If I were religious, I would damn Varanasi for the grip it continues to have, years after I went there. That city, there is something very unique about that city, like it were the core of all things. Or the manifestation of many myths. It is indescribable, that feeling in that city. But if you have been there, you will know what I mean.
I wrote of an old story about the famous Blue Lassi in Varanasi for The New Indian Express. Read it here or see below for a slightly unedited version.
LITTLE BIT OF LASSI IN VARANASI
I wrote of an old story about the famous Blue Lassi in Varanasi for The New Indian Express. Read it here or see below for a slightly unedited version.
LITTLE BIT OF LASSI IN VARANASI
This is an old story. They say that the city where this
story is set was the first city of the world, that it was birthed before time
began to be calculated as time. Few of the buildings and the alleyways that
form the confusing labyrinth of this city are more than perhaps a couple of
centuries old, to stretch the passage of time. Yet, it feels like they have
always existed. Maybe it is the myth talking, the myth of Varanasi being the
centre of the earth - the Hindu earth at least - of it being the oldest, once
the grandest city in the world. A childhood of listening to granny’s tales of
its preciousness takes its toll. But then, there is something about that city,
anyone who has ever been there will tell you. It may not always be a good
something, but it is one place that sticks to your itch for the rest of your
living days. As it continues to do mine. And so I remember this old tale again.
It must have been day 3 or 4 into our stay at the legendary
Ganapati Guest House, with its bright walls and sweet smells from various sized
cigarettes on the balcony, come every late evening. Large mesh windows opened
out to a swollen Ganga from three sides of our room. We would hear urgent
whispers later that the guest house used to be a house for dying widows who
would be made to sing the names of Gods all day. They said the wails of the
fated women could still be heard from the walls at night, if you listened
carefully.
One evening on the balcony where fleeting friendships that
never lasted were always being made, we met J, South Korean by birth, American
by citizenship, visibly overwhelmed in the event of being a first time-in-India
traveller. The three of us girls got talking and quickly bonded over Asian
mothers, pressures of family and such like, the usual traveler talk.
J wanted to go to the Blue Lassi the next morning, after we
found our way to and out of the 150+ year old Nepali temple. We like her enough
by then not to want her to get lost and lonely again so offer to go with her.
Along the way she tells us that this shop is very popular among South Korean
tourists to Varanasi, which takes me by surprise, not so much for its
popularity, for every city has its must-gos that travellers pass on to all and
countrymen, like a favourite secret. I am curious because we have not seen many
Asian tourists so far, most that are chased by little boys asking for money and
youths offering good bhang are Western. We follow a particular kind of footway
that we are told is the one that will take us to Dasaswamedha Ghat - the burning
ghat. Just at the turn of a corner is the bright blue walled Blue Lassi. There
are a bunch of young South Korean girls inside, typing furiously into their
phones, giggling, ignoring us grown-ups. There are dozens of photos stuck
carefully on the walls of more tourists from that country, notes with hearts
around them, caricatures, smiling, happy faces.
Blue Lassi dispels the myth about the simplicity of a glass
of lassi being curd whipped with sugar or salt or both. There are innumerable
flavours, some sounding very odd, like coconut, banana and others that have no
business mixing with a good cup of curd. But defying all known principles of
taste and fusion, each flavour debates with the other to emerge utterly unique
and buttery delicious. I cannot remember now what we ordered. It tasted
fantastic though, propped and prettied in a clay matka. I remember sipping on our drinks and watching several
parties hoisting dead bodies and passing by to the burning ghats, where legend
has it that Shiva himself lights the pyre. It is a common sight in Varanasi, a city
where unusualness is normal, everyday, routine, even boring.
Blue Lassi is three generations of owners old, started
sometime in the 1920s. Rather new and shining, by the city's standard.
2 comments:
Plan to visit this city soon. Good to know if this place. Thanks
Hi Deepa,
I have been to Haridwar, but not Varanasi. When I go there, I will remember Blue Lassi :-) Interesting.
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