Benaras-- an enigma

 Benaras.The very name evokes myriad images--- a city bustling with life and bursting at the seams,a city of irreconciliable opposites, a city 'older than history', mired in customs,traditions and rituals,while gasping for breathing space in the frenetic rush for a lopsided modernity!

     Benaras is a city whose essence seeps into one's being in an unconscious, imperceptible way.It takes time,perhaps a few days, or months even,to get the feel of the place crystallize in one's mind.At the first glance Benaras is sure to turn a visitor off. The dirt,filth,dust and the sheer number of human beings assembling in one given space,are enough to dispel any illusion one may have nurtured about the timeless city. But once you join ,or observe from a distance, the teeming millions thronging the road to the 'holy' Ganges-- the road to salvation-- the magic begins.Spirituality is the ambience of Benaras with its countless ghats,temples, worship, chiming of bells,devotional songs played from temples and the congregation of the rich and the poor in the hope of  a safe passage to eternal and everlasting heaven! Even a staunch non-believer can not but be touched by the spiritual fervour that permeates the atmosphere of the city.The detached observer will be deeply shaken by the sheer force of the collective spirituality. This old city is shrouded  in myths and legends which one may disbelieve but can not help being fascinated by.The ghats abound in stories, mythical and historical which are known to all and sundry. 

     The 'Ganga Arati' in the evening on the ghats of the Ganga is indeed a treat for the eyes!This daily ritual of worshipping the holy river transports the viewer to an ethereal experience.I am not quite sure if this is a 'cosmic' connect,but the chanting of the mantras accompanied by the chiming of the bells,the smoke emanating from the huge brass lamps, the flickering shadow of the innumerable 'diyas' on the water, the vast dark backdrop against the brightly illuminated podium-- all go to create a grand spectacle and a sensation not experienced before.
       Benaras remains a perpetual enigma with its ancient buildings, the never-ending maze of meandering lanes and alleys; it is a refuge for the devout,a spectacle for the non-believer and a quest for the agnostic. Take it or leave it, Benaras has  been the shortest route from eternal perdition to everlasting salvation since time immemorial.Truly, Benaras is an India in microcosm, a congregation of humanity where one has to go back again and again.

Sonmarg

Most tourists visit Sonmarg on a day trip from Srinagar,and hardly carry back any special memory apart from its mesmerising beauty.But to soak in the flavour of Sonmarg one needs to spend at least a night there...in the JK Tourism cottages which are located much above those on the street level.On approaching Sonmarg in the glow of the late afternoon I realized how true the age old adage about Kashmir was..if there is heaven anywhere on earth,it's here...it's here...it's here.Our driver-cum-guide had advised us beforehand to insist on the cottages higher  up.The manager,initially reluctant,had to give in as we were the only occupants in the sprawling property in weeks as hundreds of bookings had been cancelled due to the devastating flood in Srinagar and adjoining areas.We were absolutely clueless when Mushtaqbhai drove us uphill through the meandering paths.As he stopped in front of the JK Tourism cottages we were speechless! Never in my life had I seen anything similar...Four cottages surrounded by lush alpine vegetation...pine,birch and other trees... scattered here and there...one quite far from the other...with snow-capped peaks hemming in on three sides.With the sun having almost set, the entire region was bathed in a surreal golden light. It was a sight out of a dream.I felt I could do away with travelling any more.

         As the sun went down darkness engulfed the hill top and we were told that power supply would remain suspended from 6 to 10 in the evening. There was one more piece of good news....that only BSNL worked there and needless to say I was carrying a phone with a different network.We met the caretaker who happened to live in the room adjacent to ours.He was a tall, lean,lanky young fellow with a beard, dressed in the typical long jobba of the Kashmiris.On being introduced to him I felt he was a no-nonsense person, a man of very few words, unwilling to open up.Initially he was reluctant  to cook dinner for us as he had almost no provision for tourists.But when we insisted that a bare basic dish would do,he agreed.We could only know that his name was Zakir and he had been working there for the last ten years as a casual staff on an extremely meagre salary. Our driver left us with the assurance that he would be just a phone call away  in the town below in case of any emergency( though that  call could be made only from Zakir's phone).To be frank,we felt a bit helpless and insecure.Throughout the evening we remained confined in our room in the light of a candle....totally cut off from the world.It was terribly cold outside and pitch dark.There was not a single living soul nearby except Zakir who silently worked in the kitchen downstairs and the utensils that made some noise.The sprawling two-storied hut was absolutely dark except our room and the kitchen.We felt it could be a perfect setting for a spine-chilling horror story.

     

       As city- bred people fed on the mainstream media we felt a little uneasy.Somewhere deep down I could sense a feeling of insecurity, and fear ---what if Zakir suddenly brought out a gun from under his jobba? He resembled the quintessential AK-47 toting militant seen in newspaper pictures and deeply embedded in our psyche.In order to ward off this sense of unease I came downstairs and peeped into the kitchen.He was busy cooking in the dim, flickering light of a candle.I tried to strike up a conversation but he didn't seem much interested.So I got back upstairs in the light of my torch.He called us for dinner and served very basic food items which were tasty.But all this without a word.Power was restored at 10 and we felt a little relieved though that gnawing sense of insecurity persisted. He came to our room,switched on the electric blanket, kept a jug of water and just said that in case we needed anything we could call him in the adjacent room.

     

      The morning dawned and it felt we were truly in heaven.We saw Zakir and talked to him.Last night's apprehensions and anxieties were dispelled as we found him to be a shy,reticent village youth,poor and struggling for survival.I felt ashamed to have been suspicious,such is the power of mistrust of and disconnect with these poor people who belong to the same country as I do.

    

       I may not visit Sonmarg again but if I do I am sure to spend another night in that same 'God-forsaken' heaven and possibly in the company of Zakir!

The story of Sanatan

I met Sanatan some seven years back at Ayodhya hills in Purulia. This region by then had already begun to earn notoriety as a 'Maoist -infested' one and after much deliberation we had decided on this trip.

         Just as we got off our car at the government accommodation turned tourist lodge, we saw a young man standing at a corner inside the compound. He could be anything between twenty five and thirty five. A sadly shrivelled man whose youth had taken a beating because of his daily struggle with poverty, writ large in his eyes .He approached us and offered to take us on a sight-seeing tour on foot in the afternoon on both the days. When asked about his charge he quoted an amount which we could not believe....it was so paltry.

          He arrived much before the scheduled time and waited for us. We walked with him through the village roads and he showed us hills, falls and small hamlets. There was nothing to 'see' as tourists understand the term, as it was an aimless walk through the villages, soaking in the ambience .Suddenly he stopped in front of a hut and asked for ten rupees .When he went inside, keeping us waiting, we could sense that he had gone in to have a glass of mahua---the local intoxicant made from the fruits of mahua tree which keeps these people going. On his return we resumed our walk and he talked about the life of the local people....how the entire region was dry and arid for most of the year yielding almost no crops and how difficult it was to eke out a living. As we walked we found small construction work going on in several places....people building their own little houses. Sanatan asked them if there was any need for more labour. Everywhere the reply was in the negative. I just wondered how this man, married and with a child and another on the way,could manage to survive?. Odd jobs were also very difficult to find.At the end of the walking-tour he took leave of us but did not take the money. He would come the next day and take us on a different route again!

           The next day too he came before time and escorted us to a far-off region. We walked till it was quite late. The sun was about to set. Narrating the plight of the villagers ,he blurted out that he didn't have anything to eat that day...and that it was quite a normal routine for most of the villagers to skip meals.Instantaneously my trip was soured. I asked him why he hadn't told us before .He was ashamed,I guessed .But I felt more ashamed to have strutted through these villages with a camera and the tourist gaze. It was quite clear to me why the previous day he had stopped on the way to have a shot of mahua.That is the energy drink for the starving  adivasis. He said his wife was expecting again but she too had eaten nothing that day. Asked what he fed his two - year old child, he replied whatever was available to him, like bread or biscuits. Milk was something to be dreamt of. We took him to the nearest eatery and offered him tea and snacks and handed a packet of the same for his wife and child .When I asked him how he would feed the child that was expected, pat came the reply that whatever would be available to them would suffice for the new child. I tried in vain to explain to him the benefits of tubectomy  for his wife! When he was paid quite a lot in excess to what he had quoted the subdued glee in his eyes I would never forget. He planned to buy rice after quite a few days and eggs for his home. It was going to be quite a feast, it seemed. But when asked what he would do once this money was spent, he had no answer except that perennial optimism...I might get some work by then.    

 

        That night I couldn`t have my dinner. I remembered the eyes of Sanatan....uncertainty, insecurity, a resigned attitude ....all rolled into one. I was trying to gauge what it felt like when one is not sure if one would get food the next morning. I suffered from an overpowering sense of guilt. And I made a promise to myself. Never  to visit such places as a tourist, well-dressed, with a camera in hand. Just as I would never spend a vacation in the vicinity of a closed tea garden in the Dooars where malnutrition, starvation and death stalk the people. It was outright  heartless ,to say the least. I had no business to be there if not to make a difference, however small, in the lives of these people. I remembered that I, a thorough city-bred epicure, had not even bothered to ask Sanatan`s full name.

       Seven years have passed. Sometimes I feel curious to know about Sanatan and his family. With the change of guard in the state has there been any real change in their lives? Has there been any development in the god-forsaken terrain where neglect, apathy and deprivation were part of the system? Does  Sanatan and his family get a square meal every day? I dare not visit the place again to get my answer.

The wonder railway network

A country that runs on its mammoth railway network can surely pride itself for being the near-perfect technological wonder.  In Japan  a  few  millions  commute  by  train  every day. Entire cities seem to spread underground with their tentacles as the urban network operates mostly through subway stations. Trains of almost every description are aplenty—passenger trains, express trains, long-distance trains, the iconic ‘shinkansen’ or ‘bullet’ trains  the ‘maglev’ or magnetic levitation trains, the Romance cars! The network is operated by different companies, both government-owned and private. A tourist, on his first visit to a metropolitan subway station is sure to get baffled at the mind-boggling network! These stations, both underground and over ground, are lined on both sides by shops selling everyday necessities, food items and condiments, vending machines , eateries and restaurants of different categories. Even the most insignificant station will have some grub to offer even at an unearthly hour. The stations are agog with passengers from early morning—even in the bitter cold months the compartments are jam-packed. But what is amazing is the fact that there is no mad rush, no jostling, no pushing, no yelling. As the train stops at a station, the right of way is first given to passengers alighting, in a queue. Those waiting to board the train stand patiently, again in a queue, for their turn to get in. Wheelchair-bound passengers and senior citizens, babies  in  perambulators  and differently abled passengers have a smooth entry to the compartments and are stationed safely and comfortably in their designated areas. The rough yellow patch all along the platform in each and every station safely guides the visually challenged to the door of the compartment.  Little children going to schools all by themselves without any adult escort, is a very common sight both at stations and on the roads. This tells a lot about the public transport system in the country. 

                The scene inside the compartments is more surprising. Passengers of every conceivable type—young, old ,middle-aged, men women, students, professionals, businessmen---all sitting in a row and surfing mobile phones, texting, earphones plugged in their ears. Even if they talk, it is barely audible.And all this technological wonder comes with an icing on the cake....  The annual average of the delay in the running of the trains is just seven seconds!                

 The iconic Shinkansen

  

The Shinkansen

            

The interiors of a passenger train

Inside a subway station

Another station

The elevated track for the maglev train run without a driver

Prints of masters inside Namba station,Osaka

A Van Gogh print  inside Namba station

A Romance Car

A station

Ladyboy show at Pub Street, Siem Reap

     Seam Reap in Cambodia is an international tourist destination. This city draws a mind-boggling number of tourists from across the globe every   year. In spite of being a  southeast Asian country, it is a neat and prim city built around numerous temples and monuments.   Though there are unmistakable signs of a third world country just beyond the tourist circuit, yet it has been conceived and developed as a tourist-friendly city. There are numerous hotels, restaurants and shops catering to an immense international tourist market. Much has been written about the famous Angkor Wat and other sites of historical importance which have been included in the World Heritage list. What made my Cambodia trip memorable were experiences much more in addition to the normal touristy visits to the temples and monuments. One such is the fantastic experience at Pub Street on Halloween night. We were told by our guide that there are 'Ladyboy' shows held at Pub Street every evening where boys dressed as girls would sing, dance and perform dramatic skits. It was adult entertainment, we guessed, but the guide was forthcoming in his assurance that it was perfectly okay for a lady to visit the place.
   

      So we ventured out to Pub Street in a tuktuk at 8 in the night. It was a broad road lined with pubs and restaurants, all brightly lit .Loud music and dance greeted us everywhere. The pavements were over crowded with people from different countries mingling with the locals. It was a picture of wild abandon and revelry. There were rows of chairs and tables in front of the restaurants in the narrow alleys. Most of the people were dressed in their weirdest and ghastliest makeup. It felt like a grand carnival where everyone participated in his or her own way. We asked about the Ladyboy show at a pub and were ushered in very graciously. It was a small space, very dimly lit and sparsely furnished. There were a few people inside, talking in hushed tones over a drink. The young waiters, mostly transgender, were extremely cordial and jovial. They made us feel extremely comfortable. After some time the show began. It was a solo performance by a transgender who was playing the role of a woman. Music, dance, song and emotive acting...all rolled into one -- it was the enactment of a well defined supernatural story. We were simply speechless by the impact of the whole spectacle. It was something we had never experienced before. 

              While returning to the hotel quite late at night I did not, for once, felt myself in an alien land. The crowd was huge but there was no pushing or jostling, no untoward incident. No one actually looked at us, total strangers, leave alone leered. I was trying to figure out what it would be like in my own country with over- curious people staring at you and the depraved ones trying to grab an opportunity to touch and grope a woman at such an unearthly hour! Though there was nothing obscene or objectionable in the show, it was quite difficult to visualize such a show being held publicly in my country of moral policing. I returned to the hotel, safe, happy and content. The pleasant memory of the Halloween night and the Ladyboy show will remain with me a for a very long time.

Tonle Sap Lake in Cambodia

           The moment I crossed the Poipet  Border  from Thailand and entered Cambodia by  road, I found myself in very familiar territories. The landscape was very Indian, rather Bengali, to be precise. Miles and miles of metalled  roads lined by shallow marshes, paddy fields ,coconut trees, fishermen fishing in the ponds and the greenery all around.....seemed to be just out of my good, old Bengal. What caught my attention were the houses on both sides of the road. Even in small hamlets the houses displayed a particular and distinctive style of architecture, very much in the line of heritage structures.  

                      After visiting the World Heritage temple at Angkor Wat and other temples we were scheduled to visit the famous Tonle Sap Lake. It is the largest fresh water lake in south-east Asia which is unique for its unusual flow pattern in different seasons. It is a combined lake and river system of Cambodia and finds a place in UNESCO world biosphere list .In summer the lake shrinks and drains into the Mekong at Phnom Penh and in the rainy season it flows back to form a lake. The huge lake, whose normal area is 2700 sq.km in summer, increasing to a phenomenal 16000 sq.km in the rainy season, is home to  a large variety of fish and the only source of  sustenance for thousands of people living on the banks, engaged in fishing and related activities. It is, in fact, a huge floating village. But what we encountered at the lake was something we were not prepared for and way different from the common touristic experiences.

                   We boarded a motor boat from the jetty and embarked on our cruise. It was a huge lake, almost like a sea, whose banks were blurred. There was vegetation in and around the water but no trace of human habitation in the beginning. After a few minutes we found our boat being trailed by a smaller boat which was furiously trying to overtake ours .In no time it simply logged into our boat and two very young teenagers jumped in, goading us to buy soft drink bottles they were selling. On our refusal, they asked for money. We felt uneasy as we had not expected this. After a few minutes they left our boat with the same agility as they had jumped in and rowed away fast. It was a jarring note. Not that I had harboured any illusion about Cambodia, a third-world country, very akin to my own in so many respects.

                          As our boat travelled farther towards the middle of the lake, we could see some specs on the water. Gradually they turned out to be a sprawling settlement ....human habitation on the water. Moving farther we noticed small shanties, most of them makeshift, barely serving as a shelter. There were shops, markets, eateries, a church and even a school! Hundreds of people were busy with their daily chores .Hundreds of boats of all sizes and shapes were floating on the water. It was a floating village! But everywhere it was a picture of abject poverty and squalor. Suddenly we saw two little children floating in a large metal tub drawing up near. We were shocked to find a live snake wound around one child's neck. They were displaying it to the foreign tourists and begging for money .Instantaneously my trip became soured. On asking our guide we came to know that these   people   were  mostly Vietnamese refugees forced to take shelter on the lake and live a life of sheer  wretchedness  in  poverty. We noticed dirt and filth all around, half-clad children and men and women in tattered clothes. This spectacle perhaps generated the curiosity of the western tourists for the 'other', the exotic in a poor, third-world country but we, from a similar socio-economic background, couldn't find anything such. It felt so sad that these people had been forced to sell their poverty at the expense of their children. At the end of the day we returned with a heavy heart and regretted our visit to the lake. The grandeur of Angkor Wat or Bantey Srey or the natural beauty of Phnom Kulen was a gross mismatch for the sordid reality of Tonle Sap Lake.

To live and let live

My one-day sojourn at upper Samsing in Dooars two years ago is fraught with memories very pleasant and unusual.We had put up at a 'homestay'-TEMPULA INN-in the residence of Mr.Kamal Giri--a politically influential and affluent person, running a business in drift wood. His home is aesthetically pleasing with pieces of antique furniture and numerous soft toys made by his wife.Apart from their residential quarters there are two well- appointed rooms on the ground floor of their two-storied house and two separate cottages on the adjoining ground.It was a delight having lip-smacking meals at their own dining room, served by the mistress of the house.A great cook herself,Mrs.Giri personally cooked,served and supervised the breakfast,lunch and dinner of the guests....a gesture that exuded warm hospitality. The pleasant afternoon was spent walking in the sprawling compound which ended as if on a precipice which went down to the Murti river.The garden with a huge variety of trees and shrubs could be a botanist's delight.We loved the evening at the balcony of Mr.Giri talking to us over cups of steaming hot tea and crispy pakoras straight from Mrs.Giri's kitchen.Talking to him was enlightening as we could have a peek into the lives of the common people of that region--so very close to my heart.

 Coming to his immediate family we found it to be quite a big one.Along with three sons( two of them adopted) there was an old mother and an even older aunt who suffered from severe dementia, four dogs, numerous cats,scores of  cocks,hens and chicks and  pigeons and a tank full of fish(not to be consumed,for sure)! But more than all this something quite unusual suddenly attracted my eyes.It was a bird's nest jutting out of a corner of the ceiling above the entrance to the  impeccably maintained,spic and span living room.On being asked what it was,the lady,with a disarming smile,said that it was a swallow's nest which existed there long before the ground floor was renovated and thrown open to the tourists.They had taken extra care to keep the nest as it was,without destroying it and plastering that particular corner.What was even more surprising was the fact that they had kept four glass panes open without glass so that the birds wouldn't face any hindrance flying in and out of the nest and the house.The swallows fly off to some unknown destination for five months every year but come back again,without fail.We were witness to the flurry of activities of the swallows--flying out and flying in with twigs and leaves and food for the young ones.I was touched by this apparently 'small' and inconsequential gesture and was left wondering how deeply they have ingrained this bonding with nature.When the world is rent by violence, cruelty and exclusion of every kind,this family stands apart with its philosophy of inclusiveness. 'Live and let live' is the motto they have imbibed and profess through their lifestyle.We city-bred wretched souls who suffocate and run after lifestyle mantras and inner peace may take some lessons in simplicity in life and harmony with nature from this remarkable family.