Oh, India
Varanasi / Kashi / Banaras, India
In contrast to our two previous tour guides in Delhi, our Varanasi tour guide is, well, we don’t totally trust him. After this morning’s sunrise on the Ganges boat ride, we were guided through the bustling, squalid streets of Varanasi to an essential oil shop. Shepherded up three flights of stairs, the first floors were rooms full of shiny, colorful textiles for sale, we were placed seated in a row on a bench in front of a glass case of glass bottles. A big-boned Indian man with a lisp and reported student of ayurveda, began a presentation on essential oils and what they were used for - green grass for anxiety, opium for sleep, pink lotus for memory, etc. Using the glass dabbers, he sampled them on us, one per finger. At the end of the presentation, he told us the prices, reminding us they were pure oil, good quality, and took out his notebook. How many do you want to buy?
The Golden Temple? No, you can’t get any closer than the between-buildings view we got today unless you’re Hindu. Asking for suggestions for other activities Shakeel replied, the Ganges and Sarnath are the most important attractions in Varanasi. Other temples are small and not interesting. Both times I asked if he could help us get the best street food, he seemed to ignore me.
This evening we attended the daily closing ritual by the Hindu Brahmin priests called an “aarti.” Several of the 64 ghats (steps leading down to the Ganges) hold these rituals, closing the day, saying good-night to the gods, praying they rise again in the morning. Air is the medium for voice, the way we communicate with one another as humans, fire and ringing of bells is our mode of communication with the gods.
Tonight, Shakeel brought us down to the Dashashwamedh Ghat to watch the aarti there. He said we could find a place near the stage or sit in one of the plastic chairs half a story up on the side of the temple looking down at the site. The agency pays the fees of our tour, of course, but a donation to the temple would be necessary. We walked up the stairs, took our seats, and Josh uncrumpled the bills that were in his pocket and handed Shakeel 120 rupees. “For all four of you? Maybe three to four hundred rupees. You have nothing bigger? It’s good karma.”
Small flames on small, silver plates, handbells, yellow and red paint for foreheads, strings of flowers, incense - all for sale. Beyond that, little plastic toys, snacks, even cotton candy were hawked to the onlookers.
The whole evening was a strange mix of ancient tradition and tourist trap. Many were there in earnest. Indian people sat circling the ceremonial mats - slash - stage, and participated in the call-and-response. Many others had their cell phones up, recording the rituals and/or recording themselves, taking selfies like concertgoers.
As there have been for thousands of years, tonight there were Hindu devotees who believe themselves to be cleansed by goddess Ganges, praying in earnest and give offerings to Lord Shiva. And then there were those of us there to watch their practice, to get a glimpse into the vedic past.
The light-skinned young men who presided over the aarti are all members of the highest caste in India, displaying for us another surviving relic of India’s ancient past: the caste system. Of the four main castes, the Brahmin caste is highest and only Brahmins can become Hindu priests. In contrast, only those in the lowest caste can perform the cremations at the ghats.
Hierarchy, wealth, devotion, salvation, exploitation, conviction. All on display tonight. In rows on tattered tapestries, some with blunted, deteriorating fingers or limp, lame legs or eyed clouded by blindness, the poorest of the poor were like river rocks around whom the flow of people detoured. Or our taxi driver who told a potentially true story about going to Mumbai at age 14 to raise money and take care of his siblings after his father passed away. Even the idea not to believe him came from another Indian taxi driver who told us many, many people exploit tourists by pretending to be from organizations supporting children.
How can you not swindle some westerners for a few extra bucks, or tell half-truths, or feign commitment to our measly 48-hour tourist experience. We hoped to get a better tour guide for Varanasi, but maybe in the end we got an even more authentic Varanasi experience.
