After ten days of living in one of the most populated and polluted cities on earth, there won't be anywhere else more look like hell than Calcutta. So we didn't take the warning too seriously, hit the road with a light heart and three Indian men that snore like thunder rolls.
I am shocked indeed.
The first thing Incredible India offers is a bathroom with trees growing in the wall. The tree must have started its life journey as a tiny seed wrapped in a pigeon poo. Day's gone by shit's gone dry but the little seed bursts out with life and eventurally turns into a botanic King Kong cracks open the concrete wall.
Apparently out hotel owner considers it as a precious gift from Shiva, the god of destruction in Hunduism, wouldn't spend a rupee on renovation. I guess it won't be too long before the roots tear the bathroom apart and present the whole world a reality show of the guests living here.
The second shock comes on the road to the Holy Ganges. Varanasi has more cows than I have seen in all my lives put together. These holy babies come in giant size here. Except for poorly living on human rubbish, they are just like some spoilt kids. They roam every space in town, block the traffic and left grand dung everywhere. The holy caca.
Hundreds of holy caca lead a way to the Ganges, where we see more caca.Obviously Indian men have made it an open-air toilet here and take it for granted. Mother River is kind and tolerant for she only gives without taking anything from her children.
As we walked along the stinky riverfront, unavoidably bump into the burning ghats, where 'expired' (typical Indian way of saying 'dead') Hindus receive cremation and walk straight up to heaven.
It's been said last summer came down Varanasi with unbearable heat and brought hundreds to death. Around the clock the burning ghats kept its fire burn and created a major pollution in town.
'Hooorrrrrrrrrible!' as one sighs behind us.
Around the ghats logs are neatly stacked away from water. That makes you fell like being in the kitchen of a country house except you can never smell of caca is most of the kitchens on earth.
Corpses are wrapped underneath pieces of shinny fabric before sending to fire. Some bodies may not be completely cremated before flowing away with the Ganges water. We are told in this case the Aghori Sadhus will come and finish the flesh that remains unburnt.
For Hindus this is the way to heaven. But for outsiders like me, it's just a cruel spectacle to see the living and the dead bathing together in one water. Besides George Harrison is in there too.
We wait and wait in thrills for the sadhus to come and feast on human flesh. But they never show up.
By seven in the evening the burning is still on. Dark has come and it's chilly by the river. Wind blows ashore with a thick trancing smoke from the cremation. I choke badly and feel my heart being eaten by something I can't describe.
This is the smell of death. In fact it's not as nasty as I expected but this is what makes it even more blood-freezing. It smells of the combination of nothingness and depression. I feel dizzy. I shake my head as melody of Gloomy Sunday, the Hungarian Suicide song starts playing in my brain...