The train got to its destination on time at 5:45 am on Saturday. The destination was the center of the Sikh faith, of Punjab and the home to a group of people who I love--Surds. Amritsar is nothing spectacular. In fact, I found some areas around the old city to be pretty darn filthy. Not wanting to rent a room, I had booked my return train on the same night so that I had one full day to see the city and could sleep during the 8 hour train ride each way. After walking aimlessly for around 10 minutes, it was time to head to the Golden temple. The rising sun reflecting off the shrine and the tranquillity inside the temple complex was as I had imagined. The Harmandir shrine itself is tiny, but including Akal Takht and the sarovar, the complex is pretty vast. I took some pictures, had the darshan and got out of the temple around 8 am by which time hunger had taken over. Most online recommendations suggested that Kesar da Dhaba was the best dhaba in town, and that was where I was headed. This place is ridiculously complicated to find. I was also travelling old school without a smart phone, which may not have helped in any case. The narrow alleys of the old city are very hard to navigate, but every local knows the way to it and I got considerable help to get there. After much effort, only disappointment remained since the place only opens for lunch. But there was an eat and scoot place very close which was serving hot chole and bhature with some vegetable pickle that I had never tasted. For 20 rupees it was a steal. Topped up with some lassi from the nearby lassi shop, my tummy was happy. Then a big desire to sleep took over since I had woken up so early and had eaten quite a bit. I again had to ask many people for directions to navigate the alleys and get to the Golden Temple. The corridors of the temple were so clean that I simply slept for about an hour on the corridor, with my bag as a pillow. The sun began beating down and the crowds started to swell while the Bhajans continued on the loudspeakers. I observed that there were many many tributes to soldiers who had fought and died for the nation on the walls of the temple. What sort of people are they! This is the most sacred spot for their religion with great history and stories about their Gurus and kings everywhere you turn, but along with that they also chose to honour their sons who died for India. The sheer love for India that these folks show is unparalleled. I've also read that the Guru Granth Sahib has many many references to Lord Rama. This was confirmed through the bhajans that kept singing about "Ram naam", "Govinda sumiran", etc. It is very unfortunate that the Akalis have chosen to portray the Sikh faith as something totally different from Hinduism. It is also unfortunate that the Khalistan movement happened in a land of patriots.
By the time I got out and headed to Jallianwala Bagh, it was hot as a tandoor. I just sat in the shade and began to read since there was not much else I could do for about an hour. Then the monsoon clouds gathered and it began to pour. Once the rain subsided to a drizzle, I took a cycle rickshaw to Kesar for lunch. It again began to pour on the way, but the sardar with typical Surd badassery didn't flinch one bit and took me to the dhaba for 30 rupees. The food was awesome. The dal fry was nothing like any of the dal I've had all these years. Was it the ghee? Was it the slow cooking? I don't know. But this was unique and very well made. I still had a couple of hours to kill before my taxi ride to Wagah border. So I went back to Jallinawala Bagh where I saw a few people playing chess. A piece of stone was substituting for the dark squared bishop of white. The bishop was probably playing with young boys on the other side of the park <that was cheap. yuck!>. They invited me to play thinking that I was some pro since I told them that I came from the same city as Viswanathan Anand. After arranging the pieces, I found that the king was facing the opposite queen (wazir). When I attempted to change it, they protested saying "hum desi khelte hain. desi mein aise hi hota hai" (we play desi. It is like this in desi). I was black but the uncle playing white asked me to begin.
Me: <Puzzled. Pushed king's pawn 2 steps ahead>
Uncle: Yeh international nahin hai. Desi mein pawn ek hi step jata hai.
Me: ok <so no en passant type stuff>.
Few moves happen and I castle.
Uncle: Desi mein aise nahin karte.<puts fundaes on how to castle desi>
To castle in desi, the king makes a knight-type move before it has been checked or has moved. The implication of the initial arrangement is that when you castle king side, you are actually in the path of the opposite wazir. It is as though you have castled queen side. I played fast without computing or thinking, and had to resign after a while. I am not some uber chess player, but I noticed while playing and observing other games that their middle game tactics were quite strong, they paid little attention the "chess theory" losing pawns without care, double pawns did not seem to matter, they moved quite fast without a clock and it was a fight to the death. No resignation.
The skies cleared up and it was time to share a 45 minute cab ride to the border with a few obnoxious northie college students. No bags are allowed for the retreat ceremony, and there are long queues with strict security procedures. Women have separate seats with a better view. There was an air of patriotism with loud shouts of "Hindustan Zindabad", "Vande Mataram" and "Bharat Mata ki Jai". The BSF is the organization protecting the borders, and there was one dude in tracksuits on the mic guiding the chants. There was a lot of prick waving and shouting in which I gleefully participated. During the programme, they made girls and women run with the Indian flag to the gate and then come back. The loudspeakers then blared Bollywood songs and patriotic songs to which the women in the crowd danced to. They were basically having a party on the border. And you don't need to give Indian women, especially Punjabi kudis more than one invitation to express themselves. Women ranging from little girls to aunties and paatis and some foreign gilmas partied for around 10-20 minutes and must have formed lifelong memories. I also had a good time in the stands cheering them, taking pictures of the crowd and abusing porkis. On the other side of the gate I could only see men with pyjama-jubba, whereas on this side there were both men and women, and more colour and diversity in general. While we were chanting "Bharat mata ki jai", I could hear our friendly neighbours chant "la ilaha illalah". I also heard something very similar to an Islamic prayer call being played on their loudspeaker in between the Bollywood songs on this side. The contrast was too glaring to me.
After getting back to Amritsar, I went to a Vaishnao Devi temple which is modeled as the original cave temple, complete with an obstacle-course-type path for seeing the Devi. The temple had all sorts of devi devatas from all over the country. There was Buddha (Buddha being worshipped in a Hindu temple would be an Ambedkarite's nightmare), many scenes from epics (with a few inaccuracies and typical northie ignorance of things involving the south. I caught hold of a staff member and appreciated the effort of the temple but politely told him about some inaccuracies that I had spotted), photos of new age gurus etc. When I spotted the statues of Shankara with his 4 disciples, I involuntarily blurted out, "yo thala, whats up" and sat there for a while. Others seeing me sit there also sat there, probably praying for something.
Some aspects of the temple were a bit weird but I liked the effort and the temple overall. As I was stepping out, I saw a Sardarji on the street pausing and praying to the Devi from outside the temple. People worshipping Buddha inside the temple, Sardar worshipping Devi, borderline unbeliever (me) worshipping everybody inside--trippy stuff. If this is not part of the definition of Hindutva, I don't know what is. Dinner time, one more dhaba, one more thulp of paranthas, dal fry and lassi. Then back on the train for bed time and back to Delhi on Sunday morning.
By the time I got out and headed to Jallianwala Bagh, it was hot as a tandoor. I just sat in the shade and began to read since there was not much else I could do for about an hour. Then the monsoon clouds gathered and it began to pour. Once the rain subsided to a drizzle, I took a cycle rickshaw to Kesar for lunch. It again began to pour on the way, but the sardar with typical Surd badassery didn't flinch one bit and took me to the dhaba for 30 rupees. The food was awesome. The dal fry was nothing like any of the dal I've had all these years. Was it the ghee? Was it the slow cooking? I don't know. But this was unique and very well made. I still had a couple of hours to kill before my taxi ride to Wagah border. So I went back to Jallinawala Bagh where I saw a few people playing chess. A piece of stone was substituting for the dark squared bishop of white. The bishop was probably playing with young boys on the other side of the park <that was cheap. yuck!>. They invited me to play thinking that I was some pro since I told them that I came from the same city as Viswanathan Anand. After arranging the pieces, I found that the king was facing the opposite queen (wazir). When I attempted to change it, they protested saying "hum desi khelte hain. desi mein aise hi hota hai" (we play desi. It is like this in desi). I was black but the uncle playing white asked me to begin.
Me: <Puzzled. Pushed king's pawn 2 steps ahead>
Uncle: Yeh international nahin hai. Desi mein pawn ek hi step jata hai.
Me: ok <so no en passant type stuff>.
Few moves happen and I castle.
Uncle: Desi mein aise nahin karte.<puts fundaes on how to castle desi>
To castle in desi, the king makes a knight-type move before it has been checked or has moved. The implication of the initial arrangement is that when you castle king side, you are actually in the path of the opposite wazir. It is as though you have castled queen side. I played fast without computing or thinking, and had to resign after a while. I am not some uber chess player, but I noticed while playing and observing other games that their middle game tactics were quite strong, they paid little attention the "chess theory" losing pawns without care, double pawns did not seem to matter, they moved quite fast without a clock and it was a fight to the death. No resignation.
The skies cleared up and it was time to share a 45 minute cab ride to the border with a few obnoxious northie college students. No bags are allowed for the retreat ceremony, and there are long queues with strict security procedures. Women have separate seats with a better view. There was an air of patriotism with loud shouts of "Hindustan Zindabad", "Vande Mataram" and "Bharat Mata ki Jai". The BSF is the organization protecting the borders, and there was one dude in tracksuits on the mic guiding the chants. There was a lot of prick waving and shouting in which I gleefully participated. During the programme, they made girls and women run with the Indian flag to the gate and then come back. The loudspeakers then blared Bollywood songs and patriotic songs to which the women in the crowd danced to. They were basically having a party on the border. And you don't need to give Indian women, especially Punjabi kudis more than one invitation to express themselves. Women ranging from little girls to aunties and paatis and some foreign gilmas partied for around 10-20 minutes and must have formed lifelong memories. I also had a good time in the stands cheering them, taking pictures of the crowd and abusing porkis. On the other side of the gate I could only see men with pyjama-jubba, whereas on this side there were both men and women, and more colour and diversity in general. While we were chanting "Bharat mata ki jai", I could hear our friendly neighbours chant "la ilaha illalah". I also heard something very similar to an Islamic prayer call being played on their loudspeaker in between the Bollywood songs on this side. The contrast was too glaring to me.
After getting back to Amritsar, I went to a Vaishnao Devi temple which is modeled as the original cave temple, complete with an obstacle-course-type path for seeing the Devi. The temple had all sorts of devi devatas from all over the country. There was Buddha (Buddha being worshipped in a Hindu temple would be an Ambedkarite's nightmare), many scenes from epics (with a few inaccuracies and typical northie ignorance of things involving the south. I caught hold of a staff member and appreciated the effort of the temple but politely told him about some inaccuracies that I had spotted), photos of new age gurus etc. When I spotted the statues of Shankara with his 4 disciples, I involuntarily blurted out, "yo thala, whats up" and sat there for a while. Others seeing me sit there also sat there, probably praying for something.
Some aspects of the temple were a bit weird but I liked the effort and the temple overall. As I was stepping out, I saw a Sardarji on the street pausing and praying to the Devi from outside the temple. People worshipping Buddha inside the temple, Sardar worshipping Devi, borderline unbeliever (me) worshipping everybody inside--trippy stuff. If this is not part of the definition of Hindutva, I don't know what is. Dinner time, one more dhaba, one more thulp of paranthas, dal fry and lassi. Then back on the train for bed time and back to Delhi on Sunday morning.
Haha, wonderful write-up... I've been to the Golden Temple and loved it, should've gone to Jallianwala Bagh as well!
ReplyDelete"People worshipping Buddha inside the temple, Sardar worshipping Devi, borderline unbeliever (me) worshipping everybody inside--trippy stuff."
ReplyDeleteTrippy Indeed.