I spent a few days in Varanasi, holy town of Hindus, and arguably the oldest still inhabited town in the world. A town that gets under your skin, a town full of coulours, past and present interlaced.
This story is mainly about its people, about moments. Early morning pilgrims bathing in holy mother Ganga.
Birds joining the people, cleaning themselves against the golden canvas of sunrise.
During the first hour after sunset, people also wash clothes, then covering the embankment stairs with colourful cloth to dry.
Others take care of the 5 km of ghats (stairs into the river), cleaning away dust and flowers from the many cerimonies.
Children fly their kites, soaring with them above the city, escaping daily worries, lining the high walls and steps, being free. Or they play cricket, the most Indian of games.Even the monkeys play, like this one, seated in a swing, above the washers' linnen.
Others play music on a staircase to heaven. Barbers tend to the pilgrims' need. And the river is pure.
Old & News, meeting. Complementing each other. Being now, a new morning.
Varanasi is also a city of students, with a campus the size of a small town. Art students paint on the ghats in the early morning. The second-largest tempel is in the heart of the campus, and the temple gardens provide perfect reading niches.