Look carefully at the picture above. Deejay CJ is shooting lights in the sky, playing woofer-busting electronic dance music. And barely a few feet from his dance floor, to the right, four funeral pyres are crackling away, torching flesh into its elements.
If India is crazy, Benares is madness. If the Universe has a symptom, that symptom is Benares. Death, celebration, shit, and prayer coexist here the way your toilet does with your living room, without a door or a wall giving you the luxury of privacy.
On this, my second trip to Benares, walking its familiar streets, I asked her what more do you have to give me, what more can I see of you? It made me wait a day, and then bam, unveiled the true paradigm of existence.
On my last visit, Manikarnika Ghat constantly attracted me. Invariably and inadvertently I found myself hanging there, rubbing the singeing heat of the funeral pyres off my face.
But it met me grimly this time, void of any warmth. Bleak and rancid.
I did not snuggle up to any contemplation.
Then it shooed me away with its greasy breath. I took some pictures and moved on, more interested in the women making diagrams on a platform of the adjacent ghat.
Whenever and wherever I see the Ganga, I lose myself. My story, ‘The Disobedient Darkness’ has it as a principal character. So just meeting her settles me. She has an incredible capacity to dissolve and assimilate.
The Ganga at Benares sets up a sunrise you can never tire of. Fortunately, the east has no electric tower or mobile transmitter spoiling your picture.
I went to Benares to experience Dev Deepawali. This occasion is celebrated fifteen days after Diwali to commemorate the killing of the demon Tripurasura by lord Shiva. Dev Deepawali falls on a full moon night or Kartik Purnima and therefore holds a very auspicious significance for many. So millions of faithful tumbled into the city for the evening of 12th November.
Who are these people? They don’t look affluent, yet have taken time off their working lives to make a trip to Benares. What are they hoping for? What change in their lives do they expect after the holy dip? Where will they keep the rubber ducks at home?
What and how much would that little basket hold for them? But they are here, walking, talking, buying, haggling, all for a few minutes of feeling the holy water, a few mutterings of praise and forgiveness. Then the journey to the nest resumes, returning to the restlessness, squabble, hope and struggle of the regular.
Tired, they settle on the sidewalk.
No space there, no problem. Sit on the road.
Dev Deepawali is a spectacular festival. Thousands of little lit lamps placed on the ghats look like a horizon of fireflies. I use the word firefly to elucidate that they are alive. Each flickering flame has a personality and knowing its short life, gives it all.
Or you can imagine an array of glyphs scrolling down a screen. It is a sight to experience, best seen from a distance on a boat.
At this time I missed my wife and my father the most.
Hundreds of boats buzzing about, created a traffic jam on the mighty river. One even collided with ours. Fortunately it was not a big one.
From the hectic hustle of Dev Deepawali we return to the subject of Benares. Benares lives in a box within a cage that is framed. It’s like a turducken.
This very cage keeps Benares alive and that is its paradox.
Being a tourist destination exposes the city to many people and their cultures. An average shop keeper knows at least five Indian languages, and young boys ask you if you need drugs like cocaine and hash. But the heart of Benares is medieval.
Medieval is not bad. It is inflexible. It gives Benares a sense of security, validates its existence. The variety of food available around the old city exhibits my point. Every food shop sells the same Poori-aloo-kachauri-jalebi number, mildly differentiating in taste. From my conversations, I deduced an average Benarasi needs an enema, for he still believes in the sanctity of the caste system. Yet strangely, he accepts existence in all forms, without discrimination, as a natural phenomenon. I imagine Pink Floyd’s, ‘Dark Side of the Moon’ will not stand up to his taste.
A Benarasi is as generous with his time as a Delhi exporter is with his expletives. Ask him the whereabouts of a beer shop and he’ll give you its directions in great detail, including major landmarks falling on the way. Then he will counsel you not to drink in the street.
Benares treats its animals well, except Parakeets. They cage the poor birds as pets, and I saw more than I’d have liked to see in such a condition. However, they help cows and bulls stuck in its narrow alleys, lovingly. Dogs, goats, roosters live here as people. I didn’t see any monkeys or cats.
Benares exemplifies the most fundamental tenet of Hinduism–that man is not the centre of the Universe. He is just a part of it, like any other creature.
Much of the old city is crumbling, but Benares carries on, living, praying, hawking, selling, giving, receiving.
Even if its doors are skewing under its own weight, they are open.
Below, at an old Kali temple, the caretaker speaking to me called me Lalla. It’s typical U.P lingo for son. My grandmother used to call me that.
Parts of it are being brought down for better interconnectivity.
But inside the ruin and rubble one sees spires of all kind standing resolute.
Apparently Benares has twenty three thousand temples.
Its unique skyline has to endure some modern necessities–like the mobile towers and the chimneys of the crematorium at the Manikarnika ghat.
Efforts are being made to modernise Benares. I hope they don’t take away the charm of the city. Diesel engined motorboats are already playing havoc, making noise and smoke. How would the new houses look when they renovate the old ones? Would the alleys be widened? I shudder at the thought.
But Benares is strong. She is the oldest surviving city in the world. I’m sure she’ll find a way to live like she has been living thousands of years, for a thousand year more.
It was a three day trip. I had gone to Benares without expecting anything from myself. Cradling a strange, inexplicable void I wanted to experience the company of a friend more, than to submit myself to the city. But Benares jolted and awakened me. And every time I found myself staring at the gentle ripples of the Ganges, she seemed to be saying the words she’d said to the protagonist of the ‘Disobedient Darkness,’
Come to me, my dear,
I’ll give you sweet
The summer blood you fear.
Be not afraid;
The tree shall stand,
And you will crawl
Your tear soaked land
Benares will call me again. We are not lovers yet, but I feel that unspoken tension between us. I am confused. Is it the Ganga or the warrens of man; is it her mist or the funeral ash waxing my heart. Is it the song of Tulsidas or the word of the Buddha stirring me. Or she wishes for my soul and fire. I long for her and I know she longs for me too. O’ Benares! What have you done?
Prateek's World 
Wonderful visual and word narration of the complex and fascinating character of a city which is living history.