'money'karnika ghat - Benares

Death, in itself, is nothing; but we fear,

To be we know not what, we know not where.

JOHN DRYDEN

Benares ~ The place where majority of Hindus favor to go die and be cremated. Legends speak of the Ganges as the fluid medium of Shiva's divine spirit. A dip in the holy waters is believed to wash away all of one's wrongdoing. Apart from the religious attributes of death, cremation and the spectacle that circumnavigates the rituals it also comports to be a major vehicle of tourist attraction for foreigners. Or so would hawkers construe it to be

For a scrupulous bystander, there materializes a stark reality apart from experience of the proximity to death and its fearsome disposition. It is the business of death.

The bargaining begins...

Hindu religion insists on a variety of social rituals and practices called the “Antyesti” or antim (last) samskar(rites). I am not going to dive deep on the intricacies of the final ritual that takes place which necessitates the use of a lot of men and material. You need people to 'prepare' the body, stretcher, carry the stretcher and help with the convolution the ritual beckons. Here is where the humble hawkers of the Benares swoop in and what you get is outsourcing at its most basic form. You would be reminded of the 9 types of grains, earthen ware (to grow the grains) and other forgotten rituals these unassuming hawkers would love to point out to you at the last moment (with sympathy of course). Hey you can't complain! After all they are doing that to satisfy any un-realized dreams or wants of the dead body. Be thankful to them.

You can hire “help” (to be read broker) who takes care of everything for you – right from bargaining for the firewood which is sometimes also sold as sandalwood depending on how gullible on a scale of least gullible to simpleton supreme you are. Wood comes in two 'qualities' or so they claim. Quality 2 (the lower grade) is the one to look out for. Sometimes they take advantage of the grief the party is in and make profits. The brokers present a charade they are on your side and “bargain” for everything. Do appreciate them for their acting skills at least.

The brokers very fondly call you a party, but trust me it ain't a party there. The brokers gossip and wait to pounce on the next party (above).

Embers to keep the hawks warm...

Collecting ashes is the last part of the ceremony which is right about the time a few uninvited guests start lurking around. The group could be as small as one to five, the inconspicuous the better. While the parties concentrate on collecting ashes, these guests – whose faces you would always tend to remember like the math you learnt in your tenth grade, start hovering around and pick up any bits of precious metals that were left unburnt. They also collect unburnt or half burnt wooden logs and pile them up. These precious metals and the wooden logs are then taken to the group leader who restocks them into a different pile with the hawkers (hint hint ~ Quality 2). Well that is how these gang of nondescript kids earn their daily living.

The sacred Diya (a lamp that uses a cotton wick and cow ghee for burning) is lit at the end of the ceremony commemorating the dead and it needs to burn for 3 days. It is lit at the ghat and is carried away generally.

"Death doesn't bargain" Says who?!?

all pictures taken at Manikarnika Ghat ~ Benares.

back to basics

Maulaa maulaaa maulaa mere maulaaa......croons the laptop.

The song though is a tribute, it has many a time given me a different meaning. I mean I could attribute it to any distinctive occurrence in my life. Now these are the lines…

Sar utake maine toh kitni khwaishen ki thi
Kitne khwab dekhe the, kitni koshishen ki thi

It roughly translates to “I dared to proudly chart out my aspirations and I dreamt innumerable dreams and tried to fulfill them all….”


There is one place in the whole wide world where these exact words resonate to me all the time. I happened to, on the spur of the moment get there using my most favored mode of transport with nothing to accompany me other than the sound of wind and everything we believe is mundane.

Got my old companion repaired. I rode bikes for as long as I could remember but there was a time before the bikes I used to ride my bicycle everywhere, my most faithful companion. It was given to me a surprise years ago while I was 9 years old. I was begging for a bic

ycle for more than a year then and my parents did the obvious (well obvious to you knowing my penchant for giving surprises – now you know where I get it from). They bought the bike in the exact color I would have loved with the seat fixed to the right height I like riding (I like riding it a tad higher – just for the kick). They sneaked the bike into our neighbours house, I was playing cricket on the streets and I am not sure how or when they did it. I was woken up in the middle of the night, they staged a sound in the living room and asked me to go check what it was. I walked into the room and bingo was I surprised, a spanking brand new cycle. I kid you not I fainted.

The bike was there when I asked out my first crush, took her out on evening moon lit rides in the dark streets (get ya mind off the gutter, it was just romantic nothing more), made plans to conquer the world (who wouldnot have) bought groceries home, raced on the streets, the occasional stunts (I know you expected this coming)….you get the picture.

The reason I went on and on about the cycle is because, it was there when I made plans in pursuit of my calling. Helped me clear my thoughts those days when the mind was cluttered. Now after 16 years of being together where I neglected it for a good 8 years, I went to the basement of our apartment to look for it half expecting it to be stolen. But found it in

a dilapidated condition. Took it out mustering a non existent apology, got it repaired and when I got on the cycle to retrace the old route (from my home to my school) the familiar clang of the chain combined with the screeching noise from the brake felt like it was greeting me. Ok ok, not a mere greeting but reprimanding me for betraying it. Once we fell into the rhythm it was like slicing thorough a cake and that is when I thought life should not be more complicated than that.

I painted after 12 years with the same brush I used to win a competition at school. Wore the same shirt I wore for my high school graduation (surprisingly, it fits well), spoke to

some of my oldest friends, my teachers, played same games with my sister we used to play as kids and spoke to my first mentors (my parents)

I just revisited my love for simple things in life, how I do not care about stuff – no matter what sentimental value it holds. I want to lead a life where I could be an example to many. I say that not because I am the best of men but I am a man who has traveled far, saw lif

e in a way only people dream of, done things which many people deem to be crazy, lived the dream life of many men and men yet to come. I do not have a regret. I do not. I am here and I have arrived.