Muslims and School Busses

Life has been pretty normal since I last posted, and I am really into the swing of things here. I am officially a regular at my favorite café and I have developed a great relationship with my host parents. I have even planned a trip to Agra to see the Taj Mahal in April.

Alex,  my history teacher and I
at the first saint's shrine

Today however, was especially interesting. Instead of having history class, Alex and I went with our history teacher on a tour of Muslim Varanasi. We visited three places, each more unique and more foreign than the next. The first was the shrine of a Sufi saint (Islamic Mystic) where people come to worship. For those of you who are out there scratching their head and thinking “don’t Muslims not worship idols and dead people?” don’t worry, you are right. However, some sects of Muslims believe that while the saint’s bodies are dead they are straight chilling with God in heaven and they are alive somewhere up there. They are kind of like a secretary/ bodyguard to God, for you can't get your prayers to God unless you go through them first.

Things learned at first shrine: Muslims have very good hygiene, for they have to seriously clean themselves before they pray. 5 times a day.

We then went to the other side of the city to a mosque that is nearly 1000 years old. (Note: the “1000” is not a typo) This mosque was buried by in earthquake a few hundred years ago, and was only recently discovered, but it has been restored and is currently used by people in the area. If you didn’t know that this mosque had such an amazing history before you started looking at it, you would have no idea when you got there. It is just a building in a poor Muslim neighborhood, with no signs, and no tourist pamphlets. That’s what happens when something is only 1000 years old in a 6000 year of city, and something is Muslim is a country full of racism.

My Favorite thing about Varanasi Muslims:

Traditional Muslim women in full black Burkas strutting around town sporting sunglasses and allowing their neon colored and highly fashionable pants to show for about 4 inches by their ankles. They looked super fly.

Shrine of a Sufi Saint

Place number three was another Sufi saint, a baba that women pray to in order to escape the worst of their sorrows. Thursdays are the main day to pray to this saint so the place was a mad house. There was a swingset outside, and women everywhere! Our male teacher, a more traditional Muslim who does not frequent saint shrines, got confused and tried to take Alex and I into an area for only men. Thankfully, our white skin showed that we had no idea what was going on, so some other men directed us to the women’s section.

Things learned at second shrine: A significant portion of people who pray to sufi saints are Hindus, not Muslims, but because of the composite culture in India, and the similarities between Sufism and Bhakism no one really cares. Except for the people who consider making offers to saint heresy. They care.

In the Bus Rickshaw

After the tour I attempted to go to a Hindu Puja with Sarah and Tania, but it turns out the ceremony is tomorrow, so we did a little shopping for fifty cent earrings and decided to head home. We were bargaining with the auto rickshaw drivers when a man told us he could give us a good price. Figuring we would just take a bicycle we crossed the street with him, but when we got to his rickshaw we were in for a surprise. It was not a bicycle rickshaw; it was a school bus rickshaw!!!

The young kids in Varanasi get to school in these little covered carts pulled by a guy in the bicycle, fitting about 10 elementary school kids and their backpacks inside. It is adorable. Now imagine that instead of your usual 8 year olds in school uniforms you see three 21 year old white girls. We were in the school bus for about 20 min, and every other rickshaw driver we passed could not believe their eyes. The locals all thought we were hilarious, and the tourists were simply confused about what was funny. Rickshaws would pull up next to us to chat for a few minutes, and a lot of babies waved. It was the first time I actually enjoyed getting attention from the Indian crowds, because this time I deserved it. We looked ridiculous, and the three of us did not stop laughing the whole ride home. When I told the native Indians I spend time with  that I had ridden in a school bus even they could not believe it. They have never heard of any one who was not on their way to school doing so.

You know you have graduated from tourist when:

• When you start to head bobble without thinking
• When you step in poop, notice, then forget about it, cause it really doesn’t make a difference
• When the amazingly colorful and loud wedding processions start to annoy you.
• When you feel naked without your scarf, which you will use to as a towel or a tissue.
• When you see other forigners in shorts, tight pants, and v neak shirts and think they are grossly immodest
• When you have not gotten in the rickshaw or bought a puja flower from a child enough times that people stop asking
• When you have a favorite sweet shop (or three)
• When you forget your wallet when you go to a café, but they don’t care because they know you will be back.
• When you can tell when another foreigner is new, and secretly judge them, even though the differences between you two are a matter of degrees.
• When a 4-dollar meal feels like you are being cheated by someone and you balk at sweets that cost more than 20 cents.