Dead Body Fire and Kite Flying

We arrived in Varanasi at 5 a.m. yesterday morning after a short overnight train trip. Varanasi is situated along the Ganges River, and is THE most holy Hindu city. Hindus from all over come to the more than 100 ghats to bathe on the steps of the Ganges River to cleanse their souls. Hindu or not, this is a very spiritual city.

Still bleary-eyed from the train trip, I sip masala chai on the rooftop of the hotel and watch as the waters turn from black to grey to pinkish-grey as the red morning sun rises over the mystic waters. The city is waking up to the sound of a woman's lilting voice, singing praises to the mother river. Our guide takes us on a walk along the waterfront to see the ghats and ritualistic cleansing, past black bulls with curly horns, goats perched on the steep ghat steps, puppies snug under the warmth of their mother, colorful bedsheets and clothes laid out to dry on the sandy banks, men stooped over the skeleton of new wooden boats, dull metal tools by their side, and then we see it. A circle of men around a stretcher, first dipping the bundle wrapped in white cloth into the Ganges and then placing it carefully on a crosshatching of logs, and then it is set afire. Hindus believe that the fire cleanses their souls, prepares their loved ones for a better afterlife. Holy men, pregnant women, and children are considered pure and just tossed into the river.

I won't go into any more details, but needless to say, I did not stay to watch for very long, for it is a bit overwhelming, and a bit embarrassing that this is such a tourist attraction. Later that afternoon, I ran into a 10-year old boy who asked if I wanted to see the "dead body fire." I said no, and he says some tourists like it, others don't, and explains that there are two "burning" ghats, one of which burns for 24 hours a day. I note his matter-of-fact calmness in which he says this. He tells me that he like to fly kites and invites me and my travelmate over to play kites. We climb up to the rooftop of his family's courtyard house, and soon his friend comes with new paper and bamboo kites purchased from the market. I watch as he skillfully launches the purple and white striped kite, adding a splash of color to the blue sky, pulling and tugging, letting go, making the kite jump, dance, and loop. There are dozens of other kites in the sky, and I see many children with their spools of string on the rooftops, looking up at their splotch of colorful paper. The boy and his friend talk to each other in excited Hindi, transfixing their gazes in the sky, every once in a while shouting to a child on another rooftop. He "cuts" a kite, and relishes in his booty. Does he get mad when someone cuts his kite? "Why should I get mad? I cut his today, he cut me tomorrow." But there's more than that. Only certain kites could be cut, others are left alone. It is an active sport that demands one's full attention, it's how kids play, compete, and learn to take life in stride.