Category Archives: Varanasi

Coca-Cola Varanasi

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I worked with a journalist named Bart Spellers from the Netherlands, who was writing an article about the Coca-Cola controversy in India. He wanted to visit the disputed Coke sites across the country, including Mehdiganj near Varanasi. I assisted him in Varanasi as his local guide and translator. I was also eager for an opportunity to visit Mehdiganj again and speak directly with the people affected by Coca-Cola’s presence, so I was glad to take this job. I accompanied Bart to Mehdiganj and arranged interviews with Nandlal Master, a few plant employees, the union leader, several women, and local farmers.

Bart wasn’t interested in conducting too many interviews—he preferred speaking to a smaller group of the right people, since he had limited time in Varanasi. I was honestly surprised to learn how little time he had allocated for this work. Given that his article was on such a controversial subject, I felt he should have spent more time in Benares to gain a deeper understanding. Still, I think he did a good job overall, because he focused on meaningful conversations with key voices.

Although I was already familiar with the issue, I was still taken aback when I spoke with the people of Mehdiganj. I had hoped the situation might have improved over the past few years, but I quickly realized it was just as bad as when I first visited four years ago. The anger against Coca-Cola and the government was still intense. Residents told us that Coca-Cola was directly responsible for the depletion of groundwater in the area, while the government continued to turn a blind eye.

They said the situation had been deteriorating year by year. Last year, rainfall was below average, yet Coca-Cola’s market share in India had grown—naturally putting even more pressure on already scarce groundwater. Nandlal Master explained that a committee formed by the Prime Minister’s Office had completed a study of the issue and submitted its report, but the findings had not been made public. This seemed strange to me.

Why not release the report if the study is already finished? According to Nandlal, he had filed an RTI request to obtain a copy. The concerned department replied that the district magistrate had been instructed to provide him with the report. That is fine, but it still raises questions: why hide it in the first place? Why wasn’t the media informed? This silence from both the government and Coca-Cola only adds to the suspicion surrounding the issue.

For now, nothing has changed. People continue to struggle, and we are left with unanswered questions. Hopefully, one day, transparency and accountability will prevail—but when, no one can say.

Finally, Bart’s article was published here:
Coca-Cola zuigt de grond leeg

corruption in Indian police

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I completed my tour guide training in December, and my license was printed in January. Soon after, the Ministry of Tourism office in Delhi asked me to submit a police verification certificate from my local police station. This certificate is supposed to confirm that there are no legal cases against me. The Ministry even provided a standard form, and I was told I simply had to get it stamped at my local police station. When I went there with the form, the officer refused to stamp it. Instead, he told me to go to the DIG office and apply for a character certificate.

By mistake, I went to a different police office. I explained my situation to an officer there, but after learning I was a tour guide, he mocked me, saying: “Oh, so your job is to fool tourists and exploit them.” I was furious but held my calm. After a few more questions, he finally directed me to the correct DIG office. The DIG office was in terrible condition—dark, dusty, and neglected. The officer responsible gave me a form, which I filled out and submitted with my documents. I had been warned by my local police station that I would need to “take care” of him, so I handed over ₹100 as a bribe. He told me to follow up with my local police station in two days.

Back at my local station, they confirmed my application had arrived but demanded a domicile certificate from the court—something that would take over 15 days. I had already provided my passport, which was proof enough. Thankfully, an advocate present at the time intervened, insisting that a passport was equivalent to a domicile certificate. Only then did the officer reluctantly accept my documents. Even then, he said they would send someone to verify my residence in a week. I understood what he really meant.

When I asked if I was supposed to “give something,” he bluntly said: “Such work doesn’t happen without money.” My friends had told me ₹500 was enough, so I offered that. But the officer said there were five or six people to share the money with, and it wasn’t enough. We finally settled on ₹700. After taking the money, he gave me an unexpected “lesson.” He explained how to bribe properly: always look around to see who is in the office, offer money when there aren’t many people, and never mention a bribe to another officer. He even warned me never to admit I had bribed his colleague at the DIG office. After this “training,” he promised my documents would be forwarded the same evening.

From there, my file went to the LIU (Local Intelligence Unit). At their office, the same cycle began. They said they would verify my residence but then hinted that a payment would speed things up. One officer casually asked for ₹500, saying that if I paid, nobody would need to visit my home and my file would move forward the same day. I paid. Something absurd happened while I was there: I received a call about my guest house business. The officer overheard and asked if I had a restaurant. When I said no, he looked disappointed and said he would have liked to come for a meal—especially if there was “hot chicken with whiskey.” I was shocked at how openly he said this.

From LIU, my papers went to the CO office (a regional police office). There, an officer told me: “We know your daytime character, but we don’t know about your nighttime character—how many women or prostitutes you sleep with, or how many bars you visit at night.” He repeated this in front of other officers, and they all laughed. I was stunned by the humiliation. Finally, I asked how much money he wanted. He said, “Give anything.” I paid ₹200, and suddenly there was no need to check my “nighttime character” anymore. My file was forwarded to the SP (Superintendent of Police) office.

At the SP office, I had to wait an hour before being presented to the SP himself. He looked at me briefly, asked why I needed the certificate, and signed the papers. That was it. His PA later asked me to come back if I wanted to “make sure things moved quickly.” I returned a few days later, and luckily my documents had already been forwarded to the DIG office. Finally, back at the DIG office, I was told that another senior officer still needed to sign my papers. I waited for three hours in the heat until that officer finally arrived. The DIG officer then took my documents to him, got them signed, and finally issued me the character certificate.

The certificate itself was laughably unimpressive—a small piece of paper stating that no legal cases were registered against me. They hadn’t even updated the forms for 2010; it was printed as 2009 and corrected by hand with a pen. In total, I had spent nearly a month of running from office to office—DIG → Local Police → DIG → LIU → CO → SP → DIG again—and paid around ₹1,700 in bribes just to get this single piece of paper. What hurts most is not the time or the money, but the way I was treated. I was mocked for being a tour guide, accused of sleeping with prostitutes, and humiliated by people who were supposed to serve the public.

In the end, I got my police verification certificate, submitted it to the Ministry of Tourism in Delhi, and finally received my license. But every time I look at that piece of paper, I can’t help but feel that my character certificate was issued by the most characterless people I have ever met.

Dying in Varanasi

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I worked with a photographer named Jane Becker from Canada, who wanted to document widows and hospices in Varanasi. Since I had previously worked with a researcher from the University of Venice studying widows in the city, I already knew the places to take her. About two years earlier, I had also assisted a researcher from the University of Berlin who was interested in people coming to Benares to spend their final days. So I had some background knowledge on the subject. We decided to begin our work with hospices and ashrams. I first took Jane to an ashram near Assi Ghat, where we interviewed a few residents and she took some photographs.

The next day, I brought her to another ashram named Mumukshu Bhawan where more than 2,000 people live out the last stage of their lives. This ashram has separate sections—one for Sanyasis (renunciants) and another for families. The place was vast, filled with residents, and even housed a Sanskrit school. Although we visited, Jane did not photograph there. On the following day, we went to Kashi Mukti Bhawan, which was unlike any other place in Varanasi. The city has many hospices and ashrams where people stay to die, but this place was truly unique.

Kashi Mukti Bhawan is owned by the Dalmia family. The story behind its foundation is that when Mr. Dalmia once visited Varanasi, he noticed the large number of ashrams where people came to spend their final days. His grandmother also wished to spend her last days in the city. Inspired by this, he decided to build a free hospice for those who wanted to die in Varanasi. What makes Kashi Mukti Bhawan unusual is its rule: residents are allowed to stay for only 14 days. This may sound strict, but most people who come here are already in their final moments. The hospice does not admit anyone below the age of 60 or those who do not appear to be close to death.

The building has ten rooms, but during my visit, only one was occupied while the rest were vacant. There is also a temple inside where rituals are performed daily. The manager explained that until about four years ago, prayers were conducted 24 hours a day. However, as fewer people now come, the hours were reduced. In the past, all ten rooms would be full, but today there may be only one or two residents—or sometimes none at all. If a person is dying at Kashi Mukti Bhawan, a priest from the temple recites verses from the Ram Charit Manas for them four times a day, at least for five minutes each time. The belief is that hearing these sacred chants helps the dying soul attain salvation.

We interviewed a woman who had brought her father all the way from Sasaram, Bihar, so that he could die in Varanasi and achieve liberation. When asked why she chose Kashi Mukti Bhawan specifically, instead of another ashram, she explained that it was a family tradition—her relatives had also passed away here. She believed that not only was dying in Varanasi important, but that Kashi Mukti Bhawan offered the most ideal atmosphere, with constant chanting and spiritual rituals.

We also asked the manager why the stay was limited to 14 days. He explained that in most cases, two weeks is sufficient for someone in their final stage of life. In rare situations, if the person survives beyond 14 days but is still gravely ill, they may be allowed to stay for another week or two. Interestingly, he mentioned that there have even been cases where people came expecting to die, but instead recovered and returned home.

Overall, Kashi Mukti Bhawan felt profoundly different from the other ashrams in Varanasi, and I am eager to learn more about it.

Holika 2010

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Holika Dahan is a festival celebrated on the eve of Holi, which took place on February 28th this year. Unfortunately, I was unable to attend the festivities. This festival has a fascinating story behind it. According to the legend, there were two Asura brothers named Hiranyakashyapu and Hiranyaksha, who were notorious for their malevolence and persecution of religious people. Eventually, Lord Vishnu killed Hiranyaksha, becoming the arch-enemy of Hiranyakashyapu. After some time, Hiranyakashyapu performed severe penance and pleased Lord Vishnu, who appeared before him and granted him a wish.

Hiranyakashyapu requested immortality, but Lord Vishnu told him that everyone born must eventually die. Therefore, Hiranyakashyapu made a more cunning request: he asked for a boon that neither a human nor an animal could kill him, neither during the day nor at night, neither on earth nor in the sky. Lord Vishnu granted this wish, and Hiranyakashyapu began to exploit his newfound powers, tormenting innocent people, prohibiting religious practices, and declaring himself a god. Hiranyakashyapu had a son named Prahlad, who was a devout follower of Lord Vishnu. Despite his father’s strong opposition and attempts to force him to renounce his faith, Prahlad remained steadfast in his devotion.

Frustrated, Hiranyakashyapu attempted to kill Prahlad by throwing him into the ocean and abandoning him in the jungle, but Prahlad miraculously survived both attempts and returned home each time. Prahlad’s aunt, Holika, had a boon that made her immune to fire. She agreed to help Hiranyakashyapu by taking Prahlad to a pyre of wood. Holika sat on the pyre with Prahlad, believing that she would remain unharmed while Prahlad would be consumed by the flames. However, a miracle occurred: Holika burned alive, while Prahlad emerged unscathed. This event is commemorated during Holika Dahan, where people build a bonfire, place an effigy of Holika and Prahlad, and burn it.

On the day of the festival, people traditionally apply a mustard paste to their bodies, and the residue is then discarded into the bonfire. This practice symbolizes the removal of sins and the renewal of body and soul. However, this festival has become an environmental concern due to the practice of cutting down green trees for the fire. This year, for the first time, I saw a group of students educating people about the environmental impact of cutting down trees for the festival. While I support this cause, I doubt that change will come easily.

Benares, already suffering from a lack of greenery, is not alone in this issue; it’s a global problem. For instance, it’s reported that China cuts down over 25 million trees annually to produce chopsticks, and India has lost over 75% of its forests. If such practices continue, the future looks bleak. Education and awareness are crucial to addressing this issue, but the challenge lies in finding effective advocates for change. While we cannot stop the festival, we can reduce its environmental impact by using alternative materials instead of green trees. Please, let’s stop cutting down green trees and instead focus on planting new ones.

Holika Dahan Fire

Hindi classes with Italian cultural center

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For the past two months, I’ve been doing something new: working as a Hindi teacher at the Centro Risorse India center. I’ve been conducting “walking classes,” which are both interesting and enjoyable, though they can be a bit dull when dealing with absolute beginners. About two months ago, Marco, the head of Centro Risorse India, asked me to give these walking classes. Although I had no prior experience, Marco encouraged me to give it a try. He assured me that if I liked it, there would be more opportunities for me.

With some free time on my hands, I decided to take on the challenge. My first student was Caterina, a girl from the University of Venice. I took her out for a walk, and we started conversing in Hindi. To make the sessions more engaging, I chose topics related to Benares or Indian culture instead of sticking to general conversation. This approach proved effective. Caterina, who lived in the Nagwa neighborhood, was my very first student, and I felt a bit nervous on that first day. I chose to discuss the “History of Nagwa” as the topic.

We spent a couple of hours discussing Nagwa and also delved into some controversial political and social issues related to the neighborhood. The class flew by, and I found the experience quite fulfilling. Since then, I have worked with many students and thoroughly enjoy the job, especially when the students have a sufficient grasp of Hindi to express themselves. This role not only allows me to share information about India and Benares with foreigners but also gives me a chance to learn about different countries and cultures through my interactions with international students.

However, I encountered a student who knew no Hindi at all, which was extremely frustrating. I advised her to focus on Hindi grammar first before reaching out to me again. Despite this, the feedback from the students I’ve worked with has been positive. Now, the university is offering me a language and teaching training program in Venice for a month, which sounds exciting. However, I’m unsure if I should attend, as the program is scheduled for June, when I plan to visit America. I’m considering whether there might be an opportunity to visit neighboring countries of Italy after the training, which would make the trip even more appealing.

Shivratri 2010

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It was Shivratri on the 12th, and I was incredibly excited for it. Shivratri is the biggest festival in Varanasi, celebrated as the wedding anniversary of Lord Shiva. There are over six thousand temples in Varanasi, but only 11 of them organize a wedding parade for Lord Shiva. The parade begins at various temples and culminates near the Vishwanath Temple (the Golden Temple). The most popular and grandest parade starts at the Mahamrityunjay Temple and is the final parade of the day. I attended the parade with my friends, and it was absolutely amazing.

Lord Shiva and Parvati

Bhang, which is associated with Lord Shiva and an integral part of Varanasi’s culture, is consumed by many people during the festival as a blessing from Lord Shiva. People take a bath in the Ganges, perform rituals at Shiva temples, offer bhang, and then consume it. The entire city is decorated with lights, free bhang drinks are served everywhere, and people come out to join the festivities. It’s so much fun—I love this festival. It is said that during Lord Shiva’s wedding, a diverse array of characters participated, including gods, goddesses, ghosts, demons, and more. Consequently, the wedding parade featured all sorts of characters.

The parade included people wearing ghost masks, individuals dressed as gods and goddesses, snake charmers, hijras, and various animals like cows, bulls, goats, dogs, horses, and elephants. There were people smoking ganja, and the scene was quite chaotic. One man dressed as Lord Shiva was leading the parade. He was extremely high on bhang, almost sleeping while walking. I had seen the same man in last year’s parade, and I suspect he was deliberately given a lot of bhang, as he was also nearly unconscious last year. He struggled to walk, would occasionally faint, and either walked slowly with his eyes closed, danced, or fainted. I doubt Lord Shiva fainted at his wedding, but Varanasi’s bhang certainly has that effect on people!

ghost

The man carried a trident and a damru, and wore a dhatura garland. He performed the Tandav dance for a short time, then would faint. As he fainted or fell asleep, people chanted “Har Har Mahadev” (a chant for Lord Shiva) and “Jago Baba” (meaning “wake up, baba”) to rouse him. The noise from thousands of people shouting “Har Har Mahadev” was deafening, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. I’m not sure how anyone can survive after consuming so much bhang, but he seemed to be holding on.

Character playing Lord Shiva fainted due to intoxication of Bhang

The festival featured loud music, with drums playing everywhere, but I particularly enjoyed the Nagada drum. The Nagada is a traditional Varanasi instrument used in both wedding and funeral parades. We take pride in our Nagada performances. Josh, wanting to try bhang, bought a glass of bhang lassi without consulting me. He expected it to have an immediate effect like alcohol, but bhang takes time to work. Later, he asked me for more bhang lassi, so I took him to a reputable shop, not realizing he had already consumed some.

Bhang Thandai

After drinking more than half a glass of bhang lassi, Josh said it wasn’t making him high, and I explained it would take some time. He asked how long, and I told him at least two hours. He then revealed he had already drunk a glass of bhang lassi an hour earlier. I advised against drinking a second glass, but he insisted he could handle it. Although I knew two glasses of bhang were too much, he believed he’d be fine. It’s been over 48 hours since his second glass, and he’s still asleep in his room. When I asked if he would ever drink bhang again, he said never.

elephants were also there

Many documentaries have been made about Varanasi and its festivals, but none focus specifically on this one. I had planned to film the festival but couldn’t due to my commitments with Josh’s project and a lack of resources. Now, Josh wants to help me make a documentary about the festival, and I’m really looking forward to it. I’ll do my best to capture the essence of this festival, and I’m sure it will be a lot of fun. The festival is over now, and I’m already excited for next year. Har Har Mahadev!

Lord Shiva

Widows in Varanasi

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I worked with a student named Irine from the University of Venice who wanted to study widows in Varanasi, focusing specifically on the issue of prostitution among widows in widow ashrams. She explained that her interest was sparked by the film *Water*. Although I found the subject compelling, I was initially uncertain about finding widows to interview about prostitution. Nevertheless, the topic intrigued me, so I agreed to collaborate with her. I conducted some research and discovered a government-run widow ashram near my home.

Upon visiting, we found about 18 widows living at the ashram. The facility was in poor condition: while there was a garden and open space, the building itself appeared to be from the early 1900s and was not well maintained. An office staff member informed us that a wealthy pilgrim from Kolkata had once visited Varanasi, met a widow at a ghat, and was moved by her story. This encounter led him to fund the construction of the ashram, which was later handed over to the government. It is currently managed by the Department of Women Welfare for Uttar Pradesh.

This is the only government-run widow ashram in the entire state of Uttar Pradesh. The woman in charge of the office was receptive to Irine’s project and allowed us to interview the widows. The ashram is divided into two sections: one for widows who are able to care for themselves and another for those who are physically unfit. Each widow receives only Rs. 550 (US$ 12) per month from the government. We were told by both the widows and the office in charge that no government funds had been received for the past three months, leaving the widows without any financial support.

The office in charge mentioned that local donors, who regularly contribute to the ashram, are essential for the widows’ survival. Without these donations, the government stipend alone would be insufficient. It is difficult to imagine how one could survive on Rs. 550 a month. The widows who are capable of managing on their own live on the ground floor, while those who are older or in poor health reside on the first floor. The government provides each widow with a small gas stove for cooking, but they must prepare their own meals. The ashram has a kitchen where food is prepared for those who cannot cook for themselves, with the cooking done by office staff. There is also a washing machine for laundry, though I am unsure who operates it.

The rooms are spacious, with four beds in each. Irine was particularly interested in exploring the issue of prostitution among widows, but I was uncertain how to approach this sensitive topic with women who were all over 65, with some over 80. We decided to visit the ashram multiple times, building rapport with the widows and staff to see if any information might emerge. We also inquired about other widow ashrams in Varanasi and were directed to two additional locations. One was very close to my place, called Mata Anandmayi Ashram.

At Mata Anandmayi Ashram, we discovered that it primarily functions as a religious school for girls. The peon mentioned that there were over 20 widows there as well, but the manager was extremely uncooperative. He denied that they housed any widows, which was puzzling. We were unable to speak with anyone other than the rude manager and peon. We then visited Birla Ashram at Chowk, Varanasi, which was established by the Birla family. There were around 20 widows residing there, but we couldn’t speak with any of them on our first visit.

We encountered a woman who was not a widow but was staying there thanks to her IAS officer husband, who had arranged a room for her due to her religious interests. She was uncooperative and prevented us from speaking with the widows. She asked us to return after a few days as she wanted to consult someone in Kolkata first. We returned after a few days and fortunately, the woman was not present. We managed to speak with a widow, but she was busy at the time. She told us that most of the widows at Birla Ashram work as cooks in various households and that the ashram only provides them with a room.

The disparity in support and conditions between the ashrams was striking. Some widows, particularly those who were unable to work, seemed to receive little more than a place to stay. When a widow dies, the ashram informs the family; if no one comes, the body is cremated, sometimes traditionally and sometimes using an electric burner. The stories of the widows were both heartbreaking and enlightening. Many were forced to leave their homes due to harsh circumstances: some were expelled by their own children or daughters-in-law, while others chose to leave to avoid being a burden. A common thread among them was early marriage, with some married as young as 6 or 7 years old.

I met several women married at such a young age, and many lost their husbands by the time they were only 10, never having lived with them. One remarkable woman from Chennai, who was the most educated and articulate of all the widows we met, shared a particularly poignant story. Married at seven, she spent four years living with her parents before moving in with her husband at eleven, only to be separated from him for a year due to family traditions. After her husband’s death, she lived with her parents and later with her sister. Feeling like a burden, she initially came to Varanasi to commit suicide but was saved by a boat rower and sent to the ashram. Her story was deeply moving and highlighted her resilience.

She described South Indian widow traditions, which differ somewhat from North Indian practices. For instance, after a husband’s death, a South Indian widow’s head is shaved, and she is separated from others while sarees are thrown at her from a distance. In South India, widows are permitted to wear either white or red sarees, whereas in North India, only white is allowed. The practice of throwing sarees is not something I have heard of in North India, but considering the conditions faced by widows, it’s not entirely inconceivable.

When we asked all the widows why someone becomes a widow, they all agreed with the belief that it is due to some sin from their past life. However, they felt that the sins of widowers are not as severe. Widows are expected to follow stringent rules, such as abstaining from tasty food, not interacting with men, not going out, not wearing colorful clothes, and avoiding celebrations. Most widows believed these restrictions were necessary to atone for their sins and avoid punishment in the afterlife.

Regarding remarriage, only a few widows felt it was acceptable; most viewed contemporary widows who remarry or dress in colorful clothes negatively. The general sentiment was that widows should adhere strictly to traditional practices. The prevailing view among the widows was that they were marginalized and discriminated against, particularly in Varanasi. They are often excluded from weddings and considered bad luck. It is disheartening to see such practices, which seem disconnected from the core values of Hinduism, which I believe should emphasize equality and respect for all individuals.

This experience has taught me a great deal. The systemic issues and historical practices that have contributed to the plight of women in India are profound. While education is crucial for addressing these problems, the current state of educational and social reform suggests that change may be slow. It is clear that addressing these deep-seated issues requires not only better education but also comprehensive social and policy reforms.

Ghosts haunting the neighbors

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There is a Yadav family living next door. The family consists of six members: three daughters, their parents, and their grandmother. None of them work. The grandmother, a retired nurse, receives a pension, and they also rent out a few rooms in their house, which provides their main source of income. I doubt their monthly earnings exceed Rs. 13,000, which should be sufficient for a family of six in Benares if they lead a very simple life. However, this family is constantly in trouble because they spend most of their money on exorcists.

They believe their entire family is afflicted by ghosts. The most troubling aspect is that even the grandmother, who used to work as a nurse at BHU, believes their home and family are haunted. The mother of the children suffers from severe gastric problems and burps incessantly, so loudly that I can hear it from my own home. She also experiences constant stomach pain and sometimes feels as if her whole body is burning from within. Despite these symptoms, the family insists that these issues are caused by ghosts.

They claim that the sound of her burping is the noise of the ghosts and that the stomach pain and internal burning are also ghost-related. They believe that the ghosts attack her every evening and night. When the grandmother discussed this with my father, he advised her to take her daughter to a doctor. However, the grandmother insisted that she had already consulted several doctors without any relief, and maintained that only exorcists could help. She asked my father if he knew any good exorcists, but he suggested a few doctors instead, which she refused to consider.

She described how her daughter screams uncontrollably when the ghosts attack, and claimed that someone had sent the ghost to kill her daughter and the entire family, asserting that the ghost would not leave until it had succeeded in its mission. I have also heard strange noises coming from their house and seen peculiar people performing rituals there. A few months ago, they wrapped a thread around their house and placed a large bamboo on the roof. Every evening, they burn something that fills the house with smoke, causing everyone to cough violently.

The husband of the woman with gastric problems performs this ritual, and during this time, the rest of the family stays inside their rooms, fearing that the smoke will drive away the ghosts and protect them from being seen and attacked. Sometimes, I hear them shouting at night, saying things like, “Look, he’s coming! Kick him out! Why are you here?” and other family members respond with, “Go to hell! What are you doing here? Who sent you? Why do you want to kill us?” It’s quite chaotic. They are always looking for new exorcists. I overheard them talking to someone who suggested they visit a tomb near Lucknow.

This exorcist claimed that anyone who went there had successfully rid themselves of ghosts. He mentioned that the ritual at the tomb costs Rs. 15,000 for the entire family. Spending Rs. 15,000 on exorcism seems excessive to me. While Hinduism does acknowledge the existence of ghosts, there are also simpler and more cost-effective ways to address such concerns. For instance, the name “Ram” is considered a powerful mantra that, according to belief, can dispel all kinds of evil spirits and ghosts. If I were to address the issue of ghosts, I would prefer using this straightforward and economical method of repeating the name of Ram, rather than spending a large sum on exorcisms.

Child sponsorship in Varanasi

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I recently connected with a Hungarian individual named Attila, who is a computer engineer in Hungary and volunteers with a Hungarian NGO (www.afroaid.hu). This NGO operates a child sponsorship program in Africa. Attila expressed his desire to volunteer in Varanasi, India, with plans to come next year with his wife for a year. He was particularly interested in NGOs focused on children’s education programs. I introduced him to various NGOs in the area, and he showed interest in several of them. Given my own interest in similar initiatives, I suggested to Attila that we consider starting our own program in Varanasi.

Attila was enthusiastic about this idea. He shared that he had a great experience working with children in Africa and was eager to apply his expertise to establish a similar program in Varanasi. We discussed how to initiate the program and decided to begin with some preliminary research. We visited several local schools to estimate the cost of education per child. Attila was also keen on providing one meal a day to the children to alleviate the burden of meal preparation at home. We decided to start with 30 children: 10 from the city area and 20 from the village area.

We made a trip to Mehndiganj to visit Lok Samiti, which runs an education program that Attila wanted to see. We toured Lok Samiti’s school and training centers, interacted with the children, and heard some heart-wrenching stories. Lok Samiti offers evening classes for children who work during the day, which is my favorite program among their offerings. It was striking to see children working 12-hour shifts and still attending evening classes. There were more than 30 children at the evening center.

The children were incredibly innocent and curious. They asked Attila questions about his life in Hungary, such as whether he had goats, what he grew on his farm, how he came to India, and how much money he earned. Given that these children earn about Rs. 1,000 per month, Attila found it challenging to answer their questions. We also visited some of Lok Samiti’s training centers for girls over 14, where they receive training in sewing, embroidery, dance, and basic education. The aim of these programs is to empower the girls to become self-sufficient.

We asked Nandlal Master, the president of Lok Samiti, to select 20 children from his program who are both impoverished and eager to continue their education, with supportive parents. We conducted a similar search in the city and identified 10 children from impoverished families who were interested in learning. One of them was a 12-year-old girl named Rashmi, who had previously attended an English-medium private school but had to quit due to financial constraints.

Rashmi impressed me deeply. She had attended school up to the 6th standard, and my niece, who was also a student at Rashmi’s former school, told me that Rashmi was well-regarded by her teachers. Rashmi was the only child who clearly articulated her future goals. When Attila asked her what she wanted to become, she replied, “an engineer,” and specifically, “a computer engineer.” Rashmi explained that she wanted to develop computer programs to help poor people. Both Attila and I were taken aback by such a thoughtful response from a 12-year-old.

All the children we met were eager to attend school, but many faced obstacles. Some had already stopped attending school due to financial difficulties, while others who were capable of attending better schools were stuck in government schools that offered only minimal education. We have selected a few schools and plan to enroll the children in the nearest quality school to their homes starting in March 2010. Some of the children will need basic English language training to thrive in English-medium schools. We are organizing two-hour evening classes for the selected children. With this initiative, thirty families now have hope, and I feel a strong responsibility as a local supporter.

Attila has returned to Hungary but has already secured some supporters and hopes to find more for all the children. We have decided to keep office expenses minimal until we reach 50 children. Attila and his wife will be living in Varanasi for a year and managing the program’s administrative work. We aim to forgo formal office space to ensure that all funds directly benefit the program. I am excited to be involved in this project and look forward to working closely with Attila.

Research with laborers and construction workers

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Adam has previously visited Varanasi to study Hindi. During this visit, he wanted to speak with construction workers, including those who work independently, those employed by agencies, those under contractors, and those working for the government. I noticed a construction site in my neighborhood and thought it would be a good opportunity to talk to some workers there, so I took Adam along and we spoke with two of them. Adam asked them several questions, but what intrigued me most was their response about training for laborers.

Adam inquired if they knew of any places in Benares where training is provided to laborers or skilled workers, and they mentioned a government training center in Chunar. However, neither of the workers had attended the center, nor were they interested in going. When asked why, they explained that, as they are poor, they prefer to work and earn money rather than stay somewhere without earning. They find it more practical to learn on the job while making some income. Both workers said that nearly all laborers start by carrying bricks or assisting skilled workers at construction sites, eventually becoming skilled laborers themselves.

None of them were satisfied with their earnings. They mentioned that laborers make only Rs. 120 ($2.50) per day, while skilled workers earn about Rs. 200 ($4) per day, which seems quite inadequate considering the rising cost of living in India. Additionally, when working under a contractor, they often receive even less because the contractor takes a cut. The workers also noted that most laborers in Benares are from Bihar or nearby villages. Adam asked about compensation for medical expenses in case of an injury. They said that, typically, contractors pressure the landowner to cover medical costs.

If the landowner agrees, they pay; otherwise, the contractor handles it. However, workers usually face difficulties getting any additional support from either the contractor or the landowner. Another interesting point was their explanation of why women are not often skilled laborers in India. They mentioned that skilled labor work can be risky, such as climbing scaffolding supported only by bamboo. I find it puzzling because Indian women often engage in risky activities like cooking over kerosene stoves, which can lead to accidents like LPG cylinder explosions. Women also face risks from forced marriages and dowry harassment, which seem more dangerous than climbing scaffolding.

Adam is also looking to speak with contractors. I know a few in my area and will introduce them to him. Additionally, Adam needed a recommendation letter from the Varanasi Development Authority (VDA) to facilitate his grant approval. We visited the VDA office, where an officer directed us to meet with the VDA Chairman. The following day, we met the Chairman and discussed Adam’s research. Although the VDA doesn’t engage heavily in construction due to limited funds, the Chairman agreed to provide the recommendation letter. Adam drafted the letter as requested, and the Chairman asked his typist to type it up. It took over an hour to type just one page, but we eventually received the important document.

The VDA also promised to offer any future assistance Adam might need, which was surprising as it’s uncommon for us to expect government help. Regardless, we secured what we needed, which is what truly matters.