New Years isn’t usually something I enjoy much. Sure the night itself can be fun enough, but I find it rarely lives up to the billing and I, like many others, find myself repenting for resolutions abandoned so long ago they can scarcely be remembered. Beyond that I can’t drink, I don’t smoke, and parties have never really been my thing. This year was different though, and I don’t know if it was being in India, or that 2013 has been one of my most testing and enjoyable years. Maybe that’s it. I’m genuinely proud of my 2013 and I loved every second of it. Sure that left me with some sadness to cope with as i placed it in the ever visible rear view mirror of my past, but for the first time in a good long while I’m on a path I’m sure I want to walk. I’m downright excited to follow my feet.
Christmas away felt downright weird and almost wrong. New Years Eve felt right, in every way. A recollection of the past year and a promise of the future. Travelling. In my humble opinion it is the most inspiring thing a person can do for themselves. And what feeds a soul will eventually feed the world. New Years for me meant many things this time around, 5 months on the road and the promise of 12 more coming; it also meant Varanasi, a city unlike any other.
Varanasi is a city in Uttar Pradesh, a Northern/Central state of India. It is also a holy city for Jain’s and Hindus. Found on the seasonal banks of the Ganges River, the city is a place of life and of death in the most graphic of terms. It’s been my home for almost 5 full days now and I have 3 more here. It’s not enough, and I’m afraid to leave both the city and this wondrous country behind.
My 31st began late and ended in the same way. As the sun set I headed off from my stunning hostel (See the review section soon) alongside two new friends (Another wonder of travelling). I find it strange to right about other people on here, i never know how much they’d like me to share, but to sum up these two use these words. One was an Australian graphic designer of some considerable talent, the other was a young man from Rajasthan here in India who works as a grassroots activist in the rural villages of India to improve the lives of the countries countless poor. Together we climbed aboard an brightly painted but well used row boat and met our driver.
We spent the last sunset of 2013 gliding across the dirty but holy water and watching life and death dance together on the shore. Reaching the main ghat we found ten fires burning bright in the ever darkening sky. Ten lives fading to ash in those brief few moments, with only the promise of the unknown waiting for them.
A chosen member of the family, or a ghat worker for those who had no family come with them here, stood over each fire with a large stick, and as the flames slowly consumed, the flesh, blood and bone that makes up each one of us, those men began to batter the bodies deeper into the fire. The inferno’s all react the same, swelling with pride and reaching up into the air with hot fury, like a barbecue flame tasting the grease from the steak above and aching to consume it. To go with this swell a shower of sparks explodes upwards and the thousand tiny glimmers drift in the wind for a split second before flitting out of existence as if they never were. Sort of like the body in the fires. Hopefully they had the chance to leave there mark on the world through the lives they lived and the people they loved though. I really hope so.
To watch all this happen, to smell it and to hear it. Almost to taste it and most definitely to feel it. It’s a very strange experience and one I’m quite sure I’ll never forget. Stranger still, life goes on all around the ghats. People walk by, chatting with each other, smoking hash or chewing pan. Smiles often light their faces, though are always somewhat subdued. Cows dogs and goats climb amidst the fires, eating anything far enough removed from the flames, and no one bats an eyelid. Kids play all around the Pyres too, laughing dancing and singing.. It’s just a part of life here, we all die, those burning here are truly blessed, and like always life must roll on even as loved ones burn.
From there our boatman took us away from the ghats and the photography ban I’m glad existed towards a ceremony where monks and holy people perform a sort of hybrid between a dance and a prayer, giving praise to mother Ganges, the river which gives life and death in this part of the world. Loud music and chanting, countless bells, and a big audience (both on land and water) welcomed us as we watched the brightly dressed monks step forward and take up their incense and Shiva idols. they began the intricate and synchronized ritual right away and it carried on longer than we could stay on the boat. As the last glimmers of the sun left the sky we watched the fire in their praying ever moving hands fight the darkness and give light, hope and life. Our boatman paddled slowly away, our paid hour was up, and the ceremony came tapering to an end, the last one of the year.
Left on the shore and all kinds of blown away we went and found some dinner enjoying good conversation about the differences in life in our three countries as we consumed aromatic curries and rice dishes that left you wanting more. It was far from the best meal I’ve had in India but it was still damn good. Hell, even the meal that gave me food poisoning was purely delicious.
We returned to the hostel and spent an hour chilling on our own before heading up the Filo Cafe on the rooftop where the owners of the hostel/cultural exchange had organized a small party. Unlimited alcohol for 600 rupees (about 10$) to make you drinkers out there jealous.
To be honest I felt sure the best of the day was done with and making it to midnight would be more chore and challenge than choice. I was very, very wrong.
The party was small, maybe 25 people in all, but it was a tantalizing mix. There was a group of about 8 20 something backpackers from all over Europe and the english speaking world. There was a spanish brother and sister both in their 50’s and still travelling together. And then there was the staff and their friends. In large part it was the locals who made the party the wonderful experience it was.
I’ve been in India almost a month now and I’ve made many good Indian friends, sharing countless captivating conversations with them along the way. But all of them have been men. I don’t know whether it’s me, the culture of India, or some mix of the two, but anytime I try talking to a local girl here about anything of depth I sense they are uncomfortable and the conversation dies or is continued by the men around. To be fair I’m not claiming this is the normal thing, or that all Indian women don’t talk in detail to foreigners at all. I don’t know enough to make generalizations, but based off my experiences I was begin to accept that I wouldn’t be making friends with any Indian girls. Life’s a funny thing though, the second you accept something it stops being true.
The Kautilya Society where I’m staying is an NGO promoting inter cultural dialogue and that night it did just that. The admittedly upper class and educated Indian men and women, danced, drank, smoked and spoke all with aplomb and confidence. The men made lewd suggestions, the girls told them to go fuck themselves. It was great.
At any rate I spent from about 11pm to 4 am talking to different locals about their country, about travelling, and about what they hoped to do. Most of them are planning to stay in India, which is a refreshing change from most of the privileged and educated young Indian’s I’ve met so far. They are all passionate about it and fun, and made the night the kind of experience you wish was neverending.
The night was a menagerie of limbo contests, drinking games (Pop for me) and Joints (nothing for me), but beyond all that was the conversation. I learned more in these late hours about India, about the equality movement here, and about the way the country is changing faster than ever (though still too slowly in their minds and mine).
Here’s one example, my friend from Rajasthan was thrilled to find out the government had just amended a law which had been on the books since 1894 which gave corporations the right to kick anyone off land they purchase (legally or illegally) without debate or compensation. This law wiped out whole villages, destroyed cultures thousands of years old in some cases and, as most laws do, placed the corporation or the money above the people the laws are meant to defend. Well they just changed the law and now any deal like that must be first debated and given 80% approval in the councils of any villages affected, and if it is accepted the company must provide land and some money for relocation. Just one example of a step forward for modern India. Pregress is made everyday, of course they tell me that steps backwards are just as common.
Another girl had finished university and is spending a few months figuring out what to do. In the meantime she’s started a facebook page with what I honestly believe is a brilliant concept. She roams her home city of Varanasi and takes pictures of peoples faces, but for each picture she has a short conversation with them, and the conversations accompany the photos on her facebook page. Some are cute and clever, and some are unforgettable. I recommend checking it out for sure. https://www.facebook.com/facesofvaranasi
At any rate I met many interesting people to end 2013 and begin 2014 and that just continued when at around 430 am I returned to the dorm and celebrated midnight in spain with three spaniards and my Rajasthani friend. We listened to a strange american voice chant indian mantras for three hours, ate Ferrero, chocolate almonds and other sweets as candles and incense burned,the spoke curling up into the air, perfect streams broken only by the force of our breath as we chatted in mostly spanish about what the next year might bring. It was absurd and perfect all at once, especially since my spanish has fled from me like the hare from the fox.
The brother and sister are two of the most amazing people I have met on my travels. They both have family’s back home, and both have the struggles of your average middle class grown ups trying to raise adolescents, but they seem to have forgotten them wandering through India for the past few weeks and were open and loving. Were it not for the immense positivity surrounding them, they would border on creepy and invasive. Without asking I got a list of spanish authors and painters to check out. I got more hugs and kisses than I’ve had since I worked in Italy. I got, and hopefully gave, an open connection which was a thrill to experience.
I drifted off to sleep at around 7, the sun already up and us still chatting and listening to Mantras. I woke at 10:30 with both hands of the spanish woman cupping my face, a broad grin on her slightly wrinkled but entirely perfect face, and a small gift beside my pillow. A bracelet and a note, the which translated from spanish reads:
May the eternal sun forever light your road.
We love you.
One hell of a way to end one hell of a year, and an exciting way to begin another. Only in India!
