Vibrant Varanasi

There are many places in India that people describe by telling you that you'll either "love it or hate it." No place typifies this statement more than the maelstrom that is Varanasi. The city is located in the northeastern state of Uttar Pradesh, which stretches from Delhi to the eastern state of Bihar, and borders Nepal along its northern boundary. Considered a very holy city by Hindus, Varanasi sits on the Ganges, at a place so far downriver from its headwaters that the pollution in the river has accumulated to a disturbing degree. It is the oldest continuously inhabited city in India, and one of the oldest in the world. Yet, the city has been pillaged so many times that few of its buildings are over 100 years old. When I pictured India from the US, what I saw in my mind's eye was Varanasi, with its colors, people, markets, pushcarts, pollution and cows. We had been warned by many about the difficult of traveling there; the book describes Varanasi as being worse than Agra, home to the Taj Mahal, in terms of being touristy and having touts harassing you for money or to take you to their shops. But off we went, Hannah, Sean and I, having lost Patricia in the Kashmir debacle and Tangi preferring to fly straight to Kolkata. 

Dinner!

On Thursday afternoon, the three of us boarded a train in Delhi, traveling for the first time in the AC compartments, rather than in Sleeper. Having traveled only in Sleeper thus far, AC was almost unrecognizable. Each berth contained two bunk beds, sleeping four to a berth, no one was standing or waiting to sit in your seat, and the tinted windows to the outside prevented the usual stares from passersby on the platform. We settled in and bought thalis for dinner from a vendor on the train, selling them from a cloth bag. We sat and chatted for a bit, me changing my seat to avoid the creepy staring of the stranger inhabiting the fourth bed of our berth, and easily went to sleep on the beds in the train. We woke up on the other side of India, emerging into the daylight like hatchlings with our backpacks on and out faces steeled to avoid the inevitable tour guides and auto wallahs. Indeed, we were followed from the minute we stepped onto the platform by a guy who later turned out to be an auto wallah but who was not wearing the standard grey uniform and looked like he just wanted our money. After some haggling, we settled on a price with the main auto organizer guy, as they have a number system at the station to ensure equitable distribution of business among the auto wallahs. Unfortunately for us, this meant we were going with our clingy new "friend," who, from the second we sat in his auto, began to berate us, and especially Hannah, for "judging" him and shooing him away before.  Hannah tried to explain that we have to protect ourselves, but he kept insisting what a great guy he was and how wrong we had been, producing emails from a person in New York, thanking him for showing him around Varanasi. After our long train ride, the last thing we wanted was to be lectured about jumping to conclusions. In any case, he parked the auto and showed us the way to the guest house, through the dark, narrow streets of the Old City, dodging the cow dung lying in wait like smelly mines in a field. We checked in, ate some breakfast, and rested for a few hours.

Around noon, we set off in search of lunch, finding a recommended bakery that serves a huge variety of cheeses. Hannah and I watched as Sean ordered fondue and then proceeded to just eat his bowl of cheese when the bread ran out. So that was fun. After lunch, we walked through the winding alleys and  descended the stairs to the ghats, small piers from which people depart in boats, enter the river to bathe, or just sit and watch the world go by. The river in Varanasi is the city's beating heart. While polluted and filthy, it is host to every possible life process that could include water. Children play in the river, jumping off boats and splashing in the water before scrambling up the stairs of the ghat to repeat the performance. Women bring clothes to wash in the river, hanging them to dry on every available post or standing object. Families bathe their children and each other, shampooing their hair and then bending to rinse the soap in the grimy, green water. Herders bring buffaloes and goats to wash and cool off by the shore. Sadhus, Hindu holy men, and people from all walks of life come to the Ganges to perform pujas, washing their sins away, filling containers with contents of the holy Ganges to take home with them.  Pilgrims stand waist deep in the water, sometimes in lungis, sometimes in full saris or salwar kameez, sometimes naked, filling small clay and metal dishes with water and touching it to their foreheads and lips. Rowers sit idly on the ghat, waiting for tourists to ask for a trip down the river, making repairs on the boats and waiting for pitch on the bottom to dry. Women sweep the stairs and open plazas of the ghats with knee-high brush brooms, removing dust and trash that will be replaced moments after they finish. The buildings, largely crumbling and in disrepair, loom over the river, built high on the hill to avoid flooding when the river swells during the monsoon. Barbers, often cutting the hair of men in mourning, but also doing routine shaves and trims, set up shop by placing a mirror on a wall and a chair to face it. Locals sit in stands along the ghat, selling marigolds, incense, candles, prayer cloths, beads, crystals and vessels for prayer in the water. Other vendors display water bottles and snacks for tourists, and all the while, goats, cows, dogs, buffaloes, and a rare chicken or two are passing by, enjoying and benefitting from the gifts of the Ganges as much as anyone else, eating garbage and shitting where they please. Brilliant colors infuse the saris of the women, as well as the boats, and the orange robes of sadhus stick out against the neutrals of the ghat. The scene is beautiful in a fascinating way, a way that prevents you from turning your head for fear of missing a second of action.

We walked for about an hour, the shadows becoming longer, until we reached the smaller of the "burning ghats." Being a holy city, Varanasi is an auspicious place to be cremated, as it is believed that doing so will allow a person to be released from the cycle of reincarnation if their soul is deemed worthy. Bodies are brought and shipped from all over India and the world to be cremated on the Ganges--literally: we saw a box with a mailing label from Saudi Arabia. There are two main burning ghats in the old city, and on the first day we walked to the smaller one. Locals stand at these ghats offering to give explanations about the cremations in exchange for either money or the chance to take you to a shop, from which they receive commission. We started talking to a very nice man from Varanasi, who explained the rituals and practices of the cremation. First, he said that the whole body is not sent out into the river; rather, for men, only the chest/shoulder is left in the river, and for women, only the hip. This is because these body parts are considered the centers of strength for each gender. If the soul is to be released from the cycle of reincarnation, the fish and animals in the water will eat and decompose the flesh. If they person's soul was not pure enough to escape reincarnation, the fish will leave the body alone and it will not decompose. 

Pile of wood and the temple containing the eternal flame

The funeral pyres must burn for twenty-four hours and are tended to by a specific group from the Dalit (Untouchable) caste. These people, the poorest and most shunned of the poor and shunned, are not paid for their grueling labor. It is traditional for families to leave earrings and nose rings and other precious objects on their loved ones during cremation, so people are cremated with all kinds of jewelry on them. The men who tend the fires may keep any gold or valuables they find in the river following cremations. You can see them in waist and chest deep water, with large shallow pans, sifting carefully through the polluted silt for their livelihood.  It is extremely taboo for anyone other than these people to keep valuables they find in the Ganges that may have belonged to someone who was cremated there. Thought the families of those cremated do not pay those who do the literal dirty work, they do pay for the wood used in the pyre, which ranges in price from expensive sandalwood to cheap mango wood and several steps in between. It takes over 300 kilos of wood to cremate one person--logical, considering how long the fire has to blaze, but intense when you consider how much wood that takes. Each burning ghat contains a temple-like structure, housing an "eternal flame" that Hindus believe was lit by the destroyer god Shiva over 4,000 years ago and has never been extinguished. When the fire is to be lit, the man in mourning--either the oldest or youngest son, usually--takes a handful of brush and lights the end with the sacred fire. He brings it to the pyre, and walks around the body five full times, touching the flame to the wood on each rotation. We watched this happen, the mourner dressed in white, with his head shaven, but for a small patch in the back. It is inappropriate for funeral attendees to cry or show emotion, as this inhibits the soul from resting peacefully and avoiding reincarnation. It is for this reason that women are never allowed to attend these funerals. You know those women--you can never trust them with that moodiness! Though it was outlawed by the British over 100 years ago, women continued to perform sati, the practice of a widow throwing herself on her husband's funeral pyre and self-immolating. Following several high profile incidences of this, the Indian government passed stricter laws to prevent sati in 1987. When we asked our guide why there were no women at the funerals, he gave the explanation of women interfering with peaceful closure by showing emotions, and followed up by saying, "Women used to throw themselves on their husband's burning bodies. This is better, nah?"

Shopping for silk

When our lungs started to choke on ash, we followed the explainer man to his family's silk shop, where we ooohed and aaahed at the truly brilliant silk handwork of tablecloths, scarves and saris that were way out of our price range. After the merchant had opened what seemed like every package he owned, we headed out, much to his disappointed, but not before poor Sean was guilted into buying something. The three of us got in an auto and headed to Assi Ghat, one of the larger ghats, that is the furthest south of the major ghats in Varanasi. Children that looked about nine or ten approached us, selling candles to send down the river for puja. We were shocked at how good their English was, considering how poorly our students speak the language, and they told us that they go to school during the day and only do this in the evening. The kids were so sweet and adorable, asking us questions, playing in the sand, laughing those genuine laughs that only kids are capable of. One sidled up to me after we had been with them for a while and asked me to buy a candle, which I refused. He then asked for a mango juice, to which I happily obliged. He led me to the nearest cafe, alternating between running forward and waiting for me to catch up. I asked him where his shoes were and he said he didn't have any; I wanted to buy him a pair but everything was already closed for the evening. I bought him his drink and he bounded away, meeting up with his friends and sipping his soda through a long straw. I thought about how dangerous this occupation was for these kids, how vulnerable it made them to walk up to strangers and solicit money. But what can I do?

After a long night of, ahem, indigestion following the felafel I ate for dinner, I woke up early and took a walk on my own along the ghat. The place was bustling, with tons of people walking around, schmoozing, washing, watering, fixing, selling, buying, fortune telling, sweeping, begging, shaving, boarding boats, rowing boats and unloading boats. A man had me sit down so he could but the red tikka on my forehead and lead me in saying a blessing, but I hightailed out of there when he asked me for 1,000 rupees. I took tons of pictures and made my way back to the guest house, where Sean had left his room without telling us and Hannah and I had breakfast. We headed down the ghat in the opposite direction to where we had been, reaching the larger burning ghat and viewing the ceremonies from the balcony of a nearby building. We wound through the labyrinth of wood piles, needing to escape the smoke and ash that burned our lungs and stung our eyes, and then twisted and turned our way through the alleys of the old city to reach a place that serves only the most delicious lassis in the world. The yogurt drinks were served in unglazed earthenware cups that were discarded after one use--but weren't plastic! Thanks, ridiculously low cost of labor in India! Making our way to a famous temple, we were denied access because they wanted to see our passports (seriously), which we didn't have on us (obviously), and we exited the old city. A rickshaw ride later, we found ourselves at a recommended fixed price textiles shop, where we spent the next two hours poring over incredible, affordable silks and pashminas. The shop owner was a rare gem, going our of his way to make sure we knew his goods were authentic, asking us to guess which scarves were better quality (got it wrong every time but one), and showing us how to tell the difference by burning strands of fiber and having us smell and feel the difference. After some happy purchases, we returned to the guest house to find Sean and I took a much needed nap.

Evening puja

In the evening we headed down to the ghat to observe the nightly puja, observed by literally hundreds if not thousands of people including locals, tourists, and pilgrims. The long, narrow boats clustered near the ghat, forming what looked like a flotilla of spectators. We stayed a few minutes and listened to the singing, before heading away from the crowd and getting dinner at the bakery again. The next day we packed our bags, hung out in the hostel and read for a bit, before strong-arming our way through the swarming Sunday foot traffic in the Old City to get to a waiting taxi. All in all, we had an incredible experience in Varanasi and felt privileged to have been there. To Kolkata we flew!

To see my photos from Varanasi, click here.

Varanasi Teaser

Hurrah! I have returned from my most recent journeys in one piece and with stories to tell! I am in the process of writing about my experiences, but in the meantime, click this link to enjoy these photographs from the first leg of our trip, Varanasi. Be sure to read the captions in which I explain some of the scenes! For all you East Coasters, stay safe in the storm, cozy up and enjoy the photos.

Sending love from Mother India,
Yael

Jaipur

I've learned in India that getting advanced notice for important events is a rare gift, rather than an expectation. A few weeks ago we discovered that the kids would be taking exams for two weeks, during which we were expected to come to school but would not be proctoring or grading exams.  As the thought of spending two weeks hanging out in the staff room was less than appealing, we asked the people at USIEF to help us get excused from school during that time.  Sure enough, our principals gave us the time off, on the condition that we work on our "research projects." Yay! Hannah has a friend, Caity, who goes to UT Austin that she met while learning Hindi in Jaipur two  years ago.  Caity is spending the semester in Jaipur learning Hindi again and Hannah decided it was time for a visit. Though we had to be back in Delhi Monday night for a wedding we were invited to (more on that later), she urged me to join her, nervous about taking the train both ways in sleeper class by herself.  I was happy to oblige, and on Friday afternoon we met after school for sandwiches before heading to the train station.

Trains in India are such a unique entity, and the experience of riding them is so defining of travel in India.  Everyone in this country rides the train, it seems.  Train stations are such a microcosm of this country, it's incredible. I've been to several train stations so far, all in major cities, and each time I have marveled at the hundreds of people in the station, waiting in line, sleeping on newspapers laid out on the floor, families huddled around tiffins eating curried vegetables with roti, Chai Wallahs caring large tin kettles filled with the steaming sweet, milky tea, men with carts piled high with giant crates or sacks, women in bright chiffon saris balancing giant baskets on their heads. The tracks are filthy, covered in trash and human waste, but that doesn't stop people from jumping off the platform and crossing them on foot, leaping up to safety on the other side.  When the trains stop, men lean out of doors and windows, smoking beedies, drinking chai and staringstaringstaring. As you wait, little kids with matted, dirty hair and people young and old, crippled by polio or missing limbs beg for money and loiter in wait. The platform smells terrible, a putrid mix of urine and sweat and dirty laundry, and the air rings with constant chimes and announcements of incoming and outgoing trains. Sometimes the trains come on platforms other than the one posted, in which case you have to hope for a random good samaritan to let you know of the unannounced change.

Living the good life in Sleeper Class

The trains have several classes: First AC--two people to an air conditioned compartment, Second AC--four people in an air-conditioned compartment with bunk beds, Third AC--six people in an air-conditioned compartment with three-tiered bunk beds, Sleeper and General.  Sleeper is set up with three-tiered bunk beds in each compartment, with room for six people to sleep "comfortably." The cars are not air-conditioned, but the windows open and it's arguably the best way to see the countryside as you travel. The thing about Sleeper is that you can ride it without an assigned seat, so many people just board the train and hope to squeeze in to sit somewhere or just stand where they can.  What does this mean for the average foreigners who choose this transport option? It means that your conceivably "assigned" bench will be taken up by as many people as can possible squeeze onto it, and just when you think no one else can fit, someone practically sits on your lap.  Hannah and I nabbed window seats, a lifesaver in the situation, and refused to close the window, even when the rain came in through the slats and onto our laps. We were the only women in the car, but two nice guys sat next to us from the beginning who helped us fend off the stares a bit. It's not that we feel threatened in these situations, it's just uncomfortable to have so many people looking at you. At one point we just put our dupattas over our heads to just be a little less visible.In a space that would comfortably seat 6-8 people, at least 20 people were crammed, sitting on the bottom bunks, top bunks and side bunks, standing in the isles, leaning on ladders and sitting on laps. For six hours. The benefit of riding in Sleeper, other than "experiencing India" at its fullest? It's cheap as dirt. Our round trip train tickets to Jaipur cost less than 400 rupees (about $8 each). Believe it or not, this is not even the cheapest option.  General Class is just a car with no seats or compartments and they sell as many tickets as people will buy, so you can imagine how luxurious that journey is.

We arrived in Jaipur around 11:30 PM and headed for the restaurant where Caity and her friends were at a party.  We didn't stay long and fell asleep the second our heads hit the pillow.  The next day began with a trip to Anokhi, a lovely cafe attached to a fixed price store selling beautiful, traditionally-made Rajasthani textiles.  We wandered around the store after our beautiful sandwiches and a slice of carrot cake that, while delicious, left my stomach feeling less than happy.  We went to Bapu Bazaar, a main drag in Jaipur with row after row of shops selling the many crafts indigenous to India's largest state. Rajasthan is particularly well-known for its textiles, using many traditional techniques both in weaving fabric and adorning it. Block printing and silkscreening designs by hand, various methods of resist dyeing, such as batik and shiborai, decorating fabric with small mirrors, and the use of hand looms for weaving are examples of the wares on display in the market. 

Fabric heaven!

For a fabric junkie like me, this place was heaven.  I just kept wandering in and out of the shops, touching all the clothes and sheets and hangings, soaking in the sights and colors and patterns in all their forms. I bought some beautiful hand-printed sheets, off-white with a black paisley design and an olive and teal border. Caity's friend, Sabeena, was a bargainer to behold, refusing to pay even 10 or 20 rupees over what she thought was fair. It was great also that Hannah, Caity and Sabeena all speak fluent Hindi; vendors' reactions to their fluency was so funny to watch. They would ask questions like "Do you speak Hindi?", to which Hannah always replies in Hindi, "Am I speaking Hindi?" In the afternoon we headed to the mall, where we bought tickets to see the newest Bollywood film, Barfi. While I had some major issues with the plot, I really enjoyed it and was surprised that I could understand almost everything that was going on, despite the lack of subtitles.  The movie takes place in Darjeeling, and has a lot of the elements of everyday fairy tale inspiration that I liked so much in Amelie. I would definitely recommend it if it's playing near you. We took it easy that night, eating dinner with Caity and Sabeena's host mom and getting to bed early.

Baby gets juicy as mama chows down

The next day, Caity and her classmates went to study and Hannah and I headed off to be tourists. We took an auto to the foot of a hill, on the other side of which lay Galta, known colloquially as the Monkey Temple. We walked up the hill, taking in the landscape and the view of the dense city below.  The path was dotted with a hilarious menagerie of animals--monkeys, goats, cows, chickens, dogs, pigs and pigeons mingled with the temple goers and rummaged through the trash in the gutter in search of food. At the top of the hill we went in a small, white temple dedicated to the Hindu sun god. Some monkeys had perched on a motorcycle parked outside the temple; one was chewing on the fabric of the seat and two were sitting up front, in position to steer the thing. I couldn't have set up the shot if I'd tried. There were so many monkeys that it almost looked like the ground was moving at one point, but, unlike in Shimla, these monkeys were content to leave us alone and did not approach us aggressively.  The exception to this was when Hannah put her bag down for a second to take a picture, and a monkey quickly ran up and grabbed the snacks from her purse before she could stop him. As we began our descent on the other side of the mountain, an auto wallah had brought a bunch of watermelons to feed to the monkeys.  He took the melons, smashed them on the ground and gave the pieces to the monkeys, who greedily gorged themselves on the red juiciness. It's crazy to watch monkeys eat--they look so much like small people (grumpy old men, to be exact). Another sight to behold on the walk was the number of people--men, women and children--who just stopped on the side of the path in full view to relieve themselves. 

As the temple came into view, sand-colored buildings nestled in rich greenery, we felt like we were stumbling upon a treasure.  Walking down the steps into the temple's center, dozens of people were bathing in rectangular pools built into the rock of the cliffs. Monkeys and pigeons nested in the rocks above and watched the scene below of women splashing in their saris and men swimming in their underwear. As we walked towards the lower pool, a bright spectrum of color came into view, as women waded down the steps into the water in magenta, orange, vermilion, puce and turquoise.  The scene was so beautiful, watching the women who looked like jewels in the sun. We walked around the temple, taking pictures while trying to avoid the many topless women of all ages, and got in an auto headed back to the city center.  After eating lunch, we went to the Hava Mahal, the Palace of the Winds, one of Jaipur's most famous landmarks.  It was a Mughal palace built in 1799; the structure resembles that of a beehive from the outside, with windows that look like geometric compartments.  While not in the best condition, the building was very beautiful and we were both glad we had come. We then met up with the other girls, relaxed at a coffee shop for a while, and then headed to dinner at a hotel restaurant adjacent to a fixed price jewelry store--a match made in heaven! We relaxed over beer and biryani, bought some bling and enjoyed the pleasant weather.  

At 4AM, Hannah and I dragged ourselves out of bed and headed for the train station, where we were met once again with so many people on the floor of the main terminal hall that it was hard to step around the sleeping bodies. We boarded the train and I climbed to the top bunk where I got a few hours of restless sleep, before resigning myself to sitting sleepily next to Hannah on the crowded bottom bunk, crammed with other passengers. The last two hours of the journey seemed to take forever, stopping so many times within the Delhi metropolitan area that I thought we'd never make it.  With about an hour left to go, Hannah turned to me with an important question: "On a scale of 1-10," she said, "how open are you to going to the Bagels Cafe before we go home?" Not a week earlier, we had discovered the gem that is the Bagels Cafe, a restaurant near where we live that serves--you guessed it--bagels and cream cheese that are way better than mediocre! Arriving at our station around noon, exhausted and smelly and cramped and starving, we took the metro to our stop, got in an auto and emerged in bagel heaven. It was certainly no H&H, but let me tell you, I think it was the best bagel I've ever had.

To see all of my photos of Jaipur, click here and enjoy!