On Friday March 23 I returned to Varanasi from Azemgarh. I had gone for Ashu’s janeu. There were I think ten of us in the van and the trip took two hours. As usual, I slept most of the way and had no regard for crammed conditions.
Puja was beginning even as we arrived. I met some new people my age who spoke some English. Ashu, Dodo, Govind, and especially Saumitre were keen on escorting me about and seeing that I do the right things and have broken Hindi conversation with the right people for the right short amount of time.
I understood little of the puja. On Monday when we arrived Ashu got some of his head shaved and a local pandit made an altar and did some simple puja. The next day two prestigious pandits came from Varanasi and did complicated puja. On Wednesday we spent time with family, on Thursday we were encouraged to stay another day, and on Friday we went home.
Nandan told me that the puja was in many ways identical to a marriage ceremony. It went in stages. Each stage involved the pandit saying something in Sanskrit, Ashu repeating the words without understanding them, some candles being lit, some Ganga water being drank, some prasad being offered, and at the end a bodily change such as shaving, string-wearing or removal, or an outfit change.
The party hall contained a large room completely covered with mattresses. On the first night I slept there after a lot of stress trying to make conversation with strangers in Hindi. I have grown somewhat accustomed to Nandan’s family’s habit of serving dinner at 9:30pm, but all the while I have recognized that dinner can be served later. Neither Ashu’s father nor anyone else thought twice about serving dinner at midnight, after which I was out, but Nandan had to stay up and dance until about two. The mattress room was also the dance floor. I am told that I slept like a rock despite the loud music. Music here is always loud; I think I have said this before.
On day two the crowd arrived and Ashu went from beggar to gentleman in the course of serveral ceremonies. The women sang songs for him and the men gave him gifts. In one part he had to pretend to become angry and threaten to leave, and different groups have to coax him to sit back down. In the end there is a lot of food, some dancing, and cheer.
That night we slept at the home of my “big sister” and my “brother in law.” Their names escape me now. I need to make profiles in my gallery with names of everyone I know.
On Wednesday we went to a tulsi (basil) farm. It was not growing at this time, but it will be in the summer. It was owned by some company called Organic India and the workmen said they produce ten dry tons a year for medicine, tea, and other uses. I was feeling sick – I had been drinking local water – and enjoyed the visit although I could have gotten more out of it. I hope to return before I leave because no expense was spared on this place and the people were friendly about giving a tour with no notice. The workers used safety gear. I have seen this nowhere else in India.
On Thursday Baboo (the baby) got sick and went to the doctor. He got the same antibiotic that I had taken some time ago except his was liquid. The family insisted that we rest.
On Friday we all wanted to return to Varanasi and because of Baboo’s illness we needed to use a car rather than a bus. The trip cost Rs 1500 (about $35) to get me, Nandan, Bunti, Baboo, and Lado home and I paid Rs 500 of it. I want to cover my costs as I should but Nandan seems to want me to pay just below my share. This time I paid correctly for the car ride home, at least, but Nandan still pays for a lot of small things that add up.
M.N. (Nandan’s father) and I had a little talk in Hindi and he put a deadline on me, May 1, after which I should speak only Hindi. I think that I can do with within under three weeks, and I am glad for the padding on the dates. My biggest problem is needless hesitation. With practice I should have more confidence because there is no need for me to think twice; the words come to me satisfactorily.
The Cricket World Cup is underway now. I care nothing for spectator sports, but I have been drawn to ask questions about cricket because of the bizarre fanaticism it attracts here.
Pakistan lost in the first round. That night, the coach of the Pakistani team was murdered by strangulation. Also the police found some kind of poison in his blood. The next day the newspaper showed some pictures of devotees worshiping the Indian cricket captain as a manifestation of a god. They had a poster of him on an altar with candles around the image and a flower mala draped over the frame. Despite the power accumulated India lost their next game.