As I took the train on my way to Varanasi, I was not sure what I was expecting to find. I had heard many different accounts of what I would feel when I arrived, and it turns out that the only one that was accurate was of the overwhelming heat. The experience was in fact different for each of my travel companions, as I realized that the beauty of India cannot be seen objectively: it is only a matter of looking in the right places. Varanasi has therefore been described as dirty, touristy, dangerous or by others as mystical and beautiful. I was eager to find out what my reaction would be.
The train itself eased me into this state of mind. The atmosphere, the possibility of sitting by the door with my legs hanging in the open air, watching the scenery with the sweet, milky masala taste of India made me think that there was no place I would rather be. I remember the quiet but excited atmosphere, the soft song of the chaiwallah late at night ‘chai chai garam chai’, the generosity of our neighbours when they realized we had no food and no blankets and their eagerness to learn from us that equalled our own. In India our eye is challenged, and it takes time to train to see what seems barely noticeable at first, yet once we succeed, once we enter that world where the poverty, the noise and the pollution are not the first thing we notice, I find that the calm within the chaos engulfs us.
Upon arrival in Varanasi, our guesthouse sent us a few diligent rickshaw drivers, and we weaved our way through the narrow streets. We were then dropped off at the entrance of the old city, and sent through its colourful and cow-filled alleyways. After a ten minute walk, which sufficed to have us all drenched in sweat and desperate for water, we were given it, and what a site it was! After having dodged the last few cows that were determinedly heading our way, we came upon the Ganges. This was a truly beautiful sight, and we all stood there watching as life continued. After ten good minutes of gawping, we were shooed out of the way and given directions to our guesthouse.
After having settled in and recovered from the various thrills of the journey, we decided to go off and explore the town. The burning ghat was our first stop, and quite a brutal drop into the basis of Hindu culture. A local guide/shopkeeper/boatwallah explained the different traditions around the incineration of a Hindu. I could not help but feel like I was in a different world, in which the binaries I had grown to see as universal made no more sense, where death was no longer the opposite of life. The odours, the colours and the sounds around us enveloped us and we were slowly absorbed into the atmosphere.
In the evening, we were able to get a boat to watch four Brahmins performing the puja. Once again, I felt completely taken in by the experience, as we watched without understanding, the colours, the dancing, the music and the candles floating along our boats kept me fascinated for the entire duration. After a good thali, we all headed back to the guesthouse completely exhausted for an early night, knowing that we would be getting up a few hours later for the sunrise. Once again, the atmosphere seemed of another world, as we headed towards the Ganga, everything was hushed and calm, somewhat of a rarity in this country. After one day only people recognised us and took us on their boat, from which we were able to see the morning ablutions of those there to wash away their sins. Compared to the hustle and bustle of my life in Delhi, this was a a different time. People started fluctuating towards the river, and began their morning routine of washing away their sins. I don’t their purity as they came out of the river, however I remain unsure of their cleanliness. The sun rose, we returned to the guesthouse and tried to get a few more hours sleep before the heat made it impossible.
It is in Varanasi that our eye is tested on its capacity to see the beauty of India. The choice we are faced with - similar to choice of seeing the Ganges as a dirty river or the foundation of an entire religion, the possibility of reaching heaven without an eternity of reincarnation – demonstrates our state of mind. It cannot be denied that it is dirty, a minefield of cowpats, of locals attempting to rip off naïve tourists, but it is also a sense of community, to which we are welcomed immediately.
Having spent the week end looking at the sights, the temples, the pujas, the ablutions, my favorite part of Varanasi would have to be the two hours I spent in an alleyway, having chai with a shopwallah, me practicing my Hindi and him his English. One of my friends was playing cricket with some children, another engaged in a staring competition with a cow which seemed devoted to stealing his spot, and the last one transformed into a photographer for a group of girls with aspirations to become models. It is in those alleyways of India that I see its beauty, in its people, however I think that next week end, I will take a leaf out of the British’ book and head for the cooler hills.
Clémentine de Montjoye
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