How do you mark Dad’s 50th birthday in a family of four that travels often? We packed our bags and set off on a 12-day tour of India. Once we landed, we spent a couple of days in Delhi getting used to the time change, the culture shock, and—as it turned out—the thick, choking smog. We touched down on a national holiday called Diwali, which is roughly like combining Christmas, New Year’s and Independence Day in the U.S. The firecrackers were impressive—not the small snappers we have at home, but things that often looked closer to quarter sticks of dynamite. They went off everywhere, constantly, through the whole night.
We found a reasonably priced, non-stop direct flight and left from San Francisco. Delhi was the practical gateway thanks to Indira Gandhi International Airport. There wasn’t much reason to stay more than a couple of days in Delhi. The hustle and bustle was overwhelming. So many people from every class and caste were crammed into a space that felt tiny compared with its population of nearly 20 million. Did I mention the choking smog? It settled on our skin, went up our noses and deep into our lungs. Our guide Shobit apologized, explaining that Diwali’s firecrackers and fireworks made it worse.
Delhi does have its cultural and architectural landmarks. Shobit described the city as really two places in one. There is New Delhi, which takes pride in its modern side. Then there is “Old” Delhi, where people live in far more primitive conditions, in neighborhoods whose water and sewer systems are hundreds of years old. Delhi was the practical necessity.
A two-hour flight brought us to Varanasi, the spiritual gateway. Set on the Ganges River, it ranks among India’s most legendary destinations. Hindu pilgrims come here from across India and around the world to bathe and purify body and soul. Families with the means to carry a body across India can cremate their loved ones here. In Hinduism, being cremated on the Ganges is believed to free the soul from the cycle of reincarnation and allow it to reach Nirvana.
With our guide and rower, we boarded a skiff that would be at home in Hemingway’s “The Old Man and the Sea.” We made our way up-river to a location where funeral pyres burn 24 hours a day and 7 days a week. There was a constant procession of grieving families. They carried the bodies of loved ones, down a broad stone stairway leading from street level to the riverbank. We watched as families bathed their dead, in preparation for cremation.
This most solemn of moments is when I first felt a heightened sense of being one with humanity in India. Through a lifetime of work in the healthcare field, I remember being with countless souls, as they make the most profound transition from life to whatever lies beyond. I wouldn’t say that I felt welcomed at this primordial place. I felt that we were more of a necessary nuisance to those who were grieving. We were one of many such skiffs and boats of all sizes and technology amassed just off shore. There were small rowboats like ours, and larger motorboats with dozens of onlookers aboard. The mourners had to be aware of the throng of voyeurs on the river, staring at them in morbid curiosity. Our guide Pradeep, mentioned the next day that by being among the relatively few Western visitors historically, we were pilgrims among pilgrims. While this may have been true, we were taking photos while they were purifying their souls, and the souls of their loved ones.
Our India journey began in Delhi, a practical stop thanks to Indira Gandhi International Airport, before we moved on to Varanasi. Along the way we leaned on local guides like Shobit and Pradeep, who helped us understand the contrast between New Delhi and Old Delhi and the spiritual significance of the Ganges. Traveling as a family, we found that the time change, the crowds and the smog were all part of adjusting to a place that felt both overwhelming and deeply memorable.
