The Mission--to Compare the Immortal Works of Man with the Junk on TV

It was a rare chance to stand at a sacred crossroads of existence, I told the children. The Infinite Round of Being was playing out before us. A billion believing Hindus dreamed of coming to this very place. To have one's body burned here, the ashes tossed into the Holy Ganges River, was to assure a good burial, a release from the endless karmic cycle of birth and rebirth. Here, it was possible for souls to attain nirvana, which was the goal of all souls.

Still, I could tell the Burning Ghat in Varanasi's Holy City was not making it as a family-fun destination. The kids were not digging it.

"This is horrible! Disgusting!" critiqued sixteen-year-old Rae.

"Bad," chimed in twelve-year-old Rosalie.

"Really bad," assented Billy, nine at the time.

The three of them were united on this point. They were all going to throw up if we didn't get out of there immediately.

Nattering like some ninny Chevy Chase, I'd told my wife: you'll see, the Burning Ghat is going to be a pick hit. Knock their unchanged socks right off. As it turned out ...
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