I’ve written so much about Varanasi on different occasions that I don’t know where to start this time. The most beautiful thing about being in Varanasi was probably bumping into my Bhaia (brother) Cristo again. I met him last time in 2010 and he found us walking around the city this time, instantly adopted my mother as “mama, look!” and took on the role of showing us the magical side of the city for the coming three days, while refusing all forms of payment – because we’re family.

If you manage to make your way to Varanasi, do try to find Cristoforo Rahul Pandit somewhere, (guy on the picture above!) he speaks English, Hindi and Italian and is a Brahmin and Varanasi Expert with a huge heart. He works as a guide in the city so I designed and sent him a bunch of proper business cards – you might get one when you get there! His number is +91 (0) 9792597869, his skype is cristoforo203 and his email is varanasi.cristo (at) gmail.com. Contact him if you need a great guide in Varanasi – and do say hi from me. :)

At some point, he showed me the photo and note I had given him in 2010 and I went with my mother to visit the very shabby hotel I had spent my nights in back then. I was reminded about how I had prioritized at that point and how that helped me to manage a two month trip on a practically nonexistent budget. Also, it’s in the shabbiest places that I’ve met some of the most inspiring people I know. Obviously, I was in awe about being in Varanasi again, I recognized some of the small streets and found my way around, I recognized the colours, the smells, the contrasts and even some of the kids I had photographed when they were younger.. there is just so much about that place and it keeps being one of my two favourite cities in India simply because of how intense and real it manages to be. Varanasi is the place where you are most likely to find India.

It purposely breaks you down and then builds you up again.

You can find the rest of the India 2013 stories here.

So we needed to make our way from Kolkata to Varanasi, and the best way to do it was by train. I had already taken many trains in India so I knew that I preferred the “worst” way of going, the “2nd class, sleeper” – this is the by far cheapest way to travel in India – there is no air-condition, there are a lot of strangers, the windows only have bars in them, and you sleep on a bench. The reason I prefer this way of travelling is because it’s not as cold as in AC compartments, and I really don’t like to be cold – and that you get to see much more. People, views, chai-salesmen, food, strange-fruit, randomness. And it’s half the price of the AC choice. The price wasn’t too important in this case, but made much of a difference when travelling for months like I did last time. Question was if my mother was going to be as thrilled about going the “authentic way”.

We went to buy our tickets and I told my mother about the differences in the classes. She was hesitant. “Are you sure?” she asked. “You can try once, and then we’ll do it the “luxury” way further on, we’re saving a lot on this particular trip and you’ll get to experience what most people here travel like.. what do you say?” She nodded. “Ok. Let’s do it.”

I booked the ticket for the 20:35 Doon Express, pushing for us to get the top beds as I knew from experience that those are the only one’s that stay up all day. This means that you can keep your things safe and hang out up there without having to sit and wait until people decide to start going to sleep. We got them. And got onto our train.

When we got in, my mother freaked out a bit. “Wow – it’s so dirty! Are there cockroaches here?” she asked. “Probably somewhere” I answered. (Maybe I should have stopped there.) “Maybe the flying one’s..” .. “Wh-what?!” By that point I started feeling guilty and selfish. Maybe my mother wasn’t as curious to “do it the Indian way” as I was. Maybe I should have chosen the more comfortable option now that I wasn’t travelling solo. But after a while she said, as if reading my worried mind, “You know what? This isn’t so bad.” It warmed my heart and I could finally relax. And when it got a bit chilly in the night I was very happy that we were not in the AC compartment. We both really dislike cold.

A thing I thought about was how the presence of staring men felt different now than in 2010. They looked hostile somehow. Were they really staring in a different way? Was it all the recent horrific news stories that had planted fear in my head? Was it the fact that I felt like I needed to protect my mother? Was it only the Kolkata-Varanasi route? (That I hadn’t done before.) Had I gained paranoia with age? I’m not sure. But at times I felt like I wouldn’t have been able to fight fear if I would have been alone in there. I remember taking a mental note to remember not to travel alone in sleeper class by night on this route. And that’s a big contrast to how I felt about it last time.

But still, at some point in the middle of the night I got up to watch the passing landscapes. It was completely dark outside, and sometimes just after the smaller train stations, there were little villages where big bonfires were lit and people were just waking up to start their day. Watching them from the inside of the moving train, with the world passing by on the outside, the wind stroking my face, the rest of the train sleeping, and music in my ears, was like reconnecting to last time I had done exactly the same thing. I reflected over the huge difference between travelling alone and in company, and realized I couldn’t fully detach and enter a state of emptiness when accompanied simply for the reason of always being aware of the presence another person. It was still peaceful, beautiful and fulfilling, but in a different way.

I went up to sleep. And my mother went down to sit in the same spot later on. One does not simply go by train in India without entering a state of awe.

We got up in the morning and people were being chatty and friendly. When crossing the Ganges and entering Varanasi we were only one hour late and had less than half an hour left of our 15 hour train ride. We had officially survived the overnight train from Kolkata to Varanasi. The cheapest way to do it. “We did it!” my mom said when we arrived and got into our rickshaw. And I might already have gone many hours by train in India before, but I felt the same way. This had been different. We did it.

When I was still working in Nicaragua, my mother told me she wanted to travel with me as soon as I got back to Sweden in September. She wanted us to go to Istanbul together, but as she would have two entire weeks of vacation, I had her reconsider and think bigger, and she picked India and the Taj Mahal. I had already been there in 2010, but this was going to be very different. First of all, I was going to let my mother lead and plan everything – it was her trip. Also, she wanted to see everything. More buildings, less spirituality. I was going to let somebody else decide where I would be going and not travel alone for the first time, she was going to have to trust me on the safety issues and discover the hardships of India. It was going to be a challenge for both of us.

Kolkata, or as many say, Calcutta, was our first stop in the country after a really convenient Emirates flight. We landed under heavy rainfall and found a hotel on Sudder street where travellers often choose to live due to its convenient location. It wasn’t really tourist season in September as the monsoon period had just started, so we were almost alone in the hotel apart from a group of very nice Japanese guys that we spent an evening with. During the days, we basically walked around looking at monuments my mother wanted to see – and ate. My mother had no issues with trying food in different places, so that was wonderful. She was already loving the Indian cuisine after one day and I was thrilled. On our second day, we met Bose, a guy who insisted on showing us around for hours. My mother was nervous, “Why is he so nice? Are you sure this is the right direction? Where is he taking us?” but she finally gave in when I told her to try to let go of her fears and trust her instincts instead, and Bose was indeed harmless and genuine – he took us to his favourite places and showed us his secret shortcuts and little temples. He made sure we weren’t harassed by vendors and refused accepting even a soft drink from us. In the end, my mother kindly forced him to accept for us to pay for his lunch. The way a Polish mother does best. We had enormous plates of Chicken Biryani, we spoke about culture, Indian history and Bose’s plans for the future, and we had a lovely time.

I know I haven’t posted many photos from the trip to India I did with my mother in September. Things have actually very hectic since and the most sad part about it is that I have lost many of the names and details that went along with the photos. Anyhow, I will share them little by little.

The permission for this photo was given with an elegant little Indian head-wobble by this girl, very sweet and proud, and eager to ask us questions. She didn’t speak a word of English though, so a friend we had met earlier was translating. Unfortunately I don’t remember her name.

We had been looking at a little private temple depicting the Indian goddess Kali when the girl came out of the front door of her house to see who was there – the temple belonged to her family – many households in India tend to have small temples. This one was the favourite of the friend who had brought us here, because it was peaceful and secluded – and anybody was welcome to pray by it.

And guess what, Kali is the goddess of Time and Change.