Varanasi is what I imagined India to be like: Life bursting at the seams. As I sit here considering what to write about this amazing city, I'm overwhelmed by the images flashing through my mind--it's almost too much to describe. I could devote an entire page just to the multitude of colors, fabrics, designs and wrap styles of the sarees I've seen here.
We've spent an amazing week walking along the ghats on the Ganges and getting lost in the narrow, winding alleys of the old city, just soaking it all in: lame beggars on wheeled carts, beautiful women in shimmering silk, men socializing at chai stalls, kids playing cricket in the tiniest of open spaces, fat cows (everywhere!) ... the smells of roses, spices, sandalwood, cow dung (everywhere!) ... the sounds of bells ringing, temple keepers chanting, boatmen offering rides down the river with their ubiquitous call, "Hul-lo! Bo-aht?!"
We were in town for the annual Holi festival, a springtime celebration of rebirth and new life (sound familiar?). The defining activity of the festival is the throwing of colored dyes, first in wet form via waterballons and super-soakers, then in dry, powdered form. We'd stayed in our hotel during the peak of the color frenzy; most families celebrate within their homes, and we were warned that the streets are packed with rowdy young men, many of whom are drunk. But we did venture out in the afternoon and got a good powdering; one kid dumped half his bag of pink powder on my head! (David took this photo of me after I'd shaken the worst of it off.)
I loved wandering the alleys, which were usually only about six feet wide and twisted and turned so that I felt as if I was in a maze. Between squeezing past people and cows, stepping over cow patties and dodging motorcycles, it was always an adventure. And there was so much happening there--shops selling fabrics, cookware, perfumes, firewood; food stalls offering sweets, samosas, pakoras; people milking cows, pumping water and sweeping up trash; tiny temples the size of child's playhouse tucked into corners.
Some of the sweetest times were when we sat on the steps of the main ghat, watching the sunset and the beautiful evening riverside ceremony of the Ganga Temple. The heat of the day had worn off, a soft breeze blew off the river, and people of all ages and castes gathered to worship, socialize or just people-watch. The sky would fill with birds and scores of little tissue-paper kites. Men wandered the crowd selling chai from big copper kettles with kerosene burners strapped underneath, which they served in little terracotta cups that you simply smash on the ground when you're finished (the original recyclable). Grubby kids speaking excellent English sold little banana-leaf bowls with marigold-ringed butter candles to float in the river. Saffron-wrapped sadhus served dinner to the city's most needy. As the sky darkened, bamboo umbrellas above the crowd lit up with twinkling colored lights.
In this city--perhaps the oldest living city on earth and the holiest place for a Hindu to die--we saw bodies on the pyres of the burning ghats and wrapped in cloth, floating in the Ganges (children and pregnant women, among others, are not burned as they are already considered to be pure). We saw the bloated bodies of cows and dogs in the river as well, along with a great deal of garbage. The Ganges is horribly polluted; nevertheless, Hindus view her as absolutely pure and regard a daily bath in the river as one of the best things they can do for their soul. And this contrast defines Varanasi. There's a lot of ugliness and dirtiness in this city, but the beauty is absolute, undeniable, unforgettable.
p.s. If you want to learn more about pollution in the Ganges and efforts to curb it, check out this article I wrote for the Sacred Land Film Project. While we were in Varanasi, I tried to visit the research center I described in the article, but it was closed for the holiday.
You hit the nail on the head...
love,
me
Posted by: David | March 22, 2006 at 07:02 AM