I Feel Sorry for the Ganges, I Really Do

I feel sorry for the Ganges. It's a big river, like the Mississippi, not a little ole Rio Grande. And all these people make such a fuss over it. Bathing in it, scattering ashes in it, pouring it over their heads in worship. I've even seen western people taking little sips out of it. But the Ganges just keeps on rollin' along, like old man river, except its old woman river. But it doesn't give a damn about these 50 billion people worshipping it. To the Ganges, a jillion indians and a half jillion tourists are like so many ants in an anthill. Nothing. You can tell it doesn't care.

It just flows along, perfectly serene, but powerful in the deep, secret way of water. It goes places, unlike people. It constantly goes places. All these backpackers bragging about the places they've been-- the Ganges laughs at them. Actually it doesn't bother to laugh, that would be like laughing at an ant that bragged it had been to the other side of the anthill. It would just be mean.  The Ganges is a real piece of the world, not like us, with our short fleeting lives. It lives forever. It doesn't care about losing a little water to an eddy that goes stagnant or whoever dumps trash in there. It swallows the trash and disappears it. It doesn't care about the pilgrims that take water from it to offer at temples. It isn't short on water. It ignores people completely, and they don't even notice.

Or maybe they do notice, and that's what they respect about it. Anyway, I've seen on TV that man-eating catfish and blind dolphins live in there, so the Ganges has its own little world to worry about down there. It certainly doesn't have time for us fools.