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The Feeding of the Street Cows

Varanasi, India

By Stephen "Stefanosis" MoorePublished 3 years ago 4 min read
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Photo by Stephen "Stefanosis" Moore / Dec. 2019

It was the winter of 2019, and I was finally embarking on a journey I had been wanting to take for several years. I was finally going to India - the land of wonder, and the birthplace of yoga. Even with modern aircraft, the journey to the other side of the world is a long one. Our first stop would be Japan for a one night layover, then off to Delhi, India the next day. Arriving at the Delhi airport was nothing spectacular. Lack of help for arriving passengers and a dismally slow line to check the printed visa-entry requirements (it wasn't electronic) was the norm. Still, I was finally in India with my wife. We made it.

Since we arrived in the evening, it's safe to say that being tired and confused didn't help my decision making at all. Against my wife's advice, I followed two men outside the airport who ushered me to their "taxi", which wasn't a taxi at all. The traffic leaving the Delhi airport made Los Angeles traffic look like a walk in the park, and the diesel fumes stung my eyes. It reminded me of downtown Tijuana Mexico, but slightly worse. The "taxi drivers" assured me - in broken English - that the "tourist office" would take good care of me during my stay in India. It felt like forever to get there.

When we finally arrived, we were greeted by their boss and the "tourist office" manager. Later on, I would discover that these fake, tourist offices are all over India. The smooth talking, suspiciously calm manager tells you how unsafe India is, and how he will arrange everything for you in a package deal that you cannot refuse. You literally cannot refuse. Unfortunately for our travel enforcer, I already had my vacation planned with bookings on smaller, regional airlines throughout India, so his plans were not my plans, and his package offer costed more than my flight to Delhi.

I politely told him that my wife and I were too tired to plan this itinerary right now, which was actually true. We just wanted to sleep. Hiding his rage behind a smile, he answered "no problem. I will put you in a nearby hotel for the night, and we will meet tomorrow. Namaste." Needless to say, the hotel room was miserable, and felt like a lockdown. We weren't allowed to step outside the hotel for our safety, and the room actually smelled like a diesel truck was idling the motor. The bed felt like a concrete slab covered with a piece of cardboard. I promised my furious wife that we'd leave first thing tomorrow.

Without a second thought, I took out my phone and booked the earliest flight to Jaipur, India. I had originally planned to stay in Delhi for a couple days, but I quickly learned never to overplan in India ! I laid down next to my shocked wife and turned out the lights, so we could try to sleep for a few hours. At 5:00am, we were down at the reception demanding a cab to the airport. The all male receptionist crew were sleeping, and shocked by my wife's assertiveness. They told us that a cab would only be available in about an hour.

When the cab arrived, it was a rickshaw - the famous, three-wheeled motorcycle carriages. It was dark and cold outside, but we were happy to escape the prison called Delhi, even if the driver doubled our fare halfway through the harsh drive to the airport. Arriving at the Jairpur airport was such a liberating feeling, and our India journey had begun, as my wife and I marveled at the ancient, Mughal architecture that Rajasthan is famouse for. Finally, a pleasant hotel in a beautiful, exotic city.

From Jaipur, we would visit the cities of Dehradun, Rishikesh and Varanasi. The regional flights are very cheap and convenient as a way to quickly get around and explore India. Although trains are slightly cheaper, they take longer and are more complicated to navigate. All of the cities we visited had their own charm and uniqueness, but it was the city of Varanasi that held a special place in my heart, and is the focus of this story. This city is so ancient that some claim it was the first civilized city even pre-dating Mesopotamia. Even flying into Varanasi and looking out the window, you can sense how historical this place really is.

Walking the alleyways of Varanasi to arrive at the mystical, Ganges River is where you truly experience the antiquity and culture. You quickly realize you are far from America. There are no ATMs in these alleyways, only vendors with carts and people walking, occasional scooters, and many cows ! Some goats too, but mostly cows. The sacred, docile cows are everywhere in India, and especially in the streets and alleys of Varanasi. My wife - who was raised in the Brazilian countryside - quickly had a special affinity for these cows. She noticed that the cows - like many locals - were very, very hungry.

"If cows are so special here, why is nobody feeding them ?" She asked me. I didn't have an answer. With determination, she declared "Tomorrow, I will feed these cows !" To me, it was a brilliant idea. We would interact directly with the animals and community of this place. We decided to choose heads of cabbage to feed them, which vendors sold in the alleys for pennies. So that's what we did, buying about 12 - 15 cabbage-heads for under a dollar, and walked through those ancient, winding alleys to find cows of all colors and sizes. In amusement, I snapped some pics and a couple videos. My laughing wife made me smile wide as she did her charity, gaining many confused looks from locals, and likely some silent admiration as well.

Jussara, feeding the cows of Varanasi

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About the Creator

Stephen "Stefanosis" Moore

Educator, musician, yoga teacher and singing-bowl enthusiast from the Central Valley area of California.

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