Take away

It was essentially the last day for us to roam around freely in the city and I had decided that I will go and see part of the city that I hadn’t seen before. By this time I was fairly familiar with the ghats and even the streets of Varanasi. I could recognize the shops and the streets, I had landmarks in my head and I knew I would not get lost, if it ever comes to that.

Two of my friends and I decided to go to a weavers’s house where traditional benarasi silk sarees were made. She wanted to buy a saree for her mother and I thought what better way to experience banaras on the last day than learning about a traditional art that people of benaras have been practicing since time immemorial. We reached the neighbourhood where the saris are made and soon enough we realized that it was a muslim neighbourhood. We were very warmly welcomed in a home based sari shop and I couldn’t take my eyes off some of the embroidery. It was so beautifully and intricately done that I wanted to steal all the saris and make a run for it!

After hours of choosing and bargaining, we finally settled on a beautiful white and gold silk sari with turquoise embroidery and ornate border. It was so fabulous, it made my eyes hurt! i knew I couldn’t leave the place empty handed so I bought some colourful silk scarves for my mother and sister.

They owner of the shop then took us to the place where the embroidery is done and we were shown how you feed the pattern in the computer and the machine just embroiders it. technology has reached and taken over all spheres of life and somehow, watching the giant machine do beautiful, intricate embroidery, I was proud of it.

Since it had become dark by the time it was time for us to leave, the owner himself decided to drop us off to the ghats where we were meeting the rest of our friends. Of course, chatty as we had become we started asking him about his work and family. We learnt that his family had been making silk saris since centuries now and this is all he ever knew. Though he did go to school, he confided in us that he never took his school work seriously and how he would often laugh at his teachers face and walk out of the classroom. Till date he regrets his actions as a kid, even though he is earning more than enough through this family business. It adds to your personality, he says, being well educated. He then went on to tell us about a school that he opened for kids where he has appointed teachers to teach kids either free of cost or at nominal fee. The books and food is all provided for and is funded by donations made by people on festivals.

Hearing this made me wonder how many people in this world actually feel the need to do something that fulfils their lives. This man did not need to open a school, he only did it for himself, for his satisfaction. And in the end thats what counts.

so this was my varanasi. I wonder how yours will be.

Talks

Varanasi. Benaras. Kashi.

Even after spending so much time here, life in the city was a mystery to me. Every day I would walk around in the Ghats, wandering, getting lost, talking, observing and exploring but the more I probed, the more I realized how much there is to the city than what we see.

If you thought that pretty lights reflecting on the river at night is the only beauty banaras posseses that boy, are you wrong! On my way to the Kashi Vishwanath temple I was standing on an unknown street waiting for the rest of the people to come so we could all go together. I was standing on the road, right in front of a tiny electrical shop and I couldn’t wait to get out of that place. The streets were filled with all kind of things. From rickshaws to cycles, from scooters to cars, from monkeys to cows, that one narrow street could sure hold a lot. i turned around and saw the man sitting in the electrical shop peacefully reading a newspaper, oblivious to the deafening sounds of honks and moos. 

He looked old and there was an amicable air around him. I stood in the corner and observed his big, semi wrinkled face. His small watery eyes looked as if they had been looking at the same things for a long time. There was a bored satisfaction on his face that was as apparent as his profession. He somehow merged into the background of his shop filled with light bulbs and wires and electric fittings. He perfectly fit in the streetscape of Varanasi, if I was sketching the view of the street, him and his shop would be a part of the sketch like any other shop, belonging there with no second thought.

It was then that I decided that I would love to talk to him. He looked like he belonged there but he was comfortable settled in that I had to believe that he had a story that was worth knowing. I read the name of the shop, “Gaurang”. I wondered what it meant. I knew Gaurang was a Bengali name and this speck of knowledge made me even more curious. Was his name Gaurang? What was he doing in Varanasi?

I approached him with an enquiry about the direction to the Kashi Vishwanath temple. He was very responsive. It was as if he was waiting for someone to come and talk to him. He told me the directions and I thanked him, telling him that im waiting for my friends to come. Soon enough, he started talking to me. He told me about the temple’s popularity and the busy times of the day, the commercialising of the holy place and how different this place was 40 years ago. So you were here 40 years ago, I probed. Indeed he was. His father moved from Bengal to Varanasi during partition and the place has been home to them ever since. Their family wasn’t alone in doing so, he tells me. Several families from Bengal flocked to Kashi and they all lived together on a street that is now called Bengali tolla. So Gaurang is his name? No, I find out. He has two other bothers, on elder to him, one younger.  The shop, started by his father was named after his older brother. His own name was Shubojeet and he was 65 years old. After asking about his own children, I found that he had one son and one daughter and both of them were doing higher studies. The way he was talking about his children, it was apparent how proud he was of them. He told me how strongly he felt about reservation when it comes to education and soon we were having a heated discussion about education in Varanasi.

In this entire process, I had totally forgotten about my agenda of interviewing the person about the city and his connection with it. I just went with the flow and what I found was much more interesting than what I would have, had I pressed on him about my pre prepared questions. I realized that people in kashi have a story that may or may not be extra ordinary. In fact, what is special, what isn’t depends on the receiver of the information. Talking to the shopkeeper made me realize that I am lucky to be able to gain knowledge and perspective from people who are so different from me, who have lived a life that is so different from mine. Yet, when we got talking, we shared beliefs and ideas. We exchanged opinions and we gave insights to each other. And that’s how you build a relationship, even if its as short lived as an hour or as long as a lifetime.

Lights and reflections

After a long tiring day consisting of walks around the BHU campus, I thought ill be too exhausted to move by the time evening comes. But I had heard so much about Dev Dipawali festival that even though every part of my body was howling with pain, I couldn’t get myself to miss it. We reached the ghats at around 5 PM and believe you me, the ghats were no longer the ghats. the transformation was hundred time as drastic as those makeover shows that air on television. I didn’t know where to look, it was a 360 degree view of plain beauty. Every single surface, every step, every elevation, every slope was covered in oil diyas. It was as if the Gods themselves had come to adorn the place with light, like a huge sheet of twinkling yellow stars had swooped down from the skies to cover the ghats.

Every ghat had its own charm. The temples were covered with fairy lights that shimmied with the beat of the music. And oh the music! It was honey singh meets lord shiva with a dash of bhangra beats. Doesn’t sound appealing but somehow, it all fit in perfectly together. And the number of people that were present in that one place, wow. It was as if someone had picked up all the people in this world and just put them together in that one place. The thought of entering that solid block of humans seemed impossible. And i would not even have bothered doing so if I wasn’t dying to experience dev dipawali in its rawest, truest form. People rubbing shoulders, some intentionally, some not, people pushing, pulling and people being thrown away to the side by the great, robust crowd. All this should have and usually would have scared me but somehow, Varanasi had just taken out all the negativity in me. And to think I didn’t even take a dip in the Ganga, imagine if I had done that.. 

Photograph by Rwit Ghosh

Anyway, so I pushed and struggled my way through the charging, angry crowd while also appreciating and marvelling at the sheer, untainted beauty of the ghats and lights. The river was another story altogether. the millions of diyas on the ghats reflected light on the gently lapping water of the Ganga, making it look like there were gold swirls on a black surface. Everything was so breathtakingly beautiful and bright that even the usually fantastic moon that hung low over the river shone a little less brightly than usual. The lights had taken over and consumed the city. and at that moment, I was happy. I wanted nothing else, I felt like this is what life should be about, staring at something that takes your breath away and wanting nothing else, doing nothing else.

Dev Dipawali brought people together, it brought ideas together, it brought thoughts together. One festival, one night that made so many happy. Diwali has always been my favourite festival, the lights, the smell of crackers, the food, the happy faces, everything just brings a flush to my face. But this was different, there were no exchange of gifts, there were no pretentious pleasantries, no unwanted hugs. It was you and the lights and the togetherness of people as people. It wasn’t family relation that tied the people of Varanasi together that night, it was the ghats, the city, the belief, the celebration. And that is what dev dipawali was all about.

Mother to many, life to some

The ghat are home to several families, locals, tourists, people who believe, people who don’t but there is always a chance of meeting or coming across someone whose story you cannot predict. There is always an element of surprise that this place has offer. And this is what I wanted to look for. The people of Varanasi make Varanasi what it is, be it people who have been living here all their life or people who’ve just come for a few days. Everyone who has ever stepped foot in this city has a story to tell that connects them to the city. And this is what I wanted to get. I wanted to people to share their personal anecdotes with me, something extra ordinary, something special that ties them to the city. I knew I couldn’t expect people to just open up to a random stranger asking personal questions about their lives, it takes much more than a prepared questionnaire to learn about a certain place through people. The reason why I did not read up on Varanasi was because I wanted to learn about it through the people living here.

What I didn’t realize that knowing what doesn’t work is not enough. You enter the ghats and you are immediately struck by how many elements this river bank is home to. How many people, how many religions, languages, beliefs, sentiments and stories. The mixture is sweet, salty, sour and spicy all at  the same time! There is something in the lives of each and every individual that connects them to the city. Life of many is the way it is not by choice but because of some sacrifice or compromise that they have made for the sake of people close to them. Yet at the end of the day, everyone seems to be living a life that becomes a part of the entire system. Like a single piece of puzzle in the entire jigsaw. Kashi flows in the blood of these people and at the same time, these people is what kashi is made of.

I encountered one such man on the ghats, I was casually walking with my sketchpad and i saw a great spot to sit and draw the boats and the people washing clothes on the banks. It was then that I saw him. He was as old as a man could ever get, his skin wrinkled like an old piece of cloth, his hands and feet had prominent veins popping out and his head full of longish white hair that looked limp and unwashed. He was cleaning his boat, his head back stooped low, his strong arms flexing up and down. I knew I had to talk to him the minute I saw him. I started imagining how amazing it would be get stories out of him and immediately took out my notepad and approached him.

I knew I couldn’t just go to him and start asking personal questions, I had to build an understanding, a trust that would make him open up to me. But as I stood in front of him, I felt like my mouth was locked with the tongue stuck to my cheek. I had never experienced this blankness before, and it left me stuttering and stammering. I had my questions, I knew what I wanted to ask him but after the first 3 questions enquiring him about his name (raghuvansh), his age (76) and his profession (boat rider), I didn’t really know how to prolong the conversation, how should I reach where I wanted to reach? 

photograph by Solita Deb

I didn’t give up, I sat there next to him in complete silence for the next 5 minutes. What happened next was definitely not what I was expecting. He continued doing his work, but he started talking as well. He was not looking at me and he spoke softly, as if he was just talking to himself. I found out that Raghuvansh has been living in Varanasi for as long as he remembers. His father was also a boat rider. his childhood was spent on the ghats, flying kites next to the river, diving into the ganga from great heights trying to impress the girls giggling away on their way to school. He remembers the day his mother passed away, his father had to take him out of school. Back then, his father used sell chanas on the ghats, but since he was now the only earning member of the family, he knew the chana selling will not be enough to educate his son. So he decided to save up for the next 3 years. He sold his house, saved up on raghu’s tuition fee and finally had enough to buy a boat enough to carry 6 people. Since then, the boat and the river have been the family’s greatest friends. Raghu enrolled in school again, but being the oldest boy in his class, he was often made fun of. Discouraged, he ended up skipping school every day and finally when his father passed away, he took over the boat and has been giving people boat rides in the ganga since then. 

Photograph by Solita Deb

After hearing this story, I realized that the Ganga is lifeline for so many people. I have often tried to imagine kashi without ganga, and I had a strange picture in my head with only temples and cobbled streets filled with people. After hearing Raghu’s story, I couldn’t even imagine this city without Ganga. Ganga is what Kashi is made of, Ganga cradles Kashi in her soft arms like a loving mother, protecting it from outside forces, giving it all she has, providing the city and shaping it.

Turn around, see yourself where you see them

Waking up early in the morning would have been a task for me had I been anywhere else on the planet, but in merely two days, Varanasi’s early morning rituals had rubbed off on me and somehow I found myself up and about walking towards the ghats, once again. I had an image of the place in my head now, I could go back to it whenever I wanted to. Or so I thought. At 6 in the morning, just before sunrise, the ghats looked nothing like they did the day before. It was quiet and calm, I could see much more of it now, the river looked wider and the water looked cleaner. I was scared I would walk in and ruin the perfection of the sight.

The peaceful ganga, usually hushed ghats with only a speck of people taking morning dips and the sun just making a grand entrance, it was nothing short of an elaborate stage set.

With much effort on my part, I tore my eyes away from staring at everything with an open mouth and we were all packed into boats. After getting settled in o the far end of the boat, I took out my sketchpad and pens and looked up. I have to say, the sight was bewitching. It was nothing like anything I had ever seen before. Even though it was the same ghats, the same river, the same people and the same temples that I had been looking at and marvelling for the last two days, I was now looking at it from a different angle and perspective altogether. 

I don’t even mean it metaphorically, I was literally seeing it from a different angle. Now I was in the water, I was a part of the image I had in my head for so long. When you walk in the ghats, you become a part of the madness, the activities, the noises, the smells, everything becomes you and you become everything. You see the river next to you with its vast openness and it becomes your anchor, your safe haven in case you want some peace and quiet. One glance at the expansive, brilliant ganga and instantly you feel better.

It was a different experience to sketch out a view from the ganga of the temples and the ghats. after a beautiful, long boat right along the ghats I was mentally and physically exhausted. i knew I was done for the day even though it was barely mid afternoon by the time we were done. I had had my fill of the place and I knew my mind could accept and process only so much. 

Stare, don't look

I was so repeatedly warned about the dirt and the crowd in the ghats of varanasi that I felt like I was wearing layers and layers of sweaters one on top of each other, completely protected from the extreme weather conditions outside. I was physically and mentally prepared for the worst, ready to combat any unwanted situation that may come up.

Again, this magical city did not cease to amaze me.  My breath got stuck in my throat and my eyes definitely went for a nice long walk along the river on the ghats, across the river and back as I stood there, unable to move with my feet stuck to the ground. The ganga looked like a new bride, beautiful and innocent, paving way for so many stories and hopeful wishes. Together with the busy ghats, the sight was unbelievable. Another thing that was unbelievable was that while I was drinking in the beauty of what I was staring at, not even once did I stop to notice the “dirt” or the “squalor” that I was expecting to see. There is so much energy in the place, so many activities happening simultaneously that every single time I looked at the same place, I noticed something new.

photograph by Solita Deb

I just wanted to walk along the river on the ghats and take in the beauty of the entire place. This was probably one of the few days of my life that I felt like I was looking at something that was genuinely beautiful, from deep within, something so complex that even if you spend a lifetime there, you will just be left wondering how the entire system works so perfectly, so synchronized, complete with flaws and shortcomings and everything else that there is to it.

The ghats, for me, were perfect in their near perfection. From naked men and women casually bathing in the river banks, without a care in the world about thousands of tourists and locals lounging on the ghats, staring at them, to little kids running around selling floating diyas, pouncing on poor unsuspecting foreign tourists. From the chants of the temples to the lights of the ghats reflecting on the river. I was enchanted by he bewildering number of activities happening all at the same time.

The walk in the ghats was not just beautiful, it exposed me to a lot of realities of life. Harishchandra and manikarnika ghats were two places that shook me up a little bit. Death is something that people in kashi come across everyday. For them it is a concept that is understood and accepted by all. Tens of bodies lying around in the ghats waiting to get cremated. We sat there for the longest time and I couldn’t stop wondering about the whole idea of not shying away from death, of not considering it a taboo, or taking it as a topic that’s not sensitive to talk about. These people getting cremated were not just bodies with organs and hands and legs, they were actual human beings with emotions and opinions, they must have had a family, some social standing, something they were proud of. And here we are, sitting and watching while the last evidence of their existence was getting burnt away. It gave me something to think about.. 

photograph by Solita Deb

Do you see what I see?

Leaving at 3 in the morning to catch a flight is not something you usually look forward to, but this time I couldn’t wait for the clock to strike 3. As much as I wanted to catch up on sleep before the long journey, I couldn’t. so when finally the time did come for us to leave, I was practically running with one bag in each hand and a trolley suitcase getting dragged behind me. The number of times I stumbled on my own feet is embarrassing. The entire process of getting into the traveller and boarding the flight is sort of blurred in my memory but I do remember the sheer exhaustion and fatal feeling I was having when I finally got out from the gates of Varanasi airport. Frankly, all my excitement from last night about this divine city had shrunk to the size of a peanut and at that point of time, all I wanted was a bed to stretch myself and just sleep.

And then something very strange happened. I got into the car and I was finally on my way to the beloved bed but suddenly I didn’t want to reach it anymore. Sitting on the window seat, I couldn’t stop looking out and taking in the city. I could feel something very tangible inside me, something like a bright shiny ball of light that entered me as soon as I started looking around the city from the backseat of the car. There was something about the city, like a gravitational pull that kept me awake even in the long ride to the BHU campus.  I wanted to take in the city as much as I could. At that point of time, all I wished for was a panoramic view of the entire surroundings. When I looked left, I was missing what was on the right and when I turned to look on the right, I was missing the cityscape on the left! I was in constant turmoil, there was a deep alien thirst in me that I knew couldn’t get quenched just by looking, I had to get out and walk on the streets, I had to talk to the women in beautiful silk saris walking with pooja thalis in their henna decorated hands, I had to listen to stories from the old men smoking bidis in the front porch of their houses.

It was then that I knew that traveling fascinated me. I always considered beauty to be a very subjective matter to discuss but this belief further firmed in my head as I looked out of the window with warm Varanasi wind blowing through my hair. Beauty existed in everything I saw, from the hands of a carpenter to the braid of a fisherwoman’s hair, from the curves of our hands to the lines on the face of an old man. Maybe this is why, I felt liberated when I finally went to visit a temple inside the BHU campus. I felt like I could fully appreciate the colour, the texture and the carving on every single pillar, wall and flooring pattern. Friends and families, parents with little children who had so much faith in the sanctity of the halls of this temple, all crowded in one place and the conviction in their faces was so apparent that you could feel it in the air.