Blog 9 Part 1 Varanasi

Blog 9: Varanasi Part 1

When translated from ancient Sanskrit, Varanasi could also be called the City of Light. It is here on the banks of the great Ganga River that Budda rolled out his first teaching, The Setting in Motion of the Wheel of Dharma, there by initiating a new religion called Buddhism.

Author Mark Twain wrote in 1897 of Varanasi, “Varanasi is older than history, older than tradition, older even than legend, and looks twice as old as all of them put together.”

My western style of clothing had by this time on my journey, melted away, being replaced by brightly colored balloon trousers . Held at the waist by a cord and tied at the ankles, my shirts all two of them, were white light embroidered cotton . Around my neck hung a beaded leather pouch containing my passport and travelers checks. Other than this, I owned nothing of value. My hair had grown into an awesome Afro of curls and for the first time a recognizable beard augmented my visage.

It was culture that I came for in this holy place. In Bombay I had heard about the great festival of classical Indian music and dance and I was here to experience it first hand.

Ravi Shankar became quite famous around the time of the Beatles and he was a star player amongst many others.

Varanasi has been this cultural centre of Northern India for a thousand years and is closely associated with the Ganges.

Hindus believe that death in the city will bring salvation, making it a major centre for a death pilgrimage. The city is also known worldwide for its many ghats, embankments made in steps from stone slabs along the river bank where pilgrims perform the ritual ablutions of washing , cleansing and cleaning themselves in the sluggish flowing waters. These ghats are also where Hindus cremate their dead.

The whole amazing spectrum of life till death , being played out along the banks of this great and Holy river, I now had become part of it too.

Accommodation was simple, the rooms were spartanically furnished. A bed, a small table, a light and as everywhere a squat toilet. The food was abundant, delicious, vegetarian and diverse. Never a day went by without a new treat to my already inspired palate.

Breakfast could be chilly badgies, a fresh chilly dipped in chickpea batter and deep fried, washed down with the ever ready chai available almost on every corner.

The chai wallas, as they were called were the captains of huge copper cauldrons which simmered continually over a small coal burner. The regular addition of milk, cardamom , cinnamon, Black pepper, Darjeeling tea, honey and water results in a heavenly nectar to be enjoyed at any time of the day or night.

With that it’s “ Namaste 🙏“, I’m off to bed .

Continued Part 2.

Blog 8: The Train Journey to Varanasi in Utra Pradesh. 1983

Blog 8: The Train Journey to Varanasi in Utra Pradesh.

Bombays Victoria Terminus of the Great Indian Peninsular Railway, completed in 1888 was one of the finest stations in the world. 96 years later It was here that I booked my one way single ticket to Varanasi.

The journey of 1600Km took almost 2,5 days by steam rail. The engines great belching monoliths of iron & steel dragged an armada of passenger wagons, each compartment for six, equipped with 2 hard shiny wooden benches & 2 more which folds down from the ceiling as beds. Our only luxury a fan attached to the ceiling.

What a simple pleasure as it scooped thick moist air , pungent with body odor and impregnated with 39C of heat over me hour after hour.

It was an initiation as to how a herring must feel while it’s slowly being smoked in an oven.

Opposite me sat a fine Sikh gentleman with an enormous face of hair, his mustache twisted, waxed and immaculately tucked back behind his ears, his beard white as snow flowed down over his small round belly, giving him the unusual look of Father Christmas on holiday in the heat, wearing a turban as a disguise. I later learned that Siks Seldom if ever cut their hair, this belongs to their religion.

Beside me exquisite twins wrapped in saris & hung abundantly with copious amounts of gold jewelry.

Fine chains hung between the earlobes and dainty rings pierced to their noses. Each wrist carried it’s very own fortune in a mass of tinkling golden bracelets. Each finger bore its own treasure chest of ruby sapphire corundum and Emerald.

A few weeks later I would recognize one of the girls in an unforgettable moment which will be shared in the next blog post.

As the final whistle blew, the train gave an earth quake shattering jerk. Two steam engines belched volcanic masses of black hot soot Into Bombay’s already polluted atmosphere. Then a metallic scream as the wheels, metal on metal, were slowly shunted forward by gigantic stainless steel pistons lurching us into the journey and onto another adventure.

As the morning past, ones senses, acclimatized to the clickety-clack movement, the characteristic smell of coal smoke as it regularly wafted through the open and glassless window of the apartment.

A sharp rapping at the door awakened us all from the drowsy meditative repetition of the wheel clacking. “Tickets please, tickets please everybody.” Announced the conductor in at lest four Indian languages & lastly in english.

His progress through the train could be compared to the queen ant 🐜 as it squeezed and wiggled it’s way through this long packed and heaving colony. It was only until the next day that I realized that not only were the coaches a body on body squeeze of humanity but that clinging for dear to the outsides of the train and hanging precariously to the roofs of the coaches were equally as many individuals.

This gave the whole thing surreal look of a living hairy Catapillar of enormous proportion’s huffing and puffing its way across the vast countryside of India.

The days were long and hot, The monotony being broken by the occasional stops along the way. The engines needed to fill up with water and coal, more and more passengers piled board this already living organism of modern day technology. The stillness of the stop gave way too shrieks and laughter, chatter and bartering. Sweet steaming cups of chai came through the windows accompanied by delicious curried meals served on huge Banyan leaves 🍁 .

Cloth and cookies, livestock and jewelry traded swiftly in those few precious minutes of immobility, before again the conductors whistle initiated our further progress.

( to be continued) Liam

POETRY: Königswinter

POEM: Königswinter Germany

Through this valley wide sweet & long.

Vine covered slopes the Rhine flows strong.

Thick the forest leaf tinged in gold.

The river grips the boat it holds.

Through the folds of my open shirt,

It’s warm, the sky of a blue summer burnt.

Wheels spin as bikes zip by.

A single cloud hooks the lash my eye.

Turning in, to my thoughts profound.

Solace meets the me I found,

I’d lost and searched for ages long.

Found last night in a dream sung song.

Here I sit with a new found me.

Pondering life along the Rhine Valley.

My glass frosted in pearls of dew.

Spätburgunder I toast the new.

Liam September 18

Poetry: The Muse

POEM: The Muse

Morning, harbor bathed in glow.

Boats bob, the ripples flow, reflecting gold.

Behind me clouds dark fill the sky.

My journey starts, a tear wet eye.

Richness all around to see.

Day born moment wakes in me.

Bag clatter echoes from the cobbled stone.

Seagulls screeching heard alone.

Jellyfish puls in the cold wet blue

A whispered word deep in my ear.

My muse awakes with a laugh clear call.

Reach out touch embrace this call.

Then smile &

Set it free that’s all.

….

Liam September

Blog 7: Bombay

Blog 7: Bombay

We sailed the Arabian sea that night, to the right the great mysterious continent of India, below the dark oily sea, above the high sparkling spread of Cassiopeia amongst the Milky Way.

Each inch of space was packed, passengers and baggage, in-dispersed with the occasional squawk of a chicken, bleat of a goat or the demanding scream of a hungry baby.

My heart beat joined the heavy regular thump of the ship engine, merging with machine and the wind of passage, like a cooling caress they carring me gently off to sleep.

Three humungous grunts of the ships horn were thrown as greetings, each peeling away into the misty morning haze as we entered the harbor of Bombay. Around us were ships of every shape size and color, before us the red granite of the old harbor wall.

For those of you did not know it Bombay originally was made up of seven islands, first used by the Portuguese in the sixteenth century for its fine deep harbor and only in 1894 with the help of some magnificent British engineering were the islands linked with land fill and a lasting harbor built.

The morning arrived and with it the tension and dynamic of a city that surpassed my wildest dreams and my most fundamental imaginations. To be quite honest, I was completely washed off my feet, bowled over and buried in humanity.

The multitudes, the hordes and infinity of people surging forwards and backwards, here and there, this way that.

It left me, to say the least very confused.

“Money… Money….money”

Screeched a young ragged man, shuffling down the aile of the crowded bus. His selling point was unique & horrible at the same time, the tibula and fibula of his right arm were missing . The hand , still intact, shriveled and waxy, swung wildly about as he approached. His Beady eye projected the screeching directly at me, now as I hurriedly dug out the last Rupees in my wallet.

My point of refuge was the Buddha Lounge Inn a simple traveler lodge in the city .Once those protective wooden doors closed affirmatively behind me, I was able to take a deep breath and realize that I was sinking in a sea of humanity.

India is a great continent of extra ordinarily diversified cultures, people, religions, believes and casts.

With my European origin, I simply added to this diversification. The trouble being that my European origins had a strong magnetic effect on the cripples, the diseased, the sick, the homeless (huge quantities of humanity slept on the streets) and the starving.

Begging is a Necessary and well excepted part of Indian culture. Offerings are made all the time at the shrines and temples both large and small scattered throughout the cities and countries side.

I became besieged with the needy and gave away everything that I had.

I felt drained and empty and helpless.

Liam

Poem: ✨Evening Rest 💫

Poem: Evening Rest

Evening Rest

As this day now leaves to lie,

Rays once warm they fill the sky.

In colors changing to heaven bright.

The blues to hues of reds, the white the golden might.

Of a day departed and with me too.

One more moment of bliss complete.

Of touch and love of fleeting happy you.

Yes, you an angel dancing high.

Dancing clouds you cross my eye .

Your horizon lies with me this day.

You fill the night with a starry sky,

with sparks,

with thoughts,

with dreams,

with intervening flashes we unite.

Build a picture, a cosmology ,

A heaven, a party book of light.

Closing now my eyes to sleep

The wonder in my breast I’ll keep.

Till waking neigh on mornings wing

A new, a day together we’ll sing.

Rested

Liam July 2017

Poem: The Rose

Poem: The Rose 🌹

If she loves,

She lives and touches me.

Is it serendipity?

A blossom opens to receive the morning light.

The perfumed aura of delight.

Breathless from this rose in red.

Her sight alone leaves me dizzy.

Perfect, her form saturates me.

The rose, the red, the unspoken, the said, the magnificent vibrant now .

The synchronization of how this came to be.

A magic web of we.

A thread you spin to me.

A heart pulse makes the sound.

A flower in love is found.

The Rose 🌹

Liam May 2018

Blog 5 Arugam to Cochin Elephants & Airplanes:

Blog 5

Arugam to Cochin

Elephants & Airplanes:

Indian elephants are gorgeous, their small freckled ears, long curling eyelashes and small yet appropriate whisking tails imbue them with the qualities of a ballerina carting a trunk. To watch them stepping down through the jungle on to the beach, youngsters and babies entangled between their legs was hilarious. To my unexpected delight the Kumana National Elephant Park boarders Arugam Bay. Here I watched those grand and gentle creatures splashing around in the wild salty sea, while waiting in the water for swells to arrive.

Up the beach, Singales fishermen pulled their ancient trade on outrigger canoes hewn from a single enormous trunk. The rigging, simple yet effective, a great triangular dart of white canvas tethered for & aft would carry them across the early evening horizon. Each ploughing white creamy furrows of froth and bubbles into the turquoise ocean as they raced home to sell the catch.

Fresh fish was our staple diet. The Ranjit brothers who operated the Suria Beach Hut Accommodation were culinary magicians who, cooking on an open fire, inspired 5star meals day after paradisiacal day. Water was drawn by bucket from a well, while the huts simple construction of tied palm leaves protected one from the sun at day, yet let in the star twinkle between the leaves at night.

“Quick Liam, you’ve got to see this!”

Distracted from my bedtime read, I quickly swatted a blood bloated mosquito on my arm then together with Reiner I raced down between the dark palms to the beach.

A bioluminescent tide had washed up against the shore, it’s invisible microscopic creatures unconcerned with my wonder.

Dear reader, this is truely wonderful experience, so exotic it’s a challenge to describe.

Darkness hides, but the wet becomes a living thing creating glowing shapes as your legs wade in the molten blue.

That to which the wet clings to emanates a ghostly light, imbuing my lower calf with its transient radiant profile.

Gleefully i threw handfuls of wet stars to the night, each a momentary glowing drop of mystery. Splashing back into the water each drop recreating an incandescent ripple, not of fire but of my amazement.

The Fokker F27 Friendship is a turboprop airliner developed and manufactured by the Dutch aircraft manufacturer Fokker. It has the distinction of being the most numerous post-war aircraft to have been manufactured in the Netherlands and also one of the most successful European airliners of its era.

Mine stood baking on the soft tarmac at Colombo’s Bandaranaike International Airport. The flight was a mere hop across the Gulf of Mannar to Trivandrum in Kerala and to customs inspector Sri Lakshmi Sangahr, but that’s the next story.

I buckled down for the takeoff and with a roar we took to the blue.

Liam May 2018

Poem: Troubled

Poem: Troubled

You leave me again tumbling,

Stumbling across your shadow.

Our thoughts and laughter like too…. perfume me.

yet still

I hear heart ache tangled in my hair

I feel & feel & freeze.

The play set act scene,

You moved in me again.

Touché

The game set match,

You won in me again.

It’s all in

I’ll give in

You take my heart

Cake and eat it too.

You

Away

I stay, steam rising from my troubled art.

I may still, yet it’s you who that’s gone astray.

This day

Liam

Poem: On the Beach

Poem: On the Beach

As I lie here weak not strong,

My head rings clear and full with song,

Of deeds and places friends long gone.

The splash of ripple on the beach.

Warm soft sand within my reach.

Sweet high clouds in a cobalt sky.

Floating on this moment free,

Its you who moves in me the how.

Whose reach touches the me the now.

I am in me and you are she.

We communicate our intimacies,

We communicate our intrinsic feelings.

We communicate the idiosyncrasies of togetherness.

Unknown to those other mortals on the beach.

Each captivated in their own exploratory world of now.

I let the ripples relax and cleanse,

Sand washes deep,

This cleans the lens of thoughts, creative and benign.

Its here we meet and share,

The simplicity of Profound.

The exact’ty of the boundless found.

The joy is not being held in the identity of me,

I’m experiencing the freedom of the we.

As I lie here weak not strong,

My head rings clear and firm and strong.

The splash the ripples on the beach,

Soft the sand within my reach.

The warmth that holds and sets me free,

The cobalt blue in the sky I see.

Liam May 2018