Varanasi – A Sacred Moment

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Sunday 22 December, 2013 by Uncle Spike

India. Ever been there? It’s one of the most fascinating spots on the planet, for me at least. Often described as a complete assault on the senses, I can wholeheartedly endorse that. The noises, the colours, the smells…. the whole vibrancy of the Indian sub-continent is really something else.

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Sure, it’s not for everyone. I know some ‘hippy-chick’ from England who went there for a month once, only to return after 5 days – she just couldn’t handle it, just all became too much for her sensitive Western soul. I can understand that in a way. For an out and out Westerner, it is indeed about as different as one could imagine from modern Europe, the States, Canada or Australasia. But love it, I absolutely revel in it’s beauty as a nation.

I don’t profess to know an abundant amount about India; the country, it’s culture, its religions or history, but all I do know is that when I am there, I just love to take it all in, immerse myself and yes, I relish having all my senses assaulted from the moment I arrive until the moment I leave.

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Varanasi… for me, now that place is very special. For many of the population, it is a very sacred place too; a good place to die. If you have some spare time, read up on Varanasi. Even this link to Wikipedia will open your eyes (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Varanasi)

Many people will travel there in anticipation of their passing, or so I had read. But nothing, nothing could really prepare me for the burning pyres on the shores of the River Ganges; of the ghats at Varanasi. Initially I felt awkward, not due to some macabre fascination of what I was witnessing, the burning of recently departed loved ones, but awkward as in I didn’t want to intrude, yet equally drawn to watching the rituals.

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At one pyre that was in the final stages of preparation, a young man dressed all in white caught my eye, and he started to wander over in my direction. I felt ashamed, a gawker, an unwanted Westerner poking my nose and my camera into another world, a private world where I didn’t belong.

He stopped in front of me, smiled and greeted me, “Namaste”.

He welcomed me and told me simply to relax. The funeral pyre was for his mother, who had just passed away, having been in Varanasi for some time in anticipation of the inevitable. As the eldest son, it was his responsibility to do the honours, hence he was the one dressed in white. He said I was welcome to come closer, to watch, and to share.

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We all live and we all die. There is nothing more profound than that.

Some of us are lucky enough to have travelled the globe in search of adventure and cultures beyond our own. You see stupendously amazing sights; huge  mountains, impregnable castles, beaches that stretch for miles, people of all shapes, sizes, colours, religious persuasion, as well as temples, cities, extreme poverty and shameful extravagance. It becomes a mind overload after a while…

But some experiences, no matter how simple, how bizarre… well, they stay with you for eternity. For me, Varansasi and that guy’s mums funeral was mine.

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