A Walk Along the Ghats

After emerging from the Shanti Guesthouse, it is a short five minute walk down to the first of many ghats (stairway down to water) along the holy river Ganga. (It is usually spelt Ganges, but most people here pronounce it as the former).

The first ghat you encounter is also arguably the most striking. The burning ghat of Manikarnika. You’re overwhelmed with the smell of smoke and the heat from many burning fires on top of the already overwhelming temperatures. (30 degrees plus). When you emerge from the buildings surrounding the ghat, you see dozens of men, young and old, sitting peacefully along the steps watching these burning fires.

It doesn’t take you long to realize that the fires are in fact burning bodies, and a local Indian will soon explain to you the subtleties of the cremations taking place. Young men are burnt in white cloth, young women in red, and elderly (above 60) in gold. I saw two white clothed bodies and one red. The spookiness of this setting is paradoxically set against extremely loud, blaring music. (Which could as likely be heard from a New Delhi dance bar). Perhaps this represents the complex set of emotions family members face. Mourning in their farewell bid to loved ones. Happiness in setting them on to moksha (escape from the eternal cycle of rebirth). Interestingly, women are not allowed around this ghat for fear of throwing themself on the burning pyres (a traditional Hindu practice called sati).

Despite the loud music and spiritual setting, you soon encounter numerous boat drivers looking to take you on a ride down the ghats, or young men looking to sell various illegal substances.

The next major sight you pass is a huge boat loading ghat for Indian pilgrims. Each boat contains at least thirty people, and is manned by both a set a paddlers as well as a tour guide to explain all the different places along the Ganga. To your right, you become somewhat transfixed with an endless collage of painted advertisements for various restaurants, guesthouses, silk shops, cafes, and book stores. However, you are brought to attention as yet another boatman offers a ride.

“Special non-tourist price. Only 100 rupees for one hour!”

If you’re walking in the evening, you’ll now pass a series of boys enthralled in various stages of cricket games. Careful! You don’t want to be hit by a flying ball. Day or night, the water now becomes much more populated with Hindus of all castes bathing themselves in the water.

Just like the bathing pilgrims, the holy saddhus (religious ascetics on their wandering journey to enlightenment) become equally more populous. They are most often dressed in orange robes with long hair (either dirty or in dreadlocks), big beards, and bare feet. In observing them, there seems to be a bit of a high-school culture mixed in with the respectful life of worship. In the evening you will see groups of the orange saddhus sharing laughs or, occasionally, getting into a bitchy confrontation with one another. Sometimes, they will ask you for money as you putter by, which is, of course, good karma.

You will now reach the main ghat, which, day or night, also happens to be the most colorful. A Hindu temple sits adjacent to the water, where you will hear a perpetual medley of drums, bells, and chanting. Outside, numerous tables offer flowers, candles, and jewellery to offer the deities within. In addition to the vibrancy, you are introduced to a new echelon of touts. Men dressed in white approach you with a friendly (though rather awkward) offer to shake your hand. If you oblige, you will note their physical hand strength as they offer you a head massage, neck massage, or shoulder massage.

“Good Deal for neck massage! Ten Rupees only!”

I was somewhat in disbelief when I saw a near naked white tourist being rubbed down by one of these massage-wallahs in the early evening hours. This time also happened to correspond with an important worship period at the ghat, and thus there were at least 400 people gathered not 20 meters away from him. Simply bizarre.

Once you pass by the children offering post cards, the temple, and many tables with cold drinks for sale, you will observe the most dense population of bathing pilgrims of the entire length of the ghats. The men just go in their underwear, but the women bathe in their beautifully colorful saris–creating quite the visual impression. When they’re not bathing, families gather underneath broad unbrellas supported by thick stocks of bamboo. If you mingle in this busy area for little more than a few minutes, you’re sure to find some wonderful conversation. I tend to attract the guys about my age in the midst of university. Talking to peers in this sense is fascinating, and brings a further incite into the terrifically complex tapestry of ‘Modern India’.

Once you make it out of the busyness, you’re guaranteed to be dripping with sweat unless it’s the early morning or night. Hence, the holy water doesn’t really look that dirty, and you might even be tempted to go for a dip.

Further along is the cloth washing ghat. Ten to fifteen men slap their shirts, trousers, sheets, and saris with all their might before being laid to try across the steps. What another colorful sight!

Before discovering the hangout of the local cows and water buffalo, you pass by another burning ghat (this time without the DJ) and the bathing ghat for southern Indians. The activities of the animals is quite amusing, and as they aimlessly swam about in the water, or hurriedly rush up to meet each other, they might remind you of a pet from home.

The last encounter you might make before turning back is a series of young girls selling candle flowers to set out on the Ganga. (Another guarantee for good karma). Their intelligence certainly charmed me, and the chattiest one, Babbita, demonstrated her knowledge by first asking for a “loonie or toonie”, and then reciting the (correct) conversion rate for the Canadian dollar. A successful bargain on their part.

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