rooftop to rooftop all made Varanasi come alive with history and color and tradition. Varanasi has oodles of character. There was however another side to the city that we saw and learned about that really shook us...I won't go into that now, because I know I have a lot of younger readers, but there is definitely an undeniable spiritual side to Varanasi- some of it good but a whole lot of it being very, very dark.
As we regretfully bid our German-cum-Indian hostess "Auf Wiedersehen", we headed to the train station for our final trip over Indian soil- we were headed to Kolkata (formerly "Calcutta"). It was the morning of our departure, still at our friend’s house that I began sneezing like crazy and quickly realized that what I thought was an allergy attack was really the flu. Griff's fever grabbed a hold of me and within a few hours time I was burning up and extremely weak. We stopped by the pharmacy to buy some cold medicine and Ibuprofen but then had to rush to our train platform, as we were running late. When we arrived, our train was late- par for the course. We waited a few hours in the relatively nice tourist waiting room and then walked to our train car. Someone must have been watching us and pegged me for a weak-link, because within two minutes of stepping foot on the train, we had been robbed. How it happened, no one can figure out- there were people all around and I had taken extra precaution to push my small backpack as far away from the aisle as possible on the tippy-top bunk. I am much taller than most Indian people and even I had to actually climb up the steps to push the bag out of reach. It was physically impossible to just grab, so whoever took it was most certainly a professional. The first thing I was bummed about loosing was not my new 30gb ipod, nor was it my camera, nor was it the adorable bracelets I had just bought after having my eye on them for a few days, but it was the medicine we had just bought. My fever felt like it was burning a hole through my flesh in our un-air-conditioned train car as I lay cramped by my big backpack on a dirty vinyl bunk bed. The sixteen hour ride seemed like an eternity. But here's the thing... the stuff that was stolen really is just that-"stuff". Maybe it was the fever that softened the blow of our financial loss but I began thanking God that no one had held a gun to our head or a knife to our belly in order to take our belongings- which has been a common story we've heard from others on our journey. There are so many professional thieves that work the trains in India- some of them are even serious scam artists and will poison you in order to take your things! My travel companion and the love of my life was alert, healthy, and tending to me in my sickness- what more could one want? We both knew going into this trip that there would be dangers along the way. We knew there was a very high possibility that our valuables could be taken from us, we were lucky to have held on to them for so long.
As if the entire thievery incident had been timed by a higher power, we arrived in Kolkata and after a day of sleep and Gatorade I was able to still see what I came to this city for. I was not about to fly out of India without visiting the "Missions of Charity" home-base where the grave of Mother Teresa, my long time role-model resides. This woman didn't need frivolous items to make her like fulfilling. She loved God and she loved others, which not only gave her joy in life, but bettered the lives of many others. As we walked through the simple "museum" dedicated to sharing the works of this amazing woman, I realized that no matter how much I read about a person, no matter how much I admire them, I must create my own legacy. I can draw from the lives of others and follow their example, but my calling is different than that of Mother Teresa... what exactly is my calling? I have been discovering the answer to this question, as this year has provided me with experiences and lots of time to contemplate.
Griff and I started into this year with open minds and hearts, hoping that a Divine "pull" would be felt that lead us onto the right path for the next era in our lives. I have never heard the voice of God with my ears. I have never been visited by an angel or a prophet telling me the steps I should follow. But for the first time in our lives, I think that Griff and I have truly trusted that there is a plan for us beyond our finite human minds. We will have to trust the heavy burden that engulf our hearts and call us into action. It is nerve-wracking and exciting at the same time but we believe we have found it...
In March of next year, Griff and I will return to the Himalayan Mountains for a school year. I have taken a volunteer position as the "Head School Mistress" of our small school in Kaza, and Griff will be working on the construction of the school building as well as the business side involved in starting and running a non-profit organization. We are cautiously excited about this major change in our lives and are sure that as much as we prepare ourselves for the next year, we cannot possibly imagine all that it holds for us- both good and bad. There is so much to tell about what went into the making of this decision and how difficult it will be to leave home again. This project is something that we fell "needs" us now and don't want to look back and regret passing on something we feel so strongly about just because we were afraid. So, for those of you who have endured this entire picture-less blog, you now know the answer to the question everyone has been asking us for over a year now, "What are you going to do when you get back?"
If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other. -Mother Teresa
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Heather
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Can't wait to see you Mand in a few short days...miss you so much! Safe travels back to the states.