Varanasi claims to be the oldest and holiest city in the world, a proud boast yet, once experienced, hard to refute. A tangled web of switch back lanes, shrines at every glance and the chaotic bustle essential in any Indian town.

And then there are the Ghats, a five km stretch of daily rituals, the process of life, spiritualism and death. A theatre, a play with many acts but one all encompassing plot. By day, a choreographed movement of people (and cows) washing, bathing, shaving, swimming, chatting, even body building.

By night, a festival of night and sound; Pujas herald the darkening skies, candles float in constellations on the water, and the great Ganges flows on. A majestic, yet out of monsoon, serene flow of a river which, even seen low, is 500 metres shore to shore.

Spiritual life appears strong but death is Varanasi real momentum. To die naturally in Varanasi is to achieve "moksha", an end to the reincarnating circles of life. Death is a celebrated public affair. A lightly clothed body carried high down the streets to the ghats enthusiastically accompanied by drums and pipes. Then, once ritually immersed in the Ganges, the body is mounted on a carefully constructed banyan wood pyre and burnt at the river's edge. A cultural jolt like no other in this fascinating, confusing land.

10 seconds - 10 centuries in Varanasi

Rituals as old as the city, legacies repeated beyond question
Some things never change, some things never need to change
City as time lost, time gained, flattened, meaningless
Ripples on the surface of the Ganges.Boatmen rest between business- boat deck - sun deck
Balding but muscle toned man beats clothes on the stones
Swimmers in defiance of reputation of Indians and water
Dogs, goats, cows surely, ambling freely
Man exercising vigorously despite his bulk
Neon pink sari led by guide with brass pot
Line of young bodies bathe communially
Sadhus attract attention from intrigued Westerners
Parakeetes chatter noisily in flight
Multi hued cloths stretched drying brightening the uniform grey Ghats
Boats laiden with Indian tourists improbably powered by lone oarsman
Mysterious communities clustered on river bank, once bed, opposite
Ganges serene, dawn disturbance flattened
Underwear as outerwear as river costume
Shampoo and rinse under water pipe
"Hello, boat?"
Sky, featureless awaiting the decoration of kites
Filtered temple salutations permeate the ear