Coming down from the mountains was a big shock. After two weeks of basking in temperatures around the low to mid 20s, reminiscent of summer back home, we had arrived in the dusty, dirty Amritsar where temperatures hover in the mid 30s! Within seconds of climbing down from the train I was dripping and being assailed from all sides with offers of rickshaws or taxis to the Golden Temple. We were in India again.
Aside from the Golden Temple Amritsar is infamous as being the site of one of the worse atrocities committed by the British during their 200 year tenure. Anyone who has seen the film 'Gandhi' will be familiar with Jallianwalla Bagh, where on 13th April 1919 the British slaughtered 379 Indians for the 'crime' of holding a public gathering.
A memorial stands on the site today in the form of a landscaped courtyard. Picture frames are dotted around highlighting holes left by the bullets which fortunately didn't hit their targets. There is however, a particularly crass element to this memorial in the form of an eternal flame provided courtesy of Indian Oil. I know we love corporate sponsorship at home, but I couldn't imagine seeing 'the Cenotaph brought to you by McDonalds'.
Ever since seeing a photo in an RE textbook in year 8 or 9, when my teachers went through the motions of ‘teaching’ the class about other faiths, I’ve wanted to come see the Golden Temple. And after going through the hassle of fighting through the queues to put my shoes away I wasn't disappointed. Like the Taj Mahal this place was awesome, the temple, being made of gold and all, shone like a star in the night sky; absolutely perfect!
A couple of hours of photography and a meal in the huge temple kitchen, where all are welcome for a meal of as much dhal, rice pudding and chapatti as you like, we were on our way. Our next stop was the India Pakistan border. Having heard vague stories about a border ceremony from fellow travelers and reading snippets in guidebooks we wanted to find out more.
A taxi took Mark, myself and a German guy named Toby on the 29km trip west to Wagha. Upon arriving we were surrounded by crowds of young lads offering us India flags so that we could wave them as hard as we could at the Pakistanis. Declining their offers the German guy asked for a Deutschland flag or a Union Jack. This however only had the effect of engaging them and they proceeded to follow us down the street for the next 5 minutes.
Five minutes later and we were at the site of the ceremony, where bandstands had been arranged around a gate emblazoned with the India flag. A few centimetres across the border in Pakistan was a mirror image, only with Pakistani flags. We managed to find ourselves seats with a decent view and awaited the ceremony. However this being India it wasn't long before we were fighting with every man and his dog having found our view obscured.
Loud patriotic music was blaring, from a sound system that could just about handle it, interspersed with vitriolic chants of 'Hindustan'; the crowd having been egged on by an arrogant looking sod with a microphone. When this particular chap brought out two large Indian flags the crowd went mental. The chanting became fiercer and as the flags were being passed into the crowd it appeared as though a fight might break out between two separate groups vying for control. It wasn't until another chant of 'Hindustan' went around before they realised who they really hated!
What followed next could easily have been at home on a Monty Python comedy sketch, if it didn't happen every day at sunset that is. Without warning the music ceased and a bugler struck up a nice military sounding tune. This was immediately followed by a sergeant who sounded like he was sitting on the loo with a severe case of 'Delhi Belly' whilst screaming something incomprehensible. As soon as he was finished his unit of five men in ridiculous hats began what could only be described as a silly walk, this is where the Monty Python references come in. Legs and arms were thrown into the air whilst marching at high speed towards the gate only to turn around and march halfway back only to start again seconds later. This pattern went on for the next 45 minutes before the gate was opened in order for it to be slammed shut again at the completion of the ceremony.
How anyone managed to keep a straight face through the proceedings is beyond me. Mark myself and the German were trying hard, not wanting to insult the poor Indians who seemed to take pride in watching their 'border security force' make complete fools of themselves.
As we made our way back to the taxi I though how I couldn't imagine such an event anywhere back home; well possibly up at Hadrians wall, but even then it would only be the Scots flashing their bare arses to a flock of sheep. Silly walks and constipated sergeants aside, the events had reminded me of the 2 minutes of hate in 1984. The loathing in some people's eyes as they spat out the chants earlier in the event was nothing short of intense. However, If this sort of ceremony provides a release for the hatred between these two nuclear armed powers then I think everyone is better for this most unusual of ceremonies.
