Faery Sisters in India

The shirt on our backs, wet with sweat.  It sticks to the ruined leather of the old yellow cab bench seat despite it being 9pm.  Weaving through the traffic, roadside stalls, cows and pedestrians we approach Seldah station with a following of coolies.  Like a swarm of ants, they march with luggage small and large transporting food crumbs to the mother colony.  Back and forth the swarm take over the parking lot ready for the next crumb of food to add to their living.  Not wanting our bags to be lost in the colony of luggage we jump out of the taxi to take hold of our belongings and weave our own way through the chaos.  Our train not due to arrive for a while we search for a space upon the dusty platform to wait.  Amongst the desperate station families, disabled beggars, colourful groups of women, runaway children dressed in rags, middle-class local tourists with their oversized suitcases, and questionable food vendors the platform is a sight of sprawling bodies and scattered colour.  This is a place to people watch.  Railway stations are the centre of movement in any Indian city.  This will be my first Indian train ride.  As we walk along the side of our train searching for our carriage, I try to keep my jaw shut as we pass the overcrowded back carriages, hoping our carriage was well towards the front.  Kat on the top bunk and me on the bottom, we settle in an air-conditioned sleeper carriage.  We slept with our valuables but woke up fresh at our destination, realizing this was the perfect way to travel and would be one of many train journeys from east to west.

Varanasi is one of the most colourful and frenzied cities in India.  At first encounter it’s a confusing and crazy place of colour and death.  As the current sweeps downstream, I wonder if its a horrid sight as the body that appears to be carelessly disposed will inevitably swell and decay, left to be eaten by the fish of the Ganges, with nothing beyond?  Or is it a beautiful occasion, the next step of a spiritual journey, that little closer to a higher good where the body is a gift to return to the creatures it once ate and the soul set free?  It is believed that upon death of a child, pregnant woman, or death by snake these souls are already pure and can be thrown to the bottom of the Ganges to float in its sacred currents.  Others will be consumed by flame and burnt to the smell of sandalwood with only the men of the family present, with the ashes to later float downstream.  Women cannot be seen at this time as the soul cannot risk a tear on this happy occasion of spiritual freedom, but it is the women behind the scenes that prepare the body.  As the days go by my understanding grows and I wander what’s so scary and morose about death.  Here, there will be no black of mourning.  People come from all around, waiting for their turn, for their ashes to float.  Death is natural and it can be beautiful, a time to be grateful.  With contrasting colours, winding narrow streets of mayhem, crowded ghats of morning bathers, surreal calmness of sunrise boat rides, and sacred candle lit evenings on the river banks it is a place like no other.  The middle of the day was difficult to leave our escape from the heat in our air-conditioned room with the days reaching in the high 40degrees, but mornings and afternoons our eyes where filled with wonder and curiosity as we sat at the ghats.   The perfect place to people watch. 

We had met up in Paris, London, and now an Indian adventure.  Our paths kept crossing, and each of us were exactly where we were meant to be.  Kat and my friendship grew with laughter, train rides, getting ripped off and lost in tuk tuks, exploring cities and the extreme heat of deserted towns.  Travelling solo I’m usually happily content in my own world, but after months of living isolated in an Indian village, Kat with her beautiful soul was my breath of fresh air.  If ever there was a time when a friend was needed along my journey, coincidentally Kat has been there.  A familiar face at my first destination, a sister to party with in London, and an embrace back to understanding in India.  It was like checking in on each other, re-spark that faery energy to carry on for our next adventures.  With a goodbye in Delhi we once again had to part ways.  Kat back to London and I was longing to reach the quiet enchantment of the northern mountains.  I was well overdue to leave the heat, dust and chaos of the cities.  However, it seemed my tolerance, immunity and shock level had significantly adapted as crazy sights turn to the everyday norm and any kind of street food was a treat for the stomach.  As I adjusted, I let India slowly consume me in all her craziness and beauty.