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| Varanasi in all its glory |
Like many tourists before me, I arrived in
Varanasi looking for a holy experience. With this being one of the main
pilgrimage points for Indians, due to its proximity to the holy Ganga River, I
thought this may be the place may be a holy catalyst. Varanasi’s storied past and
stellar reputation breads excitement. It almost seems as if a trip to India
isn’t complete without it. So, after 26 hours on a train and one bumpy rickshaw
ride, I found myself on the banks of the holy river, looking for an authentic
Indian experience.
I made my way down the slippery, squalid
steps of a lesser known Ghat to where all the action was occurring. There was a
large gathering, and while normally shy, I found myself weaving through the
crowd to see the spectacle at hand. On the temporary banks of the overflowing
river, four men ushered a bamboo gurney charioting their fallen loved one. Near
where the body would meet the water, there was a wooden altar set ablaze. The
men fully submerged the body, then proceeded to chant, pray, and wash
themselves and the fallen with the murky, brown water. The body and pallbearers
remained submerged for nearly 30 minutes. As the fire was feed and began to
grow, my new found boldness faded, and I retreated to a nearby, more secluded perch.
The process of the cremation isn’t one that
occurs rapidly. The body, the ushers, and those surrounding spend much time
looking out over the flowing waters. As I watched from my elevated vantage
point, I noticed that there wasn’t a single female on the banks, or in the
surrounding crowd. Unlike a western funeral, I also saw onlookers come to gaze
at the procession, as well as try to sell tourists an opportunity to get a
nice, “snap” of the body for 200 rupees. At one point, I even had a group of
Indians come to take a photo of me, followed with offers to imbibe in their
local moonshine and/or potent, burning chillum. The boys were reluctant accept my
declination, and were even more reluctant to return to the procession when
called, due to an ember still burning in the chillum. This is the point when the body was finally placed atop the mound of flaming logs. After a few moments, I found myself
unable to bear anymore. Having experienced enough death in my mere 26 years,
and not anxiously anticipating inevitable funerals of loved ones in the future,
my time at the cremation came to a close.
While seeing the cremation was the
authentic situation I was looking for, I started to feel uncomfortable
witnessing something so intimate for a person, a family whom I’ve never known.
The truth is, this thought is purely created through a western lens. India is a spectacle. Each and every day the
streets, sounds, and smells are a show, yet not created for an audience. With a
population so large, the idea of intimacy or seclusion is next to impossible. People
performing all their daily doings publically has created a culture of
showmanship where even the simplest acts are under subject of passerby. This
has only been exacerbated by the influx of tourists. Whether you are purchasing
food for a meal, or the crazy westerner bathing in the Ganga in a bikini, your
actions will render a crowd. Knowing this is necessary to survive and thrive in
India.
As is life, Varanasi is subject to the same
fate as many popular destinations in India; consumer driven and a vestigial of
its past. For those willing to sift through the metaphorical shit, Varanasi is
a place that offers a plethora of authentic experiences, and a look at what makes
India such an appealing destination. The trick is learning how to discern the pukka from the contrived.
Photo courtesy of Mana
Hotels
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