Varanasi - Day 4

Today was dedicated to our individual exploration of the city. We set out at 9 am with our chosen fields of study, our heavy equipment and bounds of enthusiasm. As we walked down the ghats with an air of confidence that hadn't been present earlier, I was blown away by the realisation that I was already at a level of comfort with the city. The aimless wandering with which we occupied ourselves for the next hour only loosely disguised the fact that we knew exactly where we were throughout.

 It gave us a new way of looking at the ghats, as though were slowly shifting from Tourist to Traveller. No longer an outsider yet not entirely accepted. We were drifting in an interstices, as though awoken from slumber. My field of individual study wasn't clear to me as yet. Although I had unconsciously decided I wanted to focus on the lives of the people, I was basically hoping inspiration would strike me as the ghats went past.

As we passed Jain Ghat, we came across a lovely brick wall with a cycle parked against it, like one of those vintage photographs. Surprisingly though, what caught our attention was the ghat it belonged to. Nishad Raj ghat is probably the least noticable ghat along that stretch. All it has in the tiny area it covers, are a few seemingly run down houses. Yet for some reason, I felt drawn to it. Like the fates had wrapped a yarn around me and directed me there. So the 3 of us decided to enter the ghat, to try and figure out what it was that made us stay.

Nishad Raj Ghat (Paromita Bathija, 2014)

Nishad Raj had levels and levels. In a single glimpse, we saw different colours and structures and styles and people. As we climbed its beautifully aged steps, we met two teenage girls with a young boy of about five walking between them. They appeared to have judged us before we judged them. In an attempt to make conversation, we asked them what the ghat was called and why. Hesitantly, they explained the mythical character Nishad Raj, to whom a temple is dedicated, which is located on the ghat. Through some smiles and introductions, we were sitting outside the Bamboo house of three sisters. It's a funny world we live in, curiosity is so often received with contempt, and contempt so often inculcate curiosity. After the first few minutes, the walls the separated us began to look like the walls near the ghat, slowly wearing away brick by brick.

 The young girl we spoke to doubtfully claimed she was 14 before telling us about her father, who turned out to be a celebrity of sorts in Varanasi. In a file full of newspaper clippings about him, she showed us articles of the boat he had made entirely by recycling Sprite bottles. She explained his work as an electrician as her own eyes lit up like lights. Her voice resonated with pride as she spoke of him, and her large family of four sisters, and brother, and brother-in-law and three nephews who are almost her age. After about an hour of speaking with her, we'd become so comfortable in each others' presence, conversation flowed freely and rapidly. As she told us of her dreams of becoming a dancer, albeit mentioning it would never happen, I discovered the power of dreams. And the importance of having and believing in dreams, even if they seem unrealistic. Next, we met her 99 year old grandfather, who was actually around when the PWD built their ghat. He told us with remorse of his achievements as a youth, and how he could no longer dip in the Ganga every morning, since old age had taken away his strength. The conversation was translated for us by his grandson-in-law, who bid us farewell with a Shayari; 

फूल  तोह  अनेक  हैं , पर  गुलाब  जैसा  कोई  नही;

शहरे  तोह  बहुत  हैं , पर  मेरे  कासी  जैसे  कहीं  नही। 

(Paromita Bathija, 2014)

Nishad Raj Ghat (Paromita Bathija, 2014)

We returned after a quick lunch, to sketch the scape of the ghat. Sketchbook and crayons in hand, I settled down amongst a few kids running hamper scamper all over the place, and began my attempts. It took about 5 minutes for me to realise it wasn't going too well. A young girl came towards me an curiously looked into my book, wondering no doubt, what on earth I was doing. As I smiled at her, a sudden impulse struck me, and I offered her a crayon, asking her if she wanted to draw. 

Her toothy smile spanned the Ganges,

As she picked the Periwinkle crayon from the box.

Slowly, unsure of herself, 

She began to move the crayon towards the paper.

After moments of hesitation,

She slowly drew a masterpiece.

There was an intangible beauty in that moment.

How could life continue to go on normally? 

The world should stop.

Time itself should pause to take in the

Mesmerizing joy of watching her,

Bringing visualisation to reality. 

I wonder what it felt like for her though. 

I like to think she felt like a creator. 

Bringing to life things she dreamt of.

With all this, she left me spellbound. 

The omnipresent smile on her face made me wonder,

Why do the rest of us not follow the same philosophy? 

Of smiling at every little thing, 

Accepting and embracing life. 

In those few moments, I lost hold on life. 

Hanging loosely, by a thread;

I experienced what I had come here to.

Soon, a few of her friends joined her, picking colours and scribbling random, perfect things in my book. And then, I have no idea how, 3 kids became 6 which became 10, until there were at least 17-18 kids shoving and pushing eachother for crayons and space to draw! All three of us gave them our books and materials. As they fought for the opportunity to put their dreams down on paper, we began to converse with them. The joyously told us about their lives and schools. I asked a few of the children to draw their homes, families. They would concentrate, frowning with their tiny tongues sticking out from the corner of their mouths, and proudly show me what they had made. Before we knew it, we had given each kid a sheet of paper and a crayon, and they had settled down on the ghat steps. It became immensely quiet as they all focused on their papers. When they finished they proudly showcased their work to us, and soon the din became an uproar, and we realised they were attracted a lot of unwanted attention, as were we. Subtly, we began to pack up and say our goodbyes to those unbelievably amazing kids. 

The experience was, I think, the best one I had in the city. I know it will continue to remain my strongest memory of the place. As they all headed home grinning from ear to ear as they looked down at what they had made, the three of us left in a daze; spellbound by the joy of making someone else happy. 

Nishad Raj Ghat (Paromita Bathija, 2014) 

'Things that matter to me' - Nishad Raj Ghat (Paromita Bathija, 2014)

Random Masterpiece - Nishad Raj Ghat (Paromita Bathija, 2014)

Nishad Raj Ghat (Paromita Bathija, 2014)

The Joys of Happiness (Paromita Bathija, 2014)

Returning to the guesthouse that evening, we settled down to discuss the day after another great meal. I realised, there are some emotions and experiences that just cannot be articulated, they can only be felt. And today was the kind of day I'll never really be able to explain to anybody.