Varanasi

Mrinal Chatterjee

Window Seat 

It was my third visit to Varanasi, the eternal city. Last time I came here was more than one and a half decades ago. As I came out of Varanasi railway station and looked around- I found a time-wrapped ancient city trying to reach the future in a hurry astride a battery operated auto.

Few cities in the world breathe time the way Varanasi does. Often described as one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities, it stands on the banks of the sacred Ganges River, where life and death coexist in a strangely comforting rhythm. Dawn breaks gently over the ghats, with pilgrims offering prayers, priests chanting hymns, and boatmen gliding across the misty waters.

The city’s labyrinthine lanes are a sensory tapestry—fragrant with incense, resonant with temple bells, and vibrant with silk saree shop owners trying to woo customers. At the heart of its spiritual energy lies the revered Kashi Vishwanath Temple, drawing devotees from across the country.

Varanasi is not just about faith. It is also a living cultural archive, where music, philosophy, and literature have flourished for centuries. Even in its chaos—honking rickshaws and autos, bustling bazaars, and crowded steps—there is a profound stillness.

To visit Varanasi is to encounter a paradox: a city constantly in motion, yet deeply anchored in eternity. It does not merely invite you to see it; it urges you to pause, reflect, and perhaps, understand life a little differently.

The Ghats of Varanasi

There is something quietly transformative about sitting on the ghats of Varanasi, watching the timeless flow of the Ganges River. The steps, worn smooth by centuries of footsteps, seem to hold stories—of pilgrims seeking solace, of families bidding farewell, of seekers chasing something beyond words.

At Dashashwamedh Ghat, the evening aarti unfolds like a ritual of light and rhythm, lamps swaying in unison as chants ripple across the water. A little distance away, at Manikarnika Ghat, the fires never cease—a stark reminder of life’s impermanence. We took a boat ride through the ghats of Benaras and watched Ganga Arti. It was mesmerising. You are transported to long gone by ages punctuated by glimpses of the present. The pyres of Manikarnika and the diyas of Ganga Arti morph.

Yet, paradoxically, there is no gloom here. Life unfolds in quiet defiance—children laugh, vendors call out, sadhus meditate, and tourists watch, trying to absorb what cannot quite be explained. The ghats are not just places; they are experiences layered with meaning.

Sitting there, one begins to realise that the river does not judge, nor do the stones remember selectively. Everything flows, everything fades, and yet everything belongs. Perhaps that is the lesson the ghats offer—an unspoken invitation to accept and to let go.  

The Auto-drivers of Varanasi

If you ever feel your life lacks excitement, just hop into an auto in Varanasi. Forget roller coasters—this is spirituality meets speed, with a generous dash of chaos. The auto drivers of Varanasi are either real life ‘Khatron ke Khiladi’, who willingly court danger or great philosophers in disguise, who seem to believe that the roads are merely suggestions, not rules.

As you lurch forward, narrowly missing a sacred cow, a bicycle, and possibly another auto coming from the opposite direction, you begin to question not just your safety, but your past life choices. The driver, however, remains unfazed—one hand on the wheel, the other gesturing animatedly as he explains the secrets of the universe, or perhaps just the quickest shortcut to Dashashwamedh Ghat.

Traffic signals? Optional. Lanes? A colonial hangover. Horn? The most trusted communication tool. And yet, amid this apparent madness, there is an oddly precise choreography. Every near-collision is expertly avoided, every turn taken with divine confidence—perhaps under the watchful gaze of Kashi Vishwanath Temple.

By the time you reach your destination, slightly dishevelled but miraculously intact, you realise something profound: in Varanasi, even a simple auto ride is a lesson in faith—if not in traffic rules, then certainly in survival and destiny.