City of Light, Heart of India

Varanasi is quite simply the heart and soul of India, often referred to here as the "City of Light." It is also a slap in the face of reality, a splatter of cow dung, and a splash of Ganga gunk. It's India in full, knock-out force, coming on hard and strong with no mercy. In a way, the city brings the country into full perspective, as it could be said that it embodies the very epitome of everything that is India, all its many horrors and beauties. Holy and magnificent, full of light, and yet heavily laden with contradiction, especially in what could be interpreted to be complete disregard for all that is said to be holy. It is honestly raw in its spirituality, yet full of hidden truths, deceit, and cons. Again, in short, it's India. And in complete certainly, there is only one.

In my first few days here, I've come to feel that mortality, above all else, permeates the air, cutting through the thick smog that leaves your skin stinking at the end of the day. The truth of it is piercing, so inescapable and so very normal. Varanasi is believed in Hinduism to be the holiest city on earth, and therefore the holiest place to die. The Ganga, the rancidly toxic but revered river that cuts up along the city, hosts 2 main cremation ghats, which are said to pump out around 300 burnings a day. Basically, as dying here is supposed to automatically remove you from the vicious death-rebirth cycle, this is where people flock, in obscene numbers, to check out of this life.

If I had to describe people's response to death here, with the undeniably western brain I've grown up with, I would say that death is nothing for the certainty of this faith. What is there to grieve for when this is the end of suffering? And possibly hundreds of lifetimes of suffering? It's a slightly different approach than most western relationships with death. Grieving is still inevitable for those that are left behind, but even that is more quiet. Watching the charred skeletons burning at the riverside, literally feet away from what is a thriving logging industry (wood is quite rare apparently in India, so the cost of riverside cremations is high for the typical Indian income), had an interesting effect on me. I suddenly felt very small and insignificant, sad yet happy, and slightly confused (again, my western head) at the business-like routine of it all.

Unfortunately, photographing cremations is nearly completely impossible. Both families and police are strict about enforcing a no-camera policy that has come about with budding tourism. As no one has been successful in smuggling anything out of there within the past 10 years, I'm not sure we'll do any better. In any case, over the next 4 weeks here, the problem Danny and I share is, I think, not finding a story or getting enough information or seeing it through, but rather selecting from the insane number of options we have to hopefully produce something worth remembering.