Hidden gems

Varanasi is a treasure trove of the unexpected. From the sunrise to the sunset, every corner has a hidden gem. The tiny alley stalls selling ghee and paneer by the tub full, the sweet sellers and the chai windows, the shrines and quiet temples, from the ( predominately) Hindu to the mosques, the Buddhist stupas, ashrams and the Christian churches,  market stalls and bazaars. The Ganges is the city highway but the suburbs are equally fascinating.

Head up the steps from any ghat and see a different neighbourhood behind each one

There is a Nepalese temple lurking in the trees here

By chance I found the absorbing art gallery devoted to Alice Bonner, whose work here in the forties and fifties combined her western sensibility with Indian mystique. The stunning triptych on show in the university is based in Hindu mythological themes of creation (prakriti) or nature, preservation , as the cosmic form of Vishnu (Visvarupa ) and destruction as the goddess Kali.

Baffled as I am by Hindu religious forms and Indian art, a medium historically with a scientific base,  for me these glowing canvas paintings captured the essence of the language of India.

Also on the campus I found a gallery of 19th century photographs of Varanasi. The damage by the annual monsoons was strikingly obvious. Familiar ghats and temples but with an architectural landscape below the current window line which has now gone for ever. My favourite sinking ghat is the sole survivor of what was once a trio of towers.

One of my favoutites. The walled pool behind is filled by a 'holy' well

I am disconcertingly complacent now with the business of death. I watch dispassionately as families begin the long process of the final goodbye. The bartering for wood and gold drapes. The ritual bath in the Ganges. The disrobing and discarding of the gaudy costume for the burning shroud of white or red. The complex building of the funeral pyre. The ointment lovingly spread on feet sticking out of the wooden cage. The taper carried by relatives who gather round to see the flames take hold, returning later to the smouldering embers to drop a bag of ashes and bones into the holy waters.  The procession of the dead carried aloft or lining the banks has become part of my life here as it has always been the heart and soul of Varanasi.  Whilst my western mind cannot rationalise, my heart has learnt to accept.

Breakfast companions

Dawn sky awash with kites

A typical day in Varanassi

A pattern has emerged during my time here, a rhythm to my days revolving around the river which gives life to Varanassi.

 A. M.

Arise with the sun as the temple drums and bells reverberate through the city.

 Breakfast on the rooftop overlooking the Ganges, watching the monkeys and the neighbouring families.   Everyday life here in the old city is carried out on communal rooftops rather than at ground level. From puja to teeth cleaning, intimate daily rituals unfold around me. Children fly kites high over our heads, the sky is full of shiny dots.

Walk along the Ganges. Whichever way 'my heart sends me'  (Sanjeev’s  apt words, bless him).   Either a few kilometres to assi ghat in the south, the more affluent area, or to the northern ghats, the local’s territory. I am about halfway along the 80 ghats and beginning to realise just how unique each set of steps is, in architecture, history, uses and population.

Burning Ghat - in action!

Mid morning break for sweet chai at my favourite stalls where now I get a free biscuit or intensely sweet sugary treat. I am getting fat.

Hunt out hidden treasures.

Avoid scams. I now know enough basic Hindi (especially the word for no) to get roughly local rates on rickshaws/tuk this/ferries\ boat trips.

Lunchtime : Return for shower and a rest in the shade with my book.

P. M. Out for delicious sweet/salt lassi at the popular baba lassi stall, a favourite with the long stayers who rightly gave me the recommendation.

Wander the old city alleys dodging cows and crowds or head further into the hectic bazaars of the ‘main ' roads. Pray I don't get too lost!

Blessed again - and now I have a hedge growing out of my head! Divine retribution for not donating enough?

At sunset maybe hop on a local ferry or sightseeing boat. A cheaper way to see ghat life from the river than individual trips. Although yesterdays individual ‘cruise' was only one pound fifty so nothing is extortionate (bar the message!). Boats are the lifeblood of Ganges life and there are hundreds as its the main livelihood for locals.

Sunset boatride with the locals

Sunset

and again - looking out towards the sea

Admire the spectacular evening puja (worship). Each night a different emotion. From joy to sorrow.  Or simple peace.

Head back with torch, struggle up the steep steps to the guest house for the final time of the day, shower away the grime yet again and curl up to write my diary.

Spot the green tarp - thats at the steps to my guest house. Perfect marker - can see it for miles!

holi is approaching and I am, like women throughout Varanasi, confined to barracks on friday morning. So time to reminisce the gems of the past week. Warning! Long blog approaching!

Unholy Holi

Holi decorated Holy footsteps on one of the Ghats

Holi colour bomb missed me but got the dog. He just went back to sleep - guess he is used to it.

The cycle of days

From the depths of a down day the only way is up. There is a cycle in solo travelling, the highs followed by the lows. That is what keeps me going when homesickness strikes. Last night I lay  on the 'mattress' (plank) in my small hostel room feeling unable to make even the smallest decision.

My problem: window open...mosquito feeding time and the risk of awaking to find a monkey staring in through the grill. Windows shut... Sauna time. I went for the open windows as I am past caring about the wildlife. Pulling the sheet over my head, I went to sleep craving my home, my family, my own comfy bed.

This morning my gloom persisted but as the day progressed the genuine good nature of people here won me round.  Walking the ghats towards the furthest northern outposts where poverty predominates and tourist rarely venture I was met with kindness and generosity. A local tea stall for Indian pilgrims offered me a cup in a clay pot and refused payment. The street children wanted me to play cricket or fly kites without begging for money and women waved and smiled as I wandered past.

A street child following me in the hope of money

Returning for a siesta as the sun has returned with a vengeance I found that Sanjeev, the manager here, had arranged for me to have an aromatherapy neck and shoulder gentle rehabilitating therapy which really helped my bruised back. It also poured balm on my soul. I felt guilty about my tantrum yesterday as he obviously felt awful about my disastrous massage.  This is a genuinely friendly guest house so thankfully normal good humour was restored all round to mutual relief.

Entrance to my Guesthouse

Narrow streets in the old City by the river

On impulse afterwards I answered the cry of 'boat, madam?' with a ' yes' rather than my normal refusal. For an hour a sweet young man with good English rowed me around the river. We meandered over to the far banks to watch the swimmers, cruised along the calm waters cleansed by the rain (relatively!) admired the architecture of the ghats and chatted about life in Varanasi.

The Far side - like a British Seaside scene

Popular bathing spot

From the boat the level between low and high water here was striking. For months the now 'far‘ bank disappears and the treeline barely visible in the distance takes its place. The steep steps of the ghats are submerged. The monsoon  level is marked by the exceptionally high windows which are visible now only by neck straining stares skyward. As the waters recede the infrastructure is damaged further each year, hence the derelict state of buildings and subsiding ghats.

Water reaches the windows during the monsoon!

Cramped banks lead to higher building - against the rules in theory! 

Architectural mismatch

Stunning architecture - well above the high water level

By the time I disembarked the sun was setting and the moon was rising. The evening blessing was soon in full swing. The seven brahmin in white at one ghat competed in noise with the five brahmin next door.  As the chanting rose to a crescendo, tonight it brought me the solace of peace.

The 7 Brahmin in white versus...

...the 5 on the next ghat

The Brahman blessing

No takers!

Living on the Ganges

The rains continue here. The temperature has dropped to jumper level. I am delighted!! Not only is the air blissfully clear but the overwhelming smell has eased. Being British, I donned my Mac and set off along the river, gingerly paddling through the puddles.

The daily life on the ghats is fascinating.  Mornings the steps are full of people performing their daily ablutions. Those who live in makeshift tents on the mud or on their boats join the pilgrims in cleansing themselves in the 'holy' water despite the disgusting debris piled around them.

Daily Ablutions

Debris in the Holy river - no bathing for me!

The 'Holy' (mud) banks

Overnight downpours have caused ankle deep streams in the alleys and fords in the streets. The brown sludge lies like a carpet. I have joined the locals in abandoning my trainers for flip flops and washing my feet in standpipes. Unhygienic but necessary.

Baby Monsoon time

On the plus side the visibility is amazing. Freed from the normal smog the Gothic towers of ancient forts, Italianate buildings, orange temples, even the graffiti lining the walls, make the riverbank look as picturesque as Venice. Even the rubbish glistens with colour, the silver/gold threads from the cremated mingle with discarded flower blessings, and the drying washing festooning the steps is a fountain of rainbow colours. Birdsong mingles with constant bell ringing to send waves of sound crashing down around me.

Bells on the river bank - its never quiet here

I escaped the mud by taking a bicycle rickshaw to the nearby university campus, which was so ridiculously like Sussex University it was like being at work! I walked through the leafy grounds to the modern temple. As I peered through the fence a chatty security guard offered me a lift back to the main gate on his motorbike, so, carpe diem. I leapt on. From there to the river is only 50 rupees by rickshaw, the men so desperate for business I feel better about joining the locals in using them.

Familiar Territory

Lulled into a relaxed state of mind, I took the advice of the manager here to go for a massage. What a nightmare. The bed STANK. The massage was painful and she simply ignored my request to stop. Then demanded twenty pounds! I refused. We settled on ten, an extortionate rip off.  I felt violated in mind, body and spirit. I forgot for once that as a woman alone here I am very vulnerable. Let my guard down and someone will take advantage, man or woman. Salutary lesson (re) learnt.

 Sanjeev was apologetic, I was livid. Showing anger here is not acceptable but I didn't care.  I stormed out of the guest house to walk off my anger and watch the evening Ganges worship. To my surprise in the face of my obvious upset I met with kindness from those who normally hassle me. Ushered to a pillar below the service I saw the splendid ritual from yet another viewpoint, facing upwards from the river while locals smiled, fetched me a free tea, and gave me tissues.

Yet again the ceremony educed me to tears, but this time of homesickness.  From high to low, my melancholic mood as black as the river. Nothing is easy here, there is no middle ground in India and certainly not in Varanassi. As the pilgrims prayed and the tourists clicked away, I wept for the sanctity of my family and home. 

Rain and tears

Rain because, unusually, today (Sunday) was wet. Tears because for a few minutes this evening I cried with sheer exhilaration. A spiritual conversion, no, but an empathy with the spirit of Varanasi, yes.

The day began badly. The cold which I’ve been ignoring won the body over mind battle and I awoke in the early hours feeling lousy and unable to breath. My asthmatic lungs had succumbed to an infection, too much smoke\ dust for too many weeks. Fortunately once I’d located the antibiotics buried in my bag and got more sleep it wasn't as bad as first feared. And my struggling lungs got a pleasant surprise at breakfast when I emerged onto the roof terrace to find an English climate! Overnight wind and rain showers moved in, improving the air quality immensely.

Relishing the cool breeze and the resulting lack of crowds I decided to take advantage of having to take antibiotics anyway and venture on a boat over the murky Ganges. Avoiding the tourist boat rides I hopped onto one of the many rickety open wooden ferries criss crossing the banks.

The far side is deemed to be cleaner (!) So many families travel over to swim. The sandy open banks in the current "dry" season give this the look and feel of the British seaside. I had to paddle ashore but that was enough contact for me. The river is an open sewer. There are no fish, small boats follow our larger one selling snacks to feed the birds which flock overhead, seagulls of a sort who have obviously developed a taste for crisps.

Whilst my fellow passengers stripped off I wandered the sands watching them emerge scrubbed clean, donning new clothes (which explained why everyone had so much baggage!) Each ferry goes back 30 mins later with sane contingent, all now clad in their Sunday best, bar me.  My unclean/ unbathed status caused much bemusement.

It was a relief to walk the river without the blistering heat, watching children play cricket and admiring the kites soaring into the air. As dusk fell the evening ceremony began under a torrential downpour which drove all except a few of us hardy souls away. So I sat in the rain feet away from the platforms watching the complex spectacle of blessings and as the incense and blossoms showered over me and the chanting rose to a crescendo I found tears falling. For a moment the holiest place in India reached into my soul.

The city of Shiva

Varanasi is as colourful and charismatic as I expected. And despite the constant hassles, heat, smoke and stench, there is an aura here unlike anywhere else I've been. Spiritual? I’m not sure. But there is a consensual cheerfulness and likeability, a palable joy which rubs off on those around, i.e. me.

The city of Shiva is at its most magical at dawn and dusk. At sunrise the light lights a golden path over the still waters, illuminating the ghats and temples like an Indian Venice. As the sun climbs the ghat steps fill with people beginning their day bathing in the holy water, their yellow and orange blossoms glistening in the golden rays.

Varanassi at Dawn

Truly Magical

The Ganges at daybreak

Pilgrims

Devotee

At night the main ghats glow with gaudy lights which cast rainbow colours onto the dark waters. The stunning evening ceremony of 'ganga aarti'  i watched at Dasawamamedh gnat took my breath away. Hundreds gather every night as the sun sets to worship. The amplification of drums and the ringing of bells is literally earth shattering as the orange clad priests perform the hour long dance ritual amid whirling flames accompanied by chanting, clapping and cheering.

Sunset at Varanassi

Evening crowds gather

Early preparations for the ceremony

Darkness begins to fall

The service begins

Complex rituals

In between dawn and dusk the river is revealed as a murky maelstrom full of human debris and human remains. The smoke from the burning ghats penetrates every sense.
Expiring here offers liberation from the cycle of birth so the dead dominate the river as much as the living. The heat from the flames is intense but the business of stripping the remains for jewellery or even tooth fillings means alongside the high flaming pyres lie water hoses ready to shred heaps of embers for salvage.  As I walk the banks of this holy river bones drift past like white flowers.

Everyone has their own ritual!

The queue for cremation means at times walking beside a line of shrouded corpses, white clad for men, red for women. Family members come forward to carry their own loved ones to the water and light the flame but then disappear for a few hours until returning to the embers. There they are ceremoniously handed bones and a holy man accompanies the closest relative to the waters edge. They wade together into the disgusting mud, hurl the wiped clean limbs as far out as possible and clamber back, their place immediately taken by the next so the shallows lapping the steps are often a sea of bones.

Goats having breakfast

I have learnt to ignore the locals who approach with hundreds of scams, abusing the vulnerability of foreigners sensibility to the Hindu cremation practises to make money. As well as the pilgrims and the dead, the locals and the tourists, are the homeless. They scavenge the banks and haunt my footsteps. There are so many, queueing into the depths of the dark alleys twisting away from the river for free charity suppers.

Me - complete with blessing (check out the forehead)

Time for breakfast now.

I am finding my feet here, physically and emotionally. It is certainly unlike anywhere else, , the beating heart of the Hindu universe, where ancient traditions still dominate life today,  where the intimate private rituals take place in public, a bizarre mix of beyond gruesome and magical beauty.