Ganga Water

Paul Theroux, in his enjoyable tale of travel on every train from London to Tokyo, The Great Railway Bazaar, has a wonderful description/explanation of Westerners in India:  they come to
to get lost.  That is not why I came (not realizing that was an option) but I have taken to wearing Indian clothing to be, at least partially, non-apparent.  Americans/Westerners/at least I, feel that when people see me on the street, decent camera dangling from my neck, I am invisible, suspicious, or a naïve American with deep pockets: an easy mark.  I'm sick of it, so I bought a couple of kurtas (long shirts), a Neru jacket, some white pyjama pants, and even a Ghandi topi (Neru hat).  The topi is kind of like wearing a Dashiell Hammett fedora (dated) but I like it.  I also have a cotton scarf that I can wrap around in a few different ways, including hiding the face, for more complete anonymity.  There is a Gandhi khadi (homespun cotton) collective near here which sells the white cotton clothing cheaper than I bought it at a retail mom and pop shop near Assi Ghat, but it was still pretty inexpensive; all of the above came in below $25USD. 

I took this measure due to an incident yesterday.  My hotel is near Assi Ghat, the farthest northwest set of steps which lead from the structures on the streets above down to the waters of the Ganges.  After my 14 hour train ride from New Delhi, which came in late, I was still a bit dull, but went for the traditional photo shoot walk along the Ghats: women washing clothes, silk and cotton multi-colored fabric drying on the steps or low walls, children playing, men bathing (all with at least Speedo type covering), and the cremation Ghats.  I knew from reading Lonely Planet that photography of these cremation ceremonies was verboten, and I respected that, and did not shoot or intend to shoot any photo of any fire in progress.  As I approached the main burning Ghat, called Manikarnika, the huge, neatly piled stacks of firewood are there waiting to be used.  I made the mistake of taking a picture of a pile of wood, and two thugs came out of nowhere, just to scam, I doubt they cared about any religious or cultural norms, and started threatening me with police action ($350USD) or to tell the family of one of 3 or 4 people being cremated, that I had broken the code of ethics, and they would attack me and smash my camera, etc., etc.  They said I could buy several kilos of wood for use in the cremations, the money going to some old lady up in a building they took me to for helping with orphans.  They kept saying Rs2500 (about $36USD).  I kept saying that I had just taken a picture of a pile of wood, no burning bodies.  They persisted and I said OK let's go to the police.  They started bargaining.  The lesser of the two mistakenly said Rs500 ($7USD) and when the other guy came back I screamed, "He said 500."  I was feeling so shaken and vulnerable that I gave them the 7 dollars and made my way through the cobweb of tiny, one person wide, winding streets with commercial shops, tiny temples, and domestic quarters facing the path.  It pissed me off, like all the other hawking, scams, begging, exploitation, and cheating that I have been experiencing.  Hence, the Indian garb.  Even without the clothes, I think I am toughened enough to go forward and not be bothered as much.  I would like to finish my stroll down the Ghats, but don't want to see those two assholes again.  I don't think I would enjoy watching a corpse immolate, anyway.  Otherwise, Varanasi seems typical: lots of traffic, honking, cows, mangy dogs, even a few monkeys amidst the throngs of beautiful people, all going somewhere, with some task or shopping, or meeting to attend to.  I saw a construction site where the laborers would carry loaded metal bowls of gravel on their head into the site, while a guy with a hoe, raked the gravel from a big pile into the next bowl, and the next guy would put it on his head and carry it in to the concrete pour.  These people, the real people, work hard.  The touts and scammers are lazy and useless.  I told the guy who was hassling me that this meant bad Karma for him.  My other new trick (also suggested by Theroux) is to respond to any tout or scammer with, "No hablo ingles.  Yo soy Mexicano.  No entiendo." Most know a few Spanish words, but as I persist, they give up.
Here are some pictures.

 

More coming.  I'm having Vietnam flashbacks...there is a wedding or some celebration going on down on the narrow street and the explosions from the oversized fireworks climb up the walls of these buildings and into my closed window, sounding and feeling very familiar.  I forgot to mention that I skipped ahead to get Varanasi and Sarnath covered while it is still fresh.  I will need to go back to cover Jaipur and the train ride, etc. 

 

Isn't this guy on every National Geographic special you've ever seen?

 

Street scenes from rickshaw..

 

The hotel guy suggested a ride on the river at sunset which would include watching the Agni Pooja, a daily ritual where priests stand on the Dashashwamedh Ghat and chant, burn incense, and ring bells.  There were probably 200 boats pulled up there to watch the ceremony.  The ride went as far as the burning Ghat where I had the problem, and the boatman said, "No problem."  The shots, still and video are not very good, anyway.

 

 

 

I have video but the internet speed makes it almost impossible, so I'll wait for Comcast, stateside.  I will cover Sarnath tomorrow.