THE ALLEYWAYS OF VARANASI
India
July 2015
I walk the alleyways that are as narrow as my driveway but
as busy as Time Square. It’s survival of
the cheekiest in this town. The cows are
king. But the motorcycles rule pretty
high up there as well. The bikes and carts come next and the pedestrians surrender
to all of the above.
I am in search of a silk scarf. I saw vendors yesterday and
determined not to buy cheap. I am treating myself to a beautiful, luxurious
scarf. I promised three shop owners that
I would be back today to look at their merchandize. Now I am terrible lost and all I see are junk
polyester scarves. I am not going home
until I find the perfect scarf.
As I zigzag through alleyways, there is a noticeable
difference in neighborhoods. I have left the Hindus and I am walking alone with
the Muslims. The differences are
striking and I feel all eyes on me, as I am the only woman not in a burka. As I
walk passed men, conversations stop momentarily as they watch me fade away from
them. Small boys walk around me. Women won’t look at me.
I finally find an opening to the main street, which I think
will be a relief. But it is a dangerous
alternative to the unwelcomed stares from the Muslims. There is so much traffic
that it is treacherous just to walk amongst this chaos as any minute, a
motorcycle or a bike could spin out of control and take everything in its path.
And just when I think this road couldn’t get any more chaotic, I see a shepherd
leading his small herd of water buffalo down the street. They meander in single file, oblivious to the
offensive, chronic honking of the horns. They are heading to the Ganges for an
afternoon swim in the river.
I duck into another alleyway and find that I am back in the Muslim
world and it is time to pray. People are
being summoned to their mosques and they hurry to get there. As women leave their homes, they pull up their
headpieces and adjust their face veils so that we only see their hollow eyes. A
man stops me and asks a question with a tone that sounded unwelcoming to
me. As best I can, I mention that I am
looking for the river but none of my pronunciations are understood so I move
on.
A man pulls his bike through the crowds. The two saddles on the back wheels hold water
barrels. He sells cool water by the cup.
The aluminum lady sings out that she is here and available to sell cups,
plates, containers and all sorts of aluminum pieces. The tea man balances a tray of teacups on his
head. He can’t afford to be bumped or he will lose all of his hardware. Men
sit, stooped over antique sewing machines, in dark alcoves and sew miles and
miles of sarees. Shop owners sleep on
their merchandise, trying to relieve their boredom.
I look up and see a man hanging on to the utility pole. His friends are below, directing him on what
wires to pull. He taps each wire first,
to see if it is live and then he yanks it free from the entanglement of the
other wires. I am unnerved by this dangerous activity and ask if the man can
stop while I pass. I do not want to be
hit by a flying live wire and I do not want to watch him get electrocuted. The
man stops and I hustle to get away from this stupidity.
As I walk in my defensive mode, to avoid the cows, the dung,
the motor scooters and other challenges, I hear random greetings of “Hello
American, You from America? You want silk? I have silk.”
I find my scarf shop from yesterday and purchase a pashmina
scarf as a birthday gift to me. The merchant repeatedly asks me not to tell
anyone at my hotel about our transaction. “They will want a commission,
Madame. They will claim that they told
you about me and they will want money from me. Tell no one, OK?”
I told him that I couldn’t tell them about him because I
would never find this place again. I only recognized him from yesterday because
of his left foot. He wears a bandage to protect his one remaining toe. He only has the middle toe and it sticks out
as if he is giving everyone the finger.
I want to ask him about his situation but I don’t because I don’t think
I could handle the answer.
Stray dogs are everywhere. They sleep under an area that
offers just a little bit of shade. They
are tired, exhausted from life and at the mercy of people who will offer them a
morsel of food from time to time. One
small dog lies perfectly still in the middle of the alleyway. An old woman taps at it to move but there is
no movement, no response. As I pass him
an hour later, he is in the same position and I can only assume that he is
dead. I wonder how long he will stay
there.
There is a house with a gutted first floor. This area has been converted into a barn and
six or seven cows are tied up in that stifling hot area. Four other cows are tied close to the wall in
the alley. There is no way for them to
move so they stand all day in the heat.
I encounter beggars today. A holy man wants money from me. A
blind man with his wife and baby follow me for a while and then give up. An old
woman taps me and extends her hand. I
have a sandwich that I couldn’t finish at lunch so I take it with me to give
away. I take one step out of the restaurant
and there is a young disabled man, begging for money but he gladly takes my
sandwich.
I see children in school uniforms. It appears as if they are finished for the day
because they are all so happy. There are
posters on the walls from local schools, advertising the national academic
scores of their top students. All of these “toppers” are heading to our top American
universities.
I stop to speak with a merchant about some of his
shirts. These must be men’s shirts
because he tries in vain to sell me something more traditional, more feminine.
As we speak, I am shoved just a bit. I turn around to voice my displeasure only
to see that a cow needed just a bit more room to make it through this alleyway.
He stops suddenly, just inches from me and now blocks a
woman who wants to leave a shop. Her friends smack the cow but it is of no
avail. The cow is not ready to move on. But he does finally go and now I am
stuck behind him. He stops again. So a
small schoolgirl and I are forced to wait. This little girl smacks the cow but
there is no force behind this blow. The
little girl’s father shows up and sees us cowering just a bit. He kindly creates a path for both for of us
to pass this nuisance of a cow. I am now
free to get back to my hotel in one piece.
