Amritsar
Two nights ago we left Rishikesh, the Western Enclave where Hippies Go to Die in India, with it’s white Gurus and it’s white Disciples, and it’s yoga and ayuverdic massages and Ganges river vibe. One trains out from Haridwar, which is the Indian version of Rishikesh, and we were taking an overnighter at 9:40 pm, so we arrived a bit earlier and went down to the Ganges to see the evening Puja, where things are burnt, prayers are said, and candles and flowers are set adrift into the swift flowing river Ganges to take the long route down to Varanassi.
We were promptly pounced on by a priest, who dragged us to the river’s edge, made us stick our barefeet into the freezing water, made us toss a flower into the water, followed by a floating candles, poked us in the forehead with a painted finger to leave behind a bindhi, and then demanded between 300 to 1000 rupees for the help.
Sam gave them 300, I gave them 40 and a scowl.
After that we had dinner and then caught the train, which was late as per usual and was missing several compartments, which were later found and stuck on.
Typical over night train business, waking up in the freezing morning to try and figure out which of the five minute stops are yours, so you can quickly rush off, and then we rushed off caught a rikshaw to the Golden Temple where we were meant to be meeting a friend, met her, tried to stay at the Golden Temple, got bored of waiting around to see if there was space, and booked into a hostel.
Later met some other friends, and then caught a shared taxi off to the India Pakistan border. There we piled into grandstands set up to view the gate that meets the border and to watch the bizarre daily ritual that occurs when the gates to the border are closed for the evening.
Pakistanis full up the grandstands on the far side of the gate, in another country, just a few hundred metres away, Indians full up the grandstands on the Indian side, and some dude starts chanting war crys from a microhpone: “Hindustan!” “Go big or go home!” “One time!” “One love!” they scream and chant, and across the border these same cries come back, except with Pakistan instead of Hindistan being yelled.
I might be wrong and they were maybe saying something in Hindi, or Punjabi, or Arabic and not actually saying “go big or go home”, or “one time”, or “one love”, but that’s what it sounded like to me and that’s what I shouted proudly supporting India.
Then the soldiers come out dressed with massive rooster hats – and by that I mean some kind of hat extension that looked like a bright red, extended peacock feather – who goostestepped with such speed and alacrity that they looked like they were moving at the speed that things move at in old black and white movies when it looks like someone’s just hit the fast forward button, but they haven’t actually.
The stands howled and yelled as the soldiers from opposing sides of the borders stamped and stared and stepped at each other.
This went on for a while.
And then they both pulled down their flags to the wild screams of the fans.
Then everyone went home, or in our case back to Amritser, where we had some supper (an aloo gohbi with a butter naan for me) and then went to the Golden Temple to see the Ritual of Putting the Big Book Away at the End of the Evening.
Surrounded by white marble walls one steps through to find a massive man made lake and in the middle of the lake stands a temple plated in gold.
People pray in there, and they’re Sikhs, and Sikhs are cool because they don’t cut their hair or beards, wear turbins and carry knives.
Then I went to sleep.
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