What to do when Dad turns 50 in a travel-seasoned family of four? We packed up and spent 12 days on a tour of India. Upon arrival we stayed in Delhi for a couple of days and acclimated to the time change, culture shock, and as it turned out the choking smog. We arrived on a national holiday named Diwali. A U.S. equivalent might be Christmas, New Year’s and Independence Day all in one. The firecrackers were impressive, not just the cute little snappers we have here. They often resembled something closer to quarter sticks of dynamite. They were exploding everywhere, all the time, all night long.
We booked a reasonably priced, non-stop direct flight and departed from San Francisco. Delhi was the logistical necessity due to Indira Gandhi International airport. There was no real reason to spend more than a couple of days in Delhi. The hustle and bustle was astounding. So many people of all classes and castes, were packed in to such a small place relative to its population of nearly 20 million. Did I mention the choking smog? It got on our skin, through our nose and deep into our lungs. Our guide Shobit apologized, explaining that the firecrackers and fireworks of Diwali made it worse.
Cultural and architectural landmarks do exist in Delhi. Shobit framed Delhi as a place that is actually two cities. There is New Delhi, which is proud of its modernity. There is also “Old” Delhi where people live in vastly more primitive conditions, in neighborhoods with water and sewer infrastructure that is hundreds of years old. Delhi was the logistical necessity.
A two-hour plane ride delivered us to Varanasi, the spiritual gateway. With its location on the Ganges river, it’s among the most fabled locations in India. It’s a place where Hindu pilgrims travel from around India and the world, to bathe and purify bodies and souls. Those with the means to transport a dead body across India can cremate their loved ones here. According to Hinduism, to be cremated on the Ganges qualifies the soul to graduate from the cycle of reincarnation, and to achieve Nirvana.
With our guide and rower, we boarded a skiff that would be at home in Hemingway’s “The Old Man and the Sea.” We made our way up-river to a location where funeral pyres burn 24 hours a day and 7 days a week. There was a constant procession of grieving families. They carried the bodies of loved ones, down a broad stone stairway leading from street level to the riverbank. We watched as families bathed their dead, in preparation for cremation.
This most solemn of moments is when I first felt a heightened sense of being one with humanity in India. Through a lifetime of work in the healthcare field, I remember being with countless souls, as they make the most profound transition from life to whatever lies beyond. I wouldn’t say that I felt welcomed at this primordial place. I felt that we were more of a necessary nuisance to those who were grieving. We were one of many such skiffs and boats of all sizes and technology amassed just off shore. There were small rowboats like ours, and larger motorboats with dozens of onlookers aboard. The mourners had to be aware of the throng of voyeurs on the river, staring at them in morbid curiosity. Our guide Pradeep, mentioned the next day that by being among the relatively few Western visitors historically, we were pilgrims among pilgrims. While this may have been true, we were taking photos while they were purifying their souls, and the souls of their loved ones.
