The Fight

Yesterday in Varanasi, I was in a fight. But we'll get back to that a little later.

Another drug dealer approached me at one in the afternoon as I was walking the path of the Ganges. He offered me hashish in a whispered voice. He said it was sold at a government emporium. I went through my usual spiel to the drug dealers, telling him he was a bad person. Things got pretty heated. At one point, we were face to face. Later, I threatened to take his picture, which really angered him.

After the drug route didn't work, he attempted to explain the burning ghats in broken English. Normally I'm quite patient in that situation, considering I don't speak much Hindi at all, but here I mocked him. He mentioned that I was clever, meaning a smart ass. Then, he tried to change the conversation by saying he didn't want me to continue walking towards the burning ghats because it would defile Hindu culture. He was merely a guide and was just informing me that hashish was sold at government emporiums. I called him out on his shit. This isn't about Hindu culture, I told him. "The first thing you did was to whisper, 'hashish, hashish,' to me. If this is about Hindu culture, why did you let those two white guys pass?" At that point I drove home that he knew I was right and that he should leave, which he did with his face curled in anger.

Later, a vendor, slightly taller than me and far rounder, offered to sell me something, not a rare occurrance. I decline and asked where the river was as I had strayed away from it. He told me it was around the corner, but I didn't want to go there because I had just come from that narrow alley, which was covered in garbage, and had turned back. I told him that as I continued on my way. At that point he screams, "Up yours!" I turn around and said, What?" He repeats. I bellow, "FUCK YOU!", fly down the incline to him, and throw my face in front of his. Then he grabs my throat. I knock his hand away. There's a short pause. I grab his throat hard, with my thumb squeezing the front middle of his neck. Then, a number of men rush over exclaiming, "No fighting!" I yell back, "He put his hands on me first! He started it!" An elderly man with vanishing teeth walks me back up the hill apologizing. He said I was a guest in his country and that it shouldn't have happened.

In one sense, he was wrong. I understand where he was coming from. After trying to sell me something, he genuinely tried to help by telling me how to get back to the river. Perhaps he assumed I thought he was lying as I kept walking in the opposite direction, but that still doesn't call for an "Up yours!" Of course, that isn't why I didn't follow his instructions anyway, so he comes across as foolish, saying "Up yours!" for no real reason and putting his hands on me first. But in a broader sense, we were both wrong. I should have ignored it, no matter how unjust his insult. I have an inborn impetus to challenge injustice, whether grand or petty. This was petty. Also, I should not have put my hands on him under any circumstances. Grown men shouldn't be fighting.

Later, I had a nice talk with a grad student from Benaras University. One of the first things he asked was, "Had any trouble in Varanasi?" "A little," I replied. Varanasi is reknown as a tough city and not just the charging buffalo that patrol the narrow alleys. At the train station, I met a professor from a Haryana agricultural college and we had a nice chat. On the train, I talked with an 8 year old girl, who had a dimple above her cheek when she smiled, and her father for the entire 3 hour journey back to Allahabad. They were on their way to Kanpur. It was the usual collection of random thoughts that make up a conversation with an 8 year old, but fun nonetheless. At one point, she wanted to playfully fight me. I told her one fight in a day was enough for me. For the last 30 minutes, she kept waving to me and saying "bye" in a very unhappy manner. When it was time for me to leave, I must adimt, I've never seen a lip so pouty as hers. I almost considered following her home to Kanpur, I felt so bad. The experience was vindicating for me. If an 8 year old girl can like me that much, maybe I'm not such a terrible person after all.