Last full day in Varanasi

What an interesting mix the ghats are. Everywhere you look there are temples, shrines, people ringing bells, chanting, doing puja in the Ganga, and Sadhus (holy men) wandering about or more often just sitting. But then there is also the constant harassment by people trying to sell you things, from boat rides to post cards to hashish. There are the massage men ("head massage only 10 rupees") who hold out their hand to shake yours, then won't let go, and the children selling stone elephants, flower temple offerings, or postcards. You can find some quiet places, but more often then not you will soon draw a crowd. There are the young children who only want their picture taken, and then to view it. Every once in a while someone wants you to give them the photo, though they do not have an email address. I am often the subject of pictures as well - Indian tourists wanting a shot of a foreigner . At some point during the day you hear chanting and then a funeral procession passes you by, with a flower covered body resting atop bamboo poles. This is what you do in Varanasi - sit on the ghat and watch.

I am reading Three Cups of Tea, about ex-climber Greg Mortenson and his mission of building schools, infirmaries and women centers for the poorest of Pakistan living near the Himalayas. At one point in the book, Mortenson accompanies Haji Ali, the village leader and mentor to Mortenson for years, to Ali's wife's grave site. Ali said, "one day soon, you're going to come here looking for me and find me planted in the ground, too." Mortenson asks, "What should I do, a long time from now, when that day comes?" Haju Ali looks up towards the summit of K2, weighing his words. "Listen to the wind," he said.