Good morning from Ganga river, Varanasi: Every thing is intense here; celebration of water, colour, food, street activity, faith as well as filth. Never seen such gargantuan scale of filth and a ceremonious neglect of it as though it does not exist. Eating joints the great tasty delicacies dotting the streets and the throng of people around seem to celebrate one side of metabolism and obliviously venerate the acrimonious olid sting of the products from the other side, of both human and animals.
WALKING THROUGH THE STREETS OF VARANASI
A tiny treasure of knowledge, a book store in a street of Varanasi. Devouring katchoris next to it. Cacophonic traffic of two wheelers, cycle ricks and four wheelers continuously honking to veer through the river of humanity. Add the chanting filtering through many turns. The human sweat and its smell. The open unabashed urination on the steets and the stench. The seemingly stoic bulls. The high performative dust settling on exposed sweaty parts making one constantly aware of one's physical existence. The experience is truly existential: moment to moment. Every sense is horned. I would say: I sense therefore I exist.