KALEIDOSCOPE CITY: A YEAR IN VARANASI
Piers Moore Ede
Bloomsbury;
209 pages
When Kabir, one of Varanasi's most famous and accomplished residents, died, his followers bickered over his body; or so goes the local lore. The Hindus claimed him as one of their own, and wanted to cremate him while Muslims wanted him buried. A heated quarrel ensued. But when each group eager to perform the last rites as they thought fit, lifted his shroud, they found no body, only a heap of flowers. The story, its authenticity now buried in layers of time, is symbolic not only of the syncretic culture that has flourished here, for centuries, but also the ubiquity of death in Varanasi. Kaleidoscope City captures this and more, eloquently and with a great deal of understanding.
Death pervades the being of the city, but the city that Piers Moore Ede sees is brimming and choked with the energy of life. It is a city where, he says, "energy seems more highly charged [than anyplace else]: spinning faster, amplified somehow so that basic human tasks such as going to buy rice become shattering experiences of navigating two hour traffic jams, throwing oneself against the side of an alley to avoid being crushed by a roaring Tata (sic) motorbike, or weaving between unruly cattle in the course of crossing the street." Anybody who has been here would be smiling and nodding in agreement at his description.
There have been scores of books on Varanasi and it is difficult for any writer to steer clear of the cliches, the city itself having become one over the years. This book too makes the often repeated references - death, the weaver community, the ghats, the sweet-makers and the sex workers. But the author does not let the old appear jaded and the language, never overbearing or overladen with emotion, is easy and refreshing.
The book also brings out the city's tenacious side. Despite the onslaught of invaders, people, time and modernity, Varanasi has managed to dig her heels in. The author says, "no matter what history throws at it, it seems to survive". But like most Indian cities, the new and changing mores of urban life is affecting Varanasi too. It is impossible to predict how these changes will change the city but the book helps us get a glimpse into the evolutionary process of which it is a part.
The author first visited Varanasi en route to Nepal. He was 25 and was soon a victim of her charms. He came back to live in the city for a year and wrote the book about a city that, for him, is "aflame with the wonder of things". As he found out and as everyone who has been to Kashi/Benares/Varanasi will vouch for, it is difficult to be indifferent to the city. Everything about it is an assault on the senses. The smoke from the burning pyres mingles with the smell of sweat, garbage and incense, seriously impairing one's olfactory abilities. The crowds seem relentless in the way they throng the temples and the streets are never quiet and empty. It is an easy city to hate just as it is almost equally easy to love.
A mendicant the author meets during one of his pre-dawn walks through the city tells him that Varanasi is only an idea. No one will know it because it exists only in the heart and minds of the people. Another encounter, this time with a boatman, and the author is told, "Everything ends in this place, but also everything is beginning." Philosophy, like the river, flows easy in this city. Perhaps, this is what drew the author into its labyrinthine ways. Or maybe it was the light that pours onto the streets, or maybe it was the fact that this is the oldest living city in the world that does not throw anything out, not even its garbage.
Piers Moore Ede
Bloomsbury;
209 pages
When Kabir, one of Varanasi's most famous and accomplished residents, died, his followers bickered over his body; or so goes the local lore. The Hindus claimed him as one of their own, and wanted to cremate him while Muslims wanted him buried. A heated quarrel ensued. But when each group eager to perform the last rites as they thought fit, lifted his shroud, they found no body, only a heap of flowers. The story, its authenticity now buried in layers of time, is symbolic not only of the syncretic culture that has flourished here, for centuries, but also the ubiquity of death in Varanasi. Kaleidoscope City captures this and more, eloquently and with a great deal of understanding.
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Death is everywhere in Varanasi and it can be an unnerving experience for any visitor to the city, especially when one encounters the burning ghats for the first time. But the author, who by his own admission was once was shocked by the ghat fires that never went out, manages to make sense out of the celebratory and frenetic energy with which the city celebrates death. "Death here becomes free of terror, and a gateway into the realm of immortals," he says. Dying in Varanasi is believed to be the ultimate aim of a Hindu life. It is a path to moksha or, as the saying goes, Kashyam maranam muktih (Dying in Kashi - the other name for Varanasi - means freedom).
Death pervades the being of the city, but the city that Piers Moore Ede sees is brimming and choked with the energy of life. It is a city where, he says, "energy seems more highly charged [than anyplace else]: spinning faster, amplified somehow so that basic human tasks such as going to buy rice become shattering experiences of navigating two hour traffic jams, throwing oneself against the side of an alley to avoid being crushed by a roaring Tata (sic) motorbike, or weaving between unruly cattle in the course of crossing the street." Anybody who has been here would be smiling and nodding in agreement at his description.
There have been scores of books on Varanasi and it is difficult for any writer to steer clear of the cliches, the city itself having become one over the years. This book too makes the often repeated references - death, the weaver community, the ghats, the sweet-makers and the sex workers. But the author does not let the old appear jaded and the language, never overbearing or overladen with emotion, is easy and refreshing.
The book also brings out the city's tenacious side. Despite the onslaught of invaders, people, time and modernity, Varanasi has managed to dig her heels in. The author says, "no matter what history throws at it, it seems to survive". But like most Indian cities, the new and changing mores of urban life is affecting Varanasi too. It is impossible to predict how these changes will change the city but the book helps us get a glimpse into the evolutionary process of which it is a part.
The author first visited Varanasi en route to Nepal. He was 25 and was soon a victim of her charms. He came back to live in the city for a year and wrote the book about a city that, for him, is "aflame with the wonder of things". As he found out and as everyone who has been to Kashi/Benares/Varanasi will vouch for, it is difficult to be indifferent to the city. Everything about it is an assault on the senses. The smoke from the burning pyres mingles with the smell of sweat, garbage and incense, seriously impairing one's olfactory abilities. The crowds seem relentless in the way they throng the temples and the streets are never quiet and empty. It is an easy city to hate just as it is almost equally easy to love.
A mendicant the author meets during one of his pre-dawn walks through the city tells him that Varanasi is only an idea. No one will know it because it exists only in the heart and minds of the people. Another encounter, this time with a boatman, and the author is told, "Everything ends in this place, but also everything is beginning." Philosophy, like the river, flows easy in this city. Perhaps, this is what drew the author into its labyrinthine ways. Or maybe it was the light that pours onto the streets, or maybe it was the fact that this is the oldest living city in the world that does not throw anything out, not even its garbage.