getting sick in Varanasi

So yesterday/last night was maybe the sickest (or second sickest after food poisoning in New orleans) that I have ever been. To detail the sickness would be pretty terrible- so i will spare you. Regardless, I was lying in bed with a fever, and i was sort of numb, really incoherent, and without balance or any energy. It was sort of scary- but I feel much better now. (It was sort of like when I got sick in Mcleod- the first day was terrible but after that it was fine.) Then- in my scared, confused state, I started thinking about how distraught (sp?) my mother would be if something happened to me. Then I thought about all my friends back home, and I much I really truly love all of you. So I needed to put that into words- and I hope in our interactions i make it obvious that I really love you, but if I ever seem cranky or impatient, just know that i have flaws too, but - yeah- i love you all.

Aside from that, India is really a love/hate relationship. Here in Varanasi- the temples are great, the Ganges river sends a great breeze into the city, and fantastical pilgrims are commonplace- complete with intricate face paint, massive dreds, and colorful uniforms of orange and red. There is also the flip side- this is a place where people come to die (to gain instant enlightenment). I feel that all that energy - that sickness- really infects the place.
And then of course- there is the desparation. Kathleen was saying that after she left Africa, she felt so connected to the people there, and now when she sees a Ghanain back home, she just wants to hold their hand and talk to them. She wondered if she would feel that way about Indians. So then I wondered...I feel that I love the place and parts of the culture- but there is definately a rift between me and the people because I have never been that desparate. Part of india really saps your energy- "buy me, take my rickshaw, buy me, special for you- first customer of the day, hello? do you remember me?" No, I don't fucking remember you because I don't know you, you don't know me, and you just want to harrass me on the street. "Where are you from?How long are you in India? Where are you staying? What's your name? Are you married?" multiply this by a thousand and it's somewhere close to how many times I've had to answer these questions. I feel it's worse here- withtheyoung boys that fucking surround you. "Where do you need to go? internet- here!!!! NO THIS WAY!!! Hotel? THIS ONE!! HERE= LEFT!!!" I don't understand what they want- they can't get commission from an internet cafe, and if they just want the company of a westerner- well, usually i want to trip them- or really just get away from them. Honestly, I can read, I know where i'm going.

Then i have to stop and think- these kids were raised in a setting i can't imagine. If i was that poor, you're damn straight I would beg for money, or try to sell you postcards, or bindis, or shine your plastic shoes. I would also be reallyamazed- in a country of over a billion indians, to see what bollywood tells me is a beautiful white person; I would want to talk to them, A LOT, because I would also want to learn English so I could get a better job- and swindle tourists even better. After all, why not? They would make about 20,000x more than I do in a year.

So yeah- i suppose it is hard for me to connect to the actual people of India- lack of social tissue as Neibur would say. But- i am trying to understand their situation- which is, i suppose, a start. In this way, I feel it's good to be here; mcLeod was like a little buddhist retreat filled with kind tibetans and meditation- this is real India- with poverty and dirt and temples and holy water and Indians.

much love!!!- me

A note on new pictures: The first and last were taken in a low key neighborhood beyond the last ghat (steps) in Varanasi. The children in the last were all (as most are) thrilled to have their picture taken. The middle picture is simply a view from the river of one of the ghats- these structures were systematically built by the maharajas of Varanasi and other cities as- if I'm right here- sort of a mark of power/dynasty. One king started it so the rest had to follow suit. These are holy places were people come to perform rituals and bathe.

Also- looking back on what I wrote while in Varanasi, and then remembering it via these pictures- seems to be two different things. It could get very draining, yes, but it was also raw. It was real life in your face, and that's part-a mere facet- of the beauty of India.