In Varanasi, ministering to the dead is a way of life. Situated on the banks of the holy Ganges River, the ancient city is not only a place of pilgrimage but an auspicious place to die. The elderly and the sick arrive from across India to pass their final days praying at the river, in ashrams or on the street, knowing that dying on the banks of the Ganges will speed them through the cycle of rebirths to moksha, or liberation of the soul. Those who don’t die in Varanasi desire to be cremated there, or have their ashes scattered at the Ganges River.
Hindus believe a person builds up karma or a culmination of deeds during their lifetime. Karma can be good or bad, and it affects future lives for Hindus. The sect of Hinduism to which Mishra belongs believes that dying a good death in Varanasi forgives bad karma. Even a murderer can achieve moksha here.
Believers and tourists alike, from the world over, want to touch the soil here and bathe in the sacred waters of the Ganga, as the Ganges River is known in Hindi, in an act of purification.
The end of life here is stark and out in the open, for all to see. Bodies blanketed by white shrouds and orange marigolds are brought to the ghats, the broad steps leading down to the Ganga. Funeral pyres, especially at Manikarnika Ghat, the most sacred of cremation places, burn nonstop, about 32.000 bodies per year melting human flesh on piles of mango wood. Sometimes, parts of bodies remain after the flames go out; stray dogs surround the smoldering embers.
Varanasi has always been known as the city of light. But a more appropriate moniker might be the city of death.
“Pemon” is a self-name meaning “people.” “Arekuna” is used by Pemon and others to refer to neighboring groups of Pemon speakers, particularly those in the northern part of their territory. Southern Pemon are referred to as “Taurepan,” and those Pemon living in the valley of Kamarata, Uriman, and parts of the Paragua drainage are called “Kamarakoto.”
The Pemon language, with three regional dialects (Arekuna, Kamarakato, and Taurepan), belongs to the Guayana Group of the Carib Stock.
The Pemon are part of the larger Cariban language family, and include six groups including the Arekuna, Ingarikó, Kamarakoto, Tualipang, Mapoyo and Macushi/Makushi (Macuxi or Makuxi in Brazil).
The Pemon were first encountered by westerners in the 18th century and encouraged to convert to Christianity. Their society is based on trade and considered egalitarian and decentralized.
In Venezuela, Pemon live in the Gran Sabana grassland plateau dotted with tabletop mountains where the Angel Falls, the world’s highest waterfall, plunges from Auyantepui in Canaima National Park.
The Dancing Devils of Yare is a religious festival celebrated on the day of the Feast of Corpus Christi, in San Francisco de Yare, Miranda state. However it also incorporates elements from Venezuela’s African-descendent past, and the maracas used by the devils have an indigenous origin.
The tradition, passed on through the generations, goes back almost 400 years. The custom was at first rejected by church officials, then later tolerated, and eventually celebrated.
The devils have a hierarchy, represented by their masks and the number of horns they have, and on the Thursday of Corpus Christi, some men from Yare dress up in red costumes and the masks and perform a ritual dance, to local drum beats, in the streets of the town.
The devils then wage a battle with guardians, then surrender to the Eucharist and they fall to their knees in front of the church, where the priest blesses them. Music and dance continues, while those dressed as devils visit the houses of some past devils who have since passed away. Woman can dance too, but not in the street with the men.
There are similar such traditions in Naiguata and Chuao.
In 2002 the Venezuelan government declared the tradition national cultural heritage, and in 2008 it nominated it to UNESCO to be recognised as a World Heritage Site, for cultural reasons.
.. You are “respectable”
to me you are synonymous with faith and strength …
You were the light in the darkness,
the company knew loneliness,
magic in a serene look,
full of hope, knowledge,
honesty, self-control and wisdom.
My intention was not to know,
it had not raised.
She appeared without notice
do not hesitate to love you for me.
That same day I saw you in my dreams,
He knew who serious, as serious,
and until you bring along name.
To see you and write you on this day was a long way …
It taught me a lot before you got here …
You taught me not to stop,
to walk when I could not run.
Because of you I learned to stay in peace,
to be calm in and out of my heart.
I cling to you,
the urge to take your little hands and
teach you to see the world.
I could keep my head and my desire to see intact.
Achieve maintain confidence even in those long days,
and sleepless nights filled.
It made me stronger and even were not here.
Wait and never get tired of waiting.
You taught me to be that strange species
it does not give up.
It took many wise,
many religions, many paths,
distance many other countries.
So I needed, so I ordered.
All that was needed to know
which would in my hands.
Reality is not lost, the real challenge is not …
This reality is present
no past. The real is seeing your look
with this unconditional and pure love that can only
come from an innocent heart.
Bet everything he had and lost.
I went back to start.
Restart as many times as necessary was the only reason.
The journey begins with a jolt, Clock Central Station shudders first sign of the end of solidity
If solid dissipates, if that is solid melts We go straight to an encrypted darkness
Across the glass all fades, melts drip rails rocks leaky across the world pours
I say that the solid does not overflow They know that things keep his composure
It is what you say is glass-glass and its irregular surface, is the sun beating down on that surface but the wound is not there, the wound is out
You should be on the train You should see stems overstepping its bounds wood, creaking, painful break in your poor soul wood
Feel the midday sun, condition sine qua non to know only he overflows the mountains, pours black earth that melts with snow, the train with me.
The uncertainty left the train left, the uncertainty of who is coming, the desire to know that the train is believed lost.
The skin crawls, the stomach is tied, the blood flows faster, The clouds look, the dream disappears, everything’s the same every day, still waiting, the train that never arrives. One more day in the central station, one more day in this place in which you no longer want to be.
The smile slowly erases you, you see the tracks, you see the sky, look backward, sideways … beg for the hope of hearing the sound of his arrival.
The central station is the place where we started and which we do not want to return.
.…Negro Esclavo, Negro Mandingo, Negro Cimarrón, Negro de Hacienda, Negro Ladino, Negro Bozal, Negro Libre…
… You got forced from Black Africa, Negro that our dye your skin, Negro gave us strong character, Negro Worker gave us strength, Negro Rebel you gave us pride … Black bearing weight on your back without saying anything.
You were repressed for centuries, causing your more natural expressions. You learn to sing, to make instruments, to plant and prepare your own food. We changed their belief putting new Gods. We left a unique and full of wonderful flavors kitchen product that mix of waste did you get from your own.
Conformaste you with little bit and go on living.
You transformed the perception of the world around you, becoming driver, charger, mason, farmer, fisherman, foreman, lover of white, Indian and black.
No law was written for you, your hands planted our roots and your sweat the seeds of these lands were irrigated. You marked with fire and was always carimba your cross.
Negro, you were part of our history, you were our defense in the conquest, leaving your ideals died for that learning.
We got your smile leaving indelible joy, only to make your drums ringing, came the most beautiful musical notes expressed in your dances, fulías, salsa, merengue and even jazz and blues. The blow your sorrows gave rhythm to your drums.
Negro St. Peter, St. John Negro, Negro Saint and Negro La Costa, all together under the same sun, the sun burning your skin wrinkled.
Muje, Hombe denied, CADACA, Veda, poker, those were your words and even the remains.
Negro, you were a slave, and now you’re not more.
This story is not about him, it’s about her.
He traveled to other lands far from the capital and that was where you saw her for the first time. Since that day, I never wanted to come back and stay with her.
He, though a bit older than her, achievement Love until she said yes.
He and She, lived together for a long time, they grew up, shared, traveled, laughed and cried, they were happy.
One day, He stopped to see her, could only hear him talk and touch. She became his eyes, in his guide on his cane, she became. She guided him, he just followed.
She, I never cease to care, I never cease to watch over him sleep, every day walked away a little more each day could give less, your body no longer could.
He lived convinced that everything had to be done their way and although she did not share his ideas many times, her love for him was so great that it can never fit into this story.
She is one of those warlike women facing him for life. She is the woman who will not take no for an answer. She always looks ahead. She won a long time a place in heaven.
She is one of those women who never would forget. Of those that are seen above that are made. Those found only in those parts of sunsets and beautiful sunsets.
She called Ana Pastor, if they put name in honor of the Virgin patron saint to have been born on the same day of the meeting.
To her, never fails to thank you for having carefully. A life, I thank you for putting in the way of him.
He just fell asleep and unwilling to wake up again. This was decided they wanted, so I leave that. He took his time.
He left almost everything in order, I leave some things for later. Only he knows why he did it.
Who am I? Only someone who knew part of the story and by quirk of fate the same name as him.
Hugo Chávez, the President of Venezuela, died on 5 March 2013. He was aged 58. Because of his death, the Venezuelan constitution required an election for a new president to be held within 30 days. Vice President Nicolás Maduro became temporary president. On 14 April, he was officially elected.
Chávez’ funeral was held on 8 March. Maduro originally said that Chávez’ body would be embalmed and permanently displayed in a glass coffin at a military museum. However, on 13 March Maduro announced that this would not happen. This was because the government could not get prepared in the short time that had passed. Maduro extended the National Mourning for four days more, to eleven days. By the end of this, Chávez’ body was moved to the Museum of the Revolution at Fort Montana. This had been where Chávez had tried to overthrow the government in 1992.
Chávez’s body was never embalmed. He was buried at a cemetery in Venezuela.
Diomar Gutierrez was born in Machiques, Edo. Zulia. At 8, he realized he did not like playing with boys of his school. At 12, he only played with girls. At 16, he confronts his mother to tell her that he wants to be the women who dreamed of being, the 17, begins to take female hormones on their own without medical supervision. Today, Diomar called Brithany and has almost fulfilled his dream.
After challenge their parents, relatives and friends after facing a people within the country, in search of his determination to be a woman, Brithany comes to the capital in search of better opportunities. It comes with 18 years at the Nuevo Circo, where her friend Michelle waiting to place it in a pension around La Concordia Plaza in downtown Caracas.
Spend a couple of months learning the trade of hairdresser where it was not at all well and suddenly remembers his hostess when he said that “the money is in the street.” That same night, Brithany put your best dress, her heels 16 cm and goes with Michelle to know “La Libertador” making collect more money than they had saved in his life in one night. After 15 days of work, manages to have enough money to cover the cost of cosmetic surgery of breast implants and the next month it is underwent surgery for the placement of implants in the buttocks. Thin body very soon the effect of hormones is noted, his voice becomes less thick, outlines his chin and cheekbones are lifted, his hair is longer and heating, which when combined with a contact lens emerald green make her look like a perfect woman doing doubt even the most skilled.
Today, Brithany is 21 and earns about Bs. 3500.00 per night, working alone 3 times a week. He does not like talking about his childhood, he is evasive and staring eyes at the memory.
When going on visits to Machiques, those who bothered during his teens today welcome you and greet you with a kiss on the cheek.
Although his body aesthetically speaking, says that even this not ready for a sex change operation.
Stealing glances where you walk, the men look with even doubtful whim, women with feelings that stroll among the disgruntled, the disapproval and some even with some envy. Lunch every day in the same tavern near his home, around 05:00 pm, after sleeping nearly 12 hours during the day. Is not afraid of the night, although it has been beaten and bad times. It is proposed to use social networks and websites offering their services to locate their customers and leave the streets.
The statistics are there, two of them to die month of shooting victims, acts perpetrated by individuals who travel in these vehicles being made to the Venezuelan justice unpunished.
With its maracucho accent and his apparent physical frailty, it is one of the most requested of the sector, reaching up to ten different clients meet one of his best nights.
Day still pretending to be a woman, does not fit its 16 centimeters, but rather a shoe without heels in jeans and flannel, contrasting lights displayed their best work at night.
His masculine traits are evident without the generous use of makeup and the darkness of the night, his beard shaved and his chest reminds you every day that is not a woman.
Avenida Libertador, one of the main roads in Caracas changes its appearance between day and night. By day it is a very busy road filled with lots of movement and noise. At night it is the historical site where night after night prostitution in all genres and expressions come to life until sunrise thus beginning a new cycle that never seems to finish.
It was the only area of tolerance accepted by the authorities and communities in general, finally reaching shared between the going of vehicles coming and eternal walk offers sex.
It is not known with certainty when it was the first transsexual flat heel this avenue, however on record that since the end of the 80s, already beginning to reveal the first precursor of this old craft.
Today claiming their human rights in an apparent sexist and prejudiced society. That same machismo that comes out at night to hire their services.
They seek that our laws are modified allowing their change of gender and name. Neighboring countries have already accepted this fact, Venezuela is one of the few countries that still refuse to accept it.