Varanasi

Varanasi is a truly magical city, but a very strange, mix up of a place. The World’s most continuously occupied city (over 4000 years), it’s located on a wide, Western sweep of the Ganges, facing sandbanks and then jungle beyond. It is a combination of Holy City, faded (almost seemingly derelict at points) family seaside resort, Venice and a large dust bin, where Holy Men lead twice daily Hindu services along the Ghats, people come to wash themselves and their clothes and drink the holy water, where wild dogs fight each other periodically, ranging in warring packs across the marble steps, bodies are cremated on large wooden pyres and where people casually dump rubbish on the muddy banks that remain between the steps that lead down to the greasy water surface. There is life, death and almost everything in between here and it is fascinating.

I agreed to go on a boat ride one evening. It was really weird. There is a big daily Hindu ritual at about 7.30 each evening on the flat section at the top of one of the main Ghats, but it was more like a religious rock concert. There were hundreds of boats in the water in front of the steps, full of people, most of them Hindus, all come to watch the show and pray. Given that I'm not Hindu and I have no idea what it was all about, it was a bit surreal. There was lots of singing and drumming and sitar playing and lots of things with fire, which the worshippers responded to by lighting candles in thin metallic trays, like cake trays but dressed with orange flowers. It was like people holding lighters aloft at a rock concert. There was a big finale, with the music getting faster and faster and five religious men dressed in shiny yellow and orange waving a golden pyramid of fire with one hand and incense sticks with the other. The people in the boats were clapping now and making sweeping gestures with open palms and then bringing their hands together in prayer. I felt an imposter and like I shouldn't be there. I couldn't help notice the large cockroaches scuttling across the inside of the boat. I felt like someone who has just walked into a room full of people watching a soap, where intricate plottings over several months are coming to a dramatic and surprising conclusion, but for me, who has missed every episode of the build-up, it seems to hold no meaning, or indeed, to appear vaguely funny, that contrast between the intensity of the audience and my indifference. For some reason I thought of those brightly coloured, Lycra clad Disco bands of the late seventies and had to supress my laughter. Irreverent, I know, but I just couldn't help it. At the end, unlike a rock concert, there were no shouts for more, no clapping, just the waving of open palms to the sky and then the sound of boatmen talking to each other as they tried to disentangle their boats and then we headed back to the calm, peaceful darkness of the river.

The following day I spend walking along each of the Ghats, which in total must extend for at least a couple of miles. People were really friendly, until I came across the central area where the concert had been the night before. A few people asked me if I wanted a haircut, shave, massage. One guy stood in front of me, impeding my way and proceeded to dig his fingers into my scalp and then my arms. I can handle verbal banter and playfulness, but physically grabbing me really is not good. I proceed to look the guy in the eyes and to reel off the list of things I didn’t want but had been offered that morning: no shave, no haircut, no massage, no opium, no hash, no women, no men, no boat ride, no prayers etc., Sensing my annoyance, hard fingers stopped kneading my shoulders. You have dangerous eyes, he said, but at that particular point in time my eyes were the least dangerous thing about me. I walked over to the shade and sat down. The guy followed and sat down next to me, still asking about the haircut. I had to laugh, admiring his persistence. No, I really do not need a haircut. After a few moments he wandered off after a European couple and I was left to ponder if in fact I did. Probably.

On my way back, in the early evening, I watched a body being prepared for cremation. It was a lady, completely wrapped and tied in a sari, who was laid on a bed of wood. She can’t have been dead for long, as her feet and ankles were still flexible. Then a few layers, perhaps 3 or 4, of wood were placed on top of her and then a very large chunk of wood, a slice of tree trunk about two feet long was placed on top of that, to keep everything in place. There were a few onlookers, but it didn’t seem like there were any relatives. There was no one mourning that I could see. It was squalid rather than romantic or noble. The place was dirty and the ashes of previous fires that had burnt out were scattering across the Ghat by the breeze. A dog scavenged from the rubbish at the bottom of the steps. I didn’t take any photos (they are strictly forbidden from the Ghat itself) and I didn’t watch the burning. I didn’t want to smell the body. It takes about 3 hours to burn a body and the cost is about 5000 rupees. To be cremated electrically, in the run down, concrete cremation building immediately to the left, with cows and chickens outside the entrance, takes about 20 minutes and costs about 500 rupees.

One for you, Pavey. There always has to be one fucking T shirt that has to be different!

That's a person, going up in smoke

Kite Flying. That one's for you. You know who you are! :-)

The Dooleys, Live

And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife
And you may ask yourself
Well...How did I get here?