Chintin Giri, a 19 year old that gave up his family, his girlfriend and his dog to live the "Baba Life" in Varanasi. I spent many days walking around the Ghats with him, as he openly discussed with me his uncertainty about giving up his life to become a Sadhu. By the time I left India, I had heard that Chintin had left Varanasi to begin his journey as an ascetic in the Himalayas.

This woman lives in a small village called Koregeon outside of Pune, India. She approached me as I sat on a rock watching their temple procession for the holiday called Sankrati. It is a harvest celebration in which all of the woman walk around and offer tiny sweet candies to people and say "Til-gul ghya, god god bola" meaning ‘Accept these tilguls and speak sweet words'. She gave me candies as well as a traditional blessing, applying red and yellow powder to my forehead. When the mass of other woman saw her do this, they immediately formed a line and before long I was covered in the powered blessing of 40 beautiful woman. Later this community elder invited me, a complete stranger whom she shared not one common word with, to her home for dinner.

Chai-Walla in Varanasi.

The amazing and beautiful Marcy enjoying her morning chapati and chai next to the window at Maher Ashram in Pune.

This is Savita whom was one of my favorite children at Maher Ashram. Savita and her older sister Ravina were found abandoned, sick and hysterical sitting on the side of a road near a market. Ravina had a broken femur and was taken to a hospital before taken to Maher to be reunited with her sister. By the time I left Maher the sisters were in good health and integrating well into the rest of the Ashram.

Santos! A good friend I met in Varanasi. He took Chintin Giri and I on a sunrise boatride on the Ganges River on my last morning in Varanasi. Santos and Chintin called me together every night while I was in India to see how my day was and say goodnight.

The Varanasi Kite Runner

Nightly Puja in Varanasi

Sadly, I only know this baba imposter as Heroin Baba, a name I coined after knowing him. We spent some time together in Varanasi, and I spent late nights sitting near a temple with him and his many devotees as he cooked large meals and as people fought with one pesky monkey. The last time I spoke with him was when I told him that I knew he was a heroin addict. He started yelling at me loudly around the Ghats for me to leave because he didnt like me.

This is him wearing my feather hair piece during one of our walks.

ShivaRaj Giri and I on the Ghats in Varanasi, India.