Before going to Varanasi I had read a lot about it. 'City of death', 'oldest living city', 'Shiva's city.' But what nobody had been able to convey was the smell. That mix of the Ganga, flowers, incense, and funeral pyres that is in the city's air — it doesn't come through in any description. The first five minutes were overwhelming. Then slowly, slowly — that air became familiar. And in that familiarity was a truth I had not found anywhere before.
Manikarnika Ghat — Where the Fire Never Goes Out
Manikarnika Ghat — Varanasi's main cremation ground. Here funeral pyres burn twenty-four hours, three hundred and sixty-five days. They say the fire here has not been extinguished for 3500 years. My guide Ramu, before becoming a tourist guide, told me — 'Don't take photos here. This is someone's last moment. Show respect.' I did not raise my camera. And perhaps because of that, what I saw I truly saw — without any filter.
There was a family that had come to perform the last rites for their father. There was a son — perhaps thirty to thirty-five years old. He was not crying. There was just a stillness in him that was deeper than grief. Seeing that moment I realised — death makes us vulnerable, but it is this vulnerability that is our humanity.
Ganga Aarti — When Spirituality Becomes Spectacle
The evening Ganga Aarti at Dashashwamedh Ghat — this is Varanasi's most famous ritual. Thousands of people are on the ghat. Priests rotate enormous diyas in synchronized movements. Conch shells blow. Bells ring. And the Ganga just keeps flowing — despite all of this. When I saw it for the first time I was a little overwhelmed — too many people, too much noise. When I went a second time I watched from a quiet corner. And then the ritual made sense — this is not a performance of devotion, it is collective gratitude.
Ramu, a local guide in Varanasi"People ask — what does this aarti mean? I say — it means we come every day. The river flows, we come. This is consistency. This is faith. This is continuity."
The Morning Boat — When the Ganga Speaks to You
Varanasi's best experience is a boat on the Ganga at five in the morning. Go out in the dark, when the city is sleeping. Slowly as the sun rises — first an orange line appears on the horizon, then it expands, and the Ganga's water reflects that light. On the ghats people bathe, meditate, perform last rites — every stage of life, together. What I felt on that boat was — belonging. That I am part of this cycle.
The boatman was elderly — Ramkhelawan Nishad. Five generations of his family have rowed this boat. He said — 'My father rowed here. I row. My son will row. The Ganga flows, we flow.' That was Varanasi's philosophy in one sentence.
The Lanes of Varanasi — That Teach You to Get Lost
Varanasi's old lanes — calling them 'lanes' is an understatement — are so narrow that two people can barely walk side by side. And yet, everything happens here — a cow walks, bikes squeeze through, shopkeepers arrange their wares, children play, someone is in meditation. I literally got lost in these lanes — physically. GPS didn't work. A child guided me back to the hostel.
But that 'getting lost' was actually wonderful. Because when you are lost you notice. An old woman was sitting in front of her home — must have been over eighty. She looked at me and smiled — without saying a word. There was so much in that smile. Varanasi is like that — it doesn't talk to you, it makes you feel.
Kashi Vishwanath Temple — Faith Visible in Lines
I stood in queue at four in the morning for the special darshan at Kashi Vishwanath Temple. A two-hour queue. With me was a family from Rajasthan — who had journeyed five hours to get there. An elderly person whose knees hurt greatly, but who was standing. A little girl who was tired but excited. In that queue, in that temple, in that dark sanctum where the Shivling is — what I felt was more than religion. It was human longing — the desire to connect with something larger than ourselves.
Savita ji, a devotee from Rajasthan"I wanted to come for thirty years. My husband kept saying — we'll go, we'll go. It never happened. Now he is no longer here. But he had said — you must go. So I have come. For him as well. For myself as well."
Varanasi's Food — That Fixes Everything
Varanasi's Banarasi chai — made with tulsi, ginger, and love — is a cultural institution. Kachori-sabzi for breakfast, Baati-chokha, and Thandai which is also available with bhang. By the ghat Malaiyo — that winter dessert only available in the cold. But most memorable was Rabri at a tiny shop. The shop had no name — just an elderly man making it. That Rabri — in that moment, in that city — was perfect.
On returning from Varanasi one thing felt changed in me — the fear of death had lessened a little. When I saw the pyres at Manikarnika, when I stood with thousands at the Ganga Aarti, on that morning boat when the cycle of life was so clearly visible — a realisation came. We are all temporary. But that temporariness doesn't make us sad — it makes us precious. This is what Varanasi teaches — live not because dying won't happen. Live — because right now, you are.
