The Holy City of Varanasi

"Namaste, ji," I say as I put my hands together at my forehead. The saddhu (holy man) is dressed in clean orange scarves, a cloth wrapped around his waist, with his long dreadlocks wrapped around his head and a freshly painted bindi in the place of the third eye. We are walking in opposite direction along the ghats on the Mother Ganges. He asks me in very good English how I am doing, warmth gleaming from his eyes. He, too, wants my money. I am in a good mood, and this man is kind and friendly (and close to God, no?). I give him an orange (which seems fitting except the oranges here are green on the outside), and he gives me a blessing.

My time in Varanasi has been filled with interactions with people, whether it is men calling incessantly for me to come to their shop, or have a boat ride, or buy some hash (this is whispered in a rather creepy way, though I hear there is a legal government shop here), children wanting to practice their English (or to sell me flowers or chai), random Indians I ask questions, or visitors from around the world smoking rollies or drinking lassis in the courtyard of Ganpati Guesthouse. Of course, there has been plenty of alone time, too. It is when I am alone that I have the most magical experiences, like yesterday when I stumbled upon a Shiva and Kali Temple hidden in a quiet garden off one of the main roads. I sat drinking a chai and contemplating the architecture of the temple, the fierce powers of Kali, and the advice of Guruji Bablu, who had just read my palm. Varanasi is one of the holiest cities in India. The River Ganges runs beside the city, its banks lined with ghats (cement stairs accessing the water). The water, which is maybe the dirtiest water in the world (with bodies, chemicals, sewage, debris, factory waste), is also considered the purest water in the world in the spiritual sense. Even taking a bit of the Ganges and pouring into a body of water in another city makes that whole new water holy. Hindus come here on pilgrimmage, and also to die or to bring the bodies of their loved ones. At the burning ghat, families with a permit from the government bring their dead family member's body through the streets wrapped in cloth and flowers and place it on a pile of sandalwood (at least those whoare wealthy). The pile is lit with the fire of Shiva, which has been burning for 4000 years. Three hours of ritual and burning later, the soul of the person is said to have reached Nirvana. (I also witnessed a dead monkey wrapped in red cloth with incense burning nearby and rupees about his body. A holy man said they would float the monkey (Hanuman) into the river the next day.)

There are ancient architectural gems of temples, niches in the walls with deities, and small cement buildings housing deities and lingas dotting the labyrinth-like streets of the Old City. Incense is burned, candles on plates of flowers are offered to the Ganges as puja every night. From my room overlooking the river, I watched the little lights float downstream. Women purchase new saris and bangles here; the streets are full of sparkling and beautiful colors and patterns. With all the spiritual beauty, I can almost forget about all the money hungering and piles of garbage and shit. It was kinda cute when a mouse ran across my toes in the restaurant I was about to eat in... Varanasi is a special place, even to non-Hindu eyes.