Varanasi

Saturday 22nd November, 2008 (Al)
If there is a more intense and crazy place in the world than this I’d like to see it. Pushkar was crazy but that was because the fair was on. Marrakech is a little wacky when the markets and Jmaa El Fna are buzzing at night. But Varanasi on any day is mental. After checking out about 5 other budget places to stay , we settled on Hotel Sun Shiv - 500 rupees for a large clean room with a balcony but a decent walk from the famous ghats on the Ganges or as the locals call it - ‘The Ganga’. Talking our way around the obligatory pressured tours that hotels try to entice you with, we headed straight for the Ghats. The hotel boss insisted his brother come with us to show us a short cut, save us time and money and without any cost. He took us through some interesting back streets, bought us chai and chatted about his Hindu Gods. Varanasi is a city some 800km east of Delhi and is considered by many Indians to be the holiest city in India. Many people go there in their dying days to be bathed in the Ganges and cremated by the river. Its full of colour and life and has the traffic to boot.
Our guide took us through a maze of alleys along the ghats and temples and to lunch with a magnificent view of Varanasi. The climb up the stairs indicated we have lost a lot of the fitness we attained before the marathon. Both Wend and I got a massage from a hole in the wall business by the river front. Our guide told us he was really good, but I would be more inclined to call my head massage strange. It involved a lot of squeezing of the skin on my scalp to make it look like ‘brains’ on the top of my head. It is weird having another man rub his hands all over your head, face, stick his fingers in your ears and then do a chopping motion with his fingers on my skull (which gave me another headache rather than alleviate the one I originally had in the first place). Wendy on the other hand was having a massage through her clothes from another man who had a completely different technique to my masseur. I think they mastered their art at the massage school of ‘whatever comes into your head, just try it’.
I don’t remember our guide’s name because I forgot it 3 sec after meeting him and thinking he would only be around us for 5 min, I was too embarrassed to ask him again by the end of the night with him staying by our side everywhere we went. You know when its too late to ask. We talked to him about about Hinduism, drug taking in Varanasi (it all started with why are there so many Israeli menus in restaurants in India) and what we should do when we are approached by the poor in India. His views on the payment to the poor were interesting. He told us that there were many poor street people living in India making more money begging than people who went out and worked a full day every day. His view was not to give money to those people as they were known to make up to 200 rupees a day. When we suggested that seemed harsh as they were living on the streets and at least looked the part of people who had nothing, he replied that much of this was part of the illusion and that yes, they probably did not live in established homes but that they had a choice to look for work (menial it may be) but they did not want to and living on the streets and begging daily was a way of life. I’m not certain I agree with it 100% but I understood his point. He said that the ones you should give to were the lepers or the disabled as they had no chance to work, and needed help just to survive. Its hard to tell what is right thing to do when confronted with beggars in India. Wend and I had given to many people on the streets, at road stops, bought fruit for kids at railway stations, but we couldn’t do it for every single one of them.
A young boy approached us in Delhi asking for rupees. We did not give any and when he changed his request to powdered milk to feed his baby siblings, we took him to a store where he pointed out what he wanted in a container. He was pretty dirty and his eyes looked sleepy. We bought the container at 185 rupees (about A$6) and gave it to him. He thanked us and walked on. As soon as he was gone the store owner next door said that powdered milk would be divided into mini packets for him to on -sell at a large profit and to spend on dope. He saw him every day smoking pipes stoned off his head. It was a scam he used every day. We saw him 10 min later with the milk and he had another handful of cash in his hand. It’s a little disheartening when you give it to the wrong kids. However, as I said to Wend, he may have spent some of it on smoke, but it may also have fed him for a few days as well. I told this story to our guide and he said the best thing was to buy kids small amounts of food - fruit etc but never give money as its often not spent correctly. We have given fruit and just the one time sweets (not really encouraged as it creates expectation) to kids at train stations and seen their faces light up, so I think that is the way we will continue.
We walked along the ghats and came across one of the gahts where the cremations are carried out. It was half wood half electric. Apparently this is cheaper than the larger crematorium up the river which was all wood. There were 4 bodies wrapped in muslin being burned. It was a strange sight. Not really disturbing as I thought it might be, however when the odd arm or foot poked out, we had seen enough and decided to move on.
We headed back to our room for a shower and then back out to the ghats. The traffic (both vehicles and humans) was ridiculous. It was like a carnival through the streets. Unfortunately we missed the river ceremony but on our way back we noticed a number of wedding celebrations going on. Varanasi is also a town where many people come to get married. The wedding involved the guests walking through the streets accompanied by a percussion band and the tackiest wedding decoration outrageous lights linked together by wires and carried on the heads of the older children, with the groom trailing at the back, often on a horse. They really do know how to party stopping in the streets to dance to the music. It was a sight to behold and it looked like a lot of fun. We stopped at one point to film a wedding party that seemed to be running it own mardi gra festival. They were going off and we were right near the entrance to the wedding reception hotel. A man in a suit saw the smiles on a our face and grabbed Wendy and myself insisting we follow them. After a little indecision (we weren’t dressed appropriately and we weren’t invited) we followed them in. We asked if it were ok and soon enough everyone were saying to come in. I can’t describe what was going on because before we knew it we were thrown in the middle and had person after person insisting we dance the most ridiculous moves with them, involving joining both hands together in the air, jiggling the hips and lifting knees. I felt like a right knob, but thought what the heck and went with it. We were basically mobbed with men grabbing their wives and kids and insisting they dance with us. We were being completely mobbed and we couldn’t stop laughing at the ridiculous situation we found ourselves in. Meanwhile the rest of the wedding party (including the groom on his horse) were waiting behind to allow them through so the groom could meet his wife to be inside. Another man came up to me and splashed after shave all over my head (maybe I smelt), and another man gave me a rose to give to Wendy and then pinched my nose (what the ?). When the mayhem calmed down a man in a white robe and stained teeth from paan approached me and said we were welcome to join them for the night and insisted we do not leave without eating. I assumed him to be the father of the bride/groom but later found out he was just some random relative just like the man who first invited us into the wedding. We were now wedding crashers.
After having random strangers surround us and grab their teenage kids and forcefully make them introduce themselves to us (I think it has something to do with prosperity), we moved into the reception hall. The groom was in a royal looking chair and his wife to be was in a traditional red sari with her face now uncovered. The smile on his much older face and the lack of smile on hers represented what you would expect two people to do when one is considerably more attractive than the other and they are brought together for the first time and told to marry. We sat at the back and talked to young men who were uni students studying under the guidance of the groom. We talked about school and Indian men’s favourite topic - cricket and their favourite player - Ricky Ponting (every Indian man’s favourite Australian player is Ricky Ponting, bar none) when our guide cam in and said we had to go. One of the young men said to me ‘Allan…I will miss you so much’. I got the feeling his use of words were confusing a 20 min conversation with a 10 year close friendship coming to an end. Maybe I accidentally slipped him the meaning of life without realising it in that 20 min.
Sunday 23rd November 2008
The next morning we had our guide take us to the ghats again for a boat ride at dawn….along with hundreds of other tourists. At least we were the only ones on our row boat compared to some tourists who had been completely fleeced and shared theirs with 20 others. The boat ride is colourful and interesting. So many people washing and cleaning and bathing on the steps of the ghats into the Ganges, a septic river that is filled with the town’s sewerage. Tourists too indulge themselves in washing in other people’s poo water. I understand the locals’ spiritual connection with the river but not the Italians and Japanese. After lighting my pants on fire with a stray candle putting a large hole in them, we rowed up the river and saw further cremations. No photos are taken of these places. It all seemed very surreal. Despite the strange surroundings the morning sunrise was beautiful and it reflected on the people and the buildings that lined the river edge. We ventured slowly back to where we departed and came across a disturbing sight. Just less than 10 m from the main ghat where dozens of people were praying, meditating and washing in the Ganges a dead human body floated past. The head and shoulders were still covered with muslin, but the legs were in an upright position with rigor mortis. It was something I’d never seen before and don’t think I ever need to see again. Our guide later said that body was quite old and had been around for a while, yet there seemed no one responsible for taking it out of the river. For people who cant afford a cremation they are usually attached to stones and sunk in the deepest part. Sick really. To think of people brushing their teeth in the water.
After looking at a few more temples and the university (3rd biggest in size after ox/Cambridge) we flew out of Varanasi later that day. Two days that involved colour, craziness, poverty, seeing dead people and dancing like twits at a traditional Indian wedding. Won’t forget that weekend anytime soon.