Sriram

I realize that I'd felt a little overwhelmed after my first night in Varanasi, due to the crowds, the heat, the different world that I was in. Later I discovered that this feeling had something to do with being disconnected from the people I was surrounded by. I felt that I needed to try to connect. Varanasi is not a vacation town to just relax in--there is too much to learn. I felt fortunate to have contacts up the road in Sarnath, even if some of them weren't exactly local.

As I mentioned in the last blog, Sriram Jaiswal approached me as I was going for a light lunch. He asked if I was a student at the local university. I explained my circumstances and he said he'd written something in English and wanted someone to read it. I said sure, and shared my plate of momos with him. He brought his notebook out and what I read was something that I can't remember entirely, but will never fully forget. The simplicity and striking truth in his words made me forget where I was for a moment. He had written about a statue of a god under a banyan tree whose arial roots seemed to reach down to meet once again the earth from which they came. And the god statue sat composed through any weather, reminding him of that great one who sees over all things. This 75-year-old man from 60km outside of of Varanasi, whose circumstances had forced him to move from place to place around India, and who now feels estranged from the locals of Sarnath who view him with distrust and who cannot find a student to tutor, had written something that could have a great impact on many lives if they found the proper outlet. His words were plain and simple, but in command of the English language. Sriram had taught languages--English, Hindi, Sanskrit, and Pali--and was looking to share his knowledge for a living wage in Sarnath. But he couldn't find a student despite his incredible knowledge, and his simple way of explaining things. The books lining his walls contain rare works from the British period that you just couldn't find elsewhere. Yet they sit there virtually untouched, and Sriram sits beside them with his wife, wondering why things have always been so difficult for him. He had so much regret and sadness in his voice, yet when my rickshaw pulled off, he was waving with a broad smile from a chair at the side of the road, like that great one who sees over all things. I made a silent promise to find him again.