Varanasi, Part II - The City's Bizarre Bazaar

If Varanasi were all about the Ganges and spirituality, it would be a can’t miss city. But there is another, less attractive side to Varanasi, as well. It’s a rough, dirty city, populated by all sorts of charlatans. Again, it’s the paradox that pervades all of India. Spirituality and depravity exist, even thrive, side by side. They are two aspects of the same reality.



Above is a photo of a typical street scene. Here is just a bit of the fun we ran into in this unusual city (some of this is common throughout the country and not unique to Varanasi, but this was still all experienced in the same city and on the same morning):

- We walk along the sacred river to the stench of urine, feces and raw sewage. Just feet away, people bathe and meditate, lost in their faith and oblivious to the pollution and the grime.

- We wander streets that are an animated maze of cars, buses, trucks, rickshaws, bicycles, people, cows, goats, donkeys, dogs, fresh produce, weeks-old garbage, men bathing, children playing, men urinating, dogs defecating.

- A man holding a snake in his hands appears out of the shadows and asks us for money.

- A beggar with gangrene hands waves black fingers in our faces.

- A seemingly affable man befriends us as we walk, asks where we are from, smiles broadly and reaches out to shake my hand. I return the gesture and then he decides not to let go. His grip is strong and now he wants to sell me a massage. No? Well, then, maybe a shave. I have to forcibly remove myself from his grasp.

- Another man walks by and accuses me of taking photos of women on their way to a cremation. I know that cremation photos are taboo, but we are nowhere near a burning ghat and I have only taken a picture of Lisa. He threatens to call the police and have me thrown in jail. He screams and attracts attention, then demands a donation. Lisa laughs and so he threatens to throw her in the river.

- We are followed everywhere by anyone who wants money or has something to sell. Cyclo drivers, postcard children, touts for local businesses, beggars. There is no zone of privacy here. No getting away from the incessant pestering of touts and beggars.

I can go on, but that gives you an idea. I love Varanasi and I hate Varanasi. I want to know more, and understand more, and yet I never want to see the place again. It’s India to the absolute extreme.