Kashi-Banaras-Varanasi            

For as long as I can remember, travel for me has revolved around the process of packing and unpacking; carrying objects that hold a certain value with relation to my memories and experiences to new cities, places and people. Never have I paid attention to the part that follows thereafter, that of novel outcomes and growth. It was always about the movement, the urge to be able to spin from one place to the next, always ablaze with this energy.

We speak about the human experience as something that develops due to a process of thought, an engaging reaction with our surroundings. I think it’s something that develops due to our choices- the niches of ourselves that we allow to merely be. We are the outcome of all our journeys interspersed, the people that have come into our lives and the extent to which we allow our minds to be stretched.

    We were given a month off from college before our Social Ecology courses began. During this stretch of time, I imagined what Kashi would be like- would the people be welcoming? Will it only be steeped in religion and faith? Do we have the authority to question someone else’s belief and conviction? There were a million questions that swarmed upon my mind. Little did I know that this journey would change the questions themselves, let alone the answers to them.

The introduction to this travelling course laid emphasis on exactly this- the ability to leave one’s baggage behind and view different corners of not only the places, but also our minds with different lenses. Paying too much attention to just our eyesight deprives us of what else we could observe with our other senses, which could in turn mangle the journey of exploration. This was the beginning to a process that only could branch out from its roots; one that left me marveling not only about spirituality and sanctity, but also my ability to grasp people and emotions from within.

                                         बागों में फूल हैं अनेक, मगर गुलाब जैसा कोई नहीं, 

                                    शहरों में शहर हैं अनेक, मगर हमारे बनारस जैसा कोई नहीं

-         Course work before leaving for Varanasi—

27^th October, 2014:

      Unfamiliar faces, nervous movements and jittery inquiries. This was how the first day of the course began. What stood out more than anything for me, in all my college experience so far, was the fact that all of us came from different cities. It wasn't about superiority of one over the other; yet there was a character that seeped through into our personalities that built us like Lego blocks stacked haphazardly atop each other.

Our course introduction began with activities that can now only be described as situations that led to our ‘unlearning’ of previous stereotypes and preconceived notions. We were required to divide ourselves on the basis of ‘our cities’ and then defend them, while breaking down the others. The majority split into two groups- Mumbai and Delhi. The third group, known (hypocritically, I must say) as ‘Other Cities’ included people from the remaining areas- Chennai, Bangalore, Gujarat and Assam among the others.

What began as a friendly attack on each other’s home towns gradually turned into a war between Mumbai and Delhi, with each fighting over the title of the ‘better city.’

We argued about safety, pollution, weather, food, transportation, cost of living, job opportunities, locals’ attitude and character, beliefs, faith and so many more faucets that by the end of it we had nothing to say about why we were proud of where we came from. This is when Narendra and Urvashi, our facilitators, stepped in. They elaborated about how this is exactly what we are NOT to do in Varanasi. Taken aback, all of us were stumped. We practically had spent an hour breaking each other down, scrambling for flaws to point out and make a mockery of.

It was a learning experience. If not these aspects, what do you look for in a city then? What is it that you explore, or learn? What is a city built up from?

28^th October, 2014:

We talk about the human tragedy; the cycle of our life that comprises of uncountable and a lot of the time unfathomable emotions. We look for pieces of ourselves in each other- a truth that is so hard to face when we lose someone, or when we feel unworthy.

There is a structure in society, a nature of hierarchy that we follow for order in chaos, for power. We make certain choices and are asked to live with them even when they cut us down and leave us gravelling. At the end of the day, what do we have as our identity? Is it the name that we’re granted by our parents? Is it the relationship tag of a mother, sister or friend? Are we restricted by the people that we encounter in our lives? Or are we stretched by these experiences?

            Desire and dignity- these are two things that humans can’t live without. We work towards the satisfaction of these urges, whether compulsive or not, knitting a web of connections and tangles in the process. If we compare our hopes, faith and beliefs to fuel; then are desire and dignity a catalyst? Or are they like tar- black and grounding- substances to be measured, stored and weighed.

 These were some of the feelings that were evoked by a talk that we received from Narendra. I still don’t completely understand these concepts completely, I still feel at a loss when I try and connect these strings together. So far, my questions have sprouted off into more questions, and I am still trying to grasp these from inside.

These were the days that struck out in my memory. This was what my mindset and thought process comprised of mainly before I left for Kashi. Within the span from 27^th- 31^st October, we also saw a movie called Big Fish to study story- telling patterns, had a writing workshop to understand symbolism, expression, the emotion of a space; how to use our senses to ‘filter’ information that we would acquire, and how to structure our tone and voice.

Urvashi spoke to us about Indian Architecture- how power determines the various structures of building designs along with social and cultural practices that influence them. As a group, we visited the Govipuram Temple in Bangalore to understand independent systems that sustained life and economy around the temple. Although we didn’t get to go inside the temple itself, I think there was an importance in the journey itself.

This all in all prepared us for a journey to a place which before leaving, I only thought of as an area where people lived, breathed and spoke of religion. Little did I know how much I was going to see.

In Varanasi—

2^nd November, 2014:

It was an extremely early start, one that required us to assemble outside Sandhya Mess at 3.30 am. Due to this, I didn’t sleep at all the previous night, worried that I might miss the flight the next morning. Thinking about visiting a place as holy and sacred as Kashi; one so rich in history and culture made me feel giddy inside. I didn’t know much about the city to begin with, and I wanted to go with that ‘fresh slate’, a tabula rasa for my own journey.

The flight whizzed past in a blur, I was too tired to stay awake through this part. The real trip on cityscapes started the moment we landed in Varanasi. I got out of the airport to the heat, dust and unfamiliar crowd brimming over with noise and laughter.

The first day was about unpacking, resting and pulling our thoughts together so that we could start exploring the city the next day. In the evening, we visited the Shiva Temple within the BHU (Banaras Hindu University) campus. It was the first slice of the religious aspect that we got, sweet and tangy both at the same time. What I observed on this day was my surrounding- the beauty and serenity of the campus itself. It was huge- majestic, even. It had lanes and streets of its own, that had its own character. Easily, could it have passed off as a city- a small town; bursting over with ambition and dreams of young college students.

3^rd November, 2014:

For the first time, we visited the ghats of Banaras. I had no prior knowledge of their importance, nor did I know that this would be the place where I would end up spending almost 80% of my time by the end of the trip.

We walked. My god, we walked. On the first day, wherever you may be, you try and get familiar with your surroundings. You pay attention to the obvious, there’s no space in your mind to go into the details of what you see. You try and locate yourself with respect to the situation, and you feel like an outsider. This is where I wanted to lay down the difference between a tourist and a traveler; here is when I was trying to toe the line from the former to the latter.  

We stopped at Harishchandra Ghat first. It was one of the ghats where bodies are cremated. I was extremely hesitant to go, because in my mind it was an image of bodies burning, of flesh boiling and families howling and grieving, crying over their lost ones.

I can’t say that I was let down. How can you be let down by something like this? It’s death; it’s a loss of life. Another individual that’s burned down into ashes, that disintegrates into the earth and mud, or is scattered into the river with the wind blowing off his remains into the atmosphere.

I don’t know the inevitability of life. I still don’t understand how one can stop being. How someone who had a family, relationships, a job or anything that they built up for themselves is just gone. Is that what we really leave behind in our place? Is death something that liberates us? Is it truly salvation? Or is it a shackle that brings us down, a punishment for all our sins? As Hindus, I know that we believe in the cycle of birth and rebirth. I know that there is karma, as there is fate, and as there is love. But is that all there is for us?

It felt cryptic- just sitting there and watching a body burn up into the atmosphere while men smoking ‘bidis’ played cards behind me. While advertisements for Pizza Hut and Dominoes decorated the side walls, while a teenage boy  jumped through the charcoaled ashes with his kite. It seemed like an everyday activity for the people. I guess you can get used to everything once you see too much of it. I guess that the significance of even the deadliest of things can be mitigated if you grow up in that very same environment.

Manikarnika Ghat was a heavier, murkier Harishchandra. There were families queuing up with bodies of their loved ones that had to pass through this ‘ritual.’ The ghat was larger, a little more imposing. As intimidated as I was with this process, I was unfamiliar with my surroundings. Is it strange to have found a sense of serenity in a place where people were disintegrating before my eyes? Is our soul really what constitutes our entire being?

It was like a waterfall of questions that pounced upon me. There was no one who could answer them, and I don’t think that I wanted them to be answered, in all honesty. I’m still trying to figure out the parts of me that I don’t know, and the parts of me that accept the immensity of this thought.

4^th November, 2014:

It started with a boat ride in the murky colours of the Ganga; the dirt, the faith, the religion and belief. The sun was beating down upon us, the heat getting stronger as the ball of fire reached the highest level of the sky.

I had a strange thought as we circled the ghats that I didn’t know how to frame properly. I felt that the further you go from religion, the closer you’ll find yourself to it. I don’t think that I completely understand this sentence, no matter how many times I repeat it in my head. You never get to experience all stages of life without being affected by belief, and your belief of death. Is it a finality? Is it salvation?

We passed the entire row of ghats, all the way from Assi to Rajghat. Each one was as wide as a block, with it’s own character that ended as soon as it began. I felt like all the energy in the people I could see was coming through to me, like their activities were so stretched that I could get lost in their actions.

You could see a belief so strong in even the simplest of their movements as they bathed in the Ganga. When you cling onto a story for so long, does it become your reality?

Had we come miles across the country to see a testimony of a belief that we didn’t have?

The noise increased, the bustle of activities increased, the sun rose.

5^th November, 2014:

Walking around the ghats, wandering off into the niches and the corners of the alleys, the houses, the people; I realized- there are innumerable stories to be talked about. This is a place brimming over with journeys, sorrows, experiences- there are stories of betrayal, of pride, of envy and contentment. Now, I consider myself blessed to have stumbled upon the family that I did, because this day that I spent with them was a large part of what made the trip for me.

Saloni, Paro and I came across a cluster of children while walking along the Jain Ghats- I don’t know what it was, what made us stop and start up a conversation with them- whether it was the fact that this was one of the ghats that was the least crowded, or because we were so exhausted that we needed a breather. The entire day went by conversing with different members from their family, and god what I learnt that day was staggering.

LOCATION: NISHADRAJ GHAT (an offshoot of Jain Ghat)

INDIVIDUALS: Kajal (12 years), Muskaan (13 years), Lucky, Bhaiyyalal Nishaad (55 years)

METHOD OF INTERACTION: Unstructured interview, conversations and quotes transformed into a dialogue.

I’m going to tell you this story from Muskaan’s point of view.    

‘My family and I have been living here since ages- my grandfather laid down the foundations of the ghat. My father, Bhaiyyalal Nishad (55 years) is my hero. He is everything to me in the world, I love and adore him. I’m proud of his achievements- he helps decorate the ghats with lights, he has constructed a boat with plastic bottles that actually can be used to cross the Ganga, and he takes care of all of us. My mother passed away when I was young, and he has brought our entire family of four sisters and a brother single handedly. My father has also made a bed for acupressure.’

You can tell, anyone can tell- the immensity with which she loves her father. All her pride, devotion and joy stems from his role in her life.

(Chameli with her cousin)

(L-R; Lucky, Muskaan, Kajal and Chameli)

‘When I grow up, I want to be a dancer. I want to go to Agra for the Taj, and Mumbai for the stars. I want to be famous and happy, but I never want to forget the Ghats. This is my home. Over here, we all respect each other’s ghats, and there is no sense of competition. Yet, my favorite ghat is Dashaswamedha Ghat as it is the main one where the aarti takes place. For Dev Deepawali, we float homemade diyas into the waters of the Ganga. It’s a beautiful festival because this is when you see everyone coming together and participating to celebrate religion and faith.’

Her rootedness comes out in this- the cause for her familiarity with the ghats being her family, the way that she has been brought up. Her father is a very important part of this because he forms the basic structure of her life. In a patriarchal society, the mother is often unimportant. In Muskaan’s case, the role of the mother is even more negligible because she isn’t there. Although Bhaiyyalal Nishad is an authority figure, I feel like he has sustained his position with a ring of love and happiness around it. It shows the patriarchy in a culturally conditioned society crumbling away, gradually yet steadily.

‘I go to Little Star School near my house, and I love studying. When I come back, I have my household chores to finish. There’s cooking, cleaning, then on some days I have homework to do, and then I have to take care of Lucky (my sister’s son). ‘

When asked how she knows how to speak English so fluently, Muskaan giggled and replied saying that it’s because she has taught herself while speaking to tourists around. Her school does teach her as a subject as well, but it’s not the same as learning through conversations.

The Nishad household is one which is pretty much self- sufficient; it has a TV, DVD system, a refrigerator, and an electric pump that was gifted by a group of foreigners which has helped clean so much of dirt.

Talking to her Grandfather- Jitu Maaji, was one of the most enriching experiences of all. Although a lot of what he was saying was inaudible, and a lot I found surprising, it was a thrilling experience in itself. He is 99 years old, and helped in the underground wiring at Raajghat. Nishaadraj Ghat is his ‘janmbhoomi’, as he calls it. He spoke of the changes that had taken place over the years in the ghats. He spoke of how he had assisted the Public Works Department (PWD) in this process. 

There was a sadness in him about not being able to go to the Ganga everyday to bathe because of his frail body. This was probably the one thing that he regrets about getting old, and I feel that he is content with the way his life took its course.

Jitu Maaji Nishad

An article about Bhaiyyalal Nishad and the boat that he created out of plastic bottles.

This was the first story that I discovered that led me to the aim of my project- the rootedness of the people who live in the ‘muhallas’ above the ghats. It’s the most prominent one, the one that speaks to me the most.

                                      Picture Credits- Paromita Bathija 

 6^th November, 2014:

Having had such an exhaustive day right before, we took it slightly easier the next day. Legs aching, minds exhausted with the overwhelming information, hearts brimming over with higher hopes and expectations, we re-started ourselves for the morning walk to the BHU Fine Arts Department, only to find it shut due to Dev Deepawali.

Although we groaned and moaned about it, there was something in the air that made the walk from our guest house to the destination. It’s not about the place where you want to reach, always. I realized that it’s about the people who you go with. Truthfully, none of us knew much about each other. We were together for a sole reason, and the reason was Kashi. It’s funny when you think about it, really. You never expect to find yourself with a group of strangers. You withdraw into your shell and try and observe, try and see where you’ll fit in.

I have only one more experience that I can compare to this- my trip to Germany in the summer of 2012. The commonality between these two trips was that you feel like you’ve discovered a new piece of yourself, that it’s a new person, or even a glance into another way of living that leaves pieces behind, like footprints to a roadmap of your own soul.

We ended up going to the sculpture department of BHU instead, where the works exhibited were so different than what we had done so far. It was all skill based, there was so much attention that was given to technique and the end product.

In the evening, we went for Dev Deepawali celebrations to the ghats. This is one of the things that makes Varanasi what it is. It’s a festival of lights that falls on the full moon of the Hindu month of Kartika (November – December), and takes place fifteen days after Diwali. The way in which the locals, along with visitors celebrate it is with such strong fervor and energy, that it left me breathless.

There are dance performances, rituals, millions of earthen lamps (diyas) that are floated onto the Ganga that light up the entire area around; it’s like looking at a blanket of stars mirrored onto the water of the holy river. I noticed how this festival was so tourist centered, that it could easily be a money making scam.

There was a throbbing crowd; you didn’t even need to walk to move forward. You would simply be pushed ahead without even needing to see the ground. Yet, despite the incredible number of people present, the chaos, the madness and the dirt- you could see the knee deep faith.

7^th November, 2014:

Everyday we would return to our projects to figure out the aim and the content. Let me tell you this- One week out of which you get only 3 days to research about a city is not enough. No amount of time is ever enough, technically. I didn’t have a concrete plan, nor did I have a solid agenda. I would talk to people, learn their stories, empathize with their troubles and pains, but I had so many questions that still remain unanswered.

Walking along the ghats once again, I looked at the naked men and woman cleansing themselves with the water from the Ganga, at the children running around, the agori babas, the sadhus with their tikas and aarti plates, the indifference of the tourists, the shops scattered along the banks selling cheap trinkets and books, and the boatmen calling out for people- hoping to get some customers to take a circle around the ghats for a trivial sum.  

This is when I discovered my second story.

NAME- Sheetal Prasad

AGE- 50 years old

METHOD OF INTERACTION- Unstructured interview and conversation

This boats man introduced himself as a poor, detached individual from Banaras. He said that his family resides in ‘Sujabaad’, beyond the other side of the bridge that stretches across the Ganga. Before his current occupation, he used to do the work of a ‘Banarasi salesman’, and now he also is a fisherman.

I didn’t find him to be religious, nor did he seem to have a sense of belonging in the area where he was living. For him, his rootedness was his poverty, his inability to move to another city or occupation due to his old age and need for a certain degree of security and familiarity. He had one story to tell, and that was of the 4 names that this city was known as-

Banaras- a name given by Muslims

Aanand Bang- a name given by Shankar, which was the first name granted

Kashi- a name given by the Hindus

Varanasi- a name given by Madrasis

‘Noone can clean the Ganga. As long as there is current in the water, it will clean itself. I do believe in it’s sanctity and holiness. Yet, I have nothing to say for this place and its stories. I was born here, I’ll die here. This is my life, and it’s coming to an end.’

8th November, 2014:

We were wrapping up, the trip was almost over. I wanted to go to the city as I thought that I had taken in all that I could from the ghats. So, we went to Gyaan Vaapi, past the Kashi-Vishvanath temple and walked around until we found someone who looked approachable, someone who we could talk to.

Sabari and I entered a saree shop called ‘Fabrication Silk Sarees’ and met the owner, C K Nirmale, who was 73 years of age. He told us of his family, his home which was on Panchanga ghat, and his occupation. He was a Hindu Brahmin and had owned the shop for the past 25 years. A lot of what he had to talk about was to do with politics. He spoke of how there has been so much change in the lifestyle due to the government policies, how he has a trust and faith in a better future, and is happy with the cleanliness of the Ganga.

‘Jo Kashi mein aa gaya hai, voh chod nahin sakta. Kashi mein hi maran mukti milti hai.’

His life is within yet outside the ghats, as his location has determined a lot of his demeanor. He doesn’t believe in Hindu- Muslim unity, and says that Hindus have established a sense of serenity and an atmosphere of peace for the Muslims.

One of the most significant stories that he spoke of was the importance of Kashi. According to him, all the other cities are on land, but Kashi is on the ‘Trishula’ so it is higher above. It is the place where 36 crore gods have originated from. Here is where Ganga was given a curse by Shankar that it could not harm anyone from Assi to Rajghat, so animals and beings can cross it but they will never be harmed.

Nirmale is educated, and comes across as someone who is strongly opinionated. He believes in the Ganga, yet not in its purity. His faith is stronger in the commercial aspect of it, and his reason for rootedness in the ghats revolves around his occupation and social status.

9^th November, 2014:

The deeper that you delve into the ghats, the darker they seem to you. There are layers to this city that reveal itself in shades of reds and oranges, brighter and more furious towards the center. There is a haziness that makes everything around you seem dusty and unclear.

We finished the trip off by eating apple pie at a restaurant called Pizzeria in the ghats. Funny, no? An actual dining place that serves a dish so westernized in a city that could not be more traditional. The taste of it is so good, though. The soft, inner gooey apples just melt in your mouth and leave the jagged, crumbly crust to be topped off with ice cream.

This was the last day of the trip. I didn’t know how to wind up all that I had observed because there were so many lose ends to what I felt and what I thought I could have. Yet, my experience gave me all of this. All of these queries and scattered thoughts that you would have read is what I’m wading my way through, even now. Technically, this course ends with this travelogue. On a personal level, I think this course will go on for me and seep through into my art work, my experience and my personality.

The last five days of this course after returning from the trip were completely exhausted in working towards the exhibition. We wanted to create a mini Varanasi within the N3 campus of Srishti, and I think in the space of two classrooms we succeeded. We had a stall for a ‘panvadi’, for a ‘mithai vaala’; a space for an agori baba, a moomphalivaala, a sadhu. People viewing the exhibition were welcomed with tikas and asked to pay a hundred rupees- much like the sages of Varanasi. There was graffiti that I did- a mural of Shiva in chalk on the brick wall, along with a spray painted poster. We recreated the ghat steps, the river, the faith and the religion. It was maddening, chaotic and yet all in synchronization. There was a weaver, boys’ eve teasing, beggars; a performance that was put up to show a place how we interpreted it.

If you ask me now- what did I learn? What makes up a city? Where do I come from? I would have this to say to you-

There is something as murky in Varanasi as there is in any other city in the world. Take a walk down any random alley at any hour of the day and it could feel like you are in Delhi, or Jaipur, or Mumbai. The streets are dirty, the people are in a rush, there’s a noise that won’t quit- a harmony of pollution, mud, cars honking angrily at each other, cows moving in the middle of the street, dogs, cats, pigs, tourists, locals- all filling up the space of a span.

But take a look beyond all this. Take a look at the religion, the years of faith, the unwavering belief in the Ganga, the myths and stories that are realities for a mass of people who move through life believing in all this. How conviction and devotion have sustained a structure that is living and breathing through the souls of the people. Take a look at the design of a city where all the Gods of this country are said to have originated from, where knowledge and wisdom form the dignities of the people.

I’ve been born and brought up in Delhi. More than that, I’ve been raised in a family where praying is what we fall back on, and what we rise to every morning. Religion for me has not always been a choice; it’s something that’s been passed down as a way of living. I stopped myself from questioning it years ago, but I don’t think that makes me religious, I think that makes me ignorant. A lot of what we are is what we don’t know, and what I don’t know is what or who I believe in. Yet, I do have a faith, and a devotion to a force of some sort. This is where I am right now, and I think I’m heading somewhere.

To have an experience, or to soak in the personality of a place into your own character, I think that you have to go and allow yourself to be accepting of what you see. You don’t always have to agree, but be unbiased. This was one of the most important things that Kashi taught me. There’s a magic intermingled in the air of the city- experience it through a lens of your own.