Banaras: Impressions and feelings

The problem with feelings and impressions is that they are so very hard to capture, express and convey. You see, even if you do capture a single instant of your mental recollections in your own thoughts, you face the monumental task of expressing those thoughts in words - to yourself. And if you succeed in slaying that ogre, you have to face the demon of conveying the original recollections and feelings to others. But how can a person who has never felt what you feel, be made to understand? How can a blind person be made to understand what is color? The way that most people chose, the only way for many, seems to be approximation and hope.
In talking of Banaras - Varanasi - where drain water and the collective excretions of men and beasts finds its way unchecked into the Ganges, mixing freely with "Ganga-jal" - one has to fight through a similar pattern throughout, an incredible juxtaposition of the holy and the profane, and keep one's balance.
Take for example, the (Hindu) policeman inside what is one of the holiest of holy temples in India, on one of the holiest days of the Indian calendar, using a South Indian word for "two", for a South Indian female devotee - only that it sounds uncomfortably similar to the Hindi word for a public woman - and the situation certainly did not warrant the use of the word "two" - nor do I think he meant "two".
On the other hand, think of the thousands of devotees, thronging the corridors of the temple, spilling out for several kilometres into the streets - with "Shiva, Shiva" or "Om namah Shivaya" or "Baba" or "Mahadeva Shiva Shankara Shambho" or any of the thousands of fearful, respectful, endearing, or simply loving words for the Diety of Varanasi - Vishwanatha - the Lord of the All - on their lips, having fasted throughout the day, waiting patiently, just to see, to touch, the stone symbol of their Lord - the same as the Lord Himself - who would free them of all sins.
Think of the sannyasins, the men of renunciation, who, in the words of one of them, "commit no sins, unlike the worldly people slaving away for money, or woman, or family, yet observe these fasts and rituals, simply to set an example for them, and to maintain 'good samskaaras' (tendencies)".
Think of the foreign tourists, some of whom have come in search of "spirituality" - becoming repulsed on seeing the urine running freely down the ghats of the Ganges - others, more experienced, (or perhaps more engrossed?) who have learnt to develop thick skins, some, who have to come to see a human zoo, clicking away at the rally of the Naga sannyasins - some of whom are only too happy to oblige - and some, who have come for "free drugs and sex" - for remnants of the Hippy culture of the Sixties still thrive here.
And yet, underlying all this, there is something, unique to Banaras, an old world charm, intangible, indescribable in its entirety, yet so much there that any casual observer - or atleast anyone whose mind is not addled with Western notions of cleanliness - can feel.
Take for instance, the laidback casualness of the natives, the willingness to accommodate and adjust, the almost interfering concern into the affairs of other people and the ensuing readiness to help, the perennially clogged streets in which hardly ever does a fight break out, the devoutest of Hindus and the most orthodox of Muslims living within spitting distance of each other, brushing against each other daily as they go to their favourite temples and mosques.
Or, delving into the realms of the more indescribable, take the feeling that one gets after sitting for some hours on the ghats, the stillness and the peace, or the purity that one feels in the morning, meditating, or worshipping, or studying, or simply taking a walk. Later on, listening to the birds chirping or, if one is lucky, watching peacocks dance on the hostel roof (inside the BHU campus)... one just feels ... something.
And when the night comes, watching the bright lights of the "Ganga ji ki arati" (adoration of the Ganges), or strolling along the ghats of the Ganges, or, again, through the neat little streets inside the University campus, especially during late spring/early autumn, especially under starry nights, during blackouts, one feels ... again... a contentment, and yet a yearning ... whether spiritual or romantic ... or simultaneously both, one knows not.
Yes, there is something about Varanasi, the Gods, the city, the people, and the places... something that just defies description.