India (Part 2): Varanasi, Delhi, Jaipur and the Things You Don’t Expect to Learn
- David Stephenson
- Jan 16
- 6 min read
In case you missed Part 1 India (Part 1): Ziro to Kolkata - At the Fading Edges of India
“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.” — Marcel Proust
Back to India - Varanasi and the Burning Ghats
With the truck waiting for us in Thailand and the next stage already lined up, I thought this part of the journey would just be a pause- a simple stop on the way. I was wrong.
In Dhaka, I’d said that things change fast out here, and that you only notice them if you’re paying attention. I didn’t realise how quickly that thought would come back to me.
Returning to India - this time to Varanasi - felt like being dropped straight into the deep end of everything you try not to think about: endings, rituals, fires that have burned for centuries. It wasn’t dramatic, just quietly insistent. One moment you’re travelling; the next, you’re face to face with something you didn’t know you’d been avoiding.
Guys hang out on the banks of the Ganges.
Varanasi is a place where devout Hindus bring their dead to be burned and have their ashes scattered into the Ganges, a perfect end in their belief.
Fires burn day and night, fuelled by vast amounts of wood carried through the narrow alleys by men who look half the weight of their loads. The ashes are tended by the so-called Untouchables lowest caste-working, working simply to stay alive, without recognition and barely any pay.
Preparing garlands to adorn the bodies.
As we walked the narrow backstreets, we saw at least six bodies being carried-wrapped in cloth and flowers, bearers chanting as they moved. We only photographed from a boat, at a respectful distance.
My internal reaction surprised me. Part shock, part respect, part discomfort. I wanted to look away, but still found myself staring.
Seeing the bodies carried past like that brought something else home to me. It’s hard not to think about your own fire. You tell yourself you’re just observing a different culture, but when the flames are right there, and you can almost feel them, it all feels a bit too close for comfort.
Delhi – Chaos, Diwali, and the Quiet Promise We Didn’t Expect to Make
Delhi was my old stomping ground, and chaos felt like an old friend. We stayed near New Delhi Railway Station, in the same hotel I’d used many years ago. I joked with the two young Sikh lads behind reception that I used to stay there, and one stood up, claiming to be the same guy I remembered. Great marketing-but I’m not convinced.
We ate in the local restaurants, crazily busy with commuters. Hygiene wasn’t exactly top of the list, but we were used to that-or thought we were. Before dinner, we ducked into a seedy bar and watched two of the biggest flies I’ve ever seen crawl across a discarded plate. After dinner, a rat swaggered into the same restaurant we’d just left. I felt something shift then. Our days of roughing it are over. Not because we’re soft, but because we’ve done our time-cockroach infestations in Sri Lanka, filthy receptions and rooms in too many countries to recall, £20 hotels, all of it.
A spot of man keeping - India style.
It hit me more than I expected—maybe Varanasi had opened a door somewhere, and Delhi was where I realised I couldn’t keep approaching the chaos in the same way. Maybe age doesn’t announce itself as you might expect it to.
It was Diwali – The festival of light, and on the main night of Diwali, we were out seeing friends and took a tuk-tuk back to our hotel. Even then, moving through the fog and fireworks, I felt that odd mix of nostalgia and realism. The city I’d once charged through now felt like a place I could navigate more easily. The smoke from the fireworks hung like a thick fog across the city. The fireworks of choice are the cheap bangers, mostly made illegally-and they go off constantly. Some are so loud you genuinely think a bomb has exploded… I read in the papers the next morning that the already bad Delhi air quality had actually fallen off the scale. It didn’t surprise me in the slightest.
Normally, tuk-tuk drivers don’t say much, but this one was unusually chatty and keen to take us to his uncle’s shop (we declined). He told me he rented the tuk-tuk for about £4.30 a day because he couldn’t afford to buy his own. They’re a brilliant way to get around the city, and with the way they cut through the chaos, you can see why tourists call them Indian helicopters. People sometimes get put off by having to barter for a fare, but once you get used to it, it’s an exhilarating way to move through a city and actually see what’s happening on the streets…you might not end up where you thought you were going, but you’ll have a hell of a time getting there. No, really, they are fine.
One of my favourite images. Two old ladies looking at a phone photograph............. Ouch!
Delhi is, in my opinion, amazing. Ox carts still labour through Old Delhi. Cows wander wherever they like, and cars, buses and lorries just swerve around them as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. Beggars still work the traffic lights, hands outstretched, trying to make a living. Everyone seems to have a “boy” who can be anything from 12 years old to 35+ years. It’s all part of the food chain. someone to fetch, carry, or tidy. The food chain is long; the bottom is brutal.
Some years ago, I was told and have seen severely disabled children crawling on the streets, begging. I am told, parents would disable them by breaking limbs at a young age, so they could beg. I can’t say I know this for a fact, but on previous visits, I saw this. I didn’t see disabled children begging this time, although I had on previous visits. A small mercy, if it holds.
Life goes by.
Isn't this adorable? - Just hangin'
Jaipur - Colour, Craft and a Visit Years in the Making
Jaipur, the Pink City, was our final stop. It’s a beautiful place full of local colour and the women dressed in traditional clothing. A real feast for the eyes.
The nickname, Pink City, comes from the city being painted pink back in 1876 for a visit from the Prince of Wales, who later became King Edward VII. Not sure what it says about him, but it certainly left its mark.
We’d come partly because Charlotte has been buying dresses from a small factory there for years. People often admire them, and she wanted to see where they were made.
The factory sat on a scruffy industrial estate, but inside, Pradeep Nahata welcomed us like royalty. His company, Karni Exports, is the definition of hard-earned success. I spoke with Pradeep about his early struggles and the sheer effort it took to build his business. Hats off to him.
Charlotte bought four dresses for less than a hundred dollars-not bad for something handmade. Here’s an unashamed plug for a guy who has worked so hard to get where he is now. Do check out his wares at www.karnieexports.com.
The so-called Indian Helicopter. Great fun and our chosen mode of transport - always.
We ate street food every day and never got ill.
Leaving - The Road Pulls Us On
The truck awaited us in Thailand, paperwork done, flights booked. We left one of my favourite countries behind place where traffic weaves in and out, horns are mandatory, and every layer of life sits openly on the street.
I’ve been to India many times, and I’m certain we will be back. On this run it stirred up a lot I’d normally push to the back of my mind – what with the Apatani tattoos, the smart hotel on the edge of a slum, the pride in Dhaka’s rickshaws, the fires in Varanasi…and lets not forget that rat in Delhi, which we should thank every time we might be considering the cheaper option.
But all that being said, it has a way of staying with you - its beauty, its chaos, its colour, its eccentricities, the hard moments and the good ones all mixed. You end up seeing more than you ever planned to. If you have never been, go. It’s not called Incredible India for nothing.
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Love your blog. The dress factory makes super nice stuff. I remember I loved all Charlottes dresses. (The website link was almost correct ;) But I found it https://karniexports.com/