It’s good to wander the ghats at night.
But you must forgive these horrendous photographs.
This is a brief post with some discussion on photography.
This post will be short, focusing more on the horrible photographs and less on my writing.
Indian streets are lively. A distinguishing feature of the roads near the ghats in Benares, and at the ghats, is the absence of dust and vehicular pollution.
The ghats are lively, but the nature of the activity changes as the day waxes and wanes. As day gives way to dusk, the temple workers emerge and perform the evening aarti, which has become a staple feature of the ghats.
Explore the ghats just beyond the ghats where the aarti takes place, and you will stumble upon the burning ghats, where dead souls make their final journey, disappearing from earth in wisps of smoke.
Me, discussing the photographs. Listen, if you don’t mind my voice!
When night falls, the ghats become quiet.
Then, as night falls, the ghats become quiet. You will see people sitting still, listening to the sound of the river, and you will see the boats tethered to the shore.
One evening, I sat as a few foreign, dreadlocked tourists sat on the steps, playing music on their acoustic guitars. The music was calm, and when I watched them play, I couldn't help but think they were high on some beautiful substance.
Benares is the city of Shiva, so bhaang and marijuana are available. I doubt our puritanical and fascist government has clamped down on these substances: the sadhus would turn on them with fury.
You may also watch the YouTube Shorts video.
I eavesdropped on conversations and music.
That evening, I eavesdropped as two men discussed a range of topics. Their conversation reminded me of our tangential conversations in college, where they debated arcane philosophy, domestic issues, sexuality, and a few other topics. I don’t know if they were floating in space, but they may have ingested a bit of holy smoke. Happiness and peace coursed through every cell in their bodies, and I only wish they had shared some of their sacred substance with me.
India is not the only country that mistreats the poor and homeless.
Homeless people sometimes sleep on the steps of the ghats, as do pilgrims who have not found space in a dharamshala. Examine one of the photographs well, and you will notice a person sleeping, as the towering walls of god dwarf his body. Don’t pass judgment: it is what it is, and unless we stop commoditizing people, homelessness will not disappear.
India is not the only place guilty of not taking care of the poor and homeless. Once, when I was in Chicago, I photographed a few homeless people on a bench, and passersby advised me to desist. They warned me that these people could turn violent.
I saw an old woman begging with a bowl on the streets of Milan, and a Canadian friend told me of many homeless people who freeze to death in Canada’s vicious winters.
It is what it is and will be what it is unless there is a revolution, and the fascist leaders (including the orange man in America) who govern countries these days fear public demonstrations.
Screw all that. Immerse yourself in the river’s music.
Forget about the world’s troubles when you sit at the ghats at night. Enjoy the river, music if someone is playing, and eavesdrop on a few fascinating conversations. Imbibe some holy smoke if that’s your vibe, and then sit back and enjoy the calm of the river at night.