Although I thoroughly enjoyed visiting Nepal and enjoying its intense natural beauty, I was eager to return to India to explore one of the oldest continuously-inhabited cities in the world: Varanasi. The process of heading back into India was tedious. After getting meticulously frisked head-to-tow 8 times at the Kathmandu airport, and having my baggage searched 6 times (including on the STAIRS of the plane), I learned that Nepali airports have super tight security... a thoroughness that even TSA doesn't seem to match.
Stepping off the plane into the holy city of Varanasi, I was hit by a wall of 105 degree heat - a very warm welcome to the desert! Mom and I stayed in the old part of the city, and I immediately fell in love with the extremely Indian ambiance of the place. After all this time, I finally felt like I was seeing the India I came to see! Our hotel overlooked the sacred Ganges River and had a fantastic view of Dasaswamedh Ghat (a flight of steps leading down to the water), one of the busiest ghats on the river. I loved walking the narrow, twisted, cobblestone streets (sometimes dead-ending at old Hindu shrines) and feeling a spike of adrenaline when I realized I was completely lost in the city's maze. But somehow I always ending up back where I started - along the ancient river ghats.
Once, when I was all alone in a dusty alleyway, I thought I saw a small dark figure dash past my feet, but I looked around and saw nothing but food scraps and bits of garbage on the ground. I thought I was hallucinating until I saw the darting shadows again, and I looked up. I saw several monkeys peering down at me from their rooftop perches, while others were frolicking in windowsills, swinging from wires and jumping between buildings high above the narrow streets.
As a non-Hindu, people watching was the best part of being in Varanasi. The strangest thing I saw was an old women walking along a street and scooping up handfuls of cow manure into her bag. Then, when she had a large enough supply, she squatted down and began patting handfuls of it into discs, which she probably used as fuel for a fire.
The majority of people I saw seemed happy and excited to be in Varanasi. I saw hordes of men, women and children eagerly pushing their way through the narrow streets, with their hands full of flowers and incense to offer in the temples. There were many austere looking women with shaved heads, which I was told indicates the highest level of devotion to their religion; most Hindus have their heads shaved at a temple at least once.
Sadhus, or holy men (often yogis), also occupy the river ghats, and they made excellent subjects for many of my photos (they would often pose and then ask for a few coins). With long dread-locked hair, faces painted with spiritual symbols of their devotion to God, and wearing orange robes, their eccentric appearance indicates a life of renunciation and abstinence from worldly pleasures. Sadhus pray, chant, and bestow blessings on people (and sometimes curses), living holy lives as they try to attain spiritual liberation. Many live in ashrams and temples, some live in caves, and others constantly travel from one holy place to the next, on a perpetual pilgrimage. This is why Varanasi, one of the holiest cities in India, is filled with so many colorful and unusual looking people.
My absolute favorite event I witnessed in Varanasi was Ganga Aarti - river worship of Ganga, the mother goddess. Ganga Aarti is a ritual of adoration, reverence, and worship, in which light from ghee butter candles is offered to the Hindu deities, and songs of praise are sung by priests. This beautiful ceremony helps Hindus remember to keep God at the center of their lives. The people I encountered during Puja (the worship ceremony) were extremely happy, since experiencing this place was the fulfillment life dreams and years of planning. Positive energy flowed through the crowd, and some of them eagerly encouraged me to sing and clap and participate so that I could experience the joy as well. When I sat amidst thousands of other people, facing the river and watching the priests perform rituals at Ganga Aarti, I didn't feel much like a tourist anymore; I felt a sense of excitement and belonging.
During Ganga Aarti there were 6 priests on raised steps wearing red and gold clothing, humbly facing the river. They used candles and fire, incense, shells, water, flowers, peacock feather fans, and smoke from lamps, along with very smooth and elaborate hand motions, to perform the ceremony. Their movements were beautiful and precise, almost like a dance. Since the Ganges River is as sacred as a temple, they perform the same basic puja at Ganga Aarti as they do in some of their temples. A few lucky people sitting in the front of the crowd got to participate at the proper time by pulling on strings to ring bells hanging above the priests. I was handed one of these strings, but passed it off to an older woman beside me, since it was a privilege to participate in ringing the bells and I knew she would enjoy it more. My enjoyment came from the sound of people devotedly singing, the smoky but sweet smell of incense, and the dazzling sight of hundreds of little candles and lotus flowers floating gently down the river.
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