Varanasi

Varanasi is a very different city. About 6000BC. Older than time. More legendary than its own legend. All of India, the chaos, the noise, the pollution, the people, the festivals, the temples and religion, the holy rivers, and monkeys and cows and bulls and buffallo and elephants and snakes and donkeys and camels and dogs and cats and horses, the saddhus, touts, beggars, cripples, the ancient and the devout, the dying and the children and rickshaw drivers, the noise from speakers blaring out Indian music, the loud generators, streetfood, traffic jams and the rains, the colours the bhindis the henna the face paint the jewellery - all of it - all of India, concentrated and packed into one city with its ghats leading down into the holy river, where people swim and wash and make ritual offerings to the gods, amidst the floating ash and flowers and confetti of public cremations that take place on the burning ghats, burning and passing into the next life twenty four hours a day.