Tuesday, November 21 Amritsar in Punjab

I took a private overnight bus last night with Alix, from Delhi to Amritsar. Miraculously, we got to Amritsar before 7, and were immediately pounced upon by bicycle rickshaw drivers. It’s so cold outside, and everyone is wearing heaven wool shawls. I had to borrow Alix’s, which was warm. I’m finally in Punjab for the first time! Punjab originally contained a major area north and west of Delhi. Unfortunately, Partition and the separation of Hindi-speaking Haryana caused it to become significantly smaller. However, Punjab is nonetheless the North Indian heartland. Most South Asians living in the diaspora are Punjabi (Most Indian-Americans I know are Punjabis), “Indian” (tandoori, fried, curried) food is usually Punjabi food, energetic Bhangra music and dancing is known the world over, Punjab is the breadbasket of India since the Green Revolution in agriculture and enjoys a higher standard of living than elsewhere in India, and the stereotypical Indian is a Punjabi (a large pot-bellied Sikh in a cotton turban with a huge beard). Amritsar is the center of the Sikh religion. The city was founded by the Fourth Sikh guru, Ram Das, in 1577. The rickshaw plopped us right in front of the park commemorating the carnage at Jallianwala Bagh. Unrest in 1919 was caused in response to the Rowlatt Act, which gave Britain power to imprison Indians without trial. Indians were peacefully protesting at Jallianwala Bagh in Amritsar. British General Dyer quelled the rebellion by commanding his troops to open fire, killing 800 people and wounding 1,500. This injustice fueled many Indians to participate in Gandhi’s “Quit India” program. Today, the site is a memorial, with nice gardens. We were walking through, and saw a bunch of guys doing yoga on the grass, and they called us over. They wanted to show us a move, and all spread out their arms and yelled in-synch, like ogres, it was hilarious. Then we walked over to the statue commemorating the massacre. It was the biggest phallic symbol ever, with a huge spire pointing to the sky, with two round bulges at the base; there was nothing non-phallic about it. We walked around and saw an eternal flame, plus some original bullet holes. Then we around the market; most of the Sikh gift and souvenir shops, and restaurants were closed. The shops were all the same; they had swords, daggers, pictures of the nine Sikh gurus and the Golden Temple, bracelets and bangles, head coverings and shawls, and necklaces. The restaurants were only serving Kulcha, a Punjabi breakfast, which is a paratha with various curries. We went to the famous Golden Temple, the only reason people come to Amritsar. We got to the Golden Temple, the holiest shrine for Sikhs. The Golden Temple is a huge complex where everyone is welcome. We had to take off our shoes and wash our feet in the “cleansing water”, which sucked because it was freezing outside, and I had an open cut on my toe. Outside the temple was a huge white onion-domed gateway guarded by two heavily-bearded Sikhs in blue and saffron uniforms and turbans, with spears and swords. Before going in the temple, everyone prostrated on the ground, hands clasped and chanting in Punjabi, a bubbly version of Hindi. The interior of the temple was an all-marble walkway for viewing the golden sanctum, surrounded by a still lake. The temple itself wasa shimmering intricate building, covered in gold plating; it was beautiful. The bathing pool, surrounding it, provides holy water to drink, water to bathe in, and toreflect the stunning building. There was a long gated walkway to the temple sanctum, which accomodated a huge line of Sikh devotees, Hindu holidaymakers, and Western tourists to see the Sikh holy book, the Guru Granth Sahib. The book itself is significant because the tenth Sikh guru, Guru Gobind Singh, transferred all the teachings of the Sikh religion, into the holy book. Therefore, it is treated as the eleventh Sikh guru, as a person that needs to eat, hear music and be worshipped, and put to sleep every night. Inside the actual building, devotees sat and prostrated towards the priest, an old breaded turban-clad man with thick black horn-rimmed glasses. He fanned the book with a huge horsehair brush, the holiest book for the Sikhs. The book itself was oversized, about four feet wide when opened. The interior of the building was lavishly embellished with semi-precious inlaid stones, white marble, gold plating, and chandeliers. After exiting the temple and traversing the marble causeway, everyone was given really good sweets for free. The surrounding walkway was completely made of white marble. It was here that everyone walked around to view the temple. Sikh men in their underwear submersed in the water, put their daggers in front of their turbans, faced the temple, and prayed. The Gurus’ graves also lined the walkway, to which devotees bowed and prayed. I feel like we were in the North Pole; Santa Claus was everywhere. Sikh men all have heavy beards and colorful turbans, worn generally with Western clothes, and all wear a gold or silver bracelet on their right wrist. The boys all have premature facial hair stubble, and wear skullcaps with circular buns for their long hair. The women all wear salwar-kameez, the light dupatta covering their heads. It’s one culture in modern society where the men continue to dress in their traditional style, and women’s dress looks more or less Western. Although Delhi is heavily Punjabi-dominated, this is 100%, thanks to Partition. Everyone had really light skin, hair everywhere, and were huge. Punjabis really are the only substantially-built Indians. It was really cool to see so many Punjabis, all dressed in their traditional style. Around the temple perimeter were a ton of free guest rooms for pilgrims, and anyone else in need of a room. Outside the temple was also a huge dancing hall. Rows upon rows of seated individuals sat chopping and peeling vegetables, while others ate dal and roti. Metal plates clanged loudly as Sikhs and non-Sikhs alike washed and dried them in huge rows. The thought is, even god needs to eat, so do all humans. The Golden Temple was always open, and open to all for worship, accomodation, and eating, for free. Since everything is free, and because of the strong Punjabi work ethic, there were no beggars anywhere. All gurudwaras have four entrances, symbolizing the openness to all in the religion. This is fundamentally-opposed to both Hinduism and Islam. Hinduism demands donations, and has a caste system, where it portrays low castes as dirty and not suited to worship, sleep with higher castes, or cook or eat with higher castes. Islam, also, excludes half of its followers, women, from coming to the mosque to worship. Sikhism is open because of its inception, and the fact that it has come under so much attack. It was created by the “Gentle Guru”, Guru Nanak, who was a Hindu raised in a Muslim community, and rejected the idea of superstition and exclusivity in religion. The religion wanted to help all and promote peace. However, after massacres and the beheading of the ninth guru by the Mughal Aurangzeb, the Sikhs felt it necessary to become martial in order to protect their religion. As a result, their animal is the lion, and many serve in the armed forces. After seeing this acceptance, I began to admire Sikhism a lot. After seeing the temple, we walked around town, which was completely dead and locked up until 10. We made some bus reservations, and then took a bicycle rickshaw with a Sikh driver, to a huge restaurant for Punjabi thalis. Punjabi food is the tastiest in India, and most “Indian” restaurants in the US are Punjabi. Needless to say, the food was outstanding; buttery fluffy parathas, rich dal makhani, spicy aloo gobi, thick curd, crispy papad, soft paneer, and fresh salad. We got bored and decided to take a bus to the Pakistani border. Compared to other cities in India, Punjabi cities are cleaner, newer, and nicer thanks to heavy foreign investment and remittances. The bus let us off at Attari, the last town in Inida, before the contentrious Pakistan border. We had to take a bike rickshaw to the actual border, past a line of dozens of trucks full of onions waiting for the border to open up. At the end of a road was a small gate, with another long road and some old buildings and trees. Surprisingly, there was absolutely no security, and we opened the unlocked gate ourselves and walked over to the immigration office. We handed the Indian officer our passports, and he filled out a bunch of papers and gave us a stamp. However, he then realized we didn’t have a Pakistani visa, so we couldn’t get in. We had a ton of time, and there was nothing around but farms. After a lot of explaining, Alix drove a bicycle rickshaw around with me and the driver in back, to some dirt road, where we got off and walked through a bunch of tall Eucalyptus trees, bright-yellow mustard fields, and harvested dirt fields. The weather was just like California’s Central Valley; cold in the winter, hot in the summer, with large differences between daytime and nightime temperatures. Right now, it was a perfect 75 degrees. We saw a motorized tractor rumbling down the road, and we flagged him down, and rode with the driver and his friend, down the dusty dirt road towards a small village. The village was a typical North Indian rural village; surrounded by rice paddies and wheat fields, water buffalo pens in the backyards, drying mounds of dung stuck all over the walls, old men playing cards in the shade, children playing, and women washing. Everyone stared and giggled when we passed. Everyone was really friendly, and we were invited to tea at least five times. We took some pictures of some apprehensive villagers, and caught a bus back to the border. I was able to pedal a bicycle rickshaw to the border. It was not hard, but I could see if you did this all day every day, with poor nutrition and sleep, it would be backbreaking. The owner of a covered restaurant forcibly grabbed my arm, trying to get me to sit down, and wouldn’t let go, so we sat at a table without buying anything, until a massive crowd formed outside the border gate. We had to wait for the gates to open, and once they did, people poured out and sprinted a kilometer down the open road to the border gates. We had to all go through security checks, before getting to the bleachers. It was like a stadium, where you could sit on the Indian side of the border, face-to face with Pakistan’s bleachers, which were wood and under construction, and half the size. The border itself was a gate with an insignia of the Ashokan pillar. On either side, running for hundreds of miles, was a black fence with impenetrable barbed wire on top. You could kind of see into the Pakistan side, and it looked like an Iraqi war zone, with beat up earth-toned buildings, and sand and dust everywhere. The crowd was tiny, compared to India’s. The Pakistanis all clapped; I would, too, if I was living in a military dictatorship. All the people had their heads covered, and men sat with men, women with women. The Indian guards wore turbans and nice uniforms, and marched up and down, while patriotic songs played in the background, everyone singing along. There was chanting like cheerleaders, and everyone stood up and yelled “Long live Bharat”. People from the stands got to run with the Indian flag, up and down the road. The border ceremony started at sunset, and it was the biggest display of machismo and nationalism ever. The guards marched back and forth. Then the gates were flung open, so that the guards from their respective countries came face-to-face. They twirled their guns, and each lowered their countrys’ flag, being careful not to raise it higher than the other. It’s weird that no one polices that line; it’s no one’s jurisdiction. And it’s completely arbitrary. After the ceremony, everyone slowly walked back to their country. On the way, a sign read: “Welcome to Punjab”, and directly on the other side of the road, written in four different languages was a sign saying: “Welcome to India, the largest democracy in the world”. Take that, Pakistan. We took the bus back to Amritsar, where we went and saw the Golden Temple lit up in the moonlight, which was absolutely stunning. It’s on-par with the Taj Mahal, which also looks different at different parts of the day. I went and bought five turbans for Rs 200 each; one saffron, navy, blue, purple, and pink. I just need to learn how to tie them; I’m sure they have instructions online somewhere. We had a really hearty Punjabi thali for dinner, and went back to Delhi via charter bus.