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.
