Namaste everyone,
Speaking to you from afar through blog medium is Benjamin. I know I speak for the group when I say that some formula of words can’t begin to skim the curd of our eastern experience, so I suppose I’ll just start.
Once we reached the train station in Varansasi we got rickshaws to meet our intelligible and mysteriously smooth contact Pinku, who would show us around the city, and teach us Hindi in amazing leaps every morning. There had been a 3 day monsoon in Varanasi, which left a lot of the pothole-filled streets also filled with water, through which we splashed, weaving in and out of motorcycles, people, and most importantly cows for a bumpy 40 minutes. We arrived at our guest house called ‘Amar Bhawan’,tucked away in a cobblestone alley just a 5 minute walk from the banks of the Ganges River, and the Assighat. The house is spacious; metal grates compose the centers of each of the floors, where sunlight and an occasional conversation can shine through to floors above and below. As per usual, the house is complete with a rooftop and delicious meals served to us by our lovable Hindi speaking cook. Most of our attempts to communicate with her in English translate to “Can I have more food?” which isn’t always the case, but we always indulge. There’s a few other students from the U.S. in the house, and dozens of them who are staying in the city. Bucket showers never fail to keep us clean, except when there’s no running water, which was the case… all week. The power didn’t seem to stick around much either in the beginning; it was almost as if Varanasi, in it’s ancient and spiritual splendor, was doing everything in it’s power to reject industrialization and return to it’s original state. We were content following closely behind.
Within the first few days we immediately familiarized ourselves with the local cuisine – there’s our favorite Aum Cafe just down the street, serving ayurvedic food in a rooftop atmosphere, complete with the nostalgic taste of chocolate chip pancakes and mango lassis. Finding chai is no sweat off our backs (if we had sweat to spare), at a mere 4 rupees (under 20 cents) on the street. The Ashish Cafe doubles as a guest house with delicious fruit bowls, muesli, and omelets — a few steps out the door and you can enjoy your chai by the quick flowing, mocha colored, people filled Ganges. Occasionally we found ourselves treated to up scale, air conditioned, delicious Indian restaurants, in which we split naan, and other primarily vegan dishes together.
We all had our choice of internships, which would be intensive from 1-2 hours each day. We visited all of the options; stone carving, ayurvedic massage, jewelry making, music academy, astrology, and of course fire dancing.
Briana chose stone carving, and fell in love – Jake and I stumbled upon her one day in her designated carving room, on her beautifully detailed Om lotus incense burner.
Our leader Simone chose ayurveda, in which she already had a slight background with her extensive yoga wisdom and overall health guru-ness.
Mariah and Kat decided on jewelry making, during which they learned Indian tongue twisters while hammering out wire with their blow torches.
Kat also did fire dancing in the afternoon, along with Jake and eventually Ole – one of the first nights we went to the teachers home, Krishna, to watch him preform for us in his unfinished brick loft overlooking the bustling street. It was one of the most amazing things we’ve seen thus far. The dance, which echoes ancient battle techniques, is a luminous spectacle for the eyeballs as Krishna whirled through the night literally in a ball of fire.
Bri (R.) decided to take the further route, both in a spiritual and physical sense, and do a one on one internship with her ‘Guru’ whose astrological wisdom deeply inspired her — she came to Hindi every day even more glowing and optimistic, if she could be any more so. He came to lecture us on the Gita, a section of the ancient epic the Mahabarita one afternoon and stunned us with his realistic and enlightening words.
“Brain without heart is machine; heart without brain is animal.”
Erin and I took our brains to the Music Academy, where she studied voice with her eccentric and knowledgeable voice instructor, and from what I could hear through the walls, learned beautiful eastern scales and multiple songs. I took sitar and tabla lessons, and ended up buying a sitar…
Cobie started at the Music Academy, then she changed her mind and decided she would do an intensive ayurvedic treatment that involved intensive bowel movement for half a day – then she fell in love with Guria.
Guria is an NGO run by a man named Hajit. They run an after school program for the children of sex workers, and they aid in women’s justice for sex crimes. We took a trip to the center and talked to both Hajit and his Irish volunteer Tom about the problems facing women in India, which is the 4th worst country for women in the world. We heard heart breaking stories of sex crimes and corruption in the police departments and the justice systems. To put the problem in perspective, many families of trafficked girls, who are usually living in poverty, are too ashamed to come forward; often, if a girl does manage to escape her captors, the bribed police will take her back, or worse.
Some of the girls went to the school one afternoon to volunteer with the kids, and came back exhausted, but with open eyes. Cobie returned a few days later and was captivated with the organization — if Cobie returned for an internship in the spring, which she is seriously considering, she would be able to incorporate a lot of art therapy, which for her is enticing.
When we aren’t furiously studying with our gurus, or eating, doing rooftop yoga, or meditating — our time is ours. Some of us eat, some of us wander, some of us become captivated by conversations with Indians on the street, or spend our time averting conversations that we know end in a monetary request. Jake and I played street cricket with some kids, and learned quickly that it was not baseball, but still found ourselves completely lost as to what the rules were.
Friday we all woke up at 5 to meet Pinku at the river for our sunrise Ganga boat ride. Another tourist attempted to join in, until her bottom half decided it wanted to immerse itself in the silt and mud left by the flood; needless to say she didn’t make it (neither did her flip flops). We began our float, passing floating debris, those indulging in worship, hygiene, play; life. Pinku flowed with historical and spiritual knowledge as we passed ghat after ghat, visiting a mosque, a Hindu temple, and drinking chai with urinating monkeys in an alleyway.