I just returned from a short trip to Banaras. I didn’t go there as a tourist. Nothing about Banaras appeals to the tourist in me. If anything, the religious hoopla about it has only ensured that I will probably never go there as a tourist.
In the original version of this post, I'd wrongly attributed the temple-like structure of Banaras' railway station to the government. Thanks to my half-Banarsi, half-American sister, I now stand corrected. The structure was built during the times of Raj, so the Indian government isn't at fault.
In the original version of this post, I'd wrongly attributed the temple-like structure of Banaras' railway station to the government. Thanks to my half-Banarsi, half-American sister, I now stand corrected. The structure was built during the times of Raj, so the Indian government isn't at fault.
Now, back to the main topic.
The purpose behind the visit was to spend some time in a quiet, rural setting, and to teach kids from underprivileged backgrounds. The school where I stayed and taught is called Baba Devraha Vidyala, named after Baba Devraha, the Indian mahayogi who allegedly lived to be at least 250 years old, vacating his earthly confinement in 1990, at the banks of Yamuna. Please note the use of the word ‘allegedly’.
This privately-run school is situated in district Mirzapur, just at the border of Banaras. The community around the school has a high share of families running slaughter houses. These people are poor, illiterate, and spend their day drinking and gambling. There are no street lights around this area.
Why this obscure choice of school?
I have known the principal of the school, whom I refer to as Guruji, for a few months now. I was introduced to him by my father, who got in touch with him while designing a scheme to aid private schools in and around Banaras. Guruji is a simple, deeply religious man, who has dedicated the past 32 years of his life to running this school. He comes from a very rich family background with which he has practically nothing to do anymore, leaving behind even his immediate family. Without any source of income, he depends entirely on donations to run this school, and has made upliftment of the nearby community the sole mission of his life.
Now, I harbour particular distaste for those clad in religious clothing, irrespective of its colour. I probably had similar ideas about Guruji till I got my first chance to have a long interaction with him, at my grandmother’s cremation site in Banaras, in the month of September. I liked how he was open to tackling the umpteen challenges raised by me against Hindu religion. We had quality discussions on the topic of Adi Shankaracharya, one of the few religious demigods I greatly revere. Guruji invited me to spend a few days with him at his school, where I could teach students and engage in religion-baiting. I instantly knew I’d take him up on the offer sooner rather than later.
Being at the school
I walked into a tiny room on the roof of the single-storey school building, which was going to be my dwelling for the next few days. There was a wooden cot in the room with a few blankets on it, making up for what could hardly pass for a mattress. I was informed that it was impossible to spend the night without putting on a mosquito net, something which makes me particularly claustrophobic. The floor was ice cold. There was an ajar window which I rushed to shut because that was the only thing that acted as a form of voluntary temperature control. The little wooden door to the room had no mechanism for it to be shut completely. There were narrow gaps in it which ensured nil privacy and incessant blasts of cold air. Thankfully, there was a gas stove in the room. I knew how I would be spending my nights.
The picture below will illustrate my description.
Right next to my room was Guruji’s room - not too dissimilar from my own, except for a tonne of idols within it. The two rooms opened into a verandah which was also the dining area. Of course, the floor acted as both the chair and the table. The rest of the roof had no construction. I can’t say the view was nice. It was barren and dusty all around. The bathroom, thankfully with Indian-style commode (how can people not hate sharing their sweaty thighs with others’?), was on the ground floor.
All told, the only physically comforting aspect about the place was the Indian-style commode. Despite the unfamiliarity and difficulty of the surroundings, the thought that that this was my only chance at simple living during over a quarter century of my existence, comforted me.
I arrived early morning, which meant I was witness to the morning aarti involving at least 10-15 students of the school. Thankfully, I don’t yet belong to the Richard Dawkins school of fuck-you-theism, which means I don’t entirely mind passive participation in religious ceremonies. But what I did mind was aarti at an ostensibly non-religious school, though this wasn’t unexpected given Guruji’s religious inclinations. The morning aarti wasn’t the only religious chant of the day. Despite my disapproval of the religious ceremonies, I was amazed to find Muslims kids participating enthusiastically in all of those. This becomes still more surprising given the slaughter house background most of them come from.
I also witnessed the school assembly, where I was made to address the students at a rather short notice. Bereft of ideas, I blabbered about the importance of English, internet, and female emancipation through education. It felt good to have done that in chaste Hindi. Guruji also nudged me to praise Bhartiya sanskriti in light of my travels abroad, but I desisted from lying since I firmly believe in the superiority of present-day European culture. My belief was reaffirmed when I witnessed sindoor on some girls’ heads. Almost all of them were under 18.
As already explained by Guruji, certain things were clear to me after my interactions with students on day one: most students had little command on any subject; the girls were far behind the boys in terms of knowledge as well as confidence; most students were totally disinterested in education; they had almost no knowledge of the outside world.
I also found out that being a Hindi medium school, they had learnt all subjects, except English itself, in Hindi. This made things simple: I could teach them only English.
My teaching sessions happened on the roof. Being a first-time teacher, I drew upon Michel Thomas’ methods (from where I’m learning German) of teaching a new language. As expected, the students knew little beyond A B C D...I taught them basic sentence construction by putting together the verb(s), person and tense. The lessons were peppered with my thoughts on the indispensability of gender equality for my female pupils, who were especially shy. Giggles broke into laughter when I told them I cleaned my own house and had started cooking too. I have no idea why there was pin-drop silence when I said it was alright to have girlfriends and boyfriends.
There was a clear uptick in the students’ strength and responses on the subsequent days. That boosted my confidence and satisfaction. It felt good to be a teacher. Besides being able to help the unfortunate bunch of kids, I am sure the feeling of being in complete control also played a part.
On the final day, after what must have been nearly 90 minutes’ worth of English lessons, I turned to maths. As if the condition of girl students wasn’t bad enough, I was told that all of them had opted for home science over maths. That hurt, and I couldn’t keep myself from rambling about how home science was useless shit, and that they must focus on subjects that will ensure their economic welfare.
Turning to the boys, I fumbled for more than 5 minutes to translate the Hindi word for trigonometry, the subject they were being currently taught. Knowing my reach was limited due to the language problem, I started with the most basic question of all: sum of angles in a triangle.
Not one boy of at least the 12 present there knew the answer.
If you thought this was rock bottom, sample this: not one boy knew the sum of angles on a straight line. Not even one.
I used my leverage over Guruji to summon the sole maths teacher of the school. Relatively young guy, he at least knew the answer to both the above questions, but seemed a little surprised when I drew the sine curve and urged him to use illustrations to put his point across.
To Guruji’s credit, he’s managed a computer with Windows 7 as the OS. There’s no internet connection but he’s even caught hold of a computer teacher. Far removed from any computer-related know-how himself, he asked me to test the credentials of the teacher. I soon found out that she could type with only one hand, and hardly knew anything beyond Paint, Word and (bits of) Excel. Out of all the students, there was just one who had basic knowledge of internet. Dude even had a Twitter account. He had been picking up the nuggets of wisdom from a nearby computer training centre.
Less fortunate experiences
Misogyny and gender discrimination are everyday occurrences in rural India, found in such abundance that they often go unnoticed and unacknowledged.
I got the first taste of this when a bunch of female students enthusiastically volunteered to cook food for Guruji and his guests. As the men ate (I declined to join them and ate privately), the girls happily hopped from cooker to plate, serving them with broad smiles on their faces.
I’ll let pictures do the talking:
Later on, after being confronted by me over the propriety of his students cooking for him, Guruji dismissed it saying it was entirely voluntary and nothing more than ‘gurudakshina’. No matter how well-intentioned its adherent, religion always leaves its mark.
Of course, urban India can’t be left too far behind. I was pillion-riding a bike through Banaras’ streets when the driver of the bike and I spotted a couple holding hands. That didn’t go down well with the sensibilities of the driver, who quoted at least three different shloks to me to justify how this was a damnable sin. There was no such consternation when he happily swayed past a gentleman pissing almost in the middle of the street.
Future engagement
Despite its obvious shortcomings, which range from demotivated students and bad teachers to gender discrimination and religious teaching, the school is the only ray of hope for hundreds of kids in the impoverished area. I have decided to visit the school from time to time, and donate a modest share of my earnings to it. I will also constantly persuade Guruji to introduce changes in line with modern education. Besides this, there are certain things - getting a broadband connection, installing LED lights, and fixing the loudspeaker - I’ll be directly helping them out with.
Touring Banaras
In the very beginning of this post, I mentioned how Banaras has never excited the tourist in me. To the uninitiated, the galis of Banaras will surely offer some charm, but not to me after my trip to Venice. To the religious, the sheer downsides of the city are negated by its religiosity Sadly for me, the latter only aggravated the former.
Wherever I went, I spotted a bunch of bhaiya trolls spending their day next to a tea stall and paan shop, filling their dicks and mouths with fluids to paint the town yellow and red. If America is a melting pot for all cultures, Banaras’ streets are a melting pot for the shit of all species - human, dog, or bovine. The famed ghats are nothing but a massive public toilet, with Ganga as the only flushing mechanism. The most famous cremation ghat, Manikarnika, has veritable armies of dogs scavenging half-burnt human flesh floating in the river. There might be a silver lining to all this: the people of Banaras have managed to dirty the Ganga river so much, that they can now derive the benefits of drinking human and cow urine - a monumental task for the mere mortal - from drinking the river’s water. That probably sounds less odious, and ensures an all-expenses-paid vacation to heaven. Just one little caveat: they should make sure that heaven doesn’t shut its gates to those who unwittingly consume dog urine.
I can script a similar tale of Banaras’ traffic, where honking seems to be an act of honour. But I’ll leave this picture to do the explaining:
If you’re still interested in touring Banaras, I would recommend contacting Ayush and Anchal (http://www.theroobarooproject.com/roobaroowalks/), a non-Banarasi couple who offer pay-as-you-please guided tours of the city. They’re super nice and informed. Anchal took me on a boat tour, from where we also experienced the world-famous Ganga aarti. I wonder why it’s world famous because…..Alright, I’ll hold my tongue on this.
