Varanasi has many names — Banaras, Kashi, the City of Death — but no matter what it’s called, Varanasi is a city defined by its place on the holy River Ganges. Millions of people visit each year to witness the rituals on its banks, see the temples, and bathe in its waters. Additionally, as I understand it, Varanasi itself has significance, and if you die within the city, you can achieve moksha, or salvation. The smell of Varanasi is the smoke of incense and crematoriums, and the water scent of the Ganges and rain.

It wasn’t quite raining yet, when we reached the crematoriums. The smoke and ash was thick in the air. We made our way up a set of narrow, crowded steps — stepping over an entirely unbothered ram, sitting in the middle of the chaos— towards a raised platform. With the crowds, our group had been spread out, two or three strangers between each of us and the others, and with the clamor of that many people, we couldn’t communicate much as to where we were going; it was like a market, but without the bargaining. Instead, all I could do was keep one eye on the back of the head of the nearest member of our group, and try my best to follow after, so I wasn’t really sure what was waiting for us at the top. I gained an inkling when a man sitting on one of the walls leaned forward and reached out as if to stop me: “Don’t go up there,” he said. “It’s too hot— it will hurt your eyes.” But I could just see the back of a friend’s head disappearing over the top, and so I didn’t know what else to do except follow.

Well, he was right. I reached the top and was hit with a wave of heat and smoke. My eyes stung, and I honestly thought I was going to choke. The top of the square tower was covered in ash, from the multiple smoldering funeral pyres. Beyond, the Ganges was grey and wide.

We didn’t stay long at the top. As we made our way down, I made eye contact with the man from before. “It was too hot,” he said. I didn’t get a chance to agree, since the crowd kept pushing us forward, but it was a friendly, and deserved, “I told you so.”

We made our way down to the beach, where we watched priests bless dead bodies, the Sacred Flame set pyres alight, and divers on the banks look for the gold of jewelry in the ashes from the cremations. It was surprising to me for the funerals to be so public, that we— foreigners and total strangers— could just wander in and watch a family grieve. It was also interesting to see the rites, and how people send off their loved ones across the world. Even though I couldn’t understand the language, and had very little context for the rites, I could feel the weight in the air of a sacred space.

As we left the crematoriums, the sky that had been threatening to do so finally broke, and it began to rain. We took shelter in an alley as it soaked our clothes. It would rain for the rest of the week.

Varanasi was never what I expected, whether it was the crematoriums, or riding in a rickshaw that made me scared that I might achieve moksha, but it was always, always interesting, and always, always valuable. While we were in other places for longer, Varanasi made more of an impact on my memory, and I think that as long as I smell smoke, rain, and incense, I’ll carry Varanasi with me.

– Kayden Beidler

During our first week we spent time visiting museums, monuments and meeting some families. However, one of my favorite experiences was a Manipur folk dance and song workshop at the Indian International Center. IIC has performances and workshops daily and we were fortunate to have access to some. After about three days in India, seven of us students showed up to this workshop having no idea what to expect. We followed signs to a small room with a stage. People slowly trickled in and the room filled up with people of all ages. There was a combination of people who were also new to the music, as well as some who were very familiar with it. 

Before this workshop, I had never even heard of Manipur. Manipur is a small state located in the eastern most point of India, bordering Myanmar. Mangka Maranglambam, a well known and loved musician from Manipur led the workshop. From the moment she started singing, I was captivated. As a music education student, I am always excited to hear and learn about different regions’ traditional music. The songs she sang felt so raw and real. There was nothing flashy about it, and I think that’s why it’s so beautiful. 

After a few songs and dances, Mangka invited people to come up to learn a dance. Nobody moved, everyone hoping that someone else would be the first to go. I was hesitant as dancing is not my strong suit, but before we knew it, the whole room was up and dancing. Once I let go of my fear of looking lost and confused, it was a beautiful experience. A group of strangers were suddenly dancing together and connecting with the culture of Manipur. This was a two day program and I left that night filled with energy and excitement for the next day. The second night we learned some more complex songs and dances.

The whole environment was so supportive and everyone was brought together in a way that I have seen music do time and time again. We ended the night by singing one of the first songs we learned. Despite barely knowing it, it was exciting to sing something that felt familiar. I am so grateful that I got to participate in this workshop. It exposed me to a part of India that most of the world isn’t even aware of. North east India is a region with rich history and culture and I’m glad I got to learn just a little bit. I look forward to more musical experiences in the coming weeks.

-Harper Shue

I am spending the semester abroad in India on an şÚÁĎŐýÄÜÁż intercultural studies program. We explore museums and monuments, learn about the fascinating history and culture, and eat a wide variety of amazing food so full of spices and flavor.

I am learning a lot here, but what I did not expect was how people read me. I have people approaching me speaking in Hindi, the way any locals ask for directions. I am happy to be seen as not American, because that may come with better prices on goods than my white classmates, and different attitudes in markets. However, I find it interesting how people here view me so differently, even just based on skin color, instead of how I’m dressed or the fact that I’m with a group of other Americans.  I wear typical American clothing (shorts and a t-shirt), yet sometimes people here think Americans have to be white.

 I saw this firsthand at a Sikh temple, where another student and I, both of us with darker complexions, got scolded for not finishing our food, while not a single word was said to our white classmates. This was just an interesting experience I witnessed.

These experiences were in Delhi, showing that even in a large city, being American and being white is still often seen as typical or the normal American. They see someone with dark, Southeast Asian features, and they do not think American. 

I can compare this to racism in the United States, where the typical racism I experience is more institutional and historical, with acts barring Asian immigrants or being viewed as the “model minority.” 

Here, discrimination against Southeast Asian looking people seems mostly through foreignness and color. Someone who looks Southeast Asian gets treated as an outsider or tourist regardless of citizenship. In India, having lighter skin tones is seen as better or more well off. Darker skin got associated with outdoor manual labor, while lighter skin signaled wealth. In the USA, it is flipped, with a tan signifying you have money, can go on vacations, and go to the beach. I find the comparison of each to be interesting and something I would like to learn more about. 

-Alex Jantzen