India and the most holy city, Varanasi

Open your web browser, type in India-Varanasi-blog. You will find stories from thousands of people who have been here long before me and many of them are much better writers. Essentially there is absolutely nothing new about what I am doing on this blog. The only difference is that you know me and don't know them. So I'm going to tell you the story of a guy.



It was six in the morning when he excitingly jumped off of his wooden plank called a bed. Kyle had just spent 7 days in a small yet exquisitely beautiful garden in Lumbini; also known as the birthplace of the Buddha. After 7 days of controlling himself and being mindful of everything he did, he was ready to loose control and loose his mind. This morning was the last day, and his bags were already packed.

Travelling in Nepal is a backpackers dream. Things are cheap and exciting, just as Kyle liked them. He jumped on the top of jeep and held on to the railings for dear life as it sped through the traffic clogged, pot-holed street. This would be his last glance of Nepal. "I'll be back." He told himself confidently.

Ahead towered a huge sign.



WELCOME TO INDIA



Men brushed their teeth with sticks that had been picked from a special tree known for its teeth cleaning capabilities and women caped in colorful yet secretive saris walked the streets. The roads were filthy, there were piles of garbage burning on the corners.

He boarded the first bus he saw heading for his destination, Varanasi.

Throughout the whole bus journey various people took interest in the guy. They found his red stubby beard, bright blue eyes, and brilliant gold hair of much interest. Not only that, they were surprised to see how much skin he dared show with his sleeveless shirt and short shorts. And his skin, so white, like the curd they ate with their morning cup of chai. Men would sit beside Kyle and start conversations in broken English about his country and their country, about their government policies and that of the Bush administrations. Some would talk about how beautiful westerns were and when Kyle complimented the women in their country they would go into full explanations on how it is inappropriate in India to talk to a woman who is not his wife. They reported that sleeping with another woman while married, if proved, would lead to a jail sentence of 10 years. Some people of a lower income bracket would sit beside Kyle and offer him food, which he would happily munch on with them. Although they could not converse, their was a general feeling of kinship and kindness. Before Kyle even got off the bus at his destination he had already fallen in love with the country.

The bus ride was much longer than anyone expected. It took over 12 hours to cover the 200 KM between the boarder and the city Kyle choose to go to. His legs were aching and his bum was numb. When he limped off the bus he had expected to be attacked by a mob of touts and drivers and thieves as he had been in other countries. Instead the bus station was empty. At the end of the parking lot he found a driver who offered an honest price for the distance of 2km. Still very vigilant Kyle chose the cheaper option of a bicycle rickshaw. When he asked the old man how much he wanted for the trip to a hotel he chose the man yawned and gave a price, if exchanged into American dollars, equalled to less than 50 cents.

On the streets of India one is charged by the energy exists in such compact and snug communities. He saw scabbing houses piled on top of each other. He saw crowds of men with red headbands dancing in tight circles and groups of women zealously praying at a tiny corner temples. He saw endless piles of garbage. He saw what seemed to be the whole population of the world. He was dropped off in the heart of the action, just near the famous Ganges river. There he shared the 2 meter wide alleys with bulls and their feces, motorbikes and bicycles, police officers and automatic weapons, the crazy and the sane, the beautiful and the ugly. He saw dead bodies being carried through the streets as men happily shouted, "Ram Nam Satya Hey!". He watched as dentists pulled teeth. He saw a restaurant, beside a public urinal, beside a man showering, beside a burning fire of garbage, beside an insane man with no pants, beside a sane man with a collared shirt with a cell phone.

He saw all of this and he opened his mouth in disbelief.

He opened his mouth and he tasted the polluted air from the endless traffic jams, the spice of the curry being cured in a pot, he stench of stale piss.

He closed his mouth and he smelt the dead being cremated by the river, the fragrant Indian incents, and the nan bread being cooked on a hot plate.

He smelt this and he plugged his nose. Then he heard.

He heard the constant singing on mantras, the endless honking of horns, and the countless calls to him to buy hash, a post card, or a shirt.

He had a feeling, and as crazy as it might sound, it was genuine happiness.