My Varanasi Trip in Pictures

Last year in November, my friend Vinod and I decided to make a trip to Varanasi. I had been there once a few years earlier and something that I can't explain kept calling me back. It was the first time for Vinod and I knew that with him being a devout Hindu, I would be experiencing and learning about things that I wouldn't otherwise.

Being the oldest living city, Varanasi attracts hoards of tourists from across the world. Hindu's go to this Holy city to wash away their sins and offer their prayers at various important temples, Kashi Vishvanath being the holiest of all the Lord Shiva temples. Most foreign travelers include Varanasi in their itinerary because a trip to India would simply be incomplete without it. 

Whether it's religion or curiosity that draws you to Varanasi, almost everyone I've encountered agrees that it's a place like no other. Both times I was there, I took literally hundreds of photos. Here are just a few to give you a glimpse into my last stay.

What better way to start your day than with prayer. Mornings in Varanasi are really my favorite time, beginning with a beautiful sunrise, the waking up of the ghats, boats floating gently in the Ganga river and temple bells in the background. 

Mornings are also a great time to go for a boat ride. Feeding the birds is optional but so much fun.

Its time to eat! On all four days, breakfast consisted of kachoris and jalebis (see bottom), which is probably as unhealthy as one can get. Never went back to the same place and we saved the best for our last day, which was a 20 minute hike from our hotel. A brisk morning walk followed by consuming a million calories!

This photo with 5 humans and a dog clustered together makes me smile. Is personal space overrated? Does sharing space actually bring us more joy? I encounter a lot of loneliness amongst the more affluent. Have we forgotten how to share our time, our space, our joys and sorrows in the real world because we're so busy sharing our lives on social networks?

Hindu's believe that bathing in the Holy Ganga river will wash away their sins. These two are unabashedly having a great time. No sins to wash so let's just have some fun!

The choreographed Ganga aarti (evening prayers by the Ganges river) is spectacular and Vinod and I looked forward to it every evening that we were there. Varanasi gets a large number of foreign tourists, one of who from the UK confessed to me that it was this evening aarti that had brought her back for a second visit. 

Man or animal, there's a lot of introspection that happens in Varanasi

Your head finds so much that is wrong with Varanasi. Your heart, on the other hand, just chooses to look at everything that makes this oldest living city so incredibly special.

Varanasi can never be explained. It can only be experienced. You either love it or you hate it and I completely understand both emotions. The love that I have for it, sometimes even takes me by surprise.

Shortly before heading to Sarnath and then the airport,  I decided to walk around the ghats one last time. It was late afternoon, strangely quiet and I was trying to absorb the sights and sounds that are so unique to Varanasi. Even though I had been there for 4 days, I knew that there was still so much that I was leaving behind to discover in my next visit. 

There's Something about Varanasi - The Final Chapter - How much is enough?

Pascal and I met on the last of my 3 days in Varanasi. I was at Niyati Cafe drinking a cup of coffee when we struck up a conversation. Once he found out that I had a food blog and that I had written restaurant reviews for some magazines, he went from being ‘just friendly’ to ‘I love food - I want to be you’! 

“Do you know why I keep coming back to Varanasi?” he asked. Of course I didn’t since I had just met the guy! “It’s the lassi (smoothie Indian style) - they have the best lassi!”, he said salivating. I laughed out loud but also couldn’t help agreeing with him since Aparna and I had had the best lassi of our lives the previous day. Even better than all the ones I drank during my Punjab trip the previous year. Who would have thought?

Pascal was born in Switzerland 26 years ago, stands 6 foot 2 inches and weighs a scrawny 62 kg. Born in a reasonably wealthy family he decided that all he wants to do is to see the world. He works for organizations like Greenpeace for 4 months in the year and travels the rest of the time. India is in his itinerary every year. Travel is on a shoestring budget, staying/eating at the most basic hotels/restaurants or with friends, unreserved compartments of trains and non-luxury buses for commuting. 

“What makes you do this?” I asked. “You could have such a comfortable life back in Switzerland.”

“It’s boring”, he responded. “I love my country but everything is the same. I come here and every place I go to has something new to offer.” 

“But don’t you find it hard roughing it out like this? It couldn’t be very easy?” 

“It’s easy,” he replied. “If you’ve always had everything, you realize that money isn’t what’s important in life.”

That sounded profound to me, especially coming from a 26 year old. It reminded me of my favorite line in The Fight Club - The things you own end up owning you. 

When most people at his age would be working to climb the corporate ladder, spending their earnings on possessions, clubbing, partying, Pascal had figured out that he didn’t want any more than was absolutely necessary. 

“All my possessions are in these,” he said pointing to a small duffle bag and a backpack. “My parents force me to carry a cell phone.” He laughed as he showed it to me saying that he didn’t have a connection. “When I go to a place that has free wifi, I send them an email to let them know that I’m okay.”

I, on the other hand, while in Varanasi, had probably used my phone a hundred times sending text messages, making and receiving calls. 

“They must worry about you,” I said. “You should stay in regular touch with them.”

He told me that he had thought of becoming a sadhu for a couple of years, to experience their lifestyle, to not have any emotional ties. “I think I would make a good sadhu”, he laughed.

“There must be a reason that you are the way you are,” I said.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never lacked anything, I grew up in a normal home with parents that have always loved me.”

“When was the last time you sent them an email?” I asked. His smile told me that it had been a while.

“Let’s go to the Blue Lassi Shop,” he responded looking at his phone. “They have free wifi.”

                                                                **

The day I met Pascal, he was on his way to Rishikesh and decided to stop in Varanasi for a few hours. I got an email from him a few days later saying that he was in Vashisht in Himachal instead. “I still haven’t made it to Rishikesh,” he wrote. “I’ve been here since 7 days - it’s so beautiful here. I hope to meet you again soon.”

I hope to meet you again too, Pascal.

There's something about Varanasi - Part 3 - 'Of Boatmen and Massuers'

The sun rises over the Ganga

Mornings in Varanasi were pretty magical. On the first morning the Ghats were quiet and peaceful where one got to watch a spectacular sunrise over the Ganga, people going about their morning duties, a few bathers and mostly tourists. The second morning on the other hand was vastly different. Apparently hordes of sadhu’s (holy men) from the Maha kumbh mela at Allahabad had set up camp in Varanasi and I couldn’t be happier that they did. One has to be extremely lucky to have a radically different experience in the exact same spot on back to back days.

It may also have been an auspicious bathing day since there seemed like so many more people washing off their sins in the Ganges. At some places it was like an almost-nudist colony but nobody was batting an eyelid. Since I’ve never sinned, I didn’t feel the need to jump into the river and cleanse myself. 

Washing away their sins

My favorite Sadhu

And of course my life being what it is, there had to also be an amusing incident on the cards. Once the sun was up and we were done clicking, what seemed like a million pictures, we decided to sit on the steps and just relax for a while. A lean, elderly, scruffy old man came up to me and held out his hand. I did the polite thing and shook it, assuming that he was just being friendly. Except that he wouldn’t let go of my hand and began massaging it, slowly working his way up to my arm and shoulders. To the right of me I could see Aparna giggling and to the left of me there was this local sadhu looking guy with an amused expression on his face. The apparently eighty year old masseur, a little guy who made me look gigantic, certainly knew what he was doing and it felt pretty damn good. He convinced me to lie on my stomach right there on the steps while he worked on my back and legs. Meanwhile tourists kept stopping by and taking pictures. I tried to get them to pay me for the photos but they just laughed and moved on. I could see from Aparna’s pictures later why it would have looked so hilarious as he sat on my butt and worked on my back.

The 80 year old masseur

Funny memories are our favorite, aren’t they? Especially at the expense of others. 

We had been for a boat ride the first morning but Aparna was very unhappy with our boatman. “He’s supposed to tell us stories,” she kept saying. “That’s supposed to be the best part of going on a boat ride.” I never remember stories anyway so I couldn’t care less but I thought that pretending to agree with her was the right thing to do.

So since our first boat ride wasn’t satisfactory, Aparna checked with a friend who referred Tinku to us for the second morning. Tinku had stories coming out of everywhere, most of which I think he was making up. The funniest thing is that after about five minutes Aparna stopped listening. So much for her complaining the previous day. We couldn’t however get Tinku to shut up, so when he suggested that he could also sing bhajans or devotional songs, it seemed like a good way to keep him occupied, while we continued to take photos! On a side note, I really did enjoy listening to his bhajans and even joined him during the chorus.

On the second day we rented a cab to take us sightseeing. As soon as we left the ancient city and started driving past shopping malls, we knew that we had made a mistake. We wanted to go back right away. Our taxi driver was having a hard time figuring us out. “But you’ve paid me for 8 hours,” he said. "Don't you want to go to ..... (rattling off names of places)?". It didn’t matter that we had paid for the entire day or that there were all these places that he was suggesting we visit. All we wanted was to go back. While we did make it to Sarnath and pretended to be interested, it just wasn’t working for us. He was happy that we’d saved him time and fuel. We were happy to be where we were supposed to be.

“It feels so good to be back,” commented Aparna as we jostled our way through the narrow lanes, feeling like we were back home, even though we had only arrived the previous morning. 

I couldn’t agree more with her. It most certainly was a relief to be ‘home’. “Let’s celebrate our return with a samosa,” I said, as we walked towards this giant cauldron dishing out delectable treats. 

To be continued ....

There's something about Varanasi - Part 2 - 'Look out for the Poop'

It was already 1 pm and I hadn’t eaten anything since dinner, the previous night. But before I could think about feeding myself, I had to get done with my morning business and brush my teeth. So it was imperative that we get to the hotel as quickly as we could and not head to a saree store instead where Aparna wanted me to help pick a saree for her mother. “Our rooms aren’t ready yet,” she tried convincing me as I got grumpier by the second. 

The narrow lanes, with a
Japanese signboard?

As the shopping ordeal ended and we finally began making our way towards the hotel, Aparna, who had been around for a couple of hours and was now well-versed with the art of walking in the old city, kept asking me to keep my eyes on the road. “You’re going to step into poop”, she said. Maneuvering through the narrow lanes chock-a-bloc with humans, stray dogs, cows and the occasional cycle or motor cycle while watching out for cow poop, plus carrying on a conversation, was interesting to say the least. To give you a perspective, a motorcycle in these lanes could be a bigger bully than a Hummer on a side-street. Mostly lined with shops on both sides, a couple of times I had to jump into one of them to make way for traffic. Or a large cow! Could be a fun video game. 

Our hotel was much nicer than what I was expecting. And the best part was that it was right on the Ghat. What I was however, not expecting, was to be greeted with a garland of red roses as I started to walk inside. In fact I was so busy talking that I didn’t even notice someone waiting to pounce over me with it, until it actually happened. Aparna, of course was cracking up, saying “I couldn’t wait to see the expression on your face!”. 

On the left is the Dasaswamedh Ghat where the evening aarti takes place. To the right, the red steps lead to our hotel.

Our first day was completely packed. Got to mention here that thanks to Aparna’s brother-in-law,we were introduced to two wonderful gentlemen living in the city that were fantastic hosts. Whether it was shopping, getting a tour of the weavers looms, excellent seating for the evening prayers or recommendations on where we should eat, mostly Vijay and sometimes Vinay went out of their way to be helpful. 

Our lunch place, an interesting little restaurant called Niyati Cafe, though came as a recommendation from a French gentleman who we ran into. Little did I know at the time that Niyati would become my favorite hangout and the owner, Ravi Prakash, my best buddy!

Ravi Prakash, owner/chef of Niyati Cafe with Aparna

The 42 year old weaver

Besides being the oldest living city in the world, Varanasi is also famous for it’s hand woven fabric. Which sadly is a dying business. Cheap imitations and machine made textiles have forced most weavers to move to different professions and this dying trade is now confined to small, run-down looms, which in all probability will cease to exist in another decade or two. One of the weavers I talked to mentioned that he had been doing this for the past twenty years. “How old are you?” I asked him, a little surprised. If  I were to guess his age, I would have said ’30’. He was apparently 42. Have a look at his picture. Watching these men work at dingy workshops, I couldn’t help but feel a little sad.

My most and least favorite parts of the first day were both religion related. The evening aarti or prayers, a one-hour long, grandly decorated, brightly lit, tastefully choreographed and attended by thousands was magical. Even though I was continuously clicking pictures, I still felt that I was in a trance. There was a group of tourists from Brazil sitting around me. I, being my usual friendly self had exchanged smiles and several words with them. One of the women in a heavy accent said to me, “Isn’t this the most incredible thing you’ve ever seen?”. I nodded and smiled, thinking to myself that you don’t have to belong to any religion or even be religious to appreciate a beautiful prayer service. 

My least favorite part of the day was visiting the Kashi Vishvanath Temple. The less I speak about it, the better. In fact it’s best if I don’t speak about it at all. 

By the time we ended our day it was near midnight. I hadn’t showered. Hadn’t changed my clothes since the previous morning. I seemed to be fitting in very well with my surroundings. It had been a long and tiring day. I wasn’t sure if I would be able to sleep right away as my mind was still hyperactive from the constant stimulation. I went online and found out that the sun was expected to rise at 6 am. 

“I’ll see you in the lobby at 5:45 am”, I said to Aparna, checking the soles of my shoes for poop.

To be continued ....

There's something about Varanasi - Part 1 'Getting There'

Until about five years ago, I would turn up my nose at the thought of visiting Varanasi. Probably because all I’d heard about the city was that it was dirty and it stunk. I guess at the time I was more immature (it’s possible), more superficial and not willing to look beyond the grime. And then something in me changed. I wish I could tell you what it was that changed, but all of a sudden Varanasi became this fascinating city that I had to go see for myself.

My friend Aparna, who lives in Chicago and visits India every winter, was also very keen and so we decided to go there together. After two unsuccessful attempts of turning these plans into reality, we finally made it there last month. Of course it had to be the year of the Maha Kumbh Mela in nearby Allahabad, something that takes place once every 12 years and attracts millions of people.  Many of who include Varanasi into their itinerary. Which meant that getting train tickets and a desirable hotel wasn’t exactly easy, even though we began trying in the first week of January. 

My train was supposed to reach Varanasi just before 8 am on the 18th of February and Aparna’s around 9 am. Instead I was about 3 hours late so she got there before I did. After two attempts at shoddy auto-rickshaws that kept breaking down, the third one finally got me to this place called Godowlia Chowk, after which I would have to walk about 1/2 a kilometer to get to the spot where Aparna would be waiting for me. 

At this point I have to mention that my chatty auto-rickshaw driver, Golu Prajapati, not only drove me to my destination but was an excellent guide on the way.  He also told me all about his family, where they grew up, how many children he has etc. He gave me his number so I could call him for any local sight-seeing and to be dropped back to the train station on the 20th. In the less than 30 minute ride, I had gotten to know Golu as though he was an old friend. I feel like an idiot though for not having his picture.

As I got out of the rickshaw, all I could see was a sea of people. It could have been an intimidating site for the old me, but this more-mature me was completely relaxed. Golu instructed me to walk towards the right of the Chowk (crossing). With my luggage in hand, I began maneuvering into the crowd, reminding myself that this was so much easier than the time I was on 5th Avenue in New York City around Christmas, being pushed by crazy tourists who wanted to get a look at the store-windows. I got to the spot and called Aparna who said that she was there and was looking out for me. Suddenly she went, “I see you” as I heaved a sigh of relief, because for the life of me I had no idea where she was.

And then there she was a moment later, standing directly in front of me. We looked at each other and broke out into peals of laughter. We kept laughing until our sides hurt and when we finally stopped, we gave each other a hug. We were finally in this ancient city called Varanasi - our adventure was about to begin!

To be continued .....

The cliched India photo. Close to where I was supposed to meet Aparna.