1-27-09

I woke up late this morning and continued to laze around for a while. I finished my book “Nightrunners of Bengal”, took a long shower until all the hot water was gone, and began reading “The Diary of Anne Frank”. I’ve begun keeping my book in my purse so I can read it while we wait for meals. There is a shockingly long amount of time between when you order and when you receive your food. I don’t know why this is, but there are very few exceptions to the rule.
In the afternoon, I walked along the ghats with Mom. After a long discussion, Dad and I decided that ghat must mean stair, because there are so many stairs going down to the Ganges and because there is also a mountain range called the Western Ghats in south India, so it must mean stair, or something similar. It wouldn’t make sense to have a mountain range called the “Western waterfront property” or some such.
The ghats are a world in themselves. There are about 80 ghats bordering the Ganges and each has its own name and serves a purpose. There is the big Burning Ghat and the little Burning Ghat where people get cremated. I passed by the little one, but the big one was in the other direction and I didn’t quite feel up to visiting it. 200-300 corpses are burned there daily. There is also the Dhobi (laundryman’s) ghat, the Meer Ghat where we are staying, and the Raja Ghat, adorned with many impressive but dilapidated palaces and havelis.
At any and all ghats, you will find women of all ages, from three to sixty, selling offering bowls with flowers and a candle to put into the river for a blessing and men crying “Madame! Boat, Madame?” There are lots of children flying kites, and probably you will see a group of boys playing Cricket. Some ghats are remarkably crowded and turn into a sort of marketplace while some are almost entirely empty. It is difficult to take it all in, so I will return tomorrow and perhaps be able to arrange and deliver my thoughts better then.