More Than Just Steps

Depending on which ghat you are visiting there may be as many as a hundred steps leading down the banks and into the Ganges. I had never thought of a stairway to heaven as leading down, but that's how it is in Varanasi. The capital of Hindu spirituality sits along the only part of the Ganges that flows from south to north. The city crowds the banks, with buildings no more than half a dozen yards from the water's edge. If you look up on the walls you can see the flood line from the monsoon season. In some places it's as high as twenty feet above your head. Small wonder that no building has a groundfloor less than forty feet or so above the water. A walkway follows the water connecting the ghats and allowing you to walk freely from to the next. Were it not for the signs I would not have any idea when one ghat ended and the next began.

Starting as early as five AM locals devotees and pilgrims make there way down to bathe in the Mother Ganga. Much like the hajj and Mecca, every Hindu is expected to come and take a dip in the holy waters of this river. It washes away sins. Liberates one from the fetters of karma and samsara. For some it is the penultimate vehicle for moksha. Simply being in Varanasi is auspicious. To die there is thought assure a cessation of the cycle of rebirth. To place one's ashes in the river is thought to do the same.

Along the shore are dozens of devotees, bathers, dhobis, priests, and boatmen. If you walk anywhere near the water you will no doubt be solicited by dozens of hawkers selling necklaces or post cards, verycheapverycheapgoodprice, beggars and sadhus hands out for alms, boatmen asking if you want to take a ride. On the road down to the water are people selling water bottles to take some of the water home with you. There's also sandal wood, flower offerings, jewelry, sweets, chillums (hash pipes), idols, and of course, tea. If you go out into a boat the same people have a naval version; a skiff filled with the same trinkets like carved elephants and snow globes. The boats are filled by tourists. It's not really such a bad thing though; it keeps the banks less crowded and gives a unique opportunity to see the city. We took two such trips, one at sunset and the other at sunrise. Most impressive for me however was the sunset cruise.

As you head down stream from the main ghat you pass by a few sewage treatment plants. There are only about three and then about 20 untreated sewage dumps into the water. It's a filthy river. As our boat moved in the darkness we neared one well lit ghat. Burning brightly were half a dozen funeral pyres. This is just another of the reasons people come to Benaras/Varanasi/Kashi. For their final resting. As we sat in the boat four men carried a women down the steps in the water. The clown in Hamlet would say she's neither man or woman, but dead. She was draped in white, the sign of a widow. After a final bath in the waters her family brought her back up the steps and went to prepare the pyre. A minimum of 200 Kgs of wood is needed. Ghee is poured on the body and the wood. Sandal wood offerings are placed in the pyre. After five circumnambulations around the body the son lights the pyre. I watched all this happening, unaware of who it was or what had brought them to the river then. Well death obviously. But more than that I cannot say. Throughout the entire rite was what I later described as a beautiful honesty. There is no celebration of the dead, or mourning of the loss, instead there is a deceased family member put to rest. Little more. There is ceremony and ritual, but also an implicit fatalism. Every person that night understood it was a only a matter of time before it was them on that pyre. No one tried to hide the fact. The dead were dead. No makeup, no suit, no wake, no meal, no sermon, no scripture, no attempt to recreate their presence. A farewell was made and a fire lit. I've never seen death so public and open. Why not though? It'll happen to all of us, so why hide it?

The World is not Shaped to Me

My knees touch the plane seat in front of me. My feet hang off the bed. So long as there is no footboard. People on the train brush my feet as they walk down the aisle of the sleeper car. In the chair car I sit quite upright. I stoop in the shower. My shoe covers at the Taj aren't large enough for my shoes. On a touring bicycle my knees come higher than the handle bars. I wear an XXL. So it goes in India. These things aren't important; they have just been some of the things that occur to me frequently on our northern tour.

We left Chennai ten days ago. A day after three sumptuous turkeys and some wonderful mashed potatoes, we boarded a flight for Delhi. The last few days were spent with friends, getting email addresses, and making sure you picked up that knick knack you've been eyeing these past few months. Upon arrival in Delhi there was an unsuprising haze over the city. Counter to my epectations, however, New Delhi was fairly clean. Though there are a number of pigs running around the city (interesting when near a mosque) litter was minimal and I don't notice much smog. Bangalore was far worse in that regard. With wide streets and plenty of places to see, Delhi proves far better than my expectations would have it. There's ample street food that is varied and delicious. No one got sick from it either. Unfortunately the cabs are quite expensive, but at least they run on natural gas.

From Delhi we boarded a train that took us out to the Pink City, Jaipur, in Rajastan. In reality it's more of a terra cotta color though. It was painted pink in the 19th century for the arrival of the Prince of Wales. I guess they liked it. Arid and dusty it reminded me a great deal of the Southwest, with a vast array of browns and tans, making a dusty rainbow across the hills. Jaipur boasts a number of hill top palaces and forts, replete with elephants to bear you to the top. For a fee of course. The strangest part was all the westerners. If Scotland was a desert it would look like this. Someone made the argument that with all the castles and forts it's much like a tour of Europe. At the Amber Fort it was hard to tell you were in India with all the white faces.

After leaving the Pink City we headed for a few days of "roughin' it" out in a couple of national parks. While most of us didn't get to see any tigers at Ranthambore we spent two very pleasant days in jeeps roaring around the park looking at deer, birds, and one crocodile. The park was quiet and serene. Lots of trees and tall grass. Plenty of deer. It was just a beautiful place, a valley between rocky cliffs full of life and emptied of people.

And then there was the Taj Mahal. I won't drone on about it. But I will say this much; it matched expectation. I was not overwhelmed by it. I will not say it is the most beautiful human structure on the planet. It is however a remarkable structure, from the minarets to the minutiae, every detail thoroughly planned. It's really big too.