The flames of funeral pyres danced in early morning. Thick, white smoke drifted above the banks of the Ganges, mixing with the perpetual haze lingering over Varanasi.

An assembly of men attended to the cremation pits, moving like faded silhouettes in the mist. Some unloaded logs from dilapidated boats docked at harbor; others discarded ashes of the dead into the river’s sacred waters, freeing the deceased from the cycle of reincarnation. Nearby, a cow meandered past the base of a temple.

Varanasi, also known as Banaras or Kashi, is one of Hinduism’s holiest cities and among the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the world. Of it, Mark Twain wrote: “Banaras is older than history, older than tradition, older even than legend and looks twice as old as all of them put together.”

The daily rhythms here revolve around “Mother Ganga.” At daybreak, thousands of pilgrims descend a series of steps, called “ghats,” to bathe in the Ganges, believing it has the power to wash away the sins of mortals. Vendors along the ghats try to sell boat rides and flowers for prayer offerings. Holy men painted in white sit in contemplation.

Death here promises to deliver Hindus to salvation, a form of enlightenment called “moksha.” There are more than 80 ghats in Varanasi; two are burning ghats dedicated to cremation, their fires blazing nonstop.

Series of steps lead down to river and boats. Many people stroll the steps during sunny day.

Four women in colorful clothing walk along river.

Dozens of people in water. In background, steep steps lead to river.

Four men socialize on stone steps. Some sit on a red wooden boat.

Man in orange clothing walks on worn steps.

Groups of men standing near river. Clothes and garbage lay on the sand and smoke rises in background.

Three men sit along riverside with boats in foreground.

People stands on steps that lead into river.

Broad view of riverfront and buildings. Wooden boats are docked and people walk along sidewalk.

Two men carry bundle of wood. They are surrounded by logs and smoke from cremations rises in background.

People walk along stone steps leading down to river.

Three men in rowboat. City under overcast sky in background.

Men sit and stand around flame near old buildings.

Woman in blue dress sits on steps by dirty river. Dogs walk nearby.

Inland, Varanasi is loud and chaotic. Narrow streets hum with people, animals, and vehicles of all kinds — cars, motorbikes, rickshaws and “tuk-tuks,” all honking and jockeying for position, everyone dodging, ducking and weaving to avoid being hit. Somehow, it all flows in harmony.

Locals helped navigate through twisting alleys near the Ganges, an endless jumble of food, clothing and trinket shops. A kid approached with a smile and asked for a photo in Hindi, motioning with his hands; he couldn’t have been more than 6 or 7 years old, and had a scar on his cheek. I showed him the photo, and he smiled.

Man sitting in rickshaw stares into camera on busy street.

Portrait of young boy smiling into camera in dirty alley.

Portrait of Indian man staring into camera.

Man sitting in rickshaw stares solemnly into distance.

Man pushes rickshaw on narrow, crowded street in Old Delhi.

Chandni Chowk, in the heart of Old Delhi, felt like a haphazard maze, assorted in a scattershot way over time.

The bazaar, dating to the 17th century, bustles with commerce. Within it, Khari Baoli, Asia’s largest spice market, explodes with color. Inviting aromas from countless sacks of spice, dried fruit and nuts blanket the air.

The streets meander this way and that without rhyme or reason. Motorbikes zoom headlong down narrow lanes as pedestrians scramble to move aside. A hodgepodge of electrical wiring runs overhead, stitched together in an impossible coil; steam from simmering chai wafts upward toward the morass.

Old and young men drive tuk-tuks on the main thoroughfare; others pull carts of produce or carry heavy loads on their heads. Cows and dogs nose through discarded scraps, while monkeys scale rooftops and crawl from the windows of ancient dwellings. Everything looks old, pockmarked, full of history.

There’s an energy that courses through India, and a warmth in the people and interactions, inviting like a hot plate of chicken masala or a cup of masala chai.

Taj Mahal at sunrise as seen through arch. Bird flies overhead.

Taj Mahal seen from distance through square hole.

Woman in black abaya in stone courtyard faces red fortress in distance.

White marble dome and minarets against pink sky.

It’s a surreal sensation to see something in person, with your own eyes, that you have only dreamt of seeing before.

From across the Yamuna River, the Taj Mahal seemed to float, a white-marble jewel with minarets climbing toward the heavens. The tourists at its base looked like tiny specks in comparison; they disappeared as the sun set against a pink sky.

The Taj, completed in 1653, is a crowning achievement of the Mughal dynasty, among the richest and longest ruling in India and known for its patronage of the arts. Shah Jahan had it built as a mausoleum for his favorite wife.

The flames from a nearby crematorium shined in the gathering darkness, just a few hundred yards downstream. Our guide told us the Yamuna — a tributary of the Ganges — is the second holiest river to Hindus, next to Mother Ganga.

Taj Mahal in distance seen through ornate red window.

Taj Mahal at sunrise framed by trees and leaves in foreground.

Taj Mahal seen through ornate pointed arch at sunrise.

Taj Mahal in distance seen through red doorway.

The road from Agra to Ranthambore National Park, a Bengal tiger reserve, cut through endless farmland.

In late October, on the cusp of India’s winter, the land looked parched, dotted with random, lone trees stretching to the horizon. Women in brightly colored saris worked the fields alongside men. Shepherds led goats and cows near the roadside.

The tall, cylindrical chimneys of brick producers occasionally sprung from the land. Small, rundown stores along the roadside sold food, spice packets, fresh coconuts and other wares.

I didn’t pick up my camera — just soaked it in.

Impressions of India

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