Day 13 – Spectacular Varanasi

If you had asked me yesterday morning if I’d ever come back to India, my answer would have been probably not. My answer now? Yes. Every year. To Varanasi. In the days leading up to January 26th.

Every particle of pollution, every beggar, every filthy toilet, every time someone shoved something in my face telling me to buy it, every bump in a rickshaw, every cold hotel, every moment spent sick, every frustrating language barrier, every cold stare, every pile of shit in the street... every single thing that was making me never want to come back to India was obliterated by last night.

Last night could very well be to date the most spectacular thing I’ve experienced in my 24 short years of life.

After what was supposed to be 11 hours on a sleeper train from Orchha turned into more than 15, we finally got into Varanasi around 4pm yesterday. We had time to shower and grab a quick bite before we had to rush to our cycle rickshaws and make the trip to the Ganges for our sunset boat ride.

We didn’t make it in time for sunset because the streets were full of parades. Miniature, disorganized, impromptu parades of men and boys dancing wildly to music so loud that it drowned out everything else. The “floats” consisted of generators, walls of speakers stacked ten high, industrial lamps lighting up the streets, and effigies of [insert the name of the Goddess whose name I’ve already forgotten], the Goddess of Knowledge. They were parading the effigies down to the banks of the Ganges, where they’d continue the singing and dancing and celebrating while they toss their homemade six-feet-tall-plus creations, adorned with flowers and glitter and offerings, straight into the holy waters of the river Ganges.

If ever there was a traffic jam to be in, this was it. And we had a front-and-centre view from our cycle rickshaw seats.

This is the India I wanted, the India I came for. The India where they dance and play music not as a means to solicit money from tourists, but for themselves; where the bass shakes the street and drowns out the sound of cars honking; where rickshaws and bulls and pedestrians and dogs are detoured through back alleys to get through the mess; where every person was smiling and celebrating; where the streets are crowded not because everyone’s in a rush to get somewhere, but because people are choosing to move slowly instead; where the men’s faces are covered with splashes of orange and pink and red and green and yellow powder; where the cows get necklaces made of flowers and splashed with the same coloured powders; where the sight of a tourist’s camera made them smile harder and dance faster and cheer louder. Where I never wanted it to end.