Vignettes from Varanasi
I have visited Varanasi five times as a journalist. My most recent trip to the Uttar Pradesh city was in March 2024. The religious hub, a muse for artists, journalists, and politicians alike, often offers surreal experiences.
On a winter morning last November, my sister and I were sipping kulhad chai at Laxmi Chai Wala in the Chowk area of the old city. The shop’s charm draws social media influencers and tourists from across the world. That day, the serene mood was disrupted by the arrival of policemen who soon lined both sides of the narrow street. The riot gear-clad policemen facilitated the entry of Muslim devotees through Gate No 4 of the Kashi Vishwanath corridor, through which they reached the Gyanvapi mosque, a stone’s throw from the tea shop. The queue also had Hindu pilgrims waiting to enter the same gate to gain access to the Shiva temple.
The Gyanvapi mosque complex as seen from the Kashi Vishwanath temple.
Credit: PTI FILE PHOTO
Guns and riot gear brought with them unease, but the air was fragrant with the mingled scents of attar and marigold, hinting at a confluence of Hindu and Muslim cultures. As we left the tea shop, my sister, a conservation architect, observed, “How great it would’ve been if the older part of the city had remained intact.”
She recalled the BJP had said, ahead of the 2014 elections, that Varanasi would be developed on the same lines as Kyoto, a heritage city that Japan is proud of.
Prime Minister Narendra Modi, MP from Varanasi, had made this promise to the people of the city a decade earlier when he had contested the seat for the first time. He is contesting the seat again, for the third time consecutively.
I responded, “Yes. And I see new roads and street lights...”
My sister, her architect’s hat still in place, said, “But isn’t that too basic? This is one of the oldest living cities on the planet!”
On a scale of 10, Varanasi might get a mere 4 for tangible heritage, and maybe 6 for intangible heritage. So, 5 out of 10 overall. In conservation architecture terms, it is poor, she explained.
I couldn’t agree more. Varanasi, despite its rich history, has failed to make it to the list of UNESCO’s World Heritage Cities because of its poor heritage-based urban planning. On the other hand, places like Jaipur and the walled city of Ahmedabad are included in the UN list for their “outstanding universal value”.
Despite the efforts to clean up the Ganga and the ghats, only the latter is on the tentative list of UNESCO’s cultural heritage sites.
Since 2014, a staggering Rs 13,000 crore has been spent under the Namami Gange project for the cleaning of the sacred river. Preceding this initiative, between 1986 and 2014, an additional Rs 20,000 crore were invested in Ganga cleanup efforts under the Ganga Action Plan. Yet, despite a combined investment of Rs 33,000 crore over four decades, the Ganges continues to appear polluted, emitting a foul odour indicative of sewage contamination.
This time, as I crossed a bridge near Ravindrapuri en route to Banaras Hindu University (BHU), I saw a massive drain disgorging blackened water directly into the main river. This drain actually turned out to be the Assi River, one of the tributaries of the Ganges, which lends its name to Varanasi. The name ‘Varanasi’ is a confluence of the Varuna River and Assi River.
I had witnessed the pollution levels in the river in October 2021, too, when my Bengalaurean friend Khyati Mehta, and her friends visited Varanasi with me. We took a boat ride in the swollen Ganges from Assi to Manikarnika ghat, and on the way back we got down at the Dashashwamedh ghat. As we crossed over from the boat to the ghat, we witnessed a distressing sight of a baby's corpse floating right next to the area where the sadhus were taking a dip in the Ganges. The boatman and the sadhus seemed unfazed, deeming such occurrences are common along the ghats. After all, it is the “city of death”.
While such scenes are romanticised by some locals, it's important to acknowledge that tourists, apart from finding fascination in these everyday encounters with death, also express apprehension about entering the water. This, needless to say, raises questions about the health risks posed to those who bathe in the river daily.
Looking for Kyoto
Akshay Nair, a neighbourhood friend from Mumbai now residing in Japan, says Kyoto has a unique charm as many parts of the city appear frozen in time, and the whole city altogether has a very traditional vibe. Comparably, my sister and her architect colleagues suggested that Varanasi could have undergone a similar transformation if the lanes leading to the temple hadn’t been demolished.
She said, “While there are economic benefits of the mall-like corridor for the temple, it has caused an aesthetic impact on Varanasi and its antiquity. Mark Twain once said, Varanasi is ‘older than history, older than tradition, older than legend, and looks twice as old as all of them put together’. But the oldest parts of Varanasi look brand new today.”
In my five trips as a journalist to Kashi, I have explored its lanes thoroughly. This time, I wanted to visit this upscale riverside restaurant, Guleria Kothi, a heritage property. Instead of taking the boat ride, I decided to walk to the restaurant through the labyrinthine lanes.
As I started walking, I was immersed in the sounds of daily life chores, stray cattle and dogs, temple bells, and the sombre yet lively processions of dead bodies being carried to cremation ghats, for death is celebrated in Kashi. Despite the changing landscape, there is something stubbornly timeless about this city. It was akin to stepping into a scene from Satyajit Ray’s Aparajito. But these notions are dispelled by heaps of trash, cow dung and paan stains sooner than you realise it.
Twenty-five minutes later, I reached the restaurant, greeted by a majestic view of the Ganges.
Kashi is far from Kyoto. But its lanes, though dirty, preserve the essence of old times, unspoken to, untouched by the politics of religion.
Before my latest visit to Varanasi, I had a conversation with a seasoned journalist in Delhi who is also a BHU alumnus boasting nearly 40 years of experience. While he commended the infrastructure improvements, particularly the enhanced connectivity through highways and roads, he couldn't overlook the city's deterioration.
"The city is crumbling under its own weight as neighbouring districts like Mirzapur, Jaunpur, and Chandauli, plagued by severe poverty, funnel lakhs of people into Varanasi for employment opportunities. Varanasi boasts of four universities – BHU, Mahatma Gandhi Kashi Vidyapeeth, Sampoornanand Sanskrit University, and Central Institute of Higher Tibetan Studies – and is a major education hub in eastern Uttar Pradesh. It attracts thousands of students, primarily from Bihar. Students from Bihar swarm the Durgakund area in the heart of the city for UPSC, NEET and IIT coaching," he said.
“It’s a concerning situation, as graduates from these universities often find themselves without employment prospects in the city. There are very few MNCs in the eastern urban hub of the state. The lack of this puts pressure on our already overburdened metro cities,” he added.
“The laid-back attitude, often romanticised a quintessentially Banarasi trait, involves spending hours at chai and paan shops, engaging in endless debates. However, I see it as a manifestation of widespread unemployment. How often do you see people sitting at chai and paan shops for hours and hours in Bengaluru or Delhi or Mumbai?” he asked.
A sociologist from Mahatma Gandhi Kashi Vidyapeeth, preferring anonymity, said, "Relying solely on the temple economy won't uplift the city significantly. The Poorvanchal region (Eastern UP) has scathing poverty and is rife with unemployment. Varanasi is the sole major urban centre in this region. I won’t deny that there has been development. The construction of a ropeway transport system has commenced, as establishing a metro line wasn't feasible. Additionally, an Amul plant was setup in the Phoolpur area which will help in job creation. But industries like Banarasi sarees and carpets in neighbouring Mirzapur are struggling. The government's focus has predominantly been centred around temple-related projects and very basic infrastructure such as roads and sewage systems. The latter are essential for any city, so it shouldn’t really be seen as excessive development.”
Reflecting on his student days, the sociology professor recalled, "The trip from Lanka area to downtown Godowlia, which once took a mere 20-minute bicycle ride, now takes over 1 hour 30 minutes during peak hours. The primary culprit? Inadequate management of tourist influx, and the general crowd seeking opportunities in the city."
Development's unseen toll
Precisely a year ago, in March 2023, too, I had visited the city, when I got a chance to speak to the locals around the newly-constructed Kashi Vishwanath corridor. The idea behind the project was to decongest the city and make Kashi an international tourist hub, though it has already attracted tourists from across the world for hundreds of years.
The locals whom I had spoken to included the Mahant (priest) of Kashi Vishwanath, Rajendra Tiwari. Tiwari's account of losing his ancestral home to government acquisition underscored the unintended consequences of development efforts. "I was assured of a new house, yet nothing has materialised," he lamented.
Tiwari is well-known both locally and in eastern Uttar Pradesh’s political circles. He is well connected to top politicians, including Chief Minister Yogi Adityanath, and former CM Akhilesh Yadav.
As we sat in his second home, a few kilometres from downtown Banaras, Tiwari shared dozens of anecdotes about the city and its evolving landscape. He offered keen insights, particularly regarding the ongoing tensions surrounding the Gyanvapi mosque and Kashi Vishwanath temple dispute. He recounted, "During the acquisition, the homes, around both the temple and the mosque, were razed. Previously, the shikhar (spire) and dome (of the temple and the mosque, respectively) remained hidden unless viewed from specific points. Now, they lie exposed. While the sight of the temple and the mosque are not problematic inherently, the prevailing political climate adds tension to the situation."
Out of curiosity, I visited the temple on this trip. Having visited Varanasi even when the corridor didn’t exist, I realised how commercial the whole system has become now. Without a special pass, costing around Rs 300, the regular queue to the Kashi Vishwanath temple takes about 40-50 minutes on a regular weekday. On special occasions, it can take up to 8 hours to reach the temple in a regular queue. The latter is true even for the pre-corridor era as the temple is quite popular. However, on regular weekdays, the darshan time would take just about 15 minutes. A reason for the longer wait is higher pilgrim footfall and the newly-installed barricading. A significant change, though, is that the sanctum sanctorum of the temple is now accessible only to VIPs. Regular devotees make the offerings from outside the sanctum sanctorum.
I got into a conversation with the locals in the queue. Niranjan Pandey, a Shiv bhakt who has been visiting Kashi Vishwanath for over two decades said, "The footfall has surged significantly after the corridor's publicity by the PM. But it seems that Kashi is now distanced from Vishwanath due to the commercialisation. Previously, devotees could enter without offerings, but now, to deposit a phone or a bag, one must purchase offerings worth at least Rs 100, or the shopkeepers refuse to deposit the items not allowed inside the temple complex. Opting for a special pass escalates the cost to Rs 400, merely to worship the deity we have revered for free since childhood."
Pandey’s observations were on point. In the temple queue, I could hear a slew of languages, from Kannada to Tamil to Marathi to Bengali to Bhojpuri, reflecting the diverse pilgrim influx. Yet, the joy of encountering Mahadev, as Shiva is fondly called in Kashi, has waned, with devotees now spending less than 15 seconds to pay respects from 5 feet.
Noteworthy sight
As I waited in the queue, merely a few steps away from the sanctum sanctorum, a sight grabbed my attention. Given that the area is extremely sensitive, with a sizable chunk of both Hindu and Muslim residents and a history of unrest, I spotted at least three commando posts strategically positioned within the temple complex, keeping an eye on every move of the pilgrims. As pilgrims from all corners of the country approached the sanctum of Kashi Vishwanath, their gaze was inevitably drawn to the nearby Gyanvapi mosque, merely a few feet away.
A woman and her two children conducted a rudrabhishek ceremony near a Nandi idol close to the sanctum sanctorum of Kashi Vishwanath. As they poured milk over a small shivling, they remained fixated on the mosque, even as the priest continued chanting mantras.
Interestingly, amid the fervent crowds, it seemed only the birds and monkeys remained indifferent to the mosque's presence.
Mahant Tiwari’s observations on the altered landscape around the temple and mosque resonated as I approached the sanctum. Within a few seconds, the guards pushed me away from the main temple.
While not overtly threatening, I couldn't shake the feeling that the faith of the devotees was somewhat eclipsed by the contentious site.
But amid all this, I also met people whose attitude showed the indifference of the people towards the temple-mosque issue. Sunita and Piyush, devout followers of lord Shiva, visited the Kashi Vishwanath temple on the day the cellar below the Gyanvapi mosque was opened. Surprised by the heavy police presence, they inquired if the Prime Minister or the Chief Minister were visiting. However, they learned that it was due to the court allowing puja in the cellars beneath the mosque.
Despite the significant developments, the fact that these devout followers remained unaware speaks volumes about the prevailing sentiment among the average Hindu in Varanasi.
But on the other hand, it was reported in these columns in January that Muslims in Varanasi have been at unease due to these ongoing developments.
Starbucks versus kulhar chai
On my latest trip, I was struck by the sight of a new Starbucks outlet in Nagwa, the same area where my grandfather lived during his days as a student at BHU in the 1950s. It's housed in the very heritage building that was once my grandfather’s residence, granted to him by the King of Banaras, the Kashi Naresh.
While locals still prefer kulhar chai at Assi Ghat, the student crowd had queued up outside Starbucks.
Here, I met two Instagram influencers, clad in Banarasi sarees, brandishing their latest Samsungs and iPhones. The women, who hailed from Delhi, were excited about the latest vlog they had filmed in the city. “We stumbled upon some amazing treasures for our Instagram feed and filmed so many picturesque reels! Completely unexpected!” one of the women told me
“The city is unlike any other place we have seen before. But it can surely be managed better, especially the traffic situation,” they said.
One of them said, “The stray cattle in the old town are menacing for pedestrians.”
The comment on stray cattle prompted a bystander to interject with a remark about the sacred significance of cows and bulls in the city. Preferring not to debate the logic defending the presence of stray cattle all over the city, the women smiled and gracefully moved on.
Such signs of both, material and attitudinal modernity can be spotted across the city. One may argue that Varanasi's timeless charm is grappling with contemporary influences with each passing day. But as poet and essayist Ashok Vajpeyi has famously said, “Banaras is one of the last ramparts, a citadel which resists a final takeover.”
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