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—
27th 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?
28th 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 27th-
31st 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—
2nd 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.
3rd 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.
4th 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.
5th 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
6th 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.
7th 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.
9th 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.