Benaras. Kashi. Varanasi.

Call it by any enchanted name and feel the blessing of Lord Shiva. Instantly.
A salvation the soul seeks even today.

It is here that our heart beats. In the world’s oldest living city. Like the timeless Drum in the hand of the Creator. It is here, against the sweep of the ancient ghats, that the pure magic of Indian culture lies unraveled.

The Ganga flows undisturbed. From times immemorial. Unmindful of the bustle. Waking every day to the chant of prayers and temple bells. To the fragrance of incense and roses and marigolds.

The waves lap softly and carry away our sins along with humble earthen lamps at dusk. The art of refined craftsmanship is nurtured on the rivet banks. Unfailing in its beauty. Similar to the sheer elegance of Shiva’s cosmic and powerful dance. Frozen into perfect stances. Without missing a single step.

Or a single thread that ties it in the wrap and woof of love and toil and pride.