Varanasi

In my travels over the years, it seems that a few interests in particular, or curiosities about humanity continue to recur.

Of course, I enjoy cultural exchange and want to experience the human condition from place to place overall, but in reviewing my photos over the years, I think I may be preoccupied mostly by three things: laundry, graffiti, death. How we keep ourselves clean, how we express ourselves on a street level, if at all, and how

we care for our dead. On that note, I have had a particular interest in visiting Varanasi (also called Banaras) while here in India. Katie and I found an affordable ticket, so today we embarked on the hour-long flight to Varanasi.

Out of the airport, we took a fifteen-minute cab ride to the cobblestone hills of Varanasi that rest on the banks of the Ganges. It can be a difficult thing at times being a tourist. I am thankful and lucky, don't get me wrong. But you stick out. Especially in a place where people have come to cremate their family members, with steadfast hope and belief that being spread to rest in the Ganges sends the departed straight to Nirvana.

Different cultures view death in distinct ways. For many, death is about grief. For others, release. For others still, the focus is on celebrating life more than mourning the end of it. Curious, but respectful, I hope to remain here.

Cars cannot pass through the small streets of Varanasi, so our cab left us as close to our hotel as he could. If you don't pay attention in Varanasi, you can easily get lost at first. There are no street signs, but painted tags and signs on the walls at intersections and pretty much anywhere else. After a long walk through the maze of streets, among cows, cow droppings, dogs, temples, restaurants, tourists and

locals alike, we made it to Hotel Scindia. Having checked into our room, we quickly realized that the burning ghat was one building away from our hotel. All hours of the day, smoke billows up from the funeral pyres. Also a stone's throw from the Ganges, the temple in front of our hotel has been sinking into the river for years. After settling in and booking an evening boat ride with the hotel, Katie and I strolled the streets for some lunch. Standard Indian fair and some beers in us, we headed back to our hotel, taking the route in front of the burning ghat.

As we approached, two of our countryfolk, dressed both in tank tops and shorts, passed us and warned us about the touts surrounding the ghat. Now, I know I should have brought something white to wear in Varanasi, as white clothing is customary for Indian cremation. But I at least have covered my arms and legs. Imagine showing up to a funeral States-side dressed like an 80s Price Is Right model. Even odder, they were the ones offering us advice. Out of respect for the ritual and the families, no photography is allowed at the ghat.

Our evening ride started well enough. Our guide did not speak much English, so we all stuttered through conversation. And then, Katie and I both saw it. A

body. Wrapped all in white, it floated right past our boat. I have never in my life been so close to a dead body. And while it had already undergone cremation, I think, its form was still somewhat in tact. Freaky. It set off a flurry of questions in my mind. Who was it? Male? Female? Who will take care of it? Or will it just be left to decompose? I guess I should have expected such a scenario, but through the years of this curiosity, I have never been so confronted with such a situation. And then I thought about what else might be in the water in the river...