Chhath Puja..

We've been back in ole Banaras for a little over two weeks now and it feels like our last days living in this city are all too quickly racing away. We've been insanely busy packing up our home and selling off most of the possessions we've amassed over the years, trying to schedule in enough time do decent goodbyes with friends (which I feel we're failing at), trying to not wear out the kids with all the running around (which I feel we're failing dismally at) - and of course, trying to manage all of the above with a family who have all had the flu since arriving back in town.. It's been an exhausting couple of weeks!

But none-the-less, I'm trying to make the most of our last days here and thus trying to get the camera out as often as possible. And whilst those who know me know that mornings are not my most favourable time of the day I decided to get my sorry butt out of bed get and down to the Ghats before sunrise last week to witness Chhath Puja. 

Chhath Puja is a an ancient Hindu festival that centers around Surya (the sun god) in which participants offer puja and gifts to thank the Sun for sustaining life and to grant their wishes. Prosperity, healing, babies and other various wishes are all considered up for grabs over this four day festival in which devotional acts such as abstaining from drinking water, offering prayers at the rising and setting of the sun and prolonged standing in bodies of water are all part of package. Whilst men and women both participate in Chhat Puja, it does seem to be more of a Women's festival and with the noticeable increase of women outside of their homes it actually creates quite a different (and wonderful) atmosphere in and around this overwhelmingly man's world which is Banaras.

I hope you'll enjoy this little morsel from the feast of colour which is the Varanasi Ghats during Chaat Puja!

(And because I can't help myself I have to point out that the compression that occured when uploading these images has done some weird things with some of the colours and really brought out the vignettes. You'll have to be patient and forgive me this time round till I work out how to fix it.)

Public Enemy #1..

..The One & Only Govinda Baba..

Like most kids growing up in the West, at some point during my childhood I desperately wanted a pet monkey. From cartoons to movies, advertisements to the much loathed Totally Wild, they all seem to present a single unified message; ‘Monkeys = Fun!’ So it’s no surprise that when you first start travelling in Asia and end up in a place like Banaras where monkeys are as ubiquitous as birds, it all feels a little bit magical!

They’re in the trees, clambering along the power lines, jumping from building to building and yes, occasionally you will be squatting in the bathroom only to look up and see them watching you through the window as you go about your ‘business.’

Illusions Of Bathroom Privacy

But there comes a time when the honeymoon period comes crashing to an end and you begin to realise that they are less like the bunch of smiling, fun loving, scat singing (King Louie style) creatures in the tv dreams you’d been sold in your youth, but in fact are much closer to a pack of savage wild dogs that are brazen enough to invade your home (as we discovered one day when we foolishly left the door unlocked), become highly territorial when in heat and most terrifyingly have the advantage of being able to climb - thus giving them the high ground advantage from which to attack you from. In hindsight, perhaps seeing the Wicked Witch of the West shriek “Fly my pretties, Fly!” should have tempered my childhood illusions with something much closer to the horrifying truth!

No better example of this can I think of than the day I was leading the first group Meditations of the 2012-13 season at the River Ashram. It was monsoon and still extremely hot and humid but most of our long term community members were back in town. We’d shut down the Ashram during the hot season and most of us had taken off to the foot hills of the Himalayas to escape the brutal daily temperature highs of between 45-49°C/113-120°F… it’s worse than it sounds.. and so the Ashram had been unoccupied for almost 4 months, or so we thought.

Being the first meditation for the season we expected only a small turnout and so by the time we reached 10 or so people I got the ball rolling and we began the session. I was leading an Aggredior Divina meditation (translated from Latin as ‘Approach (the) Divine’) in which we usually spend the first 10 or so minutes in silent contemplation on our surroundings - which on this morning proved particularly poignant as it wasn’t long into our silence that I began feeling the uneasy sensation of being watched.

I opened one eye and quietly scanned the courtyard. Nothing. Just our circle of sweet hairy travellers from the far reaches of the globe, now blissing out in the early morning heat. I closed my eye and continued to focus on the meditation.

Minutes later I again felt the sensation of being watched, but this time I could also hear its source; a sound I’d come to know all too well, Bundar (Hindi for ‘monkey’). I opened one eye and looked up where sure enough, in those braches high above our heads sat two juvenile Bundar, quizzically watching the goings on down below. As they were only young and so high up I closed my eye, tried to refocus myself and offered the next instruction to the group.

Minutes later I heard them again but this time the sound felt close, too close. I quickly opened my eyes and was startled to see that they had descended from the tree and were now perched directly above us in the shade cloth which hung only a meter or so above our heads. Not only that, but they had managed to pull the seams apart and were poking their heads through the mesh to get a better look at these hairy foreigners who were quietly sitting below. Being only youngsters I figured that they posed little threat to our group and so was happy to continue to the meditation, hoping that at the very least they would keep their distance and do so quietly – yet as with most things in Banaras, it wasn’t long before I realised I was wrong.

What would have proved helpful to know at that time was that in the previous months while the ashram grounds were vacated a wandering family of Bundar had stumbled into the perfect sanctuary to set up shop and raise their young. In the eyes of these newly acquired tenants, we had basically walked into their house, put our feet up on their coffee table and made ourselves at home. Cue the inevitable turf war.

A loud metallic twang rang out through the courtyard and this time I opened both eyes and there he was; the Alpha Male, standing tall and strong on top of the metal staircase, his scar covered face jousting towards us with fierce jolts whilst baring his teeth in a display of unbridled aggression. Worse than this, he’d brought backup. Along the wall behind him stood another 5 or so Bundar which began to follow his lead, and as I turned my head to check the surroundings I discovered a further 5 or so perched atop the wall behind me. We were the victims in a textbook pincer manoeuvre, and seconds later they began to descend.

I looked around our group and immediately noticed that every person who had lived in Banaras for more than a couple of years had their eyes open and was fully aware of the encroaching madness, yet every short term traveler (obviously still in the honeymoon phase) was still silent, still with closed eyes and crossed legs and blissfully unaware of what was about to transpire. I breathed deeply and spoke loud and clear “as I count backwards from 5, slowly open your eyes and feel your awareness returning to the circle.”

“5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1 … NOW RUN!!”

In the shock and confusion of the following moments we scrambled to collect our possessions and retreat inside, yet the doorway closest to our group also happened to stand dangerously close to the striking range of the Alpha Male. Immediately Govinda Baba, our dearly loved 65 year old Canadian Sadhu, sprang into action. He grabbed the beautifully decorated talking stick from the centre of the circle, charged at the spiral staircase and like a crazed medieval knight wielding a broad sword swung wildly at the Alpha Male who dodged each blow with ever increasing hostility.

The Alpha Male growled at Govinda. Govinda growled back.

The Alpha Male lunged towards Govinda. Govinda thrust him back.

The Alpha Male tried again to advance. Govinda stood his ground.

As I shepherded the last traveller through the doorway and into safety I turned back to witness the sight of our white bearded, orange robed, tough as guts friend going full combat with an Alpha Male Bundar so that the rest of us dirty hippies could have safe passage. Having held back the encroaching tide of Bundar just long enough for us to clamber to safety he turned on he heals and hot footed it indoors with the rest of us – the pack of Bundar not far behind. We slammed the door shut, breathed in our safety, and burst into laughter. 

The sight of those blissfully unaware hippies, the throngs of invading Bundar descending from on high and dear ole Govinda Baba going toe to toe for twelve rounds with the Alpha Male will forever remain one of my most joyful, awe inspiring and lets face it, utterly ridiculous memories which to this day still causes me laugh out loud whenever it enters my mind.

So if you’re planning on travelling Asia any time soon and find yourself reading this and thinking “But monkeys aren’t really all that bad,” I’ll simply leave you with the advice that my ole boy Oody gave me when I was still fresh off the boat in Banaras;

“Just wait till you have your first bad experience with them… Just. You. Wait!”

I Saw Your Nipples On The Balcony..

Our Rootop

Our first home in Banaras was the ultimate hippy pad! It was once the servant's quarters for a rich family (the landlord would swear black and blue that it was previously owned by the King of Nepal) and was just two small rooms that were built on the rooftop of a 3 story building. It was hot, dark, cramped, had no privacy, no hot water, no silence, no shower, no way to keep the dirt out, a squat toilet, you had to walk through the landlord's house to get to the front door, it was infested with rats.. ok, so essentially it was a hovel, but it was our hovel, in the city we'd spent years dreaming about living in, and we loved it. It was close to everything, overlooked an ancient religious site that was potentially thousands of years old and had one of the most amazing views of the city! And out of all the mixture of memories we have from our time living in that most wonderful of homes, one most definitely stands out above the rest; our landlord.

His name is Tiwari Ji, but we affectionately just called him "Tooza." He would love to tell you just how important he was and would remind me on an almost weekly basis that Brahmin was not just the top caste, but a Super Caste! I'd find myself half expecting him to finish that sentence by busting out a cape that he'd been hiding under his Lungi! But he and his family were a truly wonderful way to introduce us into Banarsi life and culture and the following three episodes are some of my favourite memories from those early days in Banaras that will give you a taste of the learning curve that lay before me!

Bucket Bath Bliss

 

Episode 1 - Mawiage Is Wot Bwings Us Togever

One day I was walking up the stairs to the rooftop from where we could access our house. As I reached the top I saw our landlord and his twenty-five year old son crouched down in the middle of the balcony busily working away at something that I couldn't quiet see. As I crossed the floor I saw that they were huddled over a pot plant, some scissors, a few rolls of sparkling tinsel and some tape and were busily cutting up everything into smaller bits and pieces. I awkwardly Namaste'd them and proceeded to ask what they were up to and the Son replied that it was a special day because Tulsi was getting married and they were helping her to prepare. 

In my mind, I knew that Tooza only had two sons and that one of them was already married, and also knowing that in Banaras it's not really the done thing for men to have interaction with women who aren't direct relatives, so as far as I could see there was really only one explanation.

"Oh, how exciting! Is Tulsi your cousin?" I asked.

Both men immediately stopped what they were doing. The son's jaw gaped open and he looked sideways at me with that kind of expression that makes you feel like you've just said the stupidest thing in the history of mankind. Tooza rolled his eyes and turned his back on me. The son just began to shake his head.

After standing there for what felt like an eternity with the overwhelming feeling that I had unanimously been voted the biggest fool in the country, I tried again.

"So Tulsi's not your cousin?" I asked.

"No," the son replied. "Tulsi is the pot plant."  



(If like me you needed an explanation, try here)

...Home...

Episode 2 - The Illusion Of Privacy

It was very early one morning when Wild Flower asked me if I'd pop out to a local dukan ('shop') to pick up some milk as we had run dry and our fledgling Chai addiction was demanding to be placated. The sun had crossed the horizon yet still the grey tinged darkness refused to flee and so from out of our windows the world appear glum, wet and hazy. I grabbed a bag and made my way to our front door where I sat down and leaned back against it to put my boots on.

But the very moment my back touched the door something caught my ear! In an instant I was reefed out of the illusion of privacy, and sat motionless with the knowledge that I was not alone.. and I listened. The sound was close, very close, too close. And it was repetitive; just a soft sloshing, slapping, moist sound, right near my ears. On all fours I silently turned and faced the door, my nose just inches from the wood, and knew that someone, or something, was on the other side.

Out the window above I could see the awning which overhung the front of our house by a couple of feet but nothing else, and so slowly, very slowly, I raised myself up higher and set a trajectory for the window. 

As the crown of my head reached the lower limits of the window I held my breath. I was still new to this country, still confounded daily by almost everything I saw, still aware that I had no idea what that sound was and therefore absolutely anything could have been waiting for me on the other side. 

As my eyes finally crested the window sill I peered down into the chasm below, and there he was, in all his glory; dear ole Tooza! Our elderly, bald, bushy eared landlord, sitting in the only stream of sunlight that just so happened to be falling upon our front door step, wearing nothing but a loin cloth and rubbing cooking oil all over his body. 

The soft sloshing, slapping, moist sound proceeded to eminate from our doorstep for further 25minutes.. Suffice to say our stomachs went Chai free that morning.

...Sweet Home...

Episode 3 - I Saw Your Nipples On The Balcony

It had been a busy morning in the Thundersong household as we had a big day planned at the River Ashram and Wild Flower and I had spent most of the morning hurriedly going about getting everything prepared. Some things were coming together well (ie; the pots of amazing food Wild Flower was whipping up to dish out over lunch), other things however.. not so well (ie; the sterilizing of the rubber tops of Little Feather's drink bottles which were accidently forgotten about and left in a pot of boiling water, which when the water evaporated away left the rubber to simply melt in the pot, thus filling the house with the charming and toxic aroma of charred rubber. We literally had to put the melted remains on the other side of the building just to get away from the smell!).

At some point during the flurry we put the last touches on our preparations and were finally ready to go. I put on my backpack and grabbed the large pot of food, Wild Flower hoisted Little Feather up into her sling and together we began our decent into our landlord's house which we always had to walk through whenever we wanted to enter or exit our home. Now that might sound a strange set up, and it was, but after a while you do get a tad more used to having to always walk through someone's home and when you're in a rush instead focus on how to get away with the least amount of small talk possible. But there is glaring problem here; Tooza loves small talk!

Every morning he would race to greet us and the first words out of his mouth every.single.day. would be "I heard your babu crying X number of times last night" *head wobble.* Now if you're a parent I'm sure you can imagine how joyful it makes you feel when someone says such things to you. I would occasionally find myself replying quiet sarcastically that because our daughter was in the same bed as us that we heard her crying X+1 times, but mostly I would refrain and simply return the *head wobble* and ask how his day was going.

But something different happened on this morning. As I stepped off at the bottom of the stairs he raced to greet us in his usual way but this time he did not greet us with his usual story, this time he began with a question, a question which will forever be seared in recessess of my mind! He looked past me to Wild Flower who was only a couple stairs behind and said "No milk for Babu this morning? I saw your nipples on the balcony."

My jaw hit the floor. 

My eyes grew twice their normal size.

My brain exploded. 

As I stood there too dumbstruck to say anything Wild Flower reached the base of the stairs and stood beside me. Without missing a beat she calmly and matter-of-factly replied "Oh yes, I tried to clean them in boiling water... but I burnt them."

I grabbed at the handrail to steady myself from falling.

I tried to force out words; "Did you just..?! But he said..?! How can it..?! What the..?!?!" And for a moment it seemed most plausible that I'd fallen into an alternate universe in which this scenario was so common place that people could discuss it freely whilst being completely nonchalant about it.

But then it dawned on me; Little Feather's drink bottles! The rubber tops (or 'nipples' if you will) that we'd burnt and put outside to get away from the smell..


This moment still haunts me!



We may have moved a number of times since those days back in 2011, but our first home/hovel in India and our dearest Tooza, have captured a place in our hearts and left an indelible mark on our lives which we'll never forget! ...No matter how hard I might try!

Monkey Battles, Garlic Thieves & The Spoils Of War..

December 2013

 
During a recent conversation with my good friend Ragnar about my garden back in Banaras, it occurred to me that I had never posted the final update from the last few months of work in the Resurrection Garden. Somewhere in amongst our relocating back to Australia for 6 months this post quite understandably just got lost in amongst the hubbub of life. So without further a do, I'd like to offer you an insight into some of my monkey troubles, garlic thieves and the spoils of war!   

December 2013

In late December I had broken the back of the manual labor and was mostly in maintenance mode with the Garden so most visits were just about some spot weeding, enjoying a chai on my favourite garden seat and the daily task of removing the neighbour's rubbish (and semi-regular bags off poo). I had already planted out all the beds with the seedlings I'd been growing in my house in the previous months and things were coming along nicely but as things always go in Banaras, an increase in production results in an increase in interest, and not the positive kind.

For a number of months we'd been frequently commenting how great the absence of Bundar (monkeys) had been and how well our gardens were able to get established in their absence. But wherever they had been they had obviously decided it was enough and back to our homes they came, and brought with them plenty of reinforcements. Almost daily I'd be racing up the to gardens, slingshot and warhammer in hand (ok.. so maybe it was just a large stick) to chase them away but ultimately it was a war of attrition and both sides were amply supplied. Oodbilav is a crack shot with our hunting slingshots and would regularly send them scurrying back to higher grounds with their tails between their legs (though usually after they had filled their belly's from our gardens). And even our neurotic landlord went and bought a high powered air riffle and would regularly patrol the property with his young sons taking shots at them. One day he even confessed to trying to shoot one in it's bottom but missed and hit it in the heart! He said that it died soon after and so he wrapped it in a mala made of marigolds and that night, under the cover of darkness, launched it off his roof top and sent it splashing down into the Ganga (Ganges River) 3 stories below.. Ooh how the madness never let up!

February 2014

As it got later into December and the cold really set in, you could see the difference in growth as things really began to slow down in the Garden. Crops that weren't already well established either died off or essentially their growth ground to a halt and as this dramatically effects the flavour of most crops, some of them were forcibly relocated to their new home in the compost pile. To fill in the spaces of those crops that weren't performing well I chanced upon a small gardening store in town that had a new pile of seedling strewn across their counter and I managed to pick up a couple of different types of veggies that went straight into the ground. They didn't perform quite as well as I'd hoped but when you're handed a pile of seedlings that have their roots completely exposed and are wrapped in nothing but strips of wet newspaper, well, you only have moderate expectation (and for AU$0.43 I didn't loose much sleep over it).

The Organic Hairy Canadian

Considering that the River Ashram is a Jesus Ashram, it probably comes as no surprise that Christmas day ends up being one of our busiest days of the year. Each year we hold a huge celebration on Christmas day and invite travelers and friends to join us in all our festivities. In the past 3 years we've had anywhere between 80 and 120 people rock along (last year we had a turn out of people from 26 different countries) and we always put on an incredible feast. Fresh salad is a rare commodity around Varanasi - and a fresh Organic Salad, well, that's an even rarer find - so I'd been holding off harvesting my salad greens for a while as I wanted to share them as part of the Christmas celebrations. And as you can see in the above pic, between Shookdedy Ba-Boooom's garden and mine, come Christmas morning we had a fantastic time in the Gardens harvesting an amazing collection including 8 different types of fresh, crisp, gorgeous organic lettuce which was devoured in no time.

January 2014

 
In January, the cold in Varanasi was at its peak and so as per our tradition we skipped town and heading for the warmer climates of north Thailand to have a couple of weeks holiday, be a part of a conference and catch up with some truly sweet friends who run a community similar to ours in the northern town of Pai. Knowing that I wouldn't be around I used up a great deal of the 80kgs of straw that I had bought months earlier and went to town heavily mulching everything.

Mulch is one of those wondrous things! It's brilliant for water conservation as it keeps the sun from blazing down on the bare earth and drying out your top soil, thus keeping the soil moist and reduces your need for watering by around 60%. It helps keep your soil temperature constant which reduces shock and stress on your plants (particularly helpful for me during these cold months). It helps keep the weeds down and prevents a lot of the weed's seeds from germinating (which is a massive ongoing fight I'm having in the Resurrection Garden) and less weeds means less competition for the nutrients and water that you want going to your dedicated food crops and not away from them. And if you're using an organic mulch such as Straw, Pea Straw, Cane, Bean, Lucerne, etc. as they break down they release organic matter back into the soil which improves drainage and soil structure as well as encouraging earthworms and microbial activity. So if you're new to Gardening then let it be known; Mulch is your friend!

 

December 2013

 
I've tried on a couple of occasions to explain why I put straw onto my garden to my neighbours and Mali ('groundskeeper') but with little success. My Hindis not great so obviously that's a pretty big hurdle, but in Banaras there is really only 2 options when it comes to most things; the way it's always been done and the wrong way - and putting what cow's eat for lunch on top of your garden is quite simply not the way things are done! Shookdedy Ba-Boooom tells the story of her early days gardening at the Ashram when she first tilled the soil, watered and mulched, went inside only to come back later that afternoon to find that the Mali had raked up all the mulch and set it on fire. As I said, mulching your garden is quite simply Not.The.Way.Things.Are.Done!

January 2014

The tomato plants had been growing like a dream and I was keen to built a trellis to help support them grow upwards instead of into the giant tomato thicket they were currently in the process of creating. My neighbours sell bamboo and twine is super cheap around these parts and so with these resources and a bit of research I ended up creating a trellis of horizontal double layers of twine, essentially supporting growth by twisting the tomato branches through each double line of twine for each foot of vertical growth. The trellis was something I'd been wanting to do for a long time but time restraints meant that I just never got around to it. Once the trellis was up I began threading the branches up through it and the finished product worked a treat! The only down side was that in the process I sadly damaged a number of the branches whilst unraveling the colossal mess that their branches were in, so the lesson of doing things before they really need to be done is one which I'll commit to learning.. sometime in the future.. perhaps.. ergh, knowing me probably not.. But once it was done the tomato plants really did continue to grow wonderfully and soon after began putting out hundred of clusters of young fruits which if they were lucky enough to avoid the Bundar charged on to maturity.

 

February 2014

 
In February we returned from Thailand and to be honest, I was a little heart broken coming back into the Resurrection Garden. In the weeks prior to leaving for Thailand there had been a number of wonderful Community Gardening afternoons and the Garden was in the best shape of it's life and was an absolute delight to be in. Upon returning it was like walking into a different garden altogether. With three weeks of my neighbour's uncollected rubbish scattered everywhere, weeds which had gone unchecked and the telltale signs of the presence of veggie thieves, I found it hard to even want to be in there. One of the biggest disappointments was probably the veggie thieves who had helped themselves to my imported elephant Garlic (which was nowhere near ready for harvesting and thus inedible and a complete waste to steal) as I had such big plans to multiply that Garlic and spread it out amongst my local friends who grow their own food so they could continue growing it at their homes. I'll never know who stole it, and even though the safe money is on my landlords - they now own a gun, so I plan to quietly lick my wounds from the safety of my home and never speak of this again!

It took me a couple of weeks before my heart was ready to really invest itself back into the Garden, but once I was ready, I hit it again with passion. And as you can see in the above image, towards the end things began to once again look and feel magical again.

Heirloom Carrots

One aspect of gardening that I'm becoming increasingly excited by is in the arena of heirloom varieties. Whilst I'm still a complete novice in the field I was particularly excited to track down and trial this variety of Purple Carrots. Even though they still had a while to go before reaching full maturity, I'd previously promised Little Feather that she could help me harvest them and as we were only a week away from heading back to Oz I decided it was time for us to put on our Gum boots, march up to the garden and get our hands dirty pulling up a few different varieties of carrot that we'd been growing. Sure they're cheap as chips and take a long time to grow, but eating carrots fresh from the Garden, really, how can you resist?!
 

Rainbow Silverbeet/Chard, Broccoli, Basil, Lettuce, English Spinach, Carrots, Rocket, Kale, Cos Lettuce, Mini Cos, Black Russian, Gross Lissi & Cherry Tomatoes.

 
With only a couple of days left before leaving I decided it was time to get out into the Garden for one final harvest. As you can see from the above shot, it resulted in a fantastic haul of amazing tasting crops and brought a real sense of accomplishment to all the sweat and tears I'd put into this project in the last two years. I've spent so so so many hours in that space, sometimes feeling a great sense of refreshment, sometimes pulling my hair out; constantly battling the monkeys, the rubbish, the weeds, the neighbours, the termites, the years of soil mistreatment, the elements and so to really experience that joy of dig my hands into the earth and pulling out literally arms full of fresh produce really made my heart feel full. I was able to pass out what would have been baskets full of veggies over the wall to my neighbours (yes.. the same ones who send baskets full of their faeces my way) and whilst showing gratitude in these sorts of situation doesn't seem to be a common cultural trait amongst Banarsi folk, I'm pretty sure that somewhere in there there was a bit of love being handed back and forth too. 

February 2014

As a closing though, if you were keen to visit the Resurrection Garden but the thought of forking out thousands of dollars to make the trip to Varanasi doesn't quite appeal to you, I have something which might just be the next best thing. Whilst this is from back in January and certainly isn't as good as being there in the flesh, you do get the benefit of checking it out from the comfort of your own home (which will certainly save you a few rupees)! So have a click on the following link and take a look around (works best on a tablet or smart phone but using the arrow keys on your keyboard is also good) and as my Little Feather likes to say; "Welcome to be here!!"
 
                                                                            >>> The Resurrection Garden 3D <<<

Paint The Town Paan..

Step out your front door, it'll be there. Take a boat ride down the Ganga ('Ganges River'), it'll be there. Walk into a fancy looking Government office, you'd better believe it'll be there! Paan, otherwise known as betel nut, is as ubiquitous in Banaras as the holy cow! And no matter where you go you can be well assured that it won't be long before your eyes (and probably your feet) will stumble across a smattering of someone's most recent chewing session.

Paan is a chewing stimulant native to India and Pakistan and derives it's name from the Sanskrit word for 'leaf' or 'feather.' Due to it's psychoactive properties (most often tobacco) it's popular amongst hard working bicycle rickshaw wallas, auto rickshaw drivers, day laborers, taxi drivers, fruit sellers, tailers, fishermen, chai wallas, salesmen, water buffalo herders, businessmen, old ladies, ok, so it's pretty much popular amongst everyone. There's a pretty broad variety of Paan from the innexpensive to the slighty more pricey, but at its cheapest and nastiest it sells for only a couple of rupees (AU$0.08) per packet and once you've let it linger in your mouth for as long as you care to, it seems you can spit it out wherever the bloomin' hell you want.

I remember the first time I walked into my faculty building at Banaras Hindu University. The building is old and not particularly well cared for, but it's a university building and so it still looks big and official. As I walked inside the front doors, through the lobby area and began climbing the flights of stairs it was quite the shock to see that even inside a place as prestigious as BHU, the corners of every stair well, the end of every hallway and at the base of every window sill, the tell tail signature of someone offloading their Paan payload was still waiting there for the world to see.  

Sure it's gross, sure it's unhygienic, and sure it'll give you cancer, but the splatter often has a quiet charm about it if you're willing to accept it. It took me sometime to begin noticing but eventually I pulled out the camera and went for a walk to photograph some of the local "street art." This series represents just one 40 minute walk around my neighbourhood photographing the Paan stains in my local gullies. What this collection represents to me is that as long as there is Paan to be sold, there will be photographs to be taken.