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.
Memoirs of an Ordinary Woman 