About a week ago in California, icon and American music legend Whitney Houston died. Hers was a life ravaged by addiction and abuse. It will be picked apart by critics and journalists more practiced than I and I’ll leave them to it. Suffice it to say no one should die at 48, it is sad on so many levels that it happened and I hope she has finally found peace.
What it isn’t? Life changing.
Not here anyway.
In Varanasi, India no one is waving her posters or quoting her lyrics. No one is is screaming her name or even humming her songs. Not one maimed beggar or incense waving priest asked me, “If I’d heard.”
If not for my connection to Twitter, Facebook and friends back home, her death might’ve gone completely unnoticed by me for a few days more.
As it was I got the news through an email from a friend who only mentioned the fact in passing and the original focus of her email was so much more personal and important to me that it never occurred to me to dig deeper. For hours I forgot about it until a tweet crossed my screen and I remembered and then, because I’ve lived years of an Entertainment Tonight infused, CNN updated and TMZ inundated life I caught myself starting to do what we do – tell someone. The kids don’t know her so I looked up from my phone and started to mention it to Ish and our guide but I stopped.
The scene around me stole my attention instead.
We are in Varanasi. Although it is one of the country’s most visited spots, Varanasi is not the hip and trendy Delhi or reborn Mumbai. It is not the romantic Rajasthan. It is not the tropical Kerala. Varanasi is hard. It is gritty and dirty and real.
People live all aspects of their lives here on the streets. They believe in the final salvation offered by the river Ganges and that their city was created on a God’s trident. When you visit you have no choice but to be present; pulling the kids out of the path of oncoming traffic, delicately stepping around piles of cow dung, offering a namaste or hasty “No Thanks” in Hindi to suggestions you buy an elongated Ghandi figurine or kama sutra emblazoned bowl.
Poverty and spirituality run hand and hand in this part of India. Hindus dominate but Muslims and Christians are here too. In neighbouring Sarnath you’ll find the intriguing and intricate Jain temples but Buddhism is king. It is here, they say, that Buddha – the original one – delivered his first sermon to five disciples. The town is a pilgrimage site for devotees and the feelings of peace are palpable the moment you enter.
There are plenty of the familiar Western distractions here as well. Plywood shop stalls boast the same coca cola ad – a long-haired Indian girl, her head tilted just far enough to sip from the bottle in her hand – on shopfront after shopfront. Her cosmo clothes and airbrushed skin stand in sharp contrast to the people wandering in and out of the shop or pulling Oxen out front but no one seems to notice.
But above all it is India itself that will keep your attention: Shopkeepers able to call out to you in English, Spanish, Italian and French with the suggestion that you should come in to their shop, “Just looking madame. No cost for that.”
And it doesnt end at sundown. We sat on the River Ganges and watched the living continue into the night.
We saw a half dozen cremation fires light up the sky; the smoke billowing and spilling the secrets of those in mourning. We saw dead dogs that no worshipper seemed to notice and temples lit by candles and priests in epiphany. We saw elderly women fall to their knees in worship and use the walls to assist them in the ascent. We heard the calls coming from rows of beggars awaiting the nightly influx of tourists who give out rupees in the 10s and 20s as opposed to the thrifty ones and twos of well seasoned locals. We saw boys jumping from boat to boat offering up tiny candles and we watched how when lit they floated dutifully along the water carrying the prayers of the sender out to sea.
We saw many things, but no Whitney.
It seems that the high drama, non-stop attention that accompanies the death of a celebrity is truly a North American construct.
Life goes on, indeed. Continue to “enjoy the journey” and share with us.
Thanks Monique.Every day I learn more.
Great story…It is easy to forget in our media crazed world that there is a whole world out there. The “problems” of the few are nothing compared to those of the many…
Beautifully written. Of all the places I’ve travelled, India (1994) and NYC (repeatedly) have probably left the strongest imprints on my mind and soul. The incredibly poor peasants I stayed with in rural Tamil Nadu were probably the happiest people I’ve ever met.
So true! The poorer the people the more content they seem to be in the things that really offer joy – family, friends, good food… I hope some of that rubs off on us.
This is beautiful. I can see and feel this part of the world through your words. Thank you!
I am curious though – how are you explaining poverty to the boys? When they see this first hand and with the amount of beggars on the streets (you can’t possibly help every one of them) how are you explaining the truths of poverty while still teaching empathy… I struggle with it even here in our urban canadian environment…
Thanks Maija. So glad you can “see” it. I’m less of an explainer and more of a question answerer. They have asked about the beggars and we’ve been as honest as possible. We tell them why we don’t give money and they have seen us offer food. They’re such smart little guys. They take it all in, process, ask a question and carry on. Personally, I struggle with it daily.
Wow what an experience for you all, how are you going to settle down when you go back home ! You are all having a life changing /eye opening moment. How lucky you are, thank you for sharing :)
That’s a very good question. We’ve started having those discussions already. I’m not sure we will be able to “settle down.” We’ve changed. I think our life will have to at least try to reflect that going forward.
Beautiful post Heather. Varanasi….the place that left a life lasting memory for sure. What an impressive place. And I like how you have used the (tragic) death of Whitney Houston to show how travel changes your perception on life. We are all parts of the global system we call the Earth and once you travel in a different part than your regular one, other things are important. That’s called being embraced by local habits and culture. Glad we still have CNN and Twitter…or maybe not..
I’d agree… but then I remembered the world wide mourning of Michael Jackson. Love the sunset picture!
hmmm. Wonder if Varanasi mourned for MJ. Interesting thought.