Varanasi


A trip to Varanasi is a little like a trip to a mini-India- it's all (or a lot) of India in one place. There's the crowds of people. There's the absolute fanatical devotion to Hinduism, the gods, idols, holy men and practices. There's the heat. There's the rain. There's the rubbish everywhere in the streets. There's the cows and their shit everywhere. There's the adorable willingness to help with everything balanced with the incredible frustration that acceptance of that help will inevitably mean an exchange of money.


It's a wonderous beast, but it's a difficult beast to love. Even more so when you're obviously an outsider (I don't use the distinction between foreign tourist and Indian tourist here- everyone's a target here). It's a part of India I still haven't got used to yet- the part that involves an attempt to build a relationship via conversation that never feels quite right.


The standard practice involves two phrases, that generally give away the speaker's fluency in the English language: "What is your name?" and "What is your country?" These two questions, when answered, then meet most of the time with a silence. I would say awkward, but for the Indian guy (and it's always a guy), who's standing there and grinning at you, it doesn't seem to be awkward. At least not awkward enough for them to move away or attempt to say anything else. That silence will then either be followed by them asking to take a photo of you, then asking for a couple of rupees or them asking if you're on facebook. *Note: they don't normally ask you for all three.


Varanasi had a slightly different take on this, in that even the holy guys in the temples would try this on you. They of course always finished their interaction, which would involve handing over prashad, or wrapping a holy piece of string around some part of your body, with the asking for money. Not blatant, mind, unless you call pointing to the small offerings that were already lying near his feet blatant. (Ilka was actually 'asked to leave' the temple after refusing to give a donation when a holy swami dangled a black string necklace around her.)


So Varanasi, and it's constant harassment, was a little tiring. And it was harassment followed by extremely hurtful and sorrowful looks if you gave any indication that it might be pissing you off or that their tactics weren't going to result in a bigger tip or a potential sale. It was the kind of, I'm only trying to earn a living, even if my methods mean trying to make you feel as uncomfortable or as guilty as possible... have a little compassion!


The most interesting thing that Varanasi has to offer is of course the devotees, whether they be bathing themselves completely in the Ganges, offering prayers and various other bits and pieces, or queuing for hours at the temples, bumper-to-bumper only to get approximately 2 seconds if they're lucky to throw their gifts at their favoured idols (some of which you couldn't even see because of the volume of stuff being thrown in there). The Golden Temple was one-such place where the idol (a black "knob in a bowl") was completely drowned in the milk that was deemed one of the holiest offerings. The idol was policed by one helpful swami who angrily threw out surplus offerings and another who grabbed anyone clinging to the railings that dared to hang there for more than their 2 seconds. And this was normal practice for the thousands of people who queued for hours every day, during August which is designated as 'Shiva month'.


Enough of Varanasi, it wasn't a very pleasant experience unfortunately. But here's some pics anyway.

Our extremely photogenic (and apparently 100-years old, blind and deaf) boat-renter and steer-er

Holy women

Holy man

Holy guacamole

We paid for this view

Where dogs sleep on cows

We're almost ready to leave!