When we arrived back at the train we found that the platform was packed with people. Apparently, a train had been delayed. Without making a fuss, everyone just settled down to wait it out. Most people seemed quite prepared with food and blankets. Some chose to have a snooze while others served out food. Small groups sat around with some chai having a chat. Fortunately our train was waiting for us. Jumping on, we had a party to prepare for.
Indian night on the train meant dressing up and dancing. Two of my least favourite things. On the positive side it also meant eating and drinking which are two of my more favourite things. Diane had a sari to wear. Essentially this is a length of cloth which is wrapped around the body to form a dress. There are over eighty documented ways to wear a sari. We did not know any of them. It was fortunate that one of the hosts on the train was prepared for this. In less that five minutes and with a couple of safety pins, Diane was dressed. I was given some pyjamas. Actually, traditional men’s wear. Comfortable but sufficiently pyjama-esque as to remind me of childhood dreams where I would find myself at a school lesson still in my night wear. Re-wrapping the turban was beyond me but fortunately help was at hand. With that, we were ready to party.
We met up with Jo and Franki, two women with an enthusiastic sense of humour that were travelling together. There was dancing which I avoided but there was no stopping Diane, Jo and Franki. Quite a few of the people that worked on the train were more than keen for a jig so before long the whole end of the bar carriage was hopping. I took a few photos and then retreated behind the safety of the bar. Things eventually calmed down when dinner was served. For once, we did not have to be up at a silly early time so we could relax and chat a bit later than normal. Diane also took the opportunity to be photographed with the barman, our new best friend, and her favourite, valet who I suspect she would have liked to take home with her.
Before we arrived at Varanasi, we made a stop at Sarnath. Here are numerous ancient ruins, stupas, monasteries, and temples. Significant to Buddhism and other religions like Jainism and Hinduism. Dhamek Stupa marks the spot where the Buddha gave his first sermon in the deer park. This is one of the four sacred sites for Buddhist pilgrimages. I briefly pondered the problems of where the Buddha spoke becoming more important than what he said.
Then we visited another carpet shop. This one in the guise of a silk weaving factory. The old weaving machines were of some interest to me. They used cards to control the pattern that the loom would weave. At 250 years old, one of the earliest programable machines in the world. The sales pitch in the showroom was exceptionally good. Many of our fellow visitors walked out with a fortune in silk bed covers, cushion cases and the like. Diane and I however have built up a robust immunity to carpet shops now.
As evening fell, we arrived in Varanasi and were taken down to the Ganges. The holy river. This place has a central position in the traditions of pilgrimage, death, and mourning in the Hindu world. Many people come here to die. They can rent a flat or stay at a hospice once they feel their days are numbered.
We got bundled onto a boat that was moored close to a road bridge. From here we motored upstream. The boat had a top deck with chairs. The lower deck was reserved for a disturbingly young and inexperienced looking lad who was steering and wrestling with the noisy engine. I was a bit concerned as to how stable this arrangement was and tried not to think about it. The river may be holy but it is also filthy. Thousands come here to bathe each day but I really did not fancy an unplanned dip. The river used to be way worse. A serious stink from sewage and all the dead people that are tipped into it. Today, it does not smell too bad but is still a suspicious colour.
The river is lined with buildings and steps. Many, many steps so that there is room for everyone to get down to the water to bathe. We passed old, fortress like buildings and others completely adorned by strings of lights. We arrived at the burning place. Manikarnika Ghat is where funeral rites and cremations take place continuously. This ancient practice is considered a path to salvation, freeing the soul from the cycle of birth and death. The cremation fires burn day and night. Bodies are laid out on open-air pyres. There is constant chanting.
Further on, we came across some sort of ceremony. I have no idea what it was. There were thousands of people crowded onto the steps and into the streets behind. We watched for a while. The tourist boats jostled with each other to try and get a good viewpoint. Just like the car drivers, they thought nothing of deliberately ramming another vehicle. My concerns about the boat’s stability surfaced again. Ultimately, nothing bad happened. I never learnt what the ceremony was about. We headed back and landed safely.
Next day we were done with the train. End of our journey on the Maharajas Express. It was fun for the most part. What I found lacking was the absence of any real progress. We never travelled too far each day. When the train moved, it was usually at night. The experience, for me, was more of a mobile hotel than a luxury journey.
That evening we went into Old Delhi with a local guide in search of food. Street food. Brilliant stuff and ubiquitous. But there is a lot to be said about having someone with a bit of knowledge who can guide you to the good places with the safe food. We began with samosas from a little corner shop that has been trading, selling the same type of samosa, for over 150 years. They were good. Deep fried pastries filled with peas and spices. At the next stop we had fried potatoes with a spicy tamarind sauce. There was a small echo of chips with brown sauce but this was so, so much better. The evening went on like this. Wandering around the incredibly crowded streets occasionally stopping for snack or a cup of chai. We really enjoyed it and came back feeling really well fed.
The following evening, we attended a cooking class. Just us and a wonderful chef called Neha Gupta. Diane decided to step back and take a few photos. I love to cook but can only think of one time, many years ago, where anyone tutored me. Turned out to be fine. I found myself really enjoying it. Spicy paratha. Previously, I had an inkling as to how these were made but it is so much easier to have someone show you precisely. Rotis got finished off on the flames. This puffs them up into balls. Another small revelation. We also made paneer makhani and I discovered how to get that authentic smoky flavour. This involves burning charcoal inside the cooking pot. One day I will really impress someone with that one. Finally, we sat down with our host and ate all the food with a glass of beer. Terrific way to spend an evening.
We got back to our hotel quite late and discovered a bomb had gone off in Old Delhi. At least 15 people were killed and 20 seriously injured. It was a car bomb. Definitely a terrorist attack although responsibility to a specific group has not been declared yet. Big, homemade explosive in car with at least two suicidal occupants. The previous night, at about the same time in the evening, we had been dropped off there. At the lights, outside the Red Fort. The exact spot where the bomb went off. This was very disturbing. Obviously, we were shocked and saddened for all the people killed and injured. I don’t think it scared us or made us worry about our safety. Reality is these things happen very rarely. It did make the incident feel very real in a way that just reading of an event in the news does not.