When talking to Ben about the previous night, where a guy took us jumping from balcony to wall on the way to Manikarnika Ghat, I re-iterated how surprised I was by the serenity of it all. There was not a hint of sadness in the eyes of the families standing by the river watching their deceased relatives burn, which Ben explained with their profound belief that the very ritual they were witnessing would bring their loved ones eternal peace. I retorted that Catholics believe the same - that life on Earth is nothing but a journey on the way to Heaven - but funerals are still inherently sad events, often desperately so. I do not have a definitive answer for the difference in attitudes, but I cannot help but feel the sheer intensity of their spiritual existence has something to do with it.
We got the chance to have another look at the celebrations, this time from a distance, as we rose before the sun to take a short trip up and down the Ganges. We were quite lucky to leave from a small dock near the hostel at 5am, about half an hour before dozens of boats packed with tourists started pouring out of the main Ghat. As lucky as we were, this still meant getting up at 4.30am, so a post-boat nap was required before the hostel breakfast was served…
The only other item on our to-do list in Varanasi was to visit the main temple to Lord Shiva, which we had failed to do the day before. This involved leaving all our possessions and shoes in a locker next to the entrance, then walking barefoot towards the temple and getting our passports checked. In the time it took us to do this, the queue of actual Hindu visitors hardly moved, so I think we got a pretty good deal. In all fairness, neither of us really understood the ritual but it looked like it involved a lot of people rushing into a small room carrying flowers, pots of water and other unrecognisable objects, then getting thrown out by police officers who we were not sure were on duty or just taking part in the celebrations, as they appeared to be similarly involved in both activities.
The rest of the day was spent gathering snacks for the long train ride I am writing you from, grabbing some lunch and generally people-watching. While this may sound like fairly effortless tasks, I am not sure I have ever sweated as much as I did today in my entire life. Temperature statistics: 32 degrees, feels like 44. A pleasant opportunity to catch our breath came when we ran into a police officer we had briefly chatted to the day before, and who this time asked us to take his picture. As many others, he was curious about where we were from and had already asked us how much our airfare was the day before. Today, he asked us if our parents sent us money or if we sent money home. This had me worried for a minute that he worked for the tax man and was just trying to con us into a heavy tax bill, but the picture below and the smirk that is otherwise always on his face made it clear - he’s just a boss.
The tuk-tuk ride to the station was probably the scariest of the journey so far. The guy grabbed us as we joined the main street, then essentially made us walk for another ten minutes (sweat dripping profusely down our necks) to the spot where he had parked his vehicle. It was all worth it in the end, as the Ferrari stickers on his windscreen were only a hint of what was about to happen - we almost had about eighty-three pretty serious accidents, from contact with other tuk-tuks to running over children on push-bikes or simply trying to cross the road. In the end, not only we survived but our own Kimi Rajkkonen never stopped smiling, sometimes joking around with other tuk-tuk drivers shortly after narrowly avoiding a nasty collision. As the Portuguese guy who happens to be sitting across from us in this train said - if we have all these rules and have shunts all the time while they live in a motoring anarchy and don’t seem to have any issues, it is safe to assume Indians are the best drivers in the World!
Cheers
J-Wowww
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