INDIA- children of Varanasi
ROMANIA | Sunday, 8 August 2010 | Views [396]
Set on the Ganges, Varanasi is one of India’s most appreciated holly places and the oldest continuously inhabited city in the world.
The main activity in Varanasi is commerce. Anybody can sell anything to any one, the town is a gigantic market.
Attracting clients becomes harder and harder in every day and negotiating is a vital skill. The children of Varanasi learn this lesson very early in their life.They are the ones who would approach the tourists for a boat trip early in the morning until late at night, looking for the most promising client.
A little girl is trying to sell donas: paper rose petals pasted on little paper doilies with a tiny candle in the middle: “Hello, madam, hello! You buy this to remember your father, your mother, your brother, your sister. I have fire. You put in the water…”
This time the tourist said NO. “You broke my heart, sir!” the kid replies with a bit of a mock pouting of his mouth.
I remember the heat of India, I remember the spicy food, the warm people and their strong spirituality, but what will always remain with me is the kids with their eyes so tired and incredibly worn out, with a drained expression in them that no child should have to bear.
![This time, the tourist said NO. “You broke my heart, sir!” says he. If you just decide to give them money, they give you a puzzled look that makes you realize that to save their fragile dignity you must accept a little something of what they are selling. From my India trip, I remember the hot weather and food, the warm colors and people, and the pervasive materialism and spirituality. But what I can’t forget are the incredibly worn eyes of the children of Varanasi.](https://s3.amazonaws.com/aphs.worldnomads.com/alina_pro/23286/webDSC_5353.jpg)
This time, the tourist said NO. “You broke my heart, sir!” says he. If you just decide to give them money, they give you a puzzled look that makes you realize that to save their fragile dignity you must accept a little something of what they are selling. From my India trip, I remember the hot weather and food, the warm colors and people, and the pervasive materialism and spirituality. But what I can’t forget are the incredibly worn eyes of the children of Varanasi.
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