This one's been a long time coming...

Kya hua Sharon? Kya hua??

If you listen carefully, you can hear this phrase 'Kya Hua' about every thirty seconds in India - it's a literal translation of 'What happened?'. And, yes, well, I thought I was going so well with my blog, but I guess it just fell flat for a while. Having too much fun possibly? How terrible. Anyway here I am, and I am going to try to catch up somewhat.

Varanasi: three weeks in the madhouse. HOT, dirty - the dirtiest place I've ever been if I'm honest about it. Shiva's city and a pretty intense place to kick about if you don't keep your wits about you. The first time I went, seven years before, I got robbed on the train trying to leave. Thankfully, all visits since have been void of such drama.

I loved it, most of the time. The mad twisty alleyways, with incense burning on every street corner and devotional music blasting out of tinny speakers from the 1970's. I managed to avoid the cow shit most of the time, except once, and even then people told me it was good for my skin and good luck anyway, because cows are so sacred, and I should go into the Ganga and take a bath. No thanks - I know that devout Hindus believe that the toxicity of that sump means nothing in the face of the all devotional healing energy that comes off that body of water, and I sure believe in her power as well, just I didn't want to enter it myself. That's all.

Many a happy time was spent in my friend Munna's shop beneath his amazing air conditioning system (BLESS his heart) drinking chai and watching IPL cricket on his laptop, and not practising singing the bhajans I'd learnt on the harmonium like I should have been doing after paying for lessons most days. Oh well. Most days I'd also sit on the verandah with Narvada, a very sick woman who used to run my guesthouse with her husband before she got sick. In India it's very rare to meet local women, as they are confined to the house most of the time and rarely speak English, but Narvada was an exception. A former school teacher and a Brahmin who defied her caste and family by choosing a love marriage rather than letting her parents arrange one for her, she alienated herself from her family by marrying 'beneath' her and they don't talk to her still - even though they know how sick she is. Truth is, she's dying and can only breathe through an oxygen machine. The first day I met her, I bawled my eyes out afterwards in the privacy of my room and, when it came time to navigate my way to work at Kutumb shelter, I cried again behind the makeshift privacy of my sunglasses... but what to do? This is life, and this is her lot - unfair as it may be. 28 years old with two small (beautiful) children who climbed all over me, leapt about the room to the soundtrack of my guitar and begged me to buy them 'Maggi, Maggi!'. They LOVE Maggi noodles of all things - masala flavour, of course. They are mad for them, as well as chocolate which I often bought them, ignoring my inner morality and concern for their dental hygiene. They're only young once...

On my last day, Narvada and husband Goli made kitchori for me - I LOVE kitchori and often make it in New Zealand but this was the real deal. Simple food - dal, rice and tomato, boiled up with mild spices. Very good for the stomach, which was a good thing I'd been housebound, possibly with giardia, the previous night and was concerned for my upcoming overnight train journey. SO kitchori was a good way to leave. We ate with our hands and with fresh tomato papad (pappadoms) as the children danced around us, waiting for us to finish so they could eat their noodles...

I extended my ticket one time already for the famous annual music festival at the beautiful Sankat Mochan mandir, or Hanuman temple. Every year world famous Hindustani musicians travel from all over India to play at this free 5 night festival. Because of the heat, the festival starts every night at 8pm and goes all night until around 6 am. It was established to celebrate the birth of Hanuman so they can't change the time to coincide with winter. Never mind.

I saw some incredible musicians here over the five days, although some Varanasi bacteria debilitated me on my last night unfortunately so I missed Rahul Sharma, the santoor player I really wanted to see. I fell in love with the santoor actually, this 90 plus stringed instrument which simply sounds like it was built from stardust and moonshine. Pandit Bhajan Sopori played with his son Abhay Sopori on the third night, the former being one of the most famous santoorists in the world, and wow.. what an honour to see them. I don't know much about the technical side of Hindustani music, but it does seem to leave a lot of room open for improvisation, and seeing these players jam along with tabla players and other accompaniment was really something else... all words pale in the face of these nights, sitting cross legged in this stunningly beautiful old white marble temple with hundreds of others, and lying down to sleep whenever the eyes got too heavy... I loved that I could just curl into a ball on the communal blankets that covered the marble temple floor, and it could be so safe to do so - I'd try to cover my blonde hair with a scarf, but with my white feet conspiciously sticking out of my Ali Baba trousers, the truth was obvious... However, I didn't need to hide from the fact that I was a lone female as this was a safe place to be... nothing could harm me in the monkey temple, except perhaps the monkeys. Vicious creatures. As I was leaving at dawn after my first all-nighter there was a stampede of them on the tin roof above, which seemed to go on and on... and as I travelled home in the early morning light I could see them swinging from trees and rooftops and eying us with their beady eyes... not a species I wish to get too close to.

Every day at dawn I would drag my aching body down the temple steps to negotiate a rickshaw back to my guesthouse. My favourite local restaurant was usually just opening for breakfast, so I'd throw down some butter jam toast between yawns and then stumble back 'home' to sleep until lunchtime...

I did manage to leave Varanasi however, as I'm now here in beautiful Pushkar... however, this is enough for one day.... I must escape and eat before the desert sun gets too much...
Until next time...