Varanasi - The City of The Burning Ghats

Varanasi, described to Amanda and I during our travels of India as smelly and filthy certainly lives up to this description, as do many other India cities which escape such scathing criticism.  I don't think the recent title of 'The Armpit of India' from a mid fifties guy in Hampi was fair.

Bloody huge cow!

My only regret about being here in Varanasi is the fact that we were so easily put off by the opinions of others.  I think Amanda would have found this place intriguing.  She would have enjoyed the narrow streets that reminded me so much of the souks of Marakesh in Morocco and the Ganges river flowing alongside an almost Venetian style front.  When I say 'almost' I mean
nowhere near like Venice, but there are slight similarities.  The filth, litter and constant haranguing from street vendors drag the over all experience of this holy mecca down to gutter level at times.  It can wear you down if you let it.

The 'Family Guesthouse' was incredible value and with running water hot enough to remove the skin from your hands, the Indian filth was at long last removed from my clothing during an effort expending handwash laundry session.  It was great to have clean clothes again...... I think Pune was the last time I had clean clothes and that was over three weeks ago.... maybe more!

Launderette Varanasi Style....

Andrea had experience of Varanasi, somehow finding her way around the narrow maze of cow pat and litter cluttered streets.  We enjoyed breakfast together most mornings after I'd been up to the roof for yoga or been out shooting with my camera.  My healthy breakfast usually put her coffee and cigarette combo to shame.  The smoky caffeine partnership 'should be followed by something sweet,' she informed me on the first morning.  Later that day we met up with friends she'd met earlier in her travels.  Gemma from Wales and Krista from near Toronto.  It was nice to have dining company in the evenings, and if I fancied a wander during the afternoons.  I still spent much time alone, just wandering with my camera and lenses.

Much of the walking in Varanasi involves dodging large cows, bulls, dogs, people and from time to time all of the previous creatures faeces including people.  The tiny alleyways are packed with traders selling or offering a wide range of services.  Real old school stuff too.  Weathered cracked surfaces reveal dusty stone and concrete, beneath the deep blues, greens, yellows and reds.  Dimly lit boxes house men crouched over sewing machines, irons and tools.  Shops selling Indian musical instruments, perfumes, jewellery, clothes, scarves, shawls and a mind boggling array of trinkets crowd both sides of every street.  Between the retailers little 'restaurants', cafes, money exchange and travel agents fill the gaps.  It's all pretty damn chaotic.  As the people browse they are forced to leap out of the way of motorcycles nipping along the alleyway width streets.

Initially whilst trying to communicate with the local traders I thought there must be some sort of genetic speech impediment amongst the men of Varanasi.  I'd ask a question, they'd seem reluctant to answer, eventually tilting their heads slightly back answering as if they were carrying out a ventriloquist act, only without the ventriloquist's dummy.  It soon came to light that these red tooth stained men were chewing a tobacco and betel nut combination and were unwilling to let go of the huge mouthful of sloppy, red saliva until they were good and ready to gob it out, which when they do you do not want to be standing too close, as the amount and colour is both astounding and disgusting.  In general it seems although they want to run a business their mouthful of tobacco flavoured sputum is of far more importance than offering a good and well mannered level of service.  Not all the men in Varanasi have this foul habit but a huge percentage do.  I took to answering them in the same way they spoke to me, it kept me happy and also made Andrea laugh.  Win win in my book.  It even happened in the Cafes when ordering food...... Yuk!

Making Sugary Sweets...

Andrea and Gemma chat with very camp Sadhu.  He wanted many pictures with different head dresses...

The back alleys of Varanasi lead on to The Ghats.  These are entrances that open up to steep steps which lead down to the Ganges.  The Holy River.  Each Ghat has a different name.  The easiest one to to remember is The Burning Ghat.  Here is where all the cremations occur.  People from all over India come to Varanasi with their deceased family members to release their burning remains in to the mighty 'Ganga'.  Huge stacks of wood are piled high awaiting the constant stream of marigold draped bodies which flow down the streets on the shoulders of their families and friends.  There will be a short clip uploaded at some point in the future..... Probably when I reach Alaska!

A local (he claimed to be a priest of the burning ghat, but seemed to be off his rocker, so I couldn't bring myself to trust him, especially when he started asking for donations.... ) informed me of the people they do not cremate, the ones they simply bring out to mid Ganga and sink with rocks.  These are pregnant women, children, sadhus (holy men) and lepers (something to do with their condition having purified them).  Due to the caste system in Indian they also have different fires for the upper castes and lower castes.  The 'Fire of Shiva' a little fire that has apparently remained alight for over 3,000 years is constantly tended to.  All the flames carried to the cremations over the past 3,000 years or so have come from this original 'Shiva's Fire'.  This fire is constantly fed, and will never be allowed to expire.

Seeing bodies being carried down the street toward The Burning Ghat becomes a normal sight in Varanasi.  Every now and again between the shoulder supported corpses, a beautiful Indian bride will walk down the street with her newly acquainted husband..... I felt sadness in the eyes of some of these brides, rather than the joy you see in other countries where the women fall in love with a man and choose to marry him because of this love.

As the bodies of the poor and homeless burn whilst arms, legs and sometimes the head can be seen amongst the licking flames.  The bare minimum wood is used as these people had no one or their families simply do not have the money to pay for the necessary timber to cover the body of their loved one in it's entirety.  It's an eerie sight, but once again, something you become accustomed to very quickly.

Mayhem in Varanasi Town....

On the second night I wandered out late along the Ghats.  It was peaceful.  Just me and my camera.

During the day it's the same old questions, with a couple of new Varanasi specials thrown in....

'Hasheesh?'

'Marajuana my friend?'

'You want something?' said in a low, suggestive way that leads to an offering of the above..... The last couple of days I whispered back 'Yes, yes I do.'   'I want to find my guesthouse.'  They usually point me in the right direction.  I also took to offering them some random item in return, seeing as they assume because I'm western I either interested in a boat, drugs, hand massage or shave..... The first time I politely refuse their offer, the second time more firmly, the third I'd stop and ask, 'Would you like some bananas, I have great bananas?'.  The last guy I did this to found it highly amusing laughing whole heartedly immediately trying to drum up sales for my bananas. 

Each night at the main ghat a beautiful ceremony takes place where 5 (maybe 6) guys dressed in fancy Indian clothes perform some sort of offering, possibly to the Ganga.  From 6pm until 7.30pm much incense, fire, drumming and chiming fills the evening air, whilst hundreds of people sit on boats watching from the river on one side whilst the steps to the main ghat are filled with tourists and local Indians on the near side.  It's an enjoyable spectacle.

Dodgy lights on the Christmas Tree I'm Afraid.....
Out it goes!

As I returned late that evening, picking my way through the darkness, the sound of my flip flops filling the still air (when the sound didn't fill the air it meant cow pat  -  not nice) I finally recognised the little chai shop that marked the corner where I needed to turn up to the Family Guesthouse.  A girl shot up ahead of me.  As I turned the corner in to the badly lit alley, the girl suddenly burst in to a run disappearing round the corner.  She was in a hurry I thought.

The next day was spent doing much of the same thing, roof top yoga, photography, wandering the ghats, eating and drinking.  Andrea had been with her friends most of the morning, and we bumped in to one another later in the day. 

She started to tell me that she'd been telling the girls about some weirdo following her up the street last night...... I asked her what time?  'Did you break in to a run.' I asked.  'Yes, he was walking really fast, with really heavy foot steps.'  She explained with a slight terror in her voice.

I laughed.  Andrea looked at me.  'He was busting for the toilet, that's why he was walking so fast.'  I said.  She burst in to laughter.  I later performed a 'Crime Watch' style reconstruction for her later that evening, leaving her in stitches.  Ha ha!  Mistaken for a new Varanasi stalker.

Every evening approaching sunset and beyond the sky is filled with small tissue paper kites.  Kids and adults alike appear on the rooftops with their large spools of nylon fishing line send kites150 metres and more in to evening sky.  It's wonderful, especially as the sun sinks lower and the kites become cast as black dancing silhouettes in the evening sky.  I have many beautiful pictures that need to be sorted out.  This one will have to suffice for now.  Sorry folks.

As I've alluded in previous posts, the desire to avoid buses and travel as much via rail requires forward planning.  On my second morning I headed to a local travel ticket tout.  They take a commission on your intended travel plans, knocking the price up by about 25 to 30%, but when the intended journey is not direct and there are no tickets available except for Tourist Quota tickets there is little option left but to make a visit to these knowledgeable souls.  This knowledge can be invaluable at times.

As the sputum cradling travel agent tilted his head to back to speak fluent ventriloquist Hin-glish, he explained that rather than using Varanasi Junction, the station on the outskirts of town, I should go to Mugal Surai 17km out of town, here I could get a direct train leaving at 6.25pm arriving at New Jalpaigur the following morning at 8.30am.  Perfect overnight travel, a rare thing indeed.  I enquired about the cost of a rickshaw to the 'largest' station in India, he jabbered 150 rupees without slobbering one drop of almost overflowing mouth.  Impressive.

A mans serving lassi yoghurt drinks.... Whilst chewing tobacco....
Notice his head tilted back so as not to slobber!

The Ghats by Night....

Local Family Relax at Night....

With my ticket booked I got to thinking.

I'd intended floating a little marigold puja (a little candle surrounded with orange petals on a little paper dish) out on to the 'Holy River' for Amanda, but with the Ganges being such a filth fest, brimming with the decaying bodies of people and animals, leather tannery chemicals, faeces and urine it just didn't feel right.  My beautiful wife was worth more than this.  I liked the idea of the little candle, and yes it would look be beautiful, but I could sense the filth.  So not here, not running through Varanasi.  I decided to save my little 'something' for Amanda somewhere she would sit and look in awe.  Somewhere immersed in natural beauty and fresh air.  I would wait until Nepal where the air is fresh, crisp, clear and cool.  A place where mountains dominate the landscape, a place unspoilt by filth and pollution.  A place Amanda would love. 

Leaving Varanasi

After a hearty meal of Tibetan soup and momos (veg filled dumplings) followed by a slab of fresh lemon cake I decided I'd better shoot off back to the guesthouse to collect my things and make my way to the main street to get a rickshaw to the train station.  Hugs for Andrea and Gemma in the German Bakery and I was off.  It was 5pm.  I wanted to be in a rickshaw by 5.20pm, assuming an hour would provide more than enough time to get me the 11 miles to the train station.  Earlier on in the day Andrea had suggested leaving at 4.45pm to be safe.  I agreed, but some how 5pm has just rolled by.

Loaded up with both my packs I strode down the alleyways in to the main street, the pounded my way to the main roundabout where the rickshaw drivers wait to pounce.  As they approached I made my demand, '150 rupees to Mugal Surai'.  Each time my suggestion was met with laughter and a refusal.  'Very far 25kms, 500 rupees.'

This was over 3 times what the slobber cradling travel agent told me.  I wasn't best pleased.

I dislike being lied to or being ripped off.  Just the principle of it really.  After a couple more minutes of walking a guy offered 350 rupees.  It wasn't going to get any better, and I had a feeling time could be an issue.  I had an hour to get there.

We sat swamped in traffic until almost 6pm.  Pushing, swerving, underpassing our way out of town.  I was initially upset that I was going to miss my train.  The traffic (cows, rickshaws, cycle rickshaws, carts, trucks, motorcycles etc) was grid locked, full of fumes and very unforgiving.  I don't know how anyone could live in such conditions on a daily basis.  The fumes were noxious.

I was going to be stuck outside of Varanasi in search of a guest house after paying over the odds to get to a train station where there was no train.  The next train was the same time tomorrow, but I knew there were no tickets.  I sat and contemplated the situation.  Worrying I knew was of no use, so I refocused.  I decided to try the visualisation techniques I'd been using in recent weeks.

I focused on seeing my self on the train, relaxed in Sleeper Carriage 3 Upper Berth 38, this ensured it was this particular train.  I concentrated for the next 50 minutes.  Yes it took an hour and a half to cover between 11 and 15 miles....  I decided that the train would be running late, even suggesting to the rickshaw driver that he stop rushing.  He tried his very best.  I think we both knew within 10 minutes of our journey there was no way in hell we were reaching the train station in less than an hour, the time required to get me there for 6.25pm.

He parked up and wandered in to the train station visualising the number 12506 on the main board.

Un-bloody-believably there it was.  North Eastern Express 12506 running 2 hours and 10 minutes late.  I'll continue to use these visualisation techniques, and continue to report success and failures as and when they happen.

I'm still sitting the train station.... in a platform cafe.  A very large rat just skulked between my flip flop covered foot and the wall.  His whiskers almost brushing my skin.

The train is currently three and a half hours late.  But that's fine.  I will still arrive in NJP tomorrow around midday.  It's a good time to arrive. 

The delay has given me the time to update the blog, so all is good.

Inconvenience is an illusion of the mind.  It's only becomes inconvenience when we allow it to be.  Small revelations make life more manageable.

Be patient and enjoy the time you have been given how ever it has arisen.

Big love to my friends, family and followers.

Xxx

Update:

9pm passed with no train..... 10pm sailed by....

Shortly after this I met Fernando from Argentina.  At a guess I'd say he's in his late twenties maybe just pushing thirty.  We enquired about the 12506 North Eastern Express from time to time, with various states of update we eventually gave up, instead smiling about the situation and laughing at our novelty presence to some of the local Indians folks, who'd taken to studying us at close quarters.

I have never seen so many rats.... Literally everywhere.  The railway line, the platforms, the benches.... At one point Fernando leapt the height of himself when he felt something scurrying behind his back.   Even the mythical and legendary Pied Piper of Hamlin would have had his hands full with the amount of large pointy nosed rodents at this station.

11.25pm drifted by.  The train now 5 hours late.  Quite and achievement for a train to run this late.

Fernando and took turns enquiring about updates from the ticket inspectors office.  Their patience seemed to be wearing thin with our hourly queries.  The final response was 'Sit down'.  No service awards for the rail staff at Mugal Surai.  A simple 'We do not know,' would have sufficed.

Our faces lit up when another inspector announced that the North Eastern Express was approaching platfrom one.  It was 12.15am.  It departed the platform somewhere around 12.45am....

Looks like I may need to tweak my visualisations, ha ha!  I'm too powerful for my own good.

The train was rammed. Ten Indians occupied the berth.  I didn't like having to wake the two folks who were completely crashed out on  upper berth 38, but I had paid for my bed and I was ready for sleep.  The last few days I've had a very rough throat, as if a bad cough is trying to get hold.  I'm a little stuffy and chesty too.  Diet and pollution are not helping.

People are sleeping along the narrow aisles making toilet navigation very tricky indeed.  The toilet doors are even blocked by awkwardly positioned slumbering bodies. 

Indian rail travel has definitely become more cramped on arrival in the North.

Apart from the Toy Train in Darjeeling, I think this will probably be my final train journey in India on this occasion.

I always miss Amanda, but I really miss her on the travelling parts.  I tend to feel very sad from time to time on the buses and trains, usually shedding a few tears here and there as I ponder, relive and reminisce out time together along with the fantasy of her still being here, being allowed to grow old together.  Silly.  I do long for her.

It's 10.30am.  I've just eaten some dodgy chilli coated Rice Krispies with a few onions, chickpeas and chillies served in a news paper cone, all from the comfort of Upper Berth 38.  This little snack with the two samosas I ate an hour ago should stave off the hunger until the train arrives in New Jalpaigri Station. 

I've just had my ticket checked.  The train should be arriving around 2.30pm.  The 6 hour delay has been  nicely maintained.

Catch you all in Darjeeling.

'