This journey started with preconception of what this city actually knows about death.
I carried a newly bought didgeridoo, more for the showoff even more for being connected. For a hymn to be blown through this woody hollowed body, with alcohol running in veins to paint this inner rough surface, with these faltering feet and shinning eyes, I landed on a vibrant concrete port in city.
A visionary is there beyond the horizon, but start of a journey should have a solid base, adherent to the ground. After all we are living in an over-conscious era, where preparation is given more importance than instinctual performance. So I adjusted myself and carried on.
a beautiful mosque at a starched Ganga Ghat
City had scattered hue of different colors, intense, somewhere saturated also, making a formulation throughout the road. Colors dance on the walls, pillars and doors of the houses freely everywhere intermingle with a restful white throat-colder in forms of thandai that lead to a release of memories.
smiling monks on the road near Sarnath
renovation of Sampurnanand Sanskrit university
Old British cemetery in Varanasi city
on the walls of one and only tilted temple on ghat
