Anyone Else But You

Well, I'm back on the train; 14 hours from Delhi to Veranasi, 4 hours in town, and now 26 hours sitting right where I am. Funny thing - I have not seen or met any Korean people in India until yesterday; the last train ride and this tgrain ride I am in a car surrounded by them. And on the way here, I asked if they had a travel book (I lost mine, if you aren't keeping up), and they did - in Korean.

Veranasi is one huge head trip. It is said Shiva gave puja here (prayed) for twenty years, and so it is a very holy place. The river ganges especially, because it is the source of life and subsistence on the dry, incredbidly flat indian plateau. It is said if you are burned along the banks, you will escape reincarnation and go straight to heaven.

Knowing I would only have a few short hours in town, I stashed my bag in the cloak room and hired a rickshaw wallah who spoke english to show me around. We went first to the Ghats, and to get there one must weave through narrow city streets where women are washing clothing and dishes, men are sitting and spitting paan, you can buy anything one needs for urban life from a 100 different vendors, and cows and water buffalo roam the streats munching on garbage.

The ghats themselves are simply steps leading to the bank of the river, many atimes with a temple or shrine roadside. To truly see the ghats, you need to rent a boat with a guide and some rowers. First leaving shore, you send little floats crafted of leaves afloat, armed with flower petals and butter candles, serving to bless your family upon mother Ganga. As you row upstream, you see women and men washing and little boys diving and swimming, enjoying the water. Among all this are tops of buildings and temple spires; its monsoon season and the lower banks are flooded over 50 feet.

And then it starts to smell wierd, something I can't describe. Giant flames leap from stacks of wood; it was a burning ghat. From 100 feet ashore you can see everything, including the ceremonial positioning of the body on the pyre. After cremation, the ashes are put in a pot and dumped in the river; charred bits of wood and flower petaals had been floating downstream the full boat ride. Not everyone is burned on wood; it is very expensive because after hundreds of years of traditon Veranasi has run out of wood and forest, and so has firewood shipped in. Also, holy and pure people are thrown directly in the river, rather than burned. This includes Sadhus, cildren under 10 (dont know the difference between right and wrong yet), animals (same), and lepers, all have a stone tied to them and thrown in the water. Lastly, those who die by cobra bite are put in the river, but are tied to a banana tree so they float. The cobra is a holy animal because it hangs around Shiva's neck. To be a true Sadhu, one must find a cobra stricken body downstream, and say montras over it. If this is done within 21 days of death, the person is supposed to turn to life.

The holiness of this place is overwhelming, but it is not all Veranasi is famous for - also silk. There is a neighborhood where hundreds of silk handlooms run, it takes 20 days around the clock to make one silk sari. So now I'm broke and headed back to Ahmedabad. I guess I will work for IAVN doing research and putting together a future travel guide, and hopefully learn how to cook something. After that, Rajastan, Delhi, and NY!

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8 pm. I'm going crazy, and there are 20 more hours on this train. I shift between shuffling cards and reading Moby Dick. About an hour ago I hung myself out the traincar door cursing like a pirate at the rapidly passing countryside. Pretending I was at the bow of a ship and claiming to bury my treasure on the remote island of Sri Lanka, this kept me entertained for a good half hour. Ya har!

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11am. Being onan indian train is like going to a chinese resterant for dim sum. Thgere are way too many people, all crammed together wanting a seat. And then people walk up and down the isles all day yelling the food products they are pandering. So maybe its more like a ball game, except you have to share your seat with an unwanted friend. And this too shall pass.

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5pm. The train is running about four hours late; this severely upset me. Im so sick of all this bullshit, this hustle and bustle, being asked by blind men or starving children for change. I miss the comforts of home, and the ignorance to the world's problems that comes with the american way of life. I wonder if Ill ever be able to enjoy it the same way. I think of resturants and grocery stores, and all the luxury and unfathomable service they provide. And I think of water fountains, clean streets, and completely paved roads.

I once asked my parents if we could stop mowing our front lawn. We pay someone alot of money to mow it, and waste alot of water keeping it green in the summer. The answer is obviously no; despite the fact that we use the front lawn only as a farther distance for the mailman to walk or the paperboy to throw, the lawn must be kept in perfect condition. Property values, I was told. It would decrease the value of our neighbors houses, and they could bring up a legal objection. I got it, but it just doesn't make sense. Grass can be cut if a neighbor decides to sell their house. What kind of petty bullshit does suburbia engage in? I think suburban america was invented to occupy the middle class with petty problems; to ignore the larger questions that a meaningful existence asks. Well, its not anything a trip to Home Depot or Bed Bath and Beyond can't fix.

I'm sitting in the doorway of the traincar, with my legs fighting the wind. Its really the simple things that make you happy; the sun beating down on me and the endless fields of crops that zoom by seem like the perfect background to ending my three week lone travel. When you feel like crap, soak up the sun and try to be with the ones you love.

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11pm. Now we aren't getting in until 6 am tomorrow, how long have I been on this train? I passed up dinner thinking I would be in Jamalpur soon. I was near an open door getting some fresh air and being pissed at the 14 hours late train when two policemen (armed with M1 rifles - what americans used in WWI) approach and ask me to return to my bunk. I look around, seeing people scattered everywhere, laugh, and plainly say no.

I don't think this went over well. Alot of conversing in hindi later and looking at my ticket, they left me alone. When I did go back to my bunk, I found out the policemen stopped by and moved the stray man out of my bunk. I was kindof bummed that they walked away and didn't return; I had my cell phone out waiting for them, so I could pretend I was busy. I was going to say I was talking to his mother, and she said to leave me alone. I was really hoping that one would be translated right.