(interlude) Sensory Overload

I know that technically, I'm supposed to write chronologically.

But I'm going to do a little blast from the past. While in Varanasi, I started compiling a list of the five (...or six) senses that were bouncing from one extreme to the next. Varanasi was a constant sensory overload. Constant and extreme. So here it goes:

I see corpses wrapped in gold and copper sheets, adorned with sparkling orange flowers. I watch my step as I dodge the masses of pilgrims carrying corpses, all the while trying not to step in cow shit. Or human shit? Same same. I lock eyes with Babas, ash smeared on their forehead, their long black and gray dreadlocks tied on top of their heads with orange scarves. They join the masses of barefoot Hindus calmly walking through small streets of chaos. I see beggars, lining the steps of the main ghat, arms stretched out towards me, motioning to their mouth. I see fire, the symbol of impermanence, coming out of a copper snake's mouth as Brahmins praise the Ganga in a holy ceremony. I see the hazy city lining the river, as I look from the Other Bank. I see the burning ghat - smack in the middle. Death remains at the center.

I smell something different at every turn. First it's samosas being deep-fried and chana masala cooking in a big stew pot, then it's incense so strong that it masks the stench of urine. I smell the burning bodies.

I hear horns on motorbikes, bells on bicycles, just in time for me to crush my body against whoever is next to me so that my toes don't get run over. I hear shop-keepers: "Madame, namaste! Madame, what you looking for? Nice skirt? Trousers?" I try and fade their cat calls out and then feel like a pretentious tourist for ignoring them. I hear bells - the sound of puja being performed at sunrise and sunset - bells and gongs and singing and calpping as thousands of pilgrims watch the ceremony. I hear the sitar and tabla blaring out of music shops, attracting hippied-out musicians from all over the world. I hear Hindi, and Israeli, French, Japanese... I hear children from outside my $3/night hostel room, and music playing at ungoldly hours. How do I ever sleep here?

I taste cuisine from all over the world. I taste curries, and hummus, and ravioli... I taste guava and pineapple and bananas. I taste both spicy and sweet roadside food. Oh, and I taste chai. Fresh from the kettle, on the side of the street, even before the sun has risen... I taste chai. I sit on a small bench and I sit with a hot glass of chai, lightly blowing so it doesn't burn my tongue. The heat rises and hits my nose and eyes, and then taste - ginger, cardamon, pepper, milk, sugar... oh, sweet chai. The elder Indian man next to me gives me a nod of approval.

I feel the touch of small boys and girls tugging on my clothes, asking if I want to buy a postcard of a candle to put in the river. I feel my stomach churn as I look a beggar, covered in scabs, in the eye. I feel my nose tingling, and my throat crying for clean air. I feel myself wheezing for the first time in months, and I have to borrow J's inhaler. I touch the concrete ghat steps leading to the Ganga. I sit on these steps and watch. I touch my toga mat under my body and I reach my hands, head and chest up the sky, and then back... simultaneously lifting my right foot up... only my pelvis is touching the ground. I reach, and breathe, and reach, and breathe until finally - caught it! I touch my head to my foot for the first time.

The sixth sense - fully awakened. Responding to the spirits of the Other Bank. Gripping my words, unable to translate this feeling into spoken language. But this sense is taking hold - fast - all of my senses are being shaken up. Everything is making me question everything, what is right and wrong, clean and dirty, good and bad. Dismantling my external grip on the senses. It's beautiful. Beautifully haunting.

Why are we so scared of death? It happens. It's like being scared of the sunset. Why bother living life ordinarily? Why not take chances? We're all going to die, anyways.

Sometimes I just can't believe where I am, and how many people never know anything outside of their own perspective. Question everything - always. Why do we believe everything we're told? Go see it yourself.