Dawn on the hindu's holy River Ganges, Varanasi, UP, India

Sunset at the Ganga

Sun sets in the river Ganga, Varanasi, Uttar Pradesh, India

In the streets of Mathura

This man seems to be waiting for some one, in the streets of Mathura, UP, India

The Ganga

The Faith in 'Maa Ganga': Praying in the Ganges River, Varanasi, Uttar Pradesh, India

Floating Faith: And the child in her comes through

Faith with color: A diya floats on the river Ganga Varanasi

All in a day for Varanasi: people taking bath on the ghat in Varanasi, incidently there is also a Hindu crematory near by this ghat, all along side one river, The Life, The Prayers and bitter Truth- The Death

Starting the day: A Sadhu gets ready to take bath in the ganga

My crop

A farmer checks his cabbage crop in Varanasi, Uttar Pradesh, India

train and the saint

A 'sadhu' sits on the entrance of train in Kanpur, UP.

Hide & Seek

Shy girl in my home town Varanasi, Uttar Pradesh, India

HISTORY’S GHOSTS IN OLD LUCKNOW

The main Residency tower and building complex

Lucknow was once ruled by the Nawabs of Oudh, until the British in the guise of the East India Company, removed the last ruler, Wajid Ali Shah whose profligacy outraged their sense of Victorian morality. The Province was of strategic importance to the Brits, and disregarding the fact that the Nawab was also a cultured nobleman and generous patron of the arts, his extravagant lifestyle provided a convenient excuse to take over the state. It was a measure that they would regret. The annexation of Oudh was just one of the many factors, which ignited the tinderbox of rebellion in 1857 and brought about the Great Indian Mutiny—now called The First War of Independence by Indian nationals. Insurrection had already broken out in other parts of the country, and Sir Henry Lawrence, the Chief Commissioner, prudently moved British and Anglo-Indian civilians (my great-grandmother among them) into the 60-acre British Residency in June 1857. Today, 150 years later, I sit under a tamarind tree, on a bench bordering the lawns of the old Residency, listening to the drone of bees, and the harsh cawing of crows. The sunlight throws dancing specks of light through the leaves of my sheltering tree, dust devils whirl briefly in the warm breeze along the unpaved pathways, and the air carries the scent of marigold flowers. If I’d been here in June 1857, these sounds would have been drowned by the bursting of shells, the acrid smell of gunpowder, and the almost continuous bombardment of cannon. The surroundings would have been shrouded in the grey dust of crumbling masonry.

The Baillie Gate at the British Residency which was subjected to some of the heaviest fire.

Within the buildings surrounding me today, was a defensive army of about 850 British officers and soldiers, backed by about 700 loyal native sepoys, and around 150 civilian volunteers. But also within these grounds were several hundred women and children, all of them huddled into a warren of underground rooms in the “Tykhana” or women’s quarters.

The Tykhana

As I walk into the cramped Tykhana today, it is as if the place still holds the shadows of women soothing the fevers of dying children, stanching bloody wounds and bandaging torn limbs—while cringing at the whine of bullets and the heavy crash of cannonballs, slamming against the walls of their embattled shelter. The searing heat of that year’s June gave way to torrential monsoon rains, and with them came renewed outbreaks of typhoid, cholera, malaria and dysentery. The rooms, even today, carry the miasma of death.

Two ant-sized visitors survey the view from the Residency tower

Emerging into the sunlight, I am glad to be free of the claustrophobic weight of so much sorrow—yet there are other reminders scattered throughout the Residency. The splendid ballroom, converted into a hospital, bears the scars of shellfire. A few residences still stand, their mildew-covered walls like rotted teeth lying open to the sky. A commemorative pillar erected by the British in heartfelt gratitude, pays tribute to the courage of Indian sepoys—many of them Sikhs—who defended the Residency alongside their British compatriots. Without their unswerving loyalty, the small English army contingent could not have held out against the rebels.

J.K. temple

J.K. temple Beautifully constructed, J.K. temple is a boon to the devotees. Built by J.K. Trust this architectural delight is a unique blend of ancient architecture with the modern. The even-level roofs o the mandaps have been provided with adequate ventilation for sufficient light and air. Among the five shrines that the temple has the central one s consecrated to Shri Radhakrishna and the other are adorned with idols of Shri Laxminarayan, Shri. Ardhanarishwar, Shri Narmadeshwar and Shri Hanuman.

Flying High

Birds fly as sun is about to rise in Varanasi on the bank of holy river Ganga

Shades of Varanasi

Typical Varanasi house
Ganga 'Ghat' (bank of river)
Temple in saryu ghat

At Saryu ghat

The helicopter

A kid with a helicopter in one of the fare in Varanasi

Varanasi

Many go to Varanasi in search for ‘Kashi’, the luminous abode of the gods, one of the holiest tirthas (literally a "crossing" or sacred place where mortals can cross over to the divine, or the gods and goddesses come to bathe on earth), where many return to die in the hope that they may achieve moksha, the salvation of the soul from the cycle of birth, where it is said that Shiva himself whispers the mantras of salvation into the ears of a dying person.

It is a place that is believed to have been in existence since the time of the Mahabharata, a city where Gautama Buddha gave his first sermon at Sarnath or where Adi Shankaracharya taught Hieun Tsang,the Chinese traveller.

It has an ancient history that Mark Twain once famously described as "older than history, older than tradition, older even than legend, and looks twice as old as all of them put together."

Holy Dip

People take dip in holy Indian river ganga in Allahbad,Uttar Pradesh, India