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Journalism of Courage
With an innate desire to experience Varanasi in its splendor, I turned to Instagram in 2019, where I discovered photographers and artists offering their own perspectives on the sacred city. A fire crept into my heart, urging me to seek pieces of this place that could transform yearning into reality. And just like that, in March 2025, the urge became real, I finally witnessed this ancient city in person.
On the very last day of my visit, a small bookstore on the main road, with its dimly lit shelves heavy with dust, caught my attention. From one of those forgotten corners, I stumbled upon Mark Tully’s No Full Stops in India. The book had clearly aged in neglect, as if nobody had ever bought it, but I carried it with me. That moment sparked a new journey, an expedition through books that speak of Banaras in different voices.
Varanasi is not only a city of spirituality, it radiates an energy, a raw life force. As I find my way through this strange project I have set my foot on, here are three books that will make you live Varanasi, even before you see it yourself.
Though not specifically about Varanasi, this work by the renowned BBC correspondent explores India’s cultural diversity with nuance. Rather than reducing the country to a “poor, populous” paradox, Tully invites us to look at it through a retrospective lens. One chapter, devoted entirely to the Kumbh Mela, stands out: an ancient festival where spirituality intersects with the depth of political undercurrents. Tully does not frame events through partisan arrivals or departures, he presents them as they are. Ordinary moments become extraordinary in his telling, leading us toward a hidden conclusion that the lives of people who find meaning beyond political satire are themselves the true story.
In this novel, a journalist travels to Varanasi for an assignment, initially painting a colorful yet familiar picture of a Westerner abroad. But as the narrative shifts in the second part, so does the voice, moving from third person to an intimate self-reflection. Many reviewers describe this section as “too complex, ancient, intense, enigmatic, and mind-boggling for a Westerner to grasp.” Dyer captures that tension, mixing humor with an awareness of the city’s overwhelming pull. For me, the experience felt like entrapment, the kind you sense when standing near the burning pyres of Varanasi, flames that carry a meaning distinctly different from any we know elsewhere.
The title of this book instantly caught my attention, conjuring echoes of 18th-century sensibilities. At its heart is a young boy, impressionable and easily swayed by the allure of Western thought. And then comes the light, Varanasi, framing his awakening. The novel becomes a time capsule of a generation, caught between ambition and reality, shaped by the weight of social background. It compels us to reflect on our own obsessions, particularly the tendency to idealize the West. What lingers is an unsettling question: why must it take a Westerner’s retrospective to shift the trajectory of an already “cultured” Indian mind?
