life + death in india
humility
It happened quickly in an old rickshaw with a red painted frame and a worn-out vinyl bench seat. I went from being an eager travel advisor ready for anything to a quiet and curious observer. Stepping out of the air-conditioned SUV into the hot morning to board the rickshaw for my first tour, I realized I had no idea what to expect. Bicycles, cars, motorbikes, thin men towing rickshaws, families spilling out the sides of tuktuks, cow-pulled wooden carts, and pedestrians of all ages crowded the narrow streets of Delhi's old town. Grey dust-covered buildings stood atop ground-level shops opening for the day. Monkeys played on the tangled electrical wires above, eating fruit and throwing the scraps into the alleys. Crowds of people squeezed through the traffic and climbed over our rickshaw to get on their way. I felt vulnerable and exposed. India humbled me within the first moments of my 2.5-week trip.
I had been curious about India but had other destinations higher on my travel list. Recently, I became a certified yoga teacher and gained a new appreciation for India as the birthplace of yoga. When Banyan Tours, a luxury Indian Destination Management Company (DMC), invited me on this adventure, I accepted. The industry calls this a FAM, or familiarization trip, where a DMC hosts travel advisors to explore their country. Advisors gain firsthand knowledge to better serve clients wanting to visit a destination.
Let's be clear—this was not a vacation. Many days, the two other advisors and I were up before dawn with our guides, visiting multiple historic sites; touring hotels and meeting staff; and sharing meals with onsite teams. We visited Delhi, Bandhavgarh, Khajuraho, Varanasi, Udaipur, Jaipur, and Agra in just over two weeks, staying no more than two nights in any location. Combine this schedule with jet lag from being 11.5 hours ahead of home, and it was a lot to manage. But it was all worth it.
superior sightseeing
In Delhi, we toured gardens, historic tombs of ancient rulers, and modern museums with excellent exhibitions about Indian history, art, and architecture. I ate one of the best meals I've ever had at Indian Accent. On our way to a tiger safari in Bandhavgarh, our shiny white van pushed through crowded village streets on market day, which brings families out to sell and shop for colorful produce and spices. In Khajuraho, we visited what could be the best hotel I’ve ever seen once it’s done as well as an incredible complex of 9th and 10th century Hindu and Jain temples. Varanasi welcomes tens of thousands of visitors daily to the shores of the sacred River Ganges for blessings and funeral pyres. Jaipur is lively, full of markets set against the backdrop of a colonial pink city. Udaipur feels like a fairy tale with an extravagant, hilltop palace covered in millions of pieces of glass and precious stones, floating above the lake that envelops many luxurious hotels and resorts we toured. And Agra, with the majestic and ethereal Taj Mahal, rising above thousands of visitors in the morning light. Everything we saw was magnificent.
In all the places we visited, one thing struck me—the close relationship between life and death in daily existence. Yes, crossing the street is a survival challenge. The best advice I received from one guide was to “walk like a cow, slow and steady. Do not change pace. Do not make eye contact.” But what became clear was the vitality and mortality honored by this culture. It’s how they live.
The vibrancy of daily routines in all these places fascinated me. For example, the way people make a living pulses through the countryside, towns, and cities. Witnessing market day in country villages felt like watching a movie. Families came out in large numbers, with women dressed in traditional, colorfully patterned saris, head coverings, sandals, and jangling jewelry. Men balanced huge baskets or bins on their heads. Children joined parents to sell their goods like produce, honey, fried street foods, western-style clothing, bedazzled purses, handmade wooden furniture, and even nail polish. The shops spilled out from the storefronts, crowding the roads with vehicles and pedestrians. In Jaipur, our guide shared details of the city, master-planned in the 1700s, with thoughtful notes about the width of the roads, first-floor shops with a loggia for sun protection, and handsome two and three-story apartments above, all colored terra cotta.
no boundaries
Present-day life bursts all boundaries. Retail shops display their goods on cloth-covered sidewalks, shrinking the walkway to the width of one person. Unrelated sellers with sweet treats, trinkets, or drinks crowded the edge of the shops. Motorbikes park perpendicular to the sidewalks, taking up a lane or two of the otherwise grand central boulevard. It sounds overwhelming, and it is. But it’s compelling in a way that is hard to understand unless you are there. The layers of humanity in one city block or village center are incomparable to any place I’ve been. There is so much to see, hear, and smell, and it’s in your face and all around you. Nothing is neatly contained in western-style retail centers or city streetscapes. However, it is all complemented by either lush landscapes, rolling hills, or arid farmlands.
Respect for all living things
Another example is the coexistence with animals. Dogs, cats, cows, goats, chickens, and monkeys wander through city alleys past the same shops with us. They cross eight-lane highways, avoiding risk and injury. The cultural respect for life and living things is epitomized by Jain nuns. I had no idea what Jainism was before this trip and was initially uncomfortable seeing women robed head to toe in sun-bleached white cotton with a square cloth covering their mouths. A short-handled broom hung over their shoulders. Jainism teaches non-violence and respect for all living things. The nuns cover their mouths to avoid inhaling insects and use the broom to sweep the ground before stepping to avoid harming any living being.
Making Life
The vitality of Indian culture revealed itself in other ways. Touring Khajuraho temples, our cheeky guide delighted in explaining the stone carvings on the façade. These intricate carvings showed many mischievous scenes of Karma Sutra, some quite graphic. Partners, voyeurs, groups, servants, kings, and queens all seemed to enjoy the act of creating life based on what we saw on the temple facades.
One of my favorite topics during dinner and lunch meetings was marriage and family. I wanted to know if they had an arranged marriage or “love” marriage. I asked about wedding details and learned that most had 500-800 guests over several days. One lovely hotelier showed me videos of his wedding made from drones and created by a professional videographer. If it were a marketing video for a vacation, I would have booked my next trip. I enjoyed learning about how families live together and the traditions that are important to them.
Sacred city of Varanasi
I experienced the most unexpected tradition related to death in Varanasi. We first viewed this sacred city from a small motorboat on the Ganges at sunset. The way the monasteries, mosques, hotels and residence stack vertically against the river edge, combined with the lighting at dusk made the city appear otherworldly. The vision was akin to seeing Venice from the water for the first time.
We saw the ghats or steps from the sidewalks along the river’s edge down to the shore, with afternoon strollers, religious bathers, and timid tourists splashing one another. It all felt romantic and lighthearted. Then, we came upon the funeral pyres, something for which I was unprepared. Our knowledgeable guide explained the scene where up to 150 families mourn their relatives each day. The principal mourner shaves their head and wraps themselves (it was mostly men) in white robes, while other family members gather around the pyre. I saw a principal mourner consoling a grieving young man, perhaps his son, seated in the dirt with his head in his knees.
Thousands of chopped wood blocks stacked a story tall since each ceremony requires about 800 wood pieces. I witnessed the ritual of washing the garment-wrapped deceased at the river shore. The air felt thick and heavy with sorrow, smoke, and floral incense. The mourners and their onlookers respected the privacy and sacredness of what was happening. Once the sun set, the pyres continued burning long into the night.
New fires downstream were lit to celebrate the setting sun. Huge crowds showed up for this ceremony, which we were told is always this abundant. Boats of all shapes, sizes, and colors, from wooden fishing boats to river cruise boats with multiple stories, and party boats decorated with balloons, jammed the Ganges for the daily ritual. Seven priests gathered on their platforms to pray, chant, sing, and wave fire through the air. The crowd pulsed, clapped, swayed, and chanted along with their spiritual leaders. A man on a microphone spoke between segments. I imagined an inspirational leader addressing the pilgrims, but our guide said simply, “he was telling people to be quiet, sit down, and don’t block the passageways.”
During our visit, life was in constant motion. There were overlapping religious and national holidays, spiritual festivals and local celebrations. These occasions brought so many people and so much movement which I’ve never felt. We met so many people, on the streets, in artisan maker spaces, temples, at performances, hotels and in nature. The life in their eyes, bright smiles, curiosity to connect and graciousness demonstrated the deep spirit and appreciation for life in India. Visting this place taught me about service, gratitude, and trust, and enforced sacredness of the land and its inhabitants. I always felt safe, and more importantly, I always felt the care of the people. Despite the challenges I faced internally during my time in northern India, I plan to return to explore more of this complex, layered country.
