Varanasi is a special city. A sacred city for Hindus, the city of death, the center of the earth, one of the oldest cities in the world. There is a unique smell in the air from a mixture of burnt flesh, spices, incense and urine. The people here are special too. When I arrived, my condition was terrible.  It was very cold on the bus because of the air conditioning. I remembered the icy autumn wind in my homeland, but I didn't have a sweater or a scarf. By morning I had a fever. It was hot in the city, I didn't take care of the hotel in advance, because my friends and I wanted to stay in the Shivaite camp first. On the way there, the tuk-tuk broke down before driving a quarter of the way. We caught another tuk-tuk and already he took we almost to the temple. My condition was getting worse. The heat, outside and the heat inside, the headache, the loss of time, and also this smell..I wanted to lie down unbearably, but it was clear that my wish would not come true soon. Besides, it seemed that the city was crumbling before my eyes, my head was spinning. A man on a small stool came into my field of vision. He had a newspaper in his hands, shouted jokes to his friend who was cooking street food, and laughed sincerely and heartily. After seeing this, I forgot about my pain for a while. This scene was as light and natural as a scene from a movie, as if it was more real than reality. I rediscovered for myself that sometimes you feel bad, but at the same time someone feels good, and sometimes the opposite happens. The illness will pass, I will joke and laugh again. That's how Shiva dances. Happiness is possible anywhere in the world, everything will pass. I just need to get some sleep, just sleep...