Day Two: Assaulting the Senses

This has taken two days to write. I've been struggling to find the words to what comes down to one of the best days of my life.

Varanasi was always a pilgrimage place for me. When Raj announced he was getting married, it was the first place on my list of places to go. There was no thought involved about coming here – it just had to be done. It’s that gut feeling that comes, saying, ‘Go on, challenge yourself. Get uncomfortable. See something different. See what the other people are talking about.”

This first day of the trip has been one of the most exciting, confronting and amazing days of my life. The mind has been officially blown, fears have been faced, and beliefs and conceptions challenged. What more do you want on a holiday?

I met my travelling companions the night before. Pete and Mark from Adelaide, two travelling companions who, like me, had come to Varanasi to have their minds blown. Both in their mid-fifties, divorced, well-travelled, open-minded and up for fun, they were just what was asked for in the travelling companion stakes – couldn’t ask for better. Also, as I was to find out later, a good foil to my single woman traveller status.

Our guide, Mahendra, an upstanding but lugubrious sort. Very serious. With a decent grasp of colloquial English, with no time for irony or humour, I felt a little sorry for him, stuck with three dry-witted Aussies.

I was picked up for day one of the tour at 9 AM. The first part of the day was a cycle rickshaw tour of Varanasi and its temples.

Things to know about cycle rickshaws:

·         They don’t have seat belts

·         They don’t have Jesus bars (You know, the handle on the roof of the car you grab on to at times of near-death misses or other existential crises)

·         You’re not offered a crash helmet

·         They were probably manufactured around the time the British were in power

·         The bloke driving it is probably well into his 50s if not older

·         They are a very efficient way of getting around Varanasi

·         They also come with a terror factor of eleven until you get used to them.

I looked at the man who was about to cart me around and instantly felt very sorry for him – then I looked over at the others and realised they were in the same boat, Pete and Mark also being double the size of these men, and I let it go.

And we were off, on what can only be described as a dodgem car ride through the narrow, dirty, dusty streets of Varanasi.

I don’t know how the traffic works, but it does. There seems to be some sort of cantilever motion. Cars, trucks, tuk tuks, cycle rickshaws, bicycles, pedestrians, cows, goats, horses… you name it jostle for position. The use of the horn is compulsory, it appears, as is the use of hand signals. One thing this is missing is the road rage, of which there is none.

So, there you are, in the open air, four foot above the ground, hanging on to dear life as the traffic moves around you, and with you. But with the will of Ganesha to smooth the way, and a bit of looking to the sky and muttering, ‘Inshallah’, you get where you need to go in one piece. Your pulse is racing, you’re covered in dirt, diesel fumes and heaven knows what other detritus, but you get there.

Over the morning, we covered the main temples of the city – the Hanuman Temple, the Ganga temple and the Shiva temple. All fascinating and beautiful in equal measure. Mahendra was very officious in his duties of imparting knowledge about these places. The three of us would be put on a spot, lectured about all sorts of things, then left to wander.

The penultimate stop was the Mother India temple, which has a large, carved marble map of India inside. It was here that I had my first minor freak out. Until this time, I’d been pretty okay with everything I’d seen and done.

Outside the temple sat a snake charmer with a couple of monkeys. The monkeys were chained to him, the cobras were in their pots. Something snapped. I went and sat under a tree, muttering “Nope, nope, nope, can’t do this.” Snakes are bad enough, but bloody monkeys...  It was when the man gave the monkeys toy guns to play with that sent me flying. You can’t do anything about it. It’s the man’s livelihood. Walk away.

Animals don’t get a great deal here, so there is a bit of turning the other cheek and walking on happening. Cows litter the roads. Dogs lazing roam the place, not looking for food or affection. You come face to face with goats – both a meat and milk source – all the middle of a city of two million people. As I said, don’t have to like it and I can’t do anything about it – though finding a team of vets to neuter the street dogs might be a start.

The last stop on the tour was to a silk factory. A small visit to the looms was followed by a trip to the showroom, where the three of us were paraded with silk items. All gorgeous. All expensive.

It’s here we got our first real lesson in gender politics around here. I, a woman, was with two men. So that’s okay.

In Australia, we’re pretty equal, though don’t mention the pay gap or domestic violence statistics.

I got my first feeling of being a second-class citizen. For some reason, I was referred to as ‘your wife’. The boys sniggered and said, “She’s not my wife. Left my ex-wife at home with her new husband.” Oh. The guys would be asked questions. Where did they come from? What did they do? Where were they going? What did they like about Varanasi? I was left to sit there and admire the silks.

There’s been a bit of this, more in Varanasi, but that feeling that as a woman, you’re not seen. The streets are a testament to this. Wherever you look, there are men. Women roaming the streets are few and far between. The boys noticed this and were good about it, and I was thankful they were there. They were a good buffer to some of this rampant sexism. Okay, so I was relegated to the role of ‘wifey’, at least I wasn’t getting pestered.

After a spot of lunch, some down time and recovering a bit of nerve, we set out later, this time by car, to go and see the ghats.

This is what Varanasi is known for. There are 88 ghats (or 84, depending on which information source you go to), built up areas of the riverbank providing steps down the river. There are all sorts of ghats. Some ceremonial, some for more everyday duties like washing, bathing and heaven forbid, fishing). The most famous of these are the Burning Ghats – Harishchandra and Manikarnika – the place where bodies are taken to be cremated, on pyres, next to the river. In the open. For everybody to see.

We pulled up in one of the side streets and made our way to the ghats. Mahendra stopped us. Around us, long with a plethora of goats, piles of wood lined the streets. He stopped us there. “We’re about to go to the Harishchandra ghat. There are many cremations happening. Please be respectful. No photos. I will tell you when we’re far enough away.” I questioned him about my presence there – having read many things about this. I was told I was fine to move around the ghat, just don’t go down to watch the pyres up close. No worries there. Even from a short distance around the corner, it felt like blast furnace.

I readied myself.

And was thankfully fine. Better than fine.

What you really get from Varanasi is a sense that life really happens here. It’s all out in the open. You see everything. Kids begging, people waiting around, men bathing in public near the bus station or pissing into a drain (you see a lot of that), four people and a baby, sans helmet, on the back of a motorcycle is the norm. So, when it comes to death, Varanasi’s take on this is unique.

Gone are the Western attitudes of death being behind closed doors, in boxes, to be carefully managed, grief is to be silent and unseen. Varanasi is THE place to be cremated. Allegedly, to be sent to cinders here is the most auspicious way to make your way into your next life.

Bodies are shrouded, carried to the ghat, placed on a pyre, doused with Ganges water, then set alight. This is done by a team of people known as ‘Untouchables’, who man the pyres, ensuring the body is completely cremated. Once the fire dies away, the ashes are sifted through for gold, then the ashes and other small fragments are thrown in the Ganges.

Fun facts:

·         It takes about three hours to completely cremate a body in this way

·         About 100 cremations take place on any given day

·         There is a more conventional electric crematorium next door to the Harishchandra ghat

·         It tends to be only Varanasi natives who get to be cremated at the ghats.

Mark and I readied ourselves. Neither of us knew what to expect.

And as I said. It was okay. First up, the smell is not one of death – just a wood fire burning. The heat is intense.  Secondly, you see what you see. In my case, a set of shrouded feet sticking out from the pyre. It was okay. I said a silent prayer for the dead and moved on. The Untouchable will deftly prod the fire, ensuring errant limbs like this are incinerated. For the people on the lowest level of the society, they have a very important job. It’s an important job too.

We moved to the next ghat along to catch our boat over to the Dashashwamedh Ghat to watch the Flower Candle ceremony.

After being placed in small, leaky boat, which promptly broke down 100 metres away from the riverbank, we were towed back and placed on a slightly bigger, also dilapidated boat, which was thankfully operational and made our way up to the ceremony.

It’s an amazing sight. Priests waving fire and fans around, thousands of pilgrims, nearly as many tourists, traditional chanting. I just sat back and took it all in.

We made our way back to where we came from, once again, walking past the Burning Ghat, once again, being surprised at how normal this all felt. Mark and I traded notes. We had very similar thoughts about coming to Varanasi – and this was part of the reason why – and we both felt good about the experience.

Walking back to the pick-up spot, a team of untouchables passed with a body hoisted on their shoulders ready to be sent back to where they came from.

In the words of Kurt Vonnegut, and so it goes…

Sleep took a while to come, once a dinner Karahi Paneer, garlic naan and a bowl of vanilla ice cream had been eaten.

One of the best bits of advice I got about India was to look for a little bit of normality in your day, a touchstone to bring you back to balance.

For me, this is a small bowl of vanilla ice cream after dinner. It calms the senses, settles the nerves and makes you realise that for all that is out there, it is the small joys which bring most pleasure.

Today's Song: