Category Archives: Travel

Rohtang Pass

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Trip to Rohtang Pass

After visiting Shimla and Manali, we headed to Rohtang Pass—the only place on our entire journey where we could actually see snow. We were all so excited. Our driver warned us that we needed to leave very early in the morning; otherwise, we would get stuck in heavy traffic later in the day and might not even reach the snow. We woke up at 5 a.m. and were ready by 6. The driver insisted we were already late, which we thought was just a joke. But he was right. About 15 kilometers before Rohtang, we got stuck in one of the biggest traffic jams I had ever seen in my life. Cars and buses lined up for kilometers along the mountain road—it was a complete disaster.

the traffic jam

Renting Clothes for the Snow

Before the trip, the driver had asked if we had brought warm clothes. When he saw what we had, he said they were not enough for the snow and insisted we rent special clothing. Attila, who had already been to several snowy places, told me such clothing wasn’t necessary for Rohtang. But since the driver kept pushing, I finally agreed. He took us to a shop that rented out long jackets and boots—basically factory rejects—for ₹1000 a set. It was far too expensive. I asked him to take us somewhere else, but he claimed there were only a few shops and we wouldn’t find any more on the way. After bargaining, we got the clothes for ₹500. I knew it was still overpriced, but I had no choice, especially since I was worried about my wife and baby.

Later, as we drove toward Rohtang, I realized the driver had cheated us. There were countless shops along the way, all renting similar clothes for just ₹50! Even at the pass itself, shops were everywhere, and in truth, the weather wasn’t cold enough to require such heavy clothing. We never even used the clothes we had rented.

people enjoying the snow

First Impressions of Rohtang

When we finally reached Rohtang Pass, it was both exciting and disappointing. Yes, there was snow—but much of it was ruined. It was black in places, littered with garbage, and even spoiled by animals. Plastic waste was everywhere, as usual. There were snow bikes, snowboards, and even hand-pulled carts for tourists. The cart service was particularly upsetting. People would sit in a chair while two or three men physically pulled them uphill and then brought them down. It was exhausting work in thin air, and I couldn’t understand how tourists could actually enjoy such a service.

it was everywhere

The snow bike drivers were reckless too. Despite the crowds, they zoomed around dangerously. The snowboard rental was just as strange—they had only one pair of boots, and every customer, regardless of shoe size, was expected to wear them. I had never skied before, but it looked unsafe. Attila confirmed that using the wrong-sized boots could even break your ankles. Still, many tourists rented boards and struggled hilariously on the slopes—it was quite a sight to watch.

They looked fit enough but….

The Experience

We spent about four hours on the snow, enjoyed the scenery, and had a good laugh watching others try their luck with skiing. Around 5 p.m., we headed back to our hotel. Overall, Rohtang Pass was a memorable experience—though I will always remember how our driver cheated us out of a few hundred rupees.

snow bikes 

US visa refused

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I had my US visa interview at the US Embassy in New Delhi, and to my disappointment, it was refused. This was the last thing I was expecting. Both I and the people supporting my trip were almost certain I would get the visa. I had four sponsorship letters, my sponsor’s bank account papers, and my own documents, but the visa officer didn’t even look at them. I reached the embassy at 7:45 AM for my 8:00 AM interview. Security seemed very strict and was managed by a private security company. I didn’t see any Indian police there, which, in my opinion, was a good decision. Personally, I trust private security more than the local police.

One thing I noticed was that a large number of applicants were Sikhs—perhaps more than half of the people there. I had already observed something unusual on the US Embassy website: they listed separate helpline numbers for different regions of India, and Punjab was given its own line, separate from “North India.” The website actually says “North India (except Punjab)”—which I found both surprising and somewhat amusing.

Since the embassy is a no-parking zone, vehicles are not even allowed to stop in front of it, and even the general public isn’t permitted to stand nearby. Only people with official business are allowed inside. First, my documents were checked outside by security staff, and then I was allowed into the building. The first step inside was a detailed security check. Every single item I carried—including my documents—was scanned carefully.

After this, I was directed to a large hall where many other applicants were already seated. A staff member guided me on how to arrange my documents in the correct order, then sent me to another officer who checked them and gave me a small slip with my interview number on it. I waited around 45 minutes until my number was called. Applicants were sent in groups of 10 through a passage into another big hall.

At first, an Indian officer (probably a VFS employee) checked my documents and asked a few basic questions, most of which I had already answered on the visa form. Then a young woman escorted me to another counter, where I met my first American staff member. His task was to take my digital fingerprints. It was the first time in my life I had gone through this process, and honestly, I preferred it to the messy ink method used at Indian offices. I remembered how, just a few months earlier, my thumb had been stained with ink at the Varanasi court while applying for my marriage certificate.

After fingerprints, I waited again for my interview number. I was nervous but curious, as this was my first visa interview. Finally, my number was called, and I approached the counter where a professional-looking officer—the visa consular—was seated behind a glass partition. His first question was where I wanted to go. I told him Seattle and a few other cities. He asked why, and I explained “tourism and business.” He smiled and said, “A little bit of both?” Over the next two minutes, he asked me several quick questions, including my income. That, I believe, was the turning point. I honestly told him my annual earnings. He typed something into his computer, kept my documents aside, and then returned my passport with a brief statement:

“I’m sorry, I cannot give you a visa. According to US laws, you do not qualify.”

I was shocked. I explained that my trip was fully sponsored, that I would be staying with friends, and therefore didn’t need a large budget. But he said those things didn’t matter. I asked what I should do next, and he advised me to try again in a few years when my financial situation improves. It was clear that my income was lower than what they expect from applicants.

I left the embassy disappointed. I had been so excited about the trip, and I was confident it would have opened up great business opportunities for me. But despite the refusal, I don’t blame the embassy or its policies. Everything inside was very well organized, the staff were professional, and the system ran smoothly. The visa officer, in my eyes, was simply doing his duty—like a robot, without personal bias or attachment.

It was not the end of the world for me. I respect the process, and I will try again next year when I am in a stronger financial position. And I know, for sure, that I will be better prepared. 🙂

Widows in Vrindavan

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I worked again with Irene, a graduate student from Ca’ Foscari University of Venice, whose research topic was Hindu widows. I had already assisted her in October 2009 in Varanasi, but this time she wanted to visit Vrindavan. She had heard a lot about the widows from Bengal who live there, and about the city’s importance for Hindu widows. Since I did not know much about Vrindavan myself, I contacted my friend Yashu, who lives there, and he kindly promised to help. In fact, he arranged everything for us — hotel, food, and even many interviews.

Irene had already heard about the Bhajan Ashrams (ashrams where chanting sessions are organized) and wanted to visit them to see if it was possible to interview the women there. I had also heard about widows working in these ashrams, but I had no idea how many there were or how large they could be. To my surprise, there seemed to be at least one in every alley, and some were extremely large, housing three to four thousand widows under the same roof. These ashrams are generally run by wealthy religious people. Each widow who chants for three hours receives Rs. 2, along with a small portion of rice and lentils.

The ashrams usually run two or three shifts a day — the first beginning around 8:00 a.m. and the last ending around 6:00 p.m. However, not just any widow can join. They must first register with the ashram, after which their chanting time is scheduled. There are thousands of widows in Vrindavan, most of them — over 90% — from Bengal. Many do not speak Hindi. Some live in government ashrams, some in private ones, some rent small rooms, while others sleep on the streets or along the Yamuna River. Over 95% make a living by working in Bhajan Ashrams and begging. Most widows chant during the day and then beg in the mornings and evenings, when pilgrims are on their way to temples.

Vrindavan, known as the “city of temples,” has nearly 5,000 temples and is considered one of Hinduism’s holiest places. Each year, hundreds of thousands of pilgrims visit. Because of the religious devotion of visitors, donations are common — which makes Vrindavan an unfortunate hub for begging. It was painful to see how many widows depended on it for survival. When we asked the widows why they chose Vrindavan instead of other sacred cities like Varanasi or Haridwar, most said that Vrindavan is particularly popular among Bengalis. However, few knew the reason behind this. One non-widow woman shared a fascinating story:

She said that long ago, two brothers worked as cashiers in a king’s palace. One day, while busy with their work, they ordered water with sugar. By mistake, the servant mixed salt instead of sugar. The brothers drank it without noticing, so absorbed were they in their work. When the servant confessed his mistake, they were astonished that they hadn’t realized the difference. This made them reflect: If they could be so devoted to their worldly duty, why not apply the same devotion to God?

The brothers abandoned material life and came to Vrindavan, then a forest, to meditate. Their devotion was so powerful that even the king came to meet them. When he offered them any reward, they only asked him to repair the broken stones at the ghat where they meditated. To the king’s shock, the ghat was made of precious stones that were rarer than anything in his own palace. Realizing their spiritual greatness, the king then offered them as much land as their eyes could see from one spot — and that land became Vrindavan. This, people say, is why Vrindavan is so popular among Bengalis.

Despite Irene’s efforts, we managed to interview only about ten women. Most did not speak Hindi, which limited communication. We also visited two government-run widow ashrams: one by the central government and one by the state of Uttar Pradesh. The central government ashram was more organized, a new building with 500–600 rooms and about 2,700 widows living there. At first, a government helper allowed us to sit and talk with the women. But soon, another official stopped us, insisting we needed permission from the district magistrate. A similar thing happened at the largest Bhajan Ashram. Finally, when we reached the state-run ashram, a kind security guard let us conduct interviews discreetly. He warned us not to let the officers find out, explaining that both officers there were corrupt.

According to him, officers steal from the widows’ pensions. They first demand Rs. 300 from each widow to issue a pension registration card, which is supposed to be free. Then they claim the pension takes a year to start, when in fact it begins within days. This way, they pocket the widows’ entire first-year pension. Even afterward, they keep half of the monthly pension for themselves. With about 300 widows in the ashram, he estimated that they steal around Rs. 90,000 every month, while also bribing higher officials to remain silent. I was shocked and saddened to hear this. How could anyone exploit poor widows who survive on Rs. 2 and a handful of grains?

It also explained why officials at the central ashram had tried to stop us from interviewing women — they didn’t want their corruption exposed. Because of these obstacles, we shifted focus to interviewing widows who lived independently. Many shared heartbreaking stories. Most were married very young, lost their husbands early, were denied education, and eventually came to Vrindavan. Some left home because their own children neglected them. A few Bengali women told us they stay in Vrindavan for 11 months, save money and grains, and then return home briefly to give everything to their children.

We also noticed cultural differences. Many Bengali widows did not strongly believe that widowhood was punishment for sins in past lives, while most North Indian widows did. Curiously, although North Indians often say Bengal discriminates most against widows, the Bengali women we spoke with did not feel this way. Perhaps, sadly, they have normalized discrimination to the point where they no longer recognize it as injustice. We asked about widow remarriage. Interestingly, older widows (around 70) supported remarriage, while younger widows (40–50) believed it was a sin. Younger widows felt that widowhood was divine punishment, and if they tried to escape it by remarrying, they would be punished further — even becoming widows again in the next life. Perhaps older widows, having faced loneliness, understood the value of companionship more deeply.

Later, we spoke with a Sanskrit scholar and katha speaker to learn what Hindu texts say about widowhood. She explained that scriptures list several causes for widowhood: disrupting another couple’s marriage, engaging in extramarital relationships, or even physical relations during the menstrual cycle. She insisted these rules applied equally to men and women. Interestingly, this also suggests that love marriages were accepted in Hinduism, since forcing someone into an unwanted marriage is condemned.

After spending time in Vrindavan and Varanasi, I reached one strong conclusion: widows who stay with their families and find some work, however small, live far happier lives than those who depend on ashrams or begging. The situation in ashrams is tragic, worsened by corruption and lack of accountability. In my view, the only real solution is education. If women are educated and skilled, they can seek employment, support themselves, and live with dignity. The question is: when will the Indian government finally take women’s education seriously?

Hindu at Taj Mahal’s Namaz

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I’ve always had a keen interest in various religions, particularly Islam, and recently, I had the opportunity to learn more about it. During my tour guide training in Gwalior, I shared an apartment with a Muslim man named Sana, and we’ve since become good friends. We lived together for six weeks in Gwalior, traveled together for a week in Jaipur and Agra, and I even stayed at his apartment in Delhi. I had long been curious about Namaz (the Islamic prayer) and was excited to learn more. On Eid, while staying with Sana, his friend Khesal, and Prem in Agra, we were just a five-minute walk from the Taj Mahal.

Sana is an unconventional Muslim. He once told me he was an atheist, while Khesal was a devout Muslim who would leave our training sessions to perform Namaz. Sana was quite open-minded, even about things like drinking, which is prohibited in Islam. On Eid, Sana and Khesal wanted to perform Namaz at the Taj Mahal, which offers free entry on this day. I asked if I could join them. Sana was supportive, but Khesal seemed concerned about bringing a non-Muslim to the mosque. I had discussed Namaz with Khesal the night before Eid and had some idea of what to expect, but I was both excited and a bit apprehensive.

I didn’t want to be stopped and told to leave because of my Hindu identity. Sana reassured me that everything would be fine if I followed his advice. He instructed me to hide the red thread on my wrist and to ensure my Janeu (sacred thread) wasn’t visible. Despite my excitement, I was nervous. I asked my friend Prem to join us, but he declined, citing his limited knowledge of Hinduism and his general discomfort. So, I went to the Taj Mahal for Namaz with Sana alone. I bought a handkerchief to cover my head and tried to blend in. With an estimated twenty to thirty thousand people present, I felt certain I was the only Hindu there, and as a Brahmin, I felt even more conspicuous.

When Namaz began, I was anxious about making a mistake. Sana had taught me the basics, and I was closely observing those around me. I did make a mistake, but Sana noticed and corrected me. I mistakenly recited the Gayatri Mantra instead of the Quranic verses, but I managed to complete the Namaz without drawing attention to my Brahmin background. Completing Namaz was a fulfilling experience. Sana had mentioned that regular Namaz practitioners seldom experience joint pain due to the frequent standing and bending. After performing Namaz, I ventured into the Muslim neighborhood behind the Taj Mahal and saw the festivities of the festival.

It was a wonderful experience, and I would love to learn Namaz properly in the future, especially with someone like Sana to guide and ensure my comfort.

Tourism in Amritsar

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After submitting my tour guide license documents at the India Tourism office in New Delhi, I headed to Amritsar. I had heard a lot about the flag ceremony at the Wagah India-Pakistan border, which was the main reason for my visit. I was scheduled to arrive in Amritsar on the evening of the 9th, but due to a 17-hour train delay, I reached on the afternoon of the 10th. I quickly found a hotel near the railway station, dropped off my things, and went straight to Wagah, as the parade was set to start at 4:30 PM. Although I had enough time to get there before the parade, I wanted to arrive early to get a sense of the atmosphere.

The bus dropped me about two kilometers from the border, and I had to take a rickshaw from there. I was keen on experiencing Amritsar and interacting with locals, so I chose to take the bus to engage with more people. The bus was packed, but I managed to get a seat. I arrived at the Wagah border at 3 PM, but at that time, the border was only open to traders, not the general public. Wagah border, like many tourist spots in India, had its share of touts and vendors. There weren’t many shops, but those that were there had touts. Several individuals approached me, trying to direct me to their “brother’s” restaurant or shop.

Being from Varanasi, where the tourism industry is heavily influenced by touts, I was well aware of these tactics. Since I wasn’t hungry, my rickshaw driver didn’t receive any commission. I noticed that Wagah border was one of the few places in India where time was strictly observed. The border closed for traders at 3:30 PM sharp. After the closure, tourists were allowed to queue up. There were about 3,000 people lined up to watch the parade. Some rickshaw drivers offered to get us closer to the front, which I found surprising but true. There were two gates, about 500 meters apart, with a security check in between. People chanted slogans like “Vande Mataram” and “Bharat Mata Ki Jai” with great enthusiasm.

BSF office at Wagah

It turned out that getting to the security check first was crucial for a good view of the parade. The first gate opened at 4 PM, and everyone rushed to the second gate for the security check. I was impressed by the orderly management but was taken aback when I saw two policemen on horses accompanied by a dog. I wondered about the effectiveness of such security measures, given the potential risks. Seeing wild animals around, even in high-security areas, is not uncommon in India, but it was unexpected at such a critical location. The parade began at 4:30 PM and was an unforgettable experience.

On the Indian side, there were around 3,000 to 4,000 spectators, while the Pakistani side had only about 300 to 400 attendees. This discrepancy was likely due to the vast difference in population sizes between the two countries. During the parade, people were cheering loudly for their respective sides. I spoke with locals about the purpose of the parade, and they mentioned that it aimed to bring Indians and Pakistanis closer together. However, the aggressive posturing of the soldiers seemed to contradict this intention. Despite this, I thoroughly enjoyed the parade, which lasted for 45 minutes, culminating in the lowering of the flags on both sides.

BSF flag

After the parade, I was delighted to see women serving at the border. In a predominantly male society like India, where many women are confined to traditional roles, it was inspiring to see women actively involved in border security. They appeared fit, confident, and diligent in their duties, which was a refreshing sight. Later, I visited the Golden Temple, which was magnificent and enormous. I had heard about the Sikh tradition of volunteers managing visitors’ shoes and was impressed by the organization. The volunteers at the shoe stands were efficient and dedicated. Visitors were also provided with cloth pieces to cover their heads before entering the temple. The cold weather, with temperatures dropping to around 0.8°C, made walking on the marble floors quite chilly.

The Golden temple

The Golden Temple was bustling, but the management ensured that the crowds were well-handled. I spent a few hours there, observing the activities and enjoying the Langar meal. The temple’s dedication to service and the sense of community were remarkable. After visiting the Golden Temple, I went to Jallianwala Bagh, a memorial dedicated to the massacre of 2,000 Indians during British rule. The site includes an art gallery, the well where people fell while trying to escape, and walls still bearing bullet marks. It was a somber and emotional experience, with many visitors reflecting on the brutality of the massacre.

The Golden temple

My final stop was the Maharaja Ranjit Singh Museum. Despite being a newly built facility, it lacked a power backup system, which was frustrating. After waiting for an hour due to a power outage, I explored the museum and learned about Maharaja Ranjit Singh’s life. This trip to Amritsar was highly successful and informative, allowing me to learn about Sikh religion and witness the Wagah border ceremony. Despite the cold weather, which I underestimated, the experience was enriching. Unfortunately, my train was canceled due to fog, and I had to buy a new ticket to Delhi and then to Varanasi, with a small bribe involved. Two days felt insufficient for exploring Amritsar, and I hope to return in the future.

Bullet marks

Finally received tour guide license

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I finally received my tour guide license on the 30th, marking the end of a three-year wait. I had initially applied for it in 2006. I began preparing for the entrance exam shortly after my application, but had to halt my preparations when the Tour Guide Association of India sued the Indian government over the licensing process. The association was resistant to new entrants, fearing that their established positions were at risk. Many of the existing guides had obtained their licenses when the process was simpler, and now that the requirements were stricter, the association was obstructing the changes to protect their interests.

My brother Chandan, who works as an escort, shared a humorous anecdote with me. On his last visit to Benares, he hired a government-approved tour guide for a morning boat ride. The guide spoke at length about Benares, Hinduism, and the Ganges River, emphasizing that the Ganges is revered as a mother by Hindus. However, shortly after his talk, the guide began chewing betel and spat it out into the Ganges in front of his clients. This understandably upset the clients, who questioned whether Hindus spit on their mother. The guide had no response, which reflects the kind of professionalism that should be avoided. I hope that the training I received will prevent such unprofessional behavior.

The certificate

The tour guide training program faced numerous delays due to ongoing legal battles between the Tour Guide Association of India and the government. The association initially sued as soon as the application forms were released, causing several months of delays. After the government managed to resolve the first legal issue, they conducted the entrance exam, only for the association to sue again, leading to further delays as the case was heard in the Delhi High Court. Ultimately, the government won, and the High Court directed them to resume the training program, which finally started in August 2009 after a three-year delay.

Sana and I at convocation hall

The training was conducted at IITTM in Gwalior and lasted for 16 weeks—6 weeks of classroom instruction and 10 weeks of fieldwork. The curriculum included over 75 lectures, and I wrote a research paper focusing on the cultural diversity of Benares. The program concluded with a written exam and an interview, both of which I successfully passed. I received my certificate and now need to visit the India Tourism office in Delhi with a police verification certificate to obtain a provisional license, which will be valid for two months. After this period, I should receive my permanent license (red card). I hope there will be no further issues in Delhi.

Happy moment

Guide training program – week 7

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The seventh week of the guide training program wrapped up with an orientation tour through Agra, Jaipur, and Delhi. Our first stop was Agra, where we visited four major monuments: the Taj Mahal, the Red Fort, Sikandara (the Tomb of Akbar), and Itmad-ud-Daula. With one guide for fifty participants, navigating Agra was quite the experience. The water there was notably sour, so we were advised to stick to bottled water. The city was bustling with touts constantly trying to sell something near the monuments, and we were taken to several tourist shops that were impressively large.

These shops, which also provided our meals, saw the tour as an opportunity to showcase their products. Although the items were significantly overpriced—often ten times the market rate—the quality was excellent. It was a lucrative deal for them to host two hundred tour guides at once. In Jaipur, we visited Jaigarh Fort, Amber Fort, City Palace, and Jantar Mantar. The water quality in Jaipur was as poor as in Agra. While I enjoyed most of the monuments, the City Palace stood out as particularly commercial. Only a small part of the palace was open to visitors; access to other areas required extra fees, which varied based on the visitor’s profile.

The City Palace also had its own licensing system, which meant that even government-approved tour guides had to either hire a City Palace guide or pay additional fees. The City Palace allowed various events, including birthday celebrations, for a price, and even offered the option to have the king himself welcome guests. Delhi, as expected, was chaotic. I learned that TGFI (Tour Guide Federation of India) had instructed local guides not to train us during our Delhi visit. Consequently, our institute struggled to find a guide, eventually having to hire a monument guide. TGFI’s opposition to our training program was evident, as they had previously sued the government over it. Their protest was a clear sign of their dissatisfaction.

The shops in Delhi, unlike those in Jaipur and Agra, were less accommodating. Although they organized our meals, the overall experience did not match the quality and hospitality we encountered in the other cities. Despite the challenges, the tour was valuable. I did not gain extensive knowledge due to the high guide-to-participant ratio, but the experience was still worthwhile. Looking ahead, I plan to start my career in Varanasi after obtaining my license. I intend to study the city thoroughly before considering work in other locations. Eventually, I may explore other cities, hire guides, and expand my knowledge to enhance my proficiency as a tour guide.

Kali temple, Kolkata

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I had an incredibly shocking experience in Kolkata, perhaps the most bizarre of my life. There’s a Kali temple in the city, one of the 51 Shaktipeeths and a significant Hindu pilgrimage site. According to Hindu Dharma, after Sati’s death, Shiva’s grief led him to perform the destructive Tandav dance. Concerned gods sought Vishnu’s help, who intervened by dismembering Parvati’s body. The locations where these body parts fell are now known as Shaktipeeths. I had heard about the Kali temple and was eager to visit. Despite a busy schedule, I made time for it, inviting Seranna to join me.

We were both excited to explore this Hindu shrine. The temple is notorious for its dishonest priests who often target outsiders. Having encountered similar issues at other temples, I was cautious and warned Seranna to be wary of strangers. As we arrived, a group of people surrounded our taxi, peering in through the window. I knew their intentions. As we exited the taxi, we were immediately surrounded by a group of 5-10 people dressed as priests, eager to guide us to the temple. I declined their offer, but they were insistent. They claimed it was a special day with a large crowd and offered to expedite our entry for a fee of Rs. 50 each. I pretended not to hear them.

I searched for a police officer to ask directions. One of the priests approached me, pointing to an alley and insisting that the temple was located there. I noticed others entering the temple directly, but he persisted. When I ignored him, his tone became aggressive, and he began yelling at me. He wanted me to accompany him, but I was determined not to.  In such situations, I usually look for police officers, which has always worked for me. This time, however, one of the priests grabbed my hand and tried to force me into the alley. I had reached my limit and responded forcefully, becoming rude to him.

Fortunately, I noticed a few police officers nearby. I approached them, asked for directions, and they confirmed I was on the right path. The priests had attempted to lead me astray for unknown reasons. I shudder to think what might have happened if I had followed them. After dealing with the aggressive priests, I finally reached the temple. Another group of priests immediately approached me, asking for a Rs. 20 fee. I had planned to explore the temple on my own, but the long queue made me reconsider. I decided to hire one of the priests, choosing a young fifteen-year-old who seemed less experienced and potentially less dishonest.

He was polite at first, guiding me through secret passages and leading me to the statue within a few minutes. The chaos intensified as we approached the statue. The priests were aggressive, demanding more money from me. The crowd was unruly, with people pushing and shouting. Seranna had fallen from a five-foot wall, injuring herself. The priests were yelling at me, demanding all my belongings. I gave them Rs. 20, but they wanted more. I tried to leave, but they blocked my exit. More people were trying to enter, while others were being forced out by the priests. It was a chaotic scene, unlike anything I had ever experienced. I was overwhelmed and confused.

One priest attempted to steal my wallet, while another held my arm and shouted at others. I gave him Rs. 50, but he was still unsatisfied and demanded more. In desperation, I borrowed money from Seranna. I can’t recall the exact amount, but I discovered my wallet was empty, and Seranna had lost around Rs. 200-300. As we exited the statue area, I noticed a line of people, each holding a goat. The priest explained that these people were preparing to sacrifice animals. I was aware that animal sacrifice is practiced in a few Kali temples, but I didn’t realize the extent of it. Many believe that offering a goat to Kali brings her pleasure.

A priest was slaughtering the animals. I observed people washing their goats, adorning them with flowers, offering food, lighting incense, and chanting mantras. After the sacrifice, another priest would cut the meat into pieces, which were then distributed as a blessing. I saw many people arriving at the temple with goats, accompanied by the sound of drums. I discussed animal sacrifice with some priests in Varanasi. They explained that Hindu Dharma features a demon named Raktabīja, whose blood could multiply like seeds. He abused this ability by killing people and engaging in anti-religious activities. Eventually, Goddess Durga, in her Kali form, descended to defeat him.

However, each time Durga decapitated him, his blood would touch the ground, creating a new Raktabīja. To end the cycle, Kali drank all of his blood before it could touch the earth, ensuring his complete destruction. Many Kali depictions show her killing Raktabīja and drinking his blood, leading some to believe she enjoys blood. The priests clarified that the body parts wrapped around her are those of the demon, not innocent beings. They emphasized that Kali drank the blood only to eliminate the demon, not out of a desire for blood. The priests explained that this belief in Kali’s fondness for blood stems from the mythology surrounding her defeat of Raktabīja.

While I can’t verify the accuracy of this explanation, it made sense to me. I discussed animal sacrifice with my friends to gauge the strength of this belief. They claimed that offering a sacrifice at a Kali temple could guarantee the fulfillment of any wish, no matter the obstacles. They cited the example of a former Indian cricket captain who was removed from the team due to internal politics. Despite consistent good performances in domestic cricket, he struggled to regain his spot. After a pilgrimage to a Kali temple and animal sacrifice, he was selected for the team within fifteen days and performed better than before. This story illustrates the deep-rooted faith in animal sacrifice among those who believe in its power.”

In Hindu tradition, offering and breaking a coconut is considered a form of sacrifice, which I often do. I once read a Tantric text that referred to a mixture of lentils and curd as ‘mans,’ meaning ‘meat’ in modern Hindi. The text mentioned that offering meat to deities was once common but is now misinterpreted as requiring animal sacrifice. Regardless of the reasons behind animal sacrifice, many people don’t believe in it. Personally, I prefer offering a coconut over an animal.

After witnessing the animal sacrifice and dealing with the dishonest priests, I was overwhelmed and unable to speak. Seranna helped me leave the temple, and I sat outside for a while to recover. Eventually, I found my bearings and decided to visit a Mother Teresa home nearby. I asked a police officer for directions and discovered it was in the next building. I went there and stayed for a while. The Mother Teresa organization’s work is truly inspiring. Witnessing their dedication to social welfare was a heartwarming experience. I spent time there, trying to forget the unpleasant events earlier. After some time, I regained my composure and left the temple, avoiding another look.

Hindu Dharma upholds the belief that all life is sacred, and Goddess Kali is revered as the mother of the universe. I firmly believe that a mother would never take joy in seeing her children suffer. However, it is unfortunate that sometimes people blindly follow practices they’ve seen others perform, without using their own judgment. It’s interesting The priests of this temple are known for donating land to the Mother Teresa organization in Kolkata, perhaps their only positive act. While I have deep respect for Hindu traditions and the faith of its followers, my experience with the priests was deeply disturbing. Their predatory behavior was shocking. I was ashamed to have brought Seranna to such a place. She commented that religion is often exploited, a statement I couldn’t refute given our experience.

Air Pollution in Kolkata

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I arrived in Kolkata just an hour ago and am now at Durbar’s office. In this short time, my cream-colored T-shirt has almost turned black—it’s incredibly polluted here. There’s smoke everywhere, and it seems that Bengali people favor dark colors; the taxis are dark yellow, buses are dark green, and the buildings look quite old. Oh, and they even have trams! This city is definitely not what I expected, but it seems like it’s going to be an interesting experience.

The people at Durbar have been very welcoming. They’ve informed me that the conference starts tomorrow, so today is a day off for me. I’m thinking of exploring some tourist spots while I have the chance. I forgot to bring the data cable for my camera, so I’ll upload pictures once I get back home.

Monkeys in Mathura

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Today, I’m celebrating The Rabbit Hole Day by writing about an experience I’ve never shared before. I didn’t know about this festival until Lane sent me an email explaining it, and I thought it would be fun to join in. I’ve chosen to write about the monkeys of Mathura City for this celebration. Mathura, the birthplace of Krishna, is one of the most sacred cities for Hindus and a major attraction for both Indian and international tourists. I’ve visited Mathura four times, with my first trip when I was ten and my last one four years ago.

Mathura is home to a large number of incredibly smart monkeys—possibly more than in Benares. On one occasion, I was in Mathura with my mother, navigating through narrow alleys on our way to a temple. I was captivated by the people, the old houses, the colors, the culture, and the religious atmosphere. It was fascinating. However, someone warned us to avoid carrying items in our hands and to take off our glasses, as monkeys are known to snatch belongings. Despite this, I was skeptical and kept my glasses on, thinking they wouldn’t be interested in them.

We encountered several people who repeated the same warning about the monkeys. Even though I was reluctant to part with my glasses, my mother, who had a purse but kept her glasses on, didn’t heed the advice either. After a few more minutes, my mother suddenly exclaimed, “Oh! My glasses!” By the time I turned around, a monkey had snatched her glasses and was sitting in a tree. We both found it amusing and were quite surprised. I approached the monkey, trying to negotiate the return of the glasses, but the monkey seemed more interested in trying them on.

Shortly after, a man approached us offering to retrieve the glasses for a fee. He asked for Rs. 100 but agreed to Rs. 25 after some bargaining. He went to a nearby shop and bought a packet of garbanzo beans for Rs. 2. It seemed the monkey was in on the plan. The man threw the garbanzo beans up to the monkey, who carefully placed the glasses on a branch before grabbing the beans. Unfortunately, when the monkey threw the glasses down, they fell and broke. The man apologized, saying he had tried his best but couldn’t prevent the mishap. We continued to the temple, with me now holding my glasses in hand.

We later tried to find a place to repair the glasses and were surprised to learn from a local that this kind of monkey behavior was common. He explained that many trained monkeys are used to steal items from people, and their owners then make deals with those who lose their possessions. We couldn’t repair the glasses, so my mother had to experience Mathura without them, which was quite challenging for her. In Hindu society, monkeys are revered because of their association with Lord Hanuman, who was known for his playful and mischievous nature. Perhaps this incident was a modern-day reflection of Hanuman’s antics. Despite the inconvenience, we enjoyed the experience and still laugh about it.

Happy Rabbit Hole Day!