Varanasi

Today we take the overnight train to Darjeeling which we are quite excited about after having just seen the film “The Darjeeling Limited”. Even though that film actually took place in Rajasthan it adds romance to this trip. But yesterday morning we arrived in Varanasi so let’s write about that first.

We travelled first A/C on the Shiv Ganga Express (better known to us as the “Roach Motel on Wheels” for reasons that I will expand on shortly) from New Delhi station to Varanasi, leaving at 18:00 and arriving at 7:30 the next morning.

As mentioned previously, we wisely took the Metro to the train station saving tons of time in go-nowhere-sandwiched-between-a-rock-and-a-smelly-thing traffic. This gave us plenty of time on the platform to people watch which we did comfortably seated on The Times of India spread out on the dirty concrete. Lots of people wanted their pictures taken and many obliged my requests so we passed the time quite enjoyably. Unlike our Bombay-Goa train fiasco, this time both our names (along with our gender and age) were on the passenger list that they posted on the door of our carriage.

We boarded our carriage about a half-hour before our scheduled departure and started killing roaches from the first minute or so after we got to our cabin. I think we managed to bag about a half dozen using old Dominos Pizza napkins that Mrs. WMG was carrying for some reason and torn shreds of The Times of India, many of the pages of which are better used for insect extermination than information gathering. While not chasing roaches around the cabin I spent the balance of my time writing my Goa blog and attempting (eventually successfully) to upload it. Blogging from the train give me an enormous thrill for some reason. As we turned out the lights I remember hoping that I don’t sleep with my mouth open.

The Holy City

Varanasi is the holiest Hindu city in India and claims to be one of the oldest cities on earth with the earliest inhabitants believed to date back to the 7th century B.C., the time of Babylon. If you have to die, and while it has never happened to me I am led to believe this is inevitable, this is the place to be if you are Hindu. It is believed that dying and being cremated in Varanasi your soul is liberated from its cycle of death and reincarnation. I don’t know what happens after that, perhaps you turn up in Vancouver.

My thoughts on Varanasi.

• Turning Japanese. My main impression here is of the sheer number of Japanese people. What the hell are they all these people from an essentially godless nation doing here for crying out loud? I’ll never know.
• The Hawkers. The Lonely Planet reports that the hawkers and touts here are “aggressive”, that’s an understatement. From the guy that followed us from our train carriage all the way to the parking lot trying to fix us up with a taxi despite my ignoring him the whole way, to the guys on the ghats who reach out to shake your hand then start giving you a “hand massage” eventually putting you into a half-nelson in order to keep you from escaping their baksheesh demanding grip, the hawking is in your face and incessant often making it hard to enjoy a walk.
• I See Dead People. And lots of them. I understand that the two “Burning Ghats” run 24 hours a day with cremations. The wood is piled up in great 20 foot high stacks and must easily take up the space of a football field. Every 10 or 15 minutes pall bearers bring another orange and gold shrouded body down the hill toward the many pyres being built along the waters of the Ganges. The carriers wade into the shallows of the river and splash the body with the sacred Ganga waters then set it down nearby while they build a neat pyre from the crooked logs also hauled down the hill by wallahs.

We watched the ceremonies from a distance through the densely smoky air, at times with ashes falling gently around us like snow. Curiously the attendants and those that appeared to be mourners were exclusively men. Finally, a handful of straw, like that used for a besom or straw broom, the end burning and smoking furiously, was brought to the priest who circled the body, said an incantation then lit the pyre.

Perhaps it’s because India is so other-wordly anyway but I had expected to be more creeped-out by this sight. One doesn’t particularly enjoy thinking about one’s own end, in fact many of us spend a lot of our time denying, avoiding and running from it. But as I mentioned above, it is apparently unavoidable and whether attending a funeral or a mass cremation one is reminded of that. While being burned up, alive or dead, doesn’t exactly thrill me this whole spectacle is indeed part of the cycle of life and death in this strange place and it seems quite normal.