When I first hear of this city, I am mesmerized by its name. It has four syllables. Four stresses always fall off your tongue like droplets of wisdom: Varanasi – very classy, tumultuous, magnificent, esoteric, unknowable. Mere words are inadequate to catch its expression of humanity: India’s Delphi, (1) where all is possible if you believe! A trip to the city and you leave modernity.
Varanasi began as an important industrial center, not a religious one, due to the community’s strategic positioning on the Ganges. Today, its silk products remain world famous. The ville began its religious significance, according to legend, when Buddha founded Buddhism in nearby Sarnath around 528 BC. The city’s religious multiculturalism continued to grow and diversify throughout its history. Even under Mughal rule, (2) Varanasi remained a center of Hindu intellectualism and theological inquiry. To this end, the Mughal emperor Akbar (1542-1605) built two large temples dedicated to Shiva and Vishnu. (3) Hindus believe that the city brings salvation. This, therefore, attracts multitudes of pilgrims, adding to the frenzy of existence. The ghats (4) that line the riverbank are sentinels to the impermanence of life.
I arrive at the international airport. It is a long way from the city itself. I am feeling quite smug and knowledgeable. In my arrogance, I know that I can diminish this taxi fare. The two attendants (They always come in twos: why?) refuse to budge. What is this world coming to: no discount? Regardless, it is a long drive, so I mentally justify the price. My home-stay family comprises two brothers, a mother, a father, and a younger sister. The accommodation is Spartan, but adequate. The younger brother proffers that they are taking in guests to help pay for their sister’s wedding. I love weddings. For a brief moment, I think that it is happening during my sojourn. “When is the happy day?” I ask enthusiastically. “We don’t know yet!” is the riposte. “What does her fiancé think of that?” “Well, we haven’t found him yet. We were thinking of someone with a good job working in government.” I can’t help myself: “What does your sister think of this arrangement?” What you can only describe as incredulity flickers across his face and that of his brother. “What a bizarre question from a strange, old foreigner?” is pulsating across their foreheads. “She loves the idea and is very excited.” Hence romance Indian style: this is an arranged marriage. The alternative is an embarrassing “love-marriage,” with few attendees; for the more adventurous – read lucky — an arranged, love-marriage. You meet your soul mate and convince your parents to arrange the match. My matrimonial education is complete. I confirm this information with unoccupied women on the various trains and planes I subsequently travel on: all true. The best response: “After my arranged marriage, I fell in love with my husband.” There must be a lesson here.
I visit the monkey temple and the local university. The river is swollen by the recent rains and has risen 10 meters. It is impossible to get close to its shore. It is Christmas Eve, Krishna’s (Lord Vishnu’s) (5) birthday. The city is in a celebratory mood. My family is busy, so I head off on my own to explore “old” Varanasi. I step onto the street and am swiftly enveloped by the throng: pedestrians, cars, scooters, bicycles, cows (Did I not mention cows?) and tricycles. A jovial man appears beside me speaking good English: he engages in conversation. I am getting solicited, “getting picked up.” Do I want to stop this theatre or should I continue? Let’s go on! I remind myself that any solicitation, any form of prostitution, is never free. He eventually shows me the old city. In some of the back alleys, I remark that I am quite strong and will not be robbed and beaten without a fight. Is this just my overactive imagination or I am lucky? Regardless, for very little money, I see the sights and am returned to my home stay in time to celebrate with the family at midnight. I am deeply touched. Firstly: I have never been to a Hindu ceremony before. Secondly: it is a great honor to be invited to what is, essentially, a private family gathering. This is indicative of the hospitality of India: immeasurable.
Now the cows: they are ubiquitous. They stare at you with those (Please forgive the pun) bovine eyes. Is it love: she is not telling? At night, I am told, they all return home. Only the bulls have no domicile. Such is the lot of the male of the species. In all the screeching of horns and tires and upturned voices, the cow adds a curious piece of tranquility: She makes the unbridled chaos more human — more down-to-earth. I feel oddly at peace the next morning as I return to the airport for my flight to New Delhi. One final bit of trivia: at the airport, all domestic luggage must be prescreened prior to check in. I am stopped because I have a Swiss army knife loaned by my friend. I have no time for bureaucracy. “Please open it.” I can’t, being a Luddite at heart. This invites the eyes and uniforms and guns of many, many security guards, police officers and soldiers. After five of them try to open it and fail, they return it to me with the necessary tongue lashing. We are off. As an aside, back in Taiwan, my friend opens it in under one second: I do not wear the badge of the idiot easily. The painter Edgar Degas (1834-1917) leaves us with a thought: So that’s the telephone? They ring, and you run.”
A closing thought: I saw an interesting interview the other day with a Tibetan master. “What is life? Life exists in time. What is death? Death is immaterial and therefore beyond time.” We are therefore free to live our lives in the time that we are allotted.
A small joke: One day I was wandering in a pet store. I stopped in front of a birdcage to admire a beautiful parakeet. We watched each other for several minutes. Then the bird fixed me with a determined eye: “Poor thing, can’t you talk?”
This week, please reflect on your own conception of time.
Every day look for something magical and beautiful.
Quote: The secret to a peaceful life is to harness the storm even as the waves are crashing into your consciousness.
Footnotes:
1) Delphi
3) Brahma