Kashi 3/3 - Dalmandi Road

I had taken an early morning walk southwards from the hostel towards Assi Ghat. I walked till the end of the road where the Ghats ended. To venture further south I would need to walk through the town, which I didn’t want to do. So I returned north to the other end of the city. I reached Manikarnika Ghat beyond the Kashi Vishwanath temple. However, I did not happen to cross the Namo Ghat that I had heard a lot about. Someone said that it was further up north beyond Manikarnika, but boats refused to go there and there was no more road beyond Manikarnika. So I decided to walk through the city.

I followed Google Maps which didn’t show a direct path to Namo Ghat. I would need to detour from deep into the town and come back towards the ghats. It was early and I was fresh. I decided to take the journey. The path would take me through a narrow alley named Dalmandi Road. Varanasi had a lot of alleys, so that wasn’t surprising. The surprises started once I entered the alley.

I walked into Dalmandi Road through the western side and the shift was immediate. The entrance was a bustling market even in the morning close to the entrance of the Kashi Vishwanath temple. There were queues of people waiting in line for the temple, early morning shoppers, breakfast places Varanasi is famous for, or people just loitering about on a vacation. But just around the corner inside Dalmandi Road was a completely different vibe.

The place was almost deserted. I saw perhaps 10 people during the kilometre-long walk. The buildings on each side of the road were ripped away from the ground. It didn’t feel like a city anymore. I imagined this would be what war-torn Palestine or Ukraine might look like. It was also very noticeable that this was predominantly a Muslim locality. The people I saw on the road had traditional Muslim attire and beards. There were broken water pipes which still had streams of water, making parts of the road muddy. It was disturbing that there could be such a view just next to that bustling market outside. It felt as if I had been transported to another planet through a portal, and I wasn’t sure if I could go back. If an accident were to fall upon me in this alley, there was no way anyone could know or I could be found. I felt away from my home planet. These buildings didn’t seem to be demolished in an organized manner. The trail of destruction were left behind. At one point I could see what must have been a dining room at some point, still intact but the exterior wall was missing. A lot of buildings seemed to just have been dropped, without any post-cleaning. As if some bombing had occurred in the street. But why would the bombing happen only on this street, and no other streets adjoining. I wanted to Google where I was and the history of this street. But faster than that I wanted to be out of the other end. This was obviously not safe. I didn’t want to run, lest any stray dogs come after me. I knew that it was important to appear tough when you’re shit scared.

On returning to the hostel I Googled and found that there was an active demolition drive at Dalmandi road. Some articles said that it was because the construction in that lane was unauthorized – an argument which lent little merit. Varanasi is an ancient city. Most of the construction in the city is unauthorized. The residences in narrow lanes predate any civic authority. Even the lanes do not always have names. The other argument was that it would enable a wide and fast corridor from the ghats to the Kashi Vishwanath temple. This was an infrastructure improvement initiative. There is a fierce debate of development vs. preservation that is intense enough at Varanasi, and we will not get into that in this article. I am sure the free and fair elections at Varanasi will give verdict to this debate. But it was interesting to note that only the Muslim locality was targeted for such infrastructure improvement, in a somewhat traumatic way.

Dalmani Road finds its mention in the throes of history. It is populated by silk-shops, brothels, and residences of Muslim shopowners whose shops were on the ground levels of such structures. It is said to be the place where the revolt of 1857 was planned. I would believe that, as the best place to plan a revolt would be a narrow Muslim Lane in a vastly Hindu religious city inside a brothel. There can be no better cover. That history is now rubble. I am sure there will be vast improvements to the Shiv temple in lieu of the destruction. I doubted if the God of destruction appreciated this violence in his name.

Kashi 2/3 - Ghat Walk

I stepped into Varanasi with songs in my heart – specifically “Tu Ban Ja Gali Banaras Ki” and “Tu Kisi Rail Si Guzarti Hai”. I had no agenda or plan on what to do on reaching. My best option was to wander around the Ghats and the lanes. Food was always available everywhere and if I couldn’t find a shop, there was always Swiggy. I walked along the Ghats to my heart’s content. I walked on every step I could find, and I walked every morning and every night.

I found a band who was performing at the Ghats and without a second thought I rushed up and joined them, singing old and new songs, discovering that there wasn’t really much difference among them. I found street food vendors whom I started to recognize and the distinct flavors they specialized in. I found a sketch-artist who made a portrait for me for Rs. 350 in 30 minutes, all while sitting at the Ghat. I walked into a garden from where I was driven away because it wasn’t “for tourists”. I later joked with a Swede couple that how even Banarasi loacs recognized me as a tourist, with no trace of white skin on me. I found a sage basking in the early morning sun surrounded by pigeons. I kept walking till the Ghats ended. Then I turned back and walked more.

There was this one instance with a guy. There’s a large painting of Shiv on one of the walls where Shiv extends his hand outwards. A guy was trying to take a picture with his own hand extended towards Shiv, as if holding his hand. He was trying to work the camera angle. It was one of those things that you pass by without paying much attention, as I would have to. I was walking thinking if Shiv is so different from Varanasi. I have often believed that a man’s home is an extension and expression of his self. If that were so, then Varanasi with all its chaos was undoubtedly the expression of Shiv. As I was passing by that man, I don’t know what came over me – magic or mischief – but I shook his hand and went along my way. I didn’t even break my step. But I will remember the look on that man’s face for the rest of my life, as I know he will remember me. He was trying to reach out to Shiv, and in the process, Varanasi reached out to him. I wondered of all the ways in which Varanasi was reaching out to me as well. Every great or small interaction I was having with the people, dogs, land, and sky of Varanasi was Shiv. Not only was this His home, this was Him.

In another incident there was a protected VIP Ghat. I crossed by it several times, nothing seemed to be happening there. Just 2 police officers sending people away who ventured too far into the Ghat. There was a small Vishnu temple there that I noticed and wanted to visit. I had never seen a Vishnu temple. It was on the edge of the river. As I proceeded towards it the guards signalled me away. I tried to negotiate that I just wanted to visit the temple without venturing into the protected place, but the guards wouldn’t budge. Ultimately I had to go climb back up the stairs. Interestingly, the stairway went right above the temple. I was walking over where the shrine must have been inside the temple. As someone who is brought up in Hindu traditions, it is unthinkable to step over a shrine with shoes intact. But I thought that’s what being in Shiv’s home is like. There is no superior or inferior, not even Gods. There’s chaos. And there’s Shiv. And that’s all that matters.

Kashi 1/3 - Arrival

I landed at Lal Bahadir Shastri International Airport, Varanasi, on a Thursday morning with a suitcase and backpack in a sleep deprived manner. I was not sure why I was there. It was mostly to get out of Calcutta for a while. I have nothing against Kolkata. I mean I do, but that’s not the point of this story. I was basically in need of a vacation. A change of scenery if you please.

Once the thought had hit my mind, it automatically transferred from brain to Instagram without waiting for my consent. For the next two weeks, I browsed through all kinds of trips from solo-group travels (a true gen-Z invention), IRCTC Bharat Gaurav tours (they aren’t that bad), Spiti Valley-like places (the usual), African Safaris (sure to get popular in the coming years), and even an Antarctic expedition! I didn’t like any of them. Each of them seemed to have a different constraint. Till I realized that the real constraint must lie with me. True, I was in a terrible mood. Terrible enough for me not to take any action to come out of it. This was all the more reason to go for a vacation. I decided that if I didn’t like anything in the next two days, I will travel to Varanasi.

Why Varanasi? Because it was logistically feasible, the bookings were convenient, and being a single Hindi-speaking man, I couldn’t go wrong in a touristy place in north-India. Besides, Shiv has a certain allure. Two days passed. I didn’t like anything else. I booked flights and a hostel in Varanasi for the weekend.

I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. Part of me wanted peace. Part of me wanted to talk to someone or many people. Part of me wanted to go somewhere new. Part of me wanted to go somewhere familiar. Varanasi somehow satisfied all those requirements.

As soon as I exited the airport I was huddled by cab-drivers whom I ignored on instinct. I was no stranger to north-Indian touristy places. And I’d done my research. There was supposed to be a bus stand close to the airport that where I could take a bus that would drop me right in the centre of the city. But I saw no buses or bus stands outside the small airport. On some searching I realized that the bus stand was a 1 km walk from the airport. Sleepy me wasn’t going to start my trip with a 1 km walk in the hot Sun. Later during the trip, Varanasi would make me walk a lot. But thankfully she didn’t make me start the trip with that. I ran into a cab-driver who was going on my way for his own work, and would drop me on the way. The fare was considerably less than the other drivers in the vicinity. So I went with him.

You cannot have a conversation with a Banarasi local and not touch upon local politics. I don’t know which of us started, but he gave me his perspective on the local political climate. Banarasi people love to talk. I didn’t have to prod him much for him to go on a full-scale monologue on why his party was good and the other one was not. I tried to play the devil’s advocate which in most cases, only leads people to argue their point more vehemently. But I was beginning to get a sense of the city. I also wondered that if this truly is Shiv’s city, then I should accept whatever I stumble across as Shiv’s blessing, even if it be a blabbering cab-driver.

I had booked a hostel in the deep alleys of Varanasi close to the ghats. It seemed like a vibrant place with a lot of community space. I quickly realized that they had somewhat oversold their community places by brushing them up for Instagram. I also realized that Varanasi was not going to socialize during hot summer days. I was going to spend a lot of time indoors during the days. I planned on sleeping a lot, and roam around in the nights.

As I was checking into my room, I came across Manoj Kumar P’s The Silence Beneath Kashi at the hostel’s bookshelf (singular). The cover seemed to have that familiar allure that had attracted me to Kashi. The book promised great revelations, and I approached it with great expectations. I was quickly disappointed. The author had written the entire book using ChatGPT – very engaging, no real content. The style and shifts were repetitive. The book didn’t make any particular point or led anywhere. I wondered if this was also a blessing from Shiv or whether it was a sign of Kalyug where it had been predicted that even Kashi would run dry. Between musings like these, I fell asleep.

Varanasi had that vibe. There is a lot of lull and a lot of chaos. It didn’t quite get anywhere. But it moves and shifts, often outside and often within you. You can’t really place it in any category. It is not a strictly religious destination. There’s spirituality but there’s also any kind of deviance that you might want to explore. There’s freedom to do anything you want. No one judges. Everyone and everything is Shiv, including the dogs that might block your path. Anger and love aren’t expressed differently. Civility lacks civility, and there’s a lot of it. It is a weird city. I was going to be here for the next few days. I was sure to run into some interesting incidents.

Hanuman Ansh – Review

“Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?” – Albus Dumbledore

My sister and I generally do not agree on movies. She is more of a Dabangg-girl; I am more of an Interstellar-guy. I’ve long learnt not to entertain her recommendations, and she knows this better than anyone else. So naturally I was surprised when she came and told me that not only would I enjoy Hanuman Ansh, but she would watch it again as well.

I checked out the movie. The cast and crew were unknown. Not just unknown, but the director, lead actor, singers… nobody even had a Wikipedia page. The movie barely had one. The songs seemed to be all traditional folk songs with no particular lyricist. Normally, I would ignore such movies as the futile attempt of some overzealous assistant director from Oshiwada who was doomed to fail. But my sister’s excitement got to me. I agreed and we booked a Sunday matinee show.

The theatre was full, contrary to my expectations. Even before the movie began, there were subtle hints of what was to come. There were absolutely no posters of the movie throughout the cinema hall, which was unusual. There weren’t many ads at the beginning of the movie. With a budget of only Rs. 2 Cr, I guess they didn’t spend on marketing at all. Come to think of it, how do you make a movie for Rs. 2 Cr in modern India anyway? Even Masaan was made on a budget of Rs. 7 Cr; but it did enjoy relatively known faces like Richa Chadha and Vicky Kaushal from recent Gangs of Wasseypur fame. Hanuman Ansh seemed to be made by a rag-tag group of theatre actors who wanted to get into filmmaking. But more on that later.

The movie begins with a disclaimer, which was a herald of things to come. Hanuman Ansh is the story of Neem Karoli Baba. It should classify as a devotional movie or a biopic – a controversial genre in contemporary India. Normally such movies follow a long disclaimer. The disclaimer of Dhurandhar: The Revenge runs into 15 lines putting all kinds of legal liabilities behind the movie. The disclaimer of Mahavatar Narsimha runs 7 lines emphasizing the religious nature of the movie and dramatization of some events. The disclaimer of Hanuman Ansh is just 3 lines – more like bullet points than sentences

• This is a devotional movie
• Some events are dramatized for the purposes of cinematic representation
• The ultimate interpretation to the wisdom of the audience

The usual long disclaimers about not hurting the sentiments of any community or any resemblance to any person being coincidental are absent. Rather, the wisdom of the audience is trusted. It has been a long time since a movie has trusted the wisdom of the audience. As a writer myself, I have difficulty trusting my audience anymore. This movie operates on conviction. And thankfully, finds its audience.

There are 2 scenes where this conviction is tested. One is when Baba leaves the town of Neem Karori. The entire town tries to stop him. When Baba does not relent, the town cries for a long time. Another is a scene where a person chants the Hanuman Chalisa in a night-scene in a forest. It is not a musical recitation of the Hanuman Chalisa. It’s just a man reciting it. With abrupt pauses, no rhythm, and no sense of melody. It’s like any average person would recite the Hanuman Chalisa when they find themselves in a spooky forest in the middle of the night. Both scenes run for over a minute on screen. Moviemakers don’t make such scenes anymore. There is always the risk of losing the short-attention span of the audience. People might forward the scene or check WhatsApp messages watching the movie screen-in-screen on their phones. This has been a point of debate among cinematic circles in recent times. Hanuman Ansh moves forward putting two scenes where they risk alienating the audience. The audience doesn’t budge. After a long time, we see a movie made with honesty and sincerity which feels refreshing. This movie does not chase TRPs; and that works with an audience starved for honesty.

Another point to note is given the right-winged times of the world propounded by movies like Dhurandhar and Kashmir Files. This movie does not delve into any politics or propaganda of any kind. It remains true to its devotion to Neem Karoli Baba and does not sway from it.

Coming to the cast and crew, long-time moviegoers will immediately recognize the crew as theatre trained. There is a fair bit of neck-acting, formally known through the Natya Shastra in Indian traditions. The most famous master of the art in recent times being Pankaj Tripathi. The camerawork is on spot, which syncs perfectly with the music, telling you that this is not an amateur crew, but a very experienced one who just haven’t worked on a big budget before. Thankfully, they will be able to now.

The background setting, minimal VFX, and costumes, dissolve seamlessly into the movie with nothing bothering the eye – just as good infrastructure should be. The Director comes with some experience over a few other projects, which I am now excited to watch. The lead actor is experiences as an assistant director with this being his first acting assignment. Like all good assistant directors, he delivers. It would be a miracle if this movie ends up grossing higher than Namit Malhotra’s Ramayan, but that may be a possibility. At least in terms of remaining true to the core message, Hanuman Ansh does a phenomenal job that any high-budget movie will not be able to do due to production constraints.

I walked out of the theatre with an unusual problem. At no point does the movie claim that the story is true. In fact, it takes efforts to disclaim the supernatural claims as fantasy and tricks on the eye. But I came out wanting the fantasy to be true. The engineer in me wasn't convinced. But perhaps that is exactly what the movie intended when it left the ultimate interpretation to the wisdom of the audience. Now that Hanuman Ansh has seen success, I hope it encourages filmmakers to look beyond the familiar mythology and tell more of these strange, forgotten stories of mystical India. We may not believe all of them. Perhaps we don't always need to.

Sitaram!

Independence vs. Swatantrata

Dedicated to Hazari Prasad Dwivedi and his essay – नाखून क्यों बढ़ते हैं?

Some nations translate political words – not India. Our constitutional vocabulary does not import, it adapts. The Indian lexicon is derived from older linguistic and philosophical traditions. Words like “Republic”, “Democracy”, and “Independence” did not just receive Hindi equivalents – they were reimagined through Sanskrit roots.

Consider the phrase “Republic Day.” In English, the word means a political system where power resides with the people, rather, a collection of people. In Hindi, the term is “Gantantra Diwas” (गणतंत्र दिवस). This is not merely a phonetic transliteration, but a conceptual translation. When we unpack the word, layer by layer, it reveals how language encodes a worldview.

Let us begin with the word “Gan” (गण). Gan broadly refers to a group, an assembly, or a collective. It is one of those roots that appears repeatedly across mythology. The attendants of Shiv are called Shivgan (शिवगण) – the people of Shiv. His son is called Ganapati (गणपति), the leader of the gans. There is also a pleasant phonetic echo with Gajapati (गजपति), lord of elephants, which aligns with Ganesh’s iconography. The name Ganesh (गणेश) also comes from the same root, meaning the one who is supreme among the Gans. The root meaning remains tied to the collective.

The same root appears in ganit (गणित), meaning mathematics. The original sense of ganit is counting. Whether we are speaking of divine attendants, social bodies, or numbers, the root idea is consistent. “Gan” is about organized plurality. It is people as a counted, acknowledged collective.

Now consider the more fun half of the word – tantra (तंत्र). Tantra originally points to a device or framework for weaving or structuring. A loom is one of the classical metaphors. Threads by themselves are loose and chaotic. A loom holds them in tension and pattern so that fabric can emerge.

Across Sanskrit literature, tantra evolved to mean a system or structured body of knowledge. Many tantric (तांत्रिक) texts are presented as dialogues, often between Shiv and Parvati. In that sense, tantra is not merely a doctrine but a structured transmission of knowledge through conversation. It is not random speech. It is disciplined dialogue.

In later traditions, one often encounters the triad of mantra (मंत्र), yantra (यंत्र), and tantra. Mantra is the thought and sound. Yantra is the device – mechanical or symbolic. Tantra is the system – the procedural framework within which things operate. Seen this way, tantra is architecture.

Tantra as a system is both an enabler and a restriction. It allows energy to flow, but through channels. Without boundaries, there is instability. With structure, there is direction and continuity. In that sense, tantra also implies disciplined containment. It is ordered expansion.

Gan combines with tantra to become Gantantra. Literally, the framework or system of the collective. The structured order of the people. A people organized through a governing framework.

This is an unusually elegant rendering of “Republic.” It captures not only that people are the source of authority, but that authority must operate through a system, a woven structure of rules, offices, and procedures. It implies deliberation, method, and boundaries. It suggests that dissent is not a failure of the system but part of its operating fabric.

This also connects with how knowledge itself is often framed in Indian traditions. Dialogue is central. It is the style of the Upanishads. Many philosophical texts are structured as questions and answers. The Shiv-Parvati dialogues in tantric literature symbolically encode a relational model of knowledge transmission. The presence of the curious feminine voice is not accidental in these archetypes – it is highly intentional. It shows how dissent and feminine energy was not only tolerated but encouraged. Tantra signals that truth emerges in exchange. It is fair to say that the argumentative style is deeply embedded in classical Indian knowledge forms.

Now move to another key political word: Independence. In English, independence is the absence of dependence. The frame centres the prior constraint, and then declares separation from it.

India’s chosen word is Swatantrata (स्वतंत्रता). This is formed from sva (स्व), meaning self, and tantra, meaning system or framework. Swatantra therefore means governed by one’s own system. Not merely free from another, but operating through one’s own framework. Swatantra did not just mean self-governance in the political sense, it meant individual self-governance as well – an idea as old as this civilization.

There were other available linguistic pathways. Dependence in Sanskrit languages is often expressed through the word “aadhin” (आधीन), meaning under the authority of another. Swaadhin (स्वाधीन) means under one’s own authority. In fact, the freedom struggle was frequently called the swaadheenta sangram (स्वाधीनता संग्राम), i.e. the struggle for self-rule. But the dominant public term became swatantrata – self-governance.

This is a semantic choice. Rather than using the term for removal of foreign power, Sanskrit phrasing frames freedom as the presence of internal order. One says no master, the other says self-framework.

That difference is subtle but philosophically meaningful. It shifts attention away from the oppressor and toward the structure. It is a forward-looking definition of freedom.

The same pattern appears in the pairing of democracy and republic in Indian usage. Democracy (demos = people, -cracy = rule) is translated as Loktantra (लोकतंत्र). Lok (लोक) refers to public or world. Loktantra is the system of the people. Republic or Gantantra is the framework of the collective. In everyday language, the two are often used interchangeably. While the world uses the word "-cracy" meaning rule, India uses the word "tantra" meaning system.

There is a slight nuance between lok and gan. While lok suggests the broad public, gan suggests an organized collective or assembly. This is key as at the time of independence, the assembly mechanism was yet to be established. So it was simply a self-rule of the people. After the constitution was put in effect, the people became a structured collective. Both translations converge on the same civilizational idea that governance arises from the people through systems.

Languages are not neutral containers. They carry habits of thought. Translations are not innocent. They reveal what a civilization thinks politics is for. India’s linguistic convergence suggests something important – and that is my real reason for writing this article. Democracy in India was not an imported political scheme. It was the inherent nature of this civilization. Words for people, assembly, system, dialogue, and self-rule were already deeply embedded before the first word of the constitution was ever inked. That is why the first words of the Indian constitution are "We, the people".

When India says Gantantra, it is not just naming a republic. It is describing an aspiration: a collective held together by a framework. When it says Swatantrata, it is not just marking the end of colonial rule. It is asserting the beginning of self-structured governance, and the governance of the self. When it says Loktantra, it is not merely echoing democracy. It is affirming that the public is meant to sit inside the system, not outside it.

This also sheds light on a familiar Indian paradox. Public discourse in India is noisy, argumentative, often exasperating. Debate spills into streets, courts, and tea stalls. Dissent is rarely silent. From one angle, this looks like disorder. From another, it looks like a civilization unusually comfortable with contention. A Gantantra is not designed for quiet obedience. It is designed for managed dissent.

Of course, reality falls short. Systems calcify. Dialogue becomes slogan. No linguistic heritage guarantees political virtue. But vocabulary remembers. It shapes instinct and expectation. It tells citizens what kind of political life feels natural for the civilization.

Independence Day is not only a historical commemoration of a constitution coming into force. It is also a reminder hidden in plain sight inside the word Swatantra. That the ethos of this civilization go beyond the republic and the constitution. Self-governance is the inherent nature of this civilization. The people are not mere spectators, they are threads in the weave. And system is meant to be a loom, constantly weaving bright new patterns and finding new threads to imbibe.