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 ....