My arrival in India, and my first week has passed without too much of the India Culture shock. My trip from Mumbai to Delhi was fine - I’d arranged a pick up at the airport, and my guesthouse was a gorgeous little homestay - family run, with beautiful furnishings, great staff and hot water.
My train the following day was at 4.30pm, so I decided to do a bit of a tour of the city. I’d made the decision that I was going to be kind to myself for the first few days in India, so I took a car and a driver for the day to show me round the old city. First stop was the Red Fort, built by Shah Jahan (of Taj Mahal fame). The driver parked up in the car park, and I had a 5 minute walk to the entrance. I was mentally preparing myself to run the gauntlet, but compared to your average North African souk, I barely got hassled at all. I think I’ve perfected the ‘shades on, stare into the middle distance, acknowledge no one’ thing from various trips to the Middle East…..
The red fort was impressive - some beautiful architecture, but it didn’t really touch me, and I was missing my travelling buddies - it’s so much more fun when you have people to share things with.
After visiting the fort, I headed over to the mosque which is HUGE. Unfortunately it was closed for prayers which was a little annoying, but I did get to walk through the bazaar which was fun, and once again, relatively hassle free.
New Delhi station was teeming with people, but I figured out which platform my train would come in on and headed over there. I perched on my backpack writing my journal - I was object of interest to many, but only 2 boys spoke to me - asking me if I wanted my shoes polished.
I was wearing pink flip-flops so I politely declined.
The train was great - on time (First Great Western take note), with 2 meals served - high tea of a sandwich, tea and pakora, then a main meal of paneer masala - yum. They are super efficient too - they knew that I’d ordered a vegetarian meal. The 5 hour train journey cost me about £8 including the two meals and water.
Next morning, I headed over to the beautiful Golden Temple. This is the holiest temple for the Sikhs and is also famous for a terrible massacre the British Army handed out in 1919 where we shot over 1000 people who were peacefully protesting. I do love apologising for my nation’s past conduct wherever I go.
I decided to start in the Sikh museum, which frankly is more of an art gallery. I’d been warned repeatedly that in India everyone a) wants a piece of you and b) is after your money so I was on my guard for both. In the museum I met a gorgeous family - Mum and 2 kids. The kids kept following me round, and wanted to practise their English.
As I came out of the museum, two absolutely gorgeous girls, probably in their early 20s came rushing over for a chat - again completely charming.
Inside the temple I once again became a bit of a celebrity, with several people wanting to take my photo with them, or with their kids - they were all so lovely, and so pleased that I had come to the Golden Temple.
The temple itself is absolutely gorgeous - the centre is built from solid gold - there is continuous chanting from dawn to sunset and there are hordes of pilgrims and worshippers - bathing in the lake, or queuing to see the holy book that’s stored in the temple in the centre of the lake. I had a gorgeous morning wandering around and taking it all in.
The Sikh religion welcomes allcomers to the temple, and as part of their tradition, they serve everyone who comes to the temple with a free lunch - they serve over 14,000 visitors a day with simple food - chapati, rice and dhal. I took my place and ate with the locals, sitting on the floor eating with my hands off a silver tray - it felt great and I left a healthy donation - it’s great work they do there.
That afternoon I went to take in the other star attraction in Amritsar: the India/Pakistan border crossing. It would be fair to say that India and Pakistan aren’t the greatest of friends. Amritsar has the only road crossing between the 2 countries, which not only makes for a super busy crossing, but also gives the opportunity for a great show of splendour each day.
It’s kind of a cross between a Bollywood movie, WWE wrestling and a football match.
For the hour or so before the ceremony, Bollywood hits are blaring out. Girls in the crowd get up and dance, and as the first group of soldiers come out, there’s an almighty dash to grab the Indian flags and run to the gate waving them towards Pakistan, accompanied by cheers from the crowd. Pakistan in their turn also have music playing and flags waving, but is an altogether more sedate affair, with no dancing and the women segregated from the men.
After an hour of hysteria building, the soldiers come out. Lots of goose stepping and shouting - there’s a ‘shout off’ between the soldiers on both sides - who can holler the longest and loudest. There’s lots of shouting of ‘Hindustan Zindabad’ (Long live India) met with chants of ‘Pakistan’ on the other side - all great fun.
The soldiers line up, give a massive shout, then do the highest kick (made my eyes water just seeing it) and a super quick march to the gate, another high kick and a shout. Repeat. 5 times. On both sides.
There’s then a brief handshake between commanding officers, then the 2 flags are pulled down inch by inch at the same time, then the gates are slammed shut til the following morning. Brilliant.
I’d travelled to the border in a shared taxi with a family - the Grandfather spoke good English, as he’d spent some time in London and gravely reminded me that in England we have the Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace, and could I remind him what time it was held at?
The family was lovely, and we had a great chat on the way back to Amritsar, with a discussion on politics and the disaster that was partition (yup, another apology for my country’s conduct). The conversation culminated in the Grandpa giving me his telephone number and inviting my husband and I for dinner in Delhi.
Which would have been great, had I got a husband.
The thing is, I’d been advised, as a single woman, to always claim I was married, not only to avoid harassment from Indian men who can tend to see Western women as easy, but also as it’s considered to be tragically sad for a woman to be in her 30s and unmarried, and therefore I could expect lots of questions as to why that was. So I made up a husband (he sounds lovely by the way, a real catch) who was doing some work in Delhi, so I was taking the opportunity to see a little of the country.
So it’s a shame I won’t be able to take Mr Guptal’s offer up - but what it taught me within my first few days in India is that the people here are, by and large, absolutely lovely - really interested in you, concerned for you and very very kind.
Monday morning saw my heading off on my next adventure - the journey up to Dharamsala in the Himalayas.
I had to get two buses. The first was quite a luxurious local bus - again, I was the only Westerner on it. As I was trying to find somewhere to stow my bag on the second bus, two westerners got on. It was an exciting moment.
Lindsey and Cash, two Americans who are travelling together, but are not together (which reminded me immediately of Ollie and I) introduced themselves, and we started chatting away, getting on like a house on fire - it ended with them inviting me to share a room with them in Dharamsala which was so kind - a really lovely offer.
Dharamsala is beautiful - it’s in the foothills of the Himalayas - there are snow capped peaks in thee distance, the air is fresh and clear, and there’s an altogether different vibe here.
Basically this is because it’s not really India - it’s more like a mini Tibet. The Dalai Lama fled here in 1959 after Chinese occupation and the violent end to peaceful protests. The Indian government gave the Tibetans a home, and for the last 50 years, Dharamsala has been the home of the Tibetan government in exile. The people here are in the main Tibetan Buddhists, with just a few Indians resident.
We saw on posters that the following day, the 10th March was the 50th Anniversary of the Tibetan uprising against Chinese rule, and that there was to be a day of events at the Temple, ending with a candlelit vigil.
Next morning, at about 8.45, the Dalai Lama himself came out to address the crowd and the press in his role as leader of the Tibetan people. He gave the speech in Tibetan, but English translations were handed out. The event even made the front page of BBC headlines.
I’m not immensely political, or spiritual, and I’ve only ever had a passing interest in the Tibetan situation. But I have admired the Dalai Lama for some time - he seems a very reasonable man - interested in the world around him - science as well as spirituality, with a sense of humour (he has a great chuckle) - and I like the way that Buddhism also almost shrugs its shoulders: not everyone should be Buddhist, believe in what you like. I like the non-conversion philosophy they have, and I like the very welcoming feel they have.
I’m not going to shave my head & don the maroon robes just yet. But I will admit to having a lump in my throat on hearing the singing and chanting, and the passion the Tibetan people have for their leader. There’s a lovely Welsh word - hiraeth which means something like ’a longing for home’ - that’s exactly how these people feel - many of whom have never set foot in Tibet.
It was a beautiful ceremony, and I feel tremendously privileged to have been there on such a special day. The Dalai Lama passed within 15 feet of me as he returned to his residence. It had never occurred to me that the Dalai Lama would be in residence, as he’s so often travelling around the world, but I have been lucky to see him twice, as today I heard him speak (in Tibetan) on more spiritual subjects. A Tibetan sat next to me gave me some translations, but I just enjoyed taking in the atmosphere.
Today was the last time he will speak ‘at home’ for several months, so our timing was perfect.
Lindsey and I went on a mini-trek into the hills, meeting a lovely young Tibetan girl called DindinTenzin (most Tibetans have the name Tenzin, which is the Dalai Lama’s name) which was great. Unfortunately I was ill for the last evening, but I did have the most amazing Tibetan massage - the woman was awesome and better than any chiropractor - she sorted out my dodgy hip beautifully.
Next stop Shimla, the former British hill station, then onto Rishikesh.
