February 28, 2016

February 28, 2016

With an early wake-up call, Aimee and I are checked out and waiting for our tour bus at 7:30 am. It never arrives because Delhi is hosting a marathon today and the main roads are closed. Improvising we jump into three ancient Hindustan Ambassador Taxis. With our luggage on the open car-top carriers, our convoy sets off for the airport.  It feels like another “Amazing Race” moment.  We dodge traffic successfully only to hit a roadblock a half mile from the hotel.  Luckily a senior traffic cop shows up within minutes and lets us through.  Despite the age of these 50+ year old vehicles, we arrive safely and on time to make our flight to Varanasi.

For the plane ride, I picked up a local English language paper and perused the articles.  It is fascinating to read about the issues facing modern India.  You think the US has troubles, politics in India is magnitudes worse.  Besides the Hindu versus the Muslim minority, they have the caste system and all its constituencies, and the many regions and half dozen languages. The concept of a united India is a modern construct.

Aimee likes the personal ads better.  Arranged marriages are still very common (our Indian-American travel companions even had one).  So the classified section has pages full of match-making ads. Humorously most say they are tall, fair-skinned and beautiful.  The ads are also pretty specific about desired castes and personal attributes.

It is a long drive from the airport to our hotel in Varanasi.  All of us are rapt by the scenery. Lots of sacred cows roam the streets and shockingly feeding on garbage.  We see big piles of cow dung drying ready to be used for fuel. The kaleidoscope of cultures makes for astounding people watching. The extent of poverty is very humbling. Yet, surprisingly, even the poorest women wear brightly colored clothing.

Our touring today starts late this afternoon. We board the bus and head to the banks of the Ganges River.  For Hindus, Varanasi is the nexus of the universe, thus the holiest of Hindu cities. Dying in Varanasi breaks the cycle of life and reincarnation.  We climb down steep stairs and load onto a tiny boat with a putt-putt engine and head upriver.  The western river bank of the Ganges is lined with a series of steep steps (called Ghats).  We see flames in the distance. As we get closer, we learn these are funeral pyres.   There are at least a half dozen burning with two bodies waiting. We watch as one body is placed in the water for its final bath.  The marigold decorations are discarded, the body placed on a concrete platform and wood stacked on top. The pyre is lit with butter fat.  It will burn most of the day before family members can retrieve the ashes. All the while cows are hanging out eating the discarded flowers.

Further upriver we stop for an Aarti ceremony.  We first buy some floating candles from a cute little Indian girl that we release on the Ganges as an offering.  When it gets darker we pull close to shore and watch a group of priests light fires, ring bells, and chant.  Apparently the words are in the ancient Sanskrit tongue of the millennia-old Hindu bible.  This Aarti ritual celebrates light and the removal of darkness.