Grey Dawn on the Ganga

Varanasi is a grey city.  The sky is grey; the Ganga is grey; the buildings, oxen, dogs and ubiquitous Indian crows are all various shades of grey.  Perhaps the dour uniformity of the city’s color palate is due to the winter pollution haze that afflicts most of north India between November and March.  Or perhaps it’s because of the miasma of smoke in the air from the cremation bonfires on the banks of the river.  It’s no secret why the Ganga is grey; the river suffers from all manner of environmental outrage - massive raw sewage discharge from upstream urban areas being one of them.

But amidst the grays, blacks, and dusty browns, this holy city on the Ganga is full of life, religious fervor, and touches of intimate color. Walking along the ghats, I was struck by the snake charmer’s bright red robes and a swirl of pink and yellow flower petals washed up on the muddy bank, remnants of Varanasi’s evening aarti ceremony. Women beat dirty clothes into cleanliness along the river steps, and then hang the colorful garments along railings to dry.  A man roams the water’s edge with a collection of caged birds; for a small charge you can release one, thereby gaining good karma.  The little owls look scared and the bright Indian roller has a frantic gleam in its eye.  My friend tells the man “Apka kaam kharab hai”.  “Your work is bad”.

The west bank of the river is built-up with temples and ghats, which are steps leading down to the river to gain access for washing clothes, bathing (yourself and your buffalo), boating, disposing of waste, and most importantly, sending the cremated remains of your loved one down the river.  The east bank is a long stretch of empty sand where the feral dogs worry bloated buffalo corpses and entrepreneurial farmers grow crops between the rise and fall of the river.  We bought three paper kites for 6 rupees each and boated over to the east bank to fly them.  A little boy showed us how to properly tie the string and then demonstrated the technique; let the string out while the kite is upright; if it starts to nosedive, pull back.  The boy was expert and we were awful, but together we passed a pleasant afternoon.


To hear about our epic and gruesome journey back to Delhi, check out the "Food poisoning in sleeper class" blog entry of my fellow Varanasi traveler at: http://newenvironmentality.blogspot.com/

Sad owls and an Indian roller

Goat/trash/flower melange

The nightly flotilla of observers watching the aarti on the bank

Laundry drying on the ghats

The west bank

The east bank

One of the cremation ghats from a respectful distance