I’ve finally got some decent internet so will try to catch up on what we’ve been doing.
We’ve spent two days in Varanasi. Our guest house sat right on the banks of the Ganges with balconies off our rooms and a rooftop restaurant from which we could watch the activity on the river.
Our train had arrived right on time at 5am. Despite the cabins being pretty comfortable (and reasonably clean) I didn’t get a lot of sleep on the train.
The Varanasi train station was busy – many people sitting inside waiting for their train or laying on the floor, covered in blankets, where they’d slept the night. Outside tuk tuks and taxis came and went in a chaotic manner through the carpark of potholes.
Cars and even tuk tuks can’t get down the narrow streets in the riverside area so our taxi dropped us on a main street where we were greeted by a group of porters who carried our bags and guided us to Ganpati Guesthouse.
Sunrise is a time that many Hindu people bath in the Ganges. They have such strong belief in its holy power to cleanse. Each person seemed to have a slightly different ritual, and one group of girls just seemed to be having a splash around and a bit of a laugh. It’s all fascinating to watch but on the other hand it feels like we’re prying into a very private part of their lives.
Many people come to Varanasi to die or their bodies are brought here within 24hrs of dying, so they can be cremated on the banks of the Ganges and their ashes released into the river. Otherwise, families will bring their loved ones’ ashes to release into the river. They believe that doing so will free the soul.
There’s a small crematorium upstream from our guesthouse and the main one downstream. We visited both. The main one is a massive, hot, smokey hive of activity with piles of wood, and multiple fires burning. We got talking to a ‘guide’ and he walked us through, explaining the goings-on. We’d read enough to know that he’d likely ask for a ‘donation’ to fund the purchase of wood for a needy family (and that our ‘donation’ would most likely go into his back pocket) but we were willing to pay for an explanation of the ceremony and customs. Women are not allowed to attend the cremation ceremonies as they’re far too emotional and have been known to throw themselves on the fire at their husband’s cremation. BJ commented that he would expect nothing less from me when he dies. I was surprised to learn that some bodies (holy men, children and pregnant women) are not cremated, rather wrapped in cloth, weighed down with rocks and their body released into the river. It made the thought of bathing in the Ganges even harder to understand but none the less, on the way back to our guesthouse, we took our shoes off and tipped our feet in the river. So far all toes have remain intact.
Varanasi seems like a city of contradictions. It holds such holy significance to so many yet the local and foreign tourists’ fascination with this place has resulted in things that seem disrespectful to their beliefs. Men dressed in holy robes sit along the banks of the river touting for money from tourists in return for taking their photo, women and children persistently try to sell fridge magnets and postcards (including images of cremations since no photos can be taken there). There’s an evening ceremony at the main ghat that’s a combination of religious ritual and pageantry, and an industry has been created for boat owners to cram as many people as possible onboard for a trip up the Ganga. I guess none of it would exist if people like us didn’t visit and if we didn’t visit there would be a serious reduction in the income generated in this city – a delicate balance to be found.
Then there’s the environmental impact of the way of life and the cremations. We haven’t really seen blue sky since arriving in Varanasi and we can hardly see the bridge that crosses the river less than a kilometre away. The Ganges is the six most polluted river in the world and yet it provides water to about 40% of India’s population (over 500 million people). There are initiatives to clean the river and pollution in general, but so many of the actions that result in this pollution are ingrained in culture.
The saying ‘the world is a man’s toilet’ must have originated in India. There are open urinals on some streets, or spots that men have just designated as a urinal through constant use. At one such point along the Ganges, I covered my nose and mouth as I walked by to disguise the odour. “The smell of India” a man close to me said as if slightly proud of the fact.
Varanasi is known for the beautiful silk that is hand woven here. I’d done a bit of research online but struggled to find anywhere that we could see the weaving being done. While we were walking through the streets on our second day, a well dressed man tried to get us to go with him to his silk shop. I said I was keen to see the working looms and, after a bit of persuasion, he walked us about 5 minutes and started knocking on doors to see if someone would let us in for a look. Most of the weaving is done by the Muslim community in their homes. After being turned away from a couple of homes. one old many let us into his living room where the old loom was set up. He then sat down at the loom and started weaving the bright pink silk into the most delicate pattern. What a privilege to be allowed into his home! We were then guided back to the shop and felt an expectation to buy, which I didn’t mind doing given the experience we’d had. The hand woven silk scarves worked out to be around NZD35 so I’m sure the weaver isn’t paid a lot for his time. I was pleased we’d also left him a few rupees for sharing his home with us.
