Bridges

Up before sunrise this morning, we opted for another boat ride out on the Ganges. Before setting out,

though, we watched two workers in bright yellow pennies with reflective strips use long sticks to dislodge the body that had floated by our boat the night before. They nudged it out into the middle of the river and let it go its course.

The captain on our rowboat this morning is Ravi. He enjoys speaking in English and takes pride in his work. Cruising along the shoreline, he stops at the main bathing spot in Varanasi. People of all kinds come for a morning shower, to clean themselves and their clothes. And in the same water where dead bodies are released to heaven. The belief in the healing powers of the Ganges (the Ganga River, as it is called) is so strong that people wash in it daily to cleanse their

spirits and be closer to the gods.

Ravi gave us details about the wood-burning pyres versus the newer electric pyre. Those who have money can afford to cremate their loved ones with wood. Those with less have to resort to electricity. We rode by both. And while neither is particularly glamorous, there does remain something romantic about a wood funeral pyre. Maybe it conjures up

Star Wars images in my mind, or maybe I'm just a fiery soul. But to have to cremate your loved one on an electric fire seems all the more tragic. There is another option, however, for those without the money for the electric ghat. They just dump the body into the Ganges and hope that the soul reaches Nirvana.

Back to the hotel after our morning ride, the man at the front desk with whom we had arranged both boat rides asked what our plans were for the day. We had only the one day to spend in Varanasi, given the agenda of the wedding back in Delhi, and in mentioning our agenda, the man became infuriated. He said, "You cannot see all the Varanasi has to offer in one day?!?" We scurried back to our room, gathered our things, and planned our check-out escape. While we only had a day to take in as much as we could, we felt that a day was better than none. And in leaving, it seems Varanasi is a contradiction in terms. The place where the holiest of holy acts occurs is rife with touts looking to make a buck off of others' grief. In a place where everyone wears white to reflect a purity of soul, the streets are full of cow manure, dirt, garbage. At our hotel which overlooks a cremation site, the man behind the desk did all he could to bully us into seeing the gold brocade saris of Varanasi. While one would hope the emphasis of the town would be on cleansing the spirit, surrendering to what is sacred, more often than not the focus turned to the basest of human behavior. So saddened to admit, we lamented at finding ourselves calling it 'Very Nasty'.

In any of the photos I have posted, however, please look closely. There is one phenomenon about

Varanasi that no one seems to talk about. The kites. The city's roofs are full of children flying kites of all colors. Soaring in the skies toward the heavens, the children dance with their kites all along on the rooftops throughout the city. Mesmerizing, it makes one wish there were bridges from rooftop to rooftop such that one could travel and traverse the city through kites, clouds, and souls ascending to heaven.