Uschilini

SLightly blind from the strong sun, I walk back from a meeting...

Sun, 22 Nov 2009 03:26:30 -0500

SLightly blind from the strong sun, I walk back from a meeting at the Center..

A big ‘dredger’ pulls pontoons on the bank of the...

Fri, 20 Nov 2009 09:07:00 -0500

A big ‘dredger’ pulls pontoons on the bank of the river. Laden with nets, it’s made it’s way from Kolkata here.

Buffalos cool themselves in the water near Adikeshav Ghat, the...

Fri, 20 Nov 2009 09:02:30 -0500

Buffalos cool themselves in the water near Adikeshav Ghat, the last ghat of the city. Bathers, fishing, laundry, and dredging (for coins tossed from the trains traversing the bridge above) are all part of life in this area.

Dreamy as the winds start to blow and the weather...

Fri, 20 Nov 2009 08:58:18 -0500

Dreamy as the winds start to blow and the weather changes-It’s cooler in the mornings, and I am stuck to my bed and enjoying the sun that streams through my window to be the alarm instead! I am the habitual early riser so it feels good to confirm I’ve adopted the Benarsi groove!

Divine Bliss in smoke, I am such a sucker for packaging….

Thu, 19 Nov 2009 08:20:06 -0500

Divine Bliss in smoke, I am such a sucker for packaging….

Nightime lights create daytime shadows, a Ram light sculpture...

Thu, 19 Nov 2009 08:17:49 -0500

Nightime lights create daytime shadows, a Ram light sculpture handles the stark sunlight on Dasaswamedh Ghat

Reena and her son smile as we cross the Ganges bound for wedding...

Wed, 18 Nov 2009 00:43:19 -0500

Reena and her son smile as we cross the Ganges bound for wedding festivities

Yesterday I had the round about adventure of the opening of a traditional Benarsi wedding. Invited...

Wed, 18 Nov 2009 00:42:12 -0500

Yesterday I had the round about adventure of the opening of a traditional Benarsi wedding. Invited to join by my friend Golu, one of the daughters in the Kakkar family, she insisted I attend at least this part.

I showed up with a big bouquet of flowers, and ready for what I thought was a puja in their home…..After meeting some of the other guests, we were told we’d take a boat, and so we traversed the many steps of Lal Ghat on our way to the Ganga River.

My new aquaintence and walking parter, Reena, is the young wife of a Traditional ‘Kundan’ jewelrer, and the mother of ther 9 year old son, also with us. We started out in Hindi, and made our way into mostly English, which she speaks in a rolling Gujarati accent.

As we cross the Ganga to the other side (not the way I was expecting to go), there is an intimacy between us. We’ve broken through the crunchy outer layer of female relations in Indian society, and I can sense she is going to open up to me in a different way.

After taking the ‘uspar’ beach up, and making our way through the winding streets of the village, we end up in a regal farmhouse bedecked with red lights, and a fruit garden full of red chairs for all to take a seat in. Following introductions to the grooms family-all decked out for the occasion, Reena and I take a seat underneath a guava tree, and watch her sun run back and forth to let off some energy.

She asks me why I don’t have a child, and I say that It hasn’t been my time yet. She starts to tell me the story of her illness one year ago.

Stricken by a case of ‘double typhoid’ and Malaria, she spent several months moving through the different hospitals of Varanasi. She was moved around so much to try to save the child she was carrying. By the time she came full term, they induced her labor to discover that her child had died. And only after this death, did she recover.

I looked into her eyes, and we both try not to cry. She says she hopes to adopt a child, a daughter, but doesn’t know for sure.

This morning I got the news that a dear friends son has died. I gasped at the news on the screen, and think of her, him, and where she must be in her head and heart right now.

Today is ‘Ganesha’ day here. Wednesday. The remover of obstacles invites the devotees to offer special prayers and grasses to him. And begs for some drops of Ganga Pani-Water to cleanse and wash away the what the skandas-sins.

I’m going to take a walk to the burning ghats and make my way past the many Ganesha temples. And tonight, offer some light on the river to dear Brook, wherever he is now.

I sip a ‘Nana’ my favorite beverage at my favorite...

Wed, 18 Nov 2009 00:02:25 -0500

I sip a ‘Nana’ my favorite beverage at my favorite restaurant…fresh mint, lemon juice, and pinches of sugar give it it’s fabulous color.Reunited with my friend Mukesh by chance in Gali from the burning ghat, we met up for a feast and to catch up. Joined by his friend Rijendra, who has also visited Ojai a few years ago, we shared some of our recent adventures.

Circumstances of a Friend

Sat, 14 Nov 2009 01:19:22 -0500

A woman who I won’t name-has shared her story with me.

2 years ago when I first arrived here Sitala (which we’ll call her here for discretion), was a rather tough nut to crack. She looked at me with eyes full of skepticism, judgement, and always seemed to ask the questions that I dreaded hearing; ‘are you married’ ‘why are you not married’ ‘you couldn’t get a husband?’ ‘why don’t you have a child’ ‘why don’t your bangles match’ ‘do you have a sunburn’ ‘what’s wrong with you skin?’.

On my visits to the center I often dreaded her constant griping and her look of disdain-the unmarried westerner with strange skin. In spite of her very village mentality, she speaks great English, nudging me to question this rough exterior more; why she was living in the village where most women can’t read or write?

During my second visit, I decided to ask about her. If she was going to be a hurdle in my path, I felt like I needed to understand her more. My questions revealed a sad and pretty typical story. She was married to a man who actually had run away. Leaving her to care for his parents, and their infant son-there was no telling where her husband was, or if he would return. And in a culture where women depend on the husbands to contribute the income to the home, her circumstances were a cause for huge disappointment and bitterness.

I love a challenge, and upon hearing all this I decided she would become my friend. Not out of pity, but because she was clearly managing it all, and able to continue on the path. This is the kind of resilience I admire so much, and rather then seeing her as my enemy, I’d cautiously develop a friendship.

Approaching her from this new direction had immediate results. There seemed to be a kinship and an intimacy between us. I’d visit the center, and really look at her, see her-she’d extend her hand to me and we’d share some time, and some stories. Even when her questions return to one of my painful topics-I’m able to dismiss the question, and move on.

Yesterday she revealed a big piece of her story to me. I suddenly realized she’d been to University-and what was that about? When I asked her what University she’d attended-she went into the story.

Apparently she has a BA in economics, and was in the second half of her MA in the same subject-her family needed money, and so they married her into what are her now unfortunate circumstances. As she spoke her story, I could see the welling of emotion in her eyes, and also the hardness around her heart to protect from the pain of that it had actually happened.

Interestingly enough, her son is named after the god of Love. I can hear and see that she is pouring all of the energy she has into him, and he will be her accomplishment. I’m looking through my western eyes to where this would be called dysfunctional, and a projection-but this is all that she has, and I am so glad she does.

So I watch her walk the path of the village with her son in his fuzzy orange sweater, and watch as she pulls her sari to cover her face, and shade her intelligent eyes.

This morning I visited the powerful temple of Vindhyavashini. Devoted to the goddess with a bird...

Fri, 13 Nov 2009 02:05:02 -0500

This morning I visited the powerful temple of Vindhyavashini.

Devoted to the goddess with a bird head-she is a manifestation of the three energies of devi-Lakshmi (abundance), Kali(destruction, renewal), and Saraswati (creativity).

Almost a year before, I had a dream about this site, although I didn’t know it as such yet. Only after reading about the temple in a gifted book, did I recognize the description to be from my dream. And a little poking on the internet revealed it as such.

Vindhyachal itself is a ‘shakti-pith’ one of the places where it is said that the pieces of Devi’s body fell to the earth. Located on the banks of the Ganges, the city is made up only of temples, and not much else.

As we make our way up to the temple, our passage is through a tunnell of vendors selling prasad (offerings), and a myriad of pilgrims who also are begging to those visiting the temple for Darshan. I had read about their aggressive nature in the book, so I was prepared to not allow this to dampen my experience, and since I wasn’t carrying anything anyhow, it was easy to ignore them and say ‘jauw’ (go!).

The temple itself feels like a bit of a cave. You go down many steps, and into a tunnel which leads to the murti-bedecked with flowers, kumkum, and formed from some type of stone. Holding my coconut bundle, I made my way along with the cue-and ducked in to offer my gifts to the devi.

These things happen so fast in India, I am aware of the blessings and darshan coming much later then the experience itself. Waves of the energy of a holy site will fill your day much later then just your visit. And as if you were visiting some cushie theatre, all the accoutrements are offerred to smooth your transition in and out.

I feel blurry after these experiences-filled with the energy and in a haze of what’s been given. The whole car ride back I listen to Piush and Rakesh chat in Boj Puri, and chew Pan Masala. I know as soon as I am alone I will feel the magnetic effects of the temple.

Back at Dasaswamedh, I decide to walk the ghats home. I’m holding my sack of blessed prasad, on it’s way to become part of my altar. Crossing the landing of bathers, and boatmen-and warding them off, I don’t feel dampened. In fact I am totally luminous.

As I cross the stairs a young man is in front of me, holding a pole which holds several cages of birds. I notice that they are owls-the Vahana (vehicle) of Lakshmi, and the face of Vindhyavashini devi. I start to chat with him in Hindi, and ask to hold one of the owls. Carefully removing it from it’s cage, he hands me the owl, who is quite calm in my hands.

The young boy explains that he moves the bird in 8 circles around my head, and then I hold it and set it free with my prayers. He says the price is 108 Rupees, about $2.25. It’s a decidedly fair price to release a bird, and say a prayer.

He holds the owl in his right hand and makes the circle-and as I free the bird to make it’s home somewhere along the banks of Ganga, I feel so full, so grateful, and rich.

I head back to my home, Mir ghat, and sit out front for chai, and a chat with some South Indian ladies on a pilgrimage. They are amazed at the fact that we can communicate in Hindi, and I learn their names-all devis: Lakshmi, Parvati, Sati, Durga, Uma. We all gasp as a woman passes us, her hair hanging to her ankles, and eyes blackened with kohl-she is like Kali passing through our midst..on her way for the daily cleansing in Ganga.

Yogini’s adorn the sidewalk of my home, Mir Ghat

Fri, 13 Nov 2009 01:10:54 -0500

Yogini’s adorn the sidewalk of my home, Mir Ghat

Post Darshan at Vindhyavashini, I sink in for chai on the ghat...

Fri, 13 Nov 2009 01:09:36 -0500

Post Darshan at Vindhyavashini, I sink in for chai on the ghat and at home

Rickshaw wrangling, haggling-all part of the Kashi sadhana

Thu, 12 Nov 2009 08:42:57 -0500

Rickshaw wrangling, haggling-all part of the Kashi sadhana

Bhaiya's/Brothers

Sun, 08 Nov 2009 03:08:50 -0500

As a little girl, I always wanted a brother. I constantly pestered my Mom and Dad as to why they wouldn’t give me one-a companion to hang out with, and share my adventures, mostly in the forrests of southern Germany.

As I’ve immersed myself in this culture, I’ve also aquired some ‘Bhaiya’s’, brothers made through the summer festival of ‘Rakhi’, or ‘Rakshabhand’. At first just a playful way to mark a friendship, I am being shown the true meaning of this festival.

My last two trips were confirmations in the connections that I cultivated here; with these Bhaiyas, 2 in particular. Madhukar, my friend who runs the cafe where I write all this-has been my friend since my first trip. Brijess, a brother made on my last trip is a newer friend, but a complete sweetheart, and caring friend.

What I hadn’t realized was how my Bhaiya’s would actually be there for me as family, and friends. The tying of the sacred threads was actually us cementing a connection we’d already cultivated, and from now on-they’d be concerned about me, my needs, and how I’m being treated.

2 nights ago I hopped on Madhukar’s bike to go meet his family. Welcomed by warm faces, giggles, and sweets and chai-I fumbled through my hin-glish and relied on Madhukar to do the translating. I found myself sitting on his bed with his wife, cuddling with the children and looking at old photos.

Pradanth, Madhukar and Shruti’s older son writes out his birthday and when I should come. I’m amazed at his skills, as their younger son Eakansh holds himself up on the bed and toddles across the floor. I feel so at home, and loved, and loving. mmmnn!

At night I go the guesthouse and my Bhaiya Brigess cooks for me. Everything he makes is spiced with love, and seasoned generosity. We go up to the roof, and he makes sure I know that my chapatis have been warmed with his homemade ghee-Every meal is a specialty that he is sharing with me…yummy! We sit and chat, and take in the Varanasi night.

I am relaxing into the support of these friends. It’s a new thing to feel so supported by men, and trust that they will be there for me-no matter what. It’s nothing sexual-they are just committed to being a friend, and a brother, and being part of my life.

Washing lined up on hanuman ghat frames the view back towards...

Sun, 08 Nov 2009 02:49:47 -0500

Washing lined up on hanuman ghat frames the view back towards the city.

Sleeping Sadhu cradles his Lingam stone on the...

Sun, 08 Nov 2009 02:48:11 -0500

Sleeping Sadhu cradles his Lingam stone on the ghats…notice his wooden Chappals in front of him

Self portrait in my room

Sun, 08 Nov 2009 02:46:13 -0500

Self portrait in my room

At Bhaiya Madhukar’s home, I met his lovely wife Shruti...

Sun, 08 Nov 2009 02:44:21 -0500

At Bhaiya Madhukar’s home, I met his lovely wife Shruti and Eakansh, his younger son. We had tea, and toffee, and looked at photos. My Benarsi family is growing, and I am being so graciously welcomed into the hearts and homes of my friends.

Yesterday I walked down to Manikarnika for the first time since I arrived. Empowered in my steps by...

Fri, 06 Nov 2009 01:24:42 -0500

Yesterday I walked down to Manikarnika for the first time since I arrived.

Empowered in my steps by love, I meet the shouts of the boatmen with ‘Nahin Chahiye’ and stroll up the steps of the Ghat with confidence. The faces of the tourists are still-Varanasi is melting away some of their illusions, and creating space in their hearts to let India, and themselves in.

I gaze down the ghat to the pyres, a corpse has been exposed underneath it’s swaddling, and the reality of impernanece signals those less familiar with the melting away of flesh and hair.

I am striding these streets in fullness. Up the Gali’s, along the many streets and past an infinate number of temples, I sink into the motherland, and myself. The dirt and filth of Varanasi start to fade to me now. Dog poo, roaches, mice, smelly trash-they are just passing through, like us.

Yesterday I passed the meanest looking dog ever, snarling at an opponent, and ready to protect its life. This little black beast was bones and skin, tail curled under, spine rounded, and all his teeth exposed. I feel something like compassion for him, his life on these intense streets, to live and die at the mercy of cars, bikes, and humans-and in hopes of the next scrap of trash that becomes a meal. But he was born here, so?

I arrive at my destination, my shanti lunch spot, and order my favorite ginger lemon juice-I start to peel open my book, A compilation of letters by the modern ‘mystic’ and theosophist Simone Weil:

‘As one must learn to read, or to practice a trade, so one must learn to feel in all things, first and almost soley, the obedience of the universe as God. It is really an apprenticeship…….Whoever has finished his apprenticeship recognizes things and events, everywhere and always, as vibrations of the same divine and infinately sweet word.’