buns, buffalos & beards

Buddhist monks like sticky buns. The grounds of the Mahabodhi temple are littered with packaging from the mass-produced sticky bun company, delightedly serving snacks to the thousands of monks praying, reading and performing ritual ablutions while facing the Bodhi tree. The mess is staggering after the monks leave around 4.00 pm, leaving the Mahabodhi caretakers to sweep, dump out the brass pots filled with water and flowers that ring the temple, roll up the carpets and prepare for another day. In all this monk madness, thousands of pilgrims stream through the grounds everyday from all the countries of the Buddhist world; reading Pali scriptures, spinning prayer wheels, throwing coins at colorful Buddhas. This, the holiest of Buddhist sites, is countered by Varanasi, in the state of Uttar Pradesh. On the banks of the Holy Ganga, Shiva's city is a riotous, howling monolith, inhabited by humans for thousands of years. Let's get one thing straight. Shiva is a pothead. The guy loves to smoke his chillum, do his meditation thing, maybe sometimes spring for a bhang lassi with the wife. Thus his city sports the finest of drug wares, offered to you by likely and unlikely suspects all over the ghats (steps down to the river, used for bathing, cricket matches, kite flying, clotheswashing, what have you) and the galis (alley streets that lead to the ghats). Shrugging these fellows (and children) off is an art, accomplished most easily by a serene benignity, a measured and studied neutrality of expression and action that leaves these easily excitable folks distinctly nonplussed. Once you shoulder your way around, through, over packs of these guys, Varanasi opens its arms to you, sweeping you down to the banks of the Ganga, simultaneously serene and chaotic. Early morning baths by the pilgrims, a couple farmers washing their (filthy) buffalos, washer folk beating clothes on a stone, this is the morning tableau. In some of the galis you find yourself caught up in a solemn procession bearing a body swathed in brightly colored cloth down to the main burning ghat. Manikarnika ghat is an incredible vista; the site of several hundred public cremations daily and a true depature from the realm of my normal experience. Dying and being cremated in Varanasi is particularly auspicious, as those who do escape the cycle of reincarnation into moksha (liberation). A truly amazing place. Fast forward to Amritsar, via Agra and Jaipur, skipping over falling ill on the train, subsequent sickness, the Taj and Jaipur jewelry scams. The holiest city of the Sikhs, Amritsar houses the golden temple, a place I found far more amazing than the Taj, by virtue of it being a living expression of the Sikh faith, rather than the cold stone of a lover's tomb. There is housing for pilgrims on the grounds of the temple, and even a dorm for foreigners, filled with all manner of fellow travelers. The temple is situated in the middle of a holy water tank, patrolled by spear-wielding Sikh guards. Pilgrims line up to file through the temple, which itself is inhabited by a range of Sikh holy men, some singing and playing instruments, live music that is broadcast through the grounds of the temple. Additionally, Sikh temples offer a unique feature that relates to the inclusiveness and equality that is intrinsic to the faith; a free dining hall. A whopping 70,000-80,000 meals are served here daily, and the all-veg fare is really tasty. However, I think such a feature would be dangerous for fat Americans, as food is brought to you, buffet style while you sit, and topped up at your desire. If you have a passionate interest in beards, Amritsar is the place to go. Fantastic facial hair, combed and curled, groomed and gushed over, the kind that men (and women) dream of having, the sort of beard that has roots in its owners soul. The place is a beard-lovers wet dream.

More to come soon, I promise.