The whirlpool of a week where endless words were making no sense, I found myself boarding a flight to Delhi and then finding my way into a 48 hour trip to Varanasi
Why…asked the 13 year old?
I could have found my escapism in any of the islands that is a mere boat ride away from Singapore. Something that mirrored a cocoon. Isn’t that what you are searching for?
With a kiss on her cheek, I smiled whilst I mulled over the thought - How could I explain that it had to be the mystical and the magical sounds of the ghats, the voice of the place and the people, the wafting flavours - all of it - sugar and spice, the ghostlike quiet of the 4 a.m of simply sitting and watching the first rays married with spiralling smoke dance to a burst of noise - all of it from the chants to the cry of a widow, the laugh of teen boys to the hustle of the pujari to perform the rites - to a tune that is heard only in Benares that would soothe the wanderlust soul.
The quiet aligns you
The noise balances you
The flavours nudge you to celebrate life
The chants make you curl your toes
The mandala of life comes into fore
Is 2 days enough to experience the unending layers of Varanasi?
Absolutely NOT.
How can lifetimes come together in 2 days?
But then, that's all the time I had to recharge my battery. For a change, I didn’t speak.I watched. I didn't chase the story, but I let it come to me. All I did was let the waves of life that one experiences in the pulsating city wash me. It wasn’t a foreign land for sure. I have been going there in bits and pieces. And everytime, it was like walking through a brand new door in Alice in Wonderland's portal.
This is one city that makes me unlearn. Every corner whips out something brand new.
How much of it was I dreaming?
If one wandered around the streets of New York or Mumbai, they would be go to bed with a line…the city never sleeps.
With Benares, it’s not the modernity that envelops it, that makes the city alive. The layers of the ancient lores keep the entire city pulsating. The sacred citadel of Hinduism remains unchanged and unmoved over the time. There are no edifices that tell a tale, but stories that have been passed down from father to son and generations after that.
Everything in the city is constantly moving, yet tucked away in the alleyways, one finds between the motion and movement, an envelop. In the swirling river of life and it’s narratives, I found a slice of my story. A story which is different for every single person who has stepped into Varanasi. I remember reading Man Booker Prize winner Arvind Adiga’s book - The White Tiger, where he says, ‘Every Man must make his own Benares.’ I didn’t understand it then, but now as the quiet slowly crawls it way into the now, I let the line make its own story.
This is one place where you don’t hunt for today’s tales. It comes to you. The million colours of life and death - bright hued saris and scarves; from the yellowish white of a dhoti clad man performing the last rites to broken coloured bangles of a widows; billboards and murals; ash smeared and large kumkum drawn faces - the images and the stories with it move faster than a blink of an eye.
I bumped into a friend who was working on a feature around the ‘Aghori babas’. Did I want to join him in his hunt for the elusive sadhus, who trace their roots to 17th-century puritan Baba Kinaram, who is said to have lived to the age of 170, he asked me whilst we walked through three cremations in the centre of the everyday.
I replied, ‘I wish…’ with a lot of hesitation. The lure was tempting...I could almost taste it. How can you say no to a story that goes back farther than time. But for now, I left with a ...I wish. Because, I knew that this wasnt the last of my fling with the city. The potpourri called Benares makes one an addict. You can't help, but come back for more.
Things I recommend if you are a culture junkie like me
Places to stay
Taj Nadesar Palace
A true experience of Varanasi and everything that epitomises its essence cannot be complete without you being able to wake up to the majestic view of the Ganges, the river that is the life of Varanasi. A quaint vibe to it, that of the days gone by and seems to lock in time, this hotel mirrors the essence of Varanasi
Suryauday Haveli
Built by the royal family of Nepal, Suryauday Haveli wastes no time in establishing the royal treatment that will be meted out to its guests throughout their stay. Located just off the Shivala Ghats, the rustic interiors, old-school energy, planned boat rides, along with an exquisite menu — welcome an experience unlike ordinary.
Brij Rama
Brijrama Palace, Varanasi, one of the oldest landmarks of the city, dates back to the year 1812. It was built by Shridhara Narayana Munshi, the then minister for the estate of Nagpur, and thereafter acquired by Rameshwar Singh Bahadur (the Brahmin King of Darbhanga-Bihar) along with the ghat in 1915. The hotel can only be accessed from the river – arriving at the hotel by traditional wooden boat is an experience in itself.
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