Amritsar and other stories

Dear all

Goodness, it was a fleeting visit to Amritsar, for sure. But I managed to pack a lot in.

I arrived very early, around 6.30am, and the town was quiet. I found my way to the Golden Temple, an amazing Sikh monument crafted from white marble, crowned by a golden dome in the shape of a lotus leaf, floating on a tranquil lake. Of course, I was lugging my rucksack, and wasn't sure what the formalities were (where to leave my shoes, where to wash my feet, when to adorn my scarf (ie my beach sarong)).

Euch. There is cockroach roaming the keyboard while I am typing.

Anyway, I eventually found the Sri Guru Ram Das Niwas. This is a large complex for the pilgrims, which provides rooms, toilets, communal showers and a 24-hour restaurant to feed the masses, all for free. They have special dorms for the foreigners, which is where ... euch the cockroach is back again ... you can find a bed for the night. These are pretty basic. The one I was allocated was windowless, stuffy and grimy. And I don't think they change the sheets. But it was fine for me. Because I had taken the sleeper train the night before, I had slept in the clothes I was standing in. And evidently hadn't been able to wash either; therefore the state of the room made little difference to me. But it was great to put down my bag and sit down for a second.

There seemed to be a mound in the corner of the dark room from which the broadest Scouse accent I have ever heard emanated. It took me a second to tune in; as it did for him to tune into my nearly-received-pronunciation accent. And that is how I met Dave, a really nice chap from Liverpool. Dave spent the day educating me in -- what I would call -- conspiracy theories (I am sure he will put me right if that is a misdescription) and we had a couple of good chats; although everything I'd read in the Illuminatus trilogy escaped me. So I was probably a bit useless.

We decided to go off exploring. So -- still not having tried out the shower facilities -- we went off round the Temple. This included making a donation: I handed cash over; in return I was given a brown concoction in a cardboard bowl and a couple of dried leaves. I was unsure what I was supposed to be doing with the goo. But as ever in India, someone was on hand to point me in the right direction. So I took my brown stuff and queued, hoping I would be able to give it away. But they only seemed to want a half of it; leaving me with the rest. I hid it in my bag for a bit, until I could quietly deposit it from prying eyes. But it was to no avail: before leaving the Temple, some more was thrust upon me. And then I found out it was for eating. It was with some trepidation I put it in my mouth, more because my hands were slovenly filthy. But it was quite nice and I am still alive.

From there, it was a quick visit to the Sikh museum which is a gory collection of pictures. If anyone fancies some inspiration on martyrdom, this is the place to come: graphic depictions of decapitations, people being sawn in two, being tortured on a spiked wheel, and a rather unpleasant painting of slaughtered babes-in-arms being hung around the necks of their sobbing mothers. And a host of photos of those who had died: kind of before-and-after collages. All rather disturbing.

Our other stops included the Mata Temple. This was fun. It involved crawling through small tunnels and walking through ankle deep [far-from-fresh] water, bare foot, of course. I understand that women come here if they wish to become pregnant (but I advise you don't get your hopes up, mum).

We also visited the Jallianwala Bagh. This is a garden built to commemorate the massacre which took place there in 1919, when General Dyer ordered 150 troops to open fire on a peaceful demonstration. The gathering was taking place in an open space surrounded by high walls. There was carnage: within six minutes 337 men, 41 boys and one baby were killed, and 1,500 wounded. (The event is captured effectively in Attenborough's Gandhi.) What I found most disturbing was the well in the garden. A number of the protestors had sought refuge in it, throwing themselves in for cover. It is a wide well: a couple of metres in diameter. And it is a deep well: you can't see the bottom; it is a just black abyss. Meaning, it is large well: over 180 bodies were pulled from it after the shootings.

The final stop of the day was in Attari/Wagah to watch the bizarre border display in which the Indian and Pakistani border guards carry out a ceremony each evening, trying to outdo each other in pomp and circumstance. It was most peculiar. The spectators are all seated high above the roads leading to the gates, on purpose built grandstands. The crowds are expected to egg the guards on and we were encouraged to do lots of shouting, singing, and -- strangely -- to support individuals selected to sprint the length of the track in pairs to while waving Indian flags. The sight of plump ladies in saris, struggling to keep up a decent pace in their pink pumps, keeping a (rather worse for wear) Indian flag aloft, was decidedly surreal.

However, I was seated in the ladies' section and for the most part was preoccupied with taking photo after photo of the audience who -- judging from their excitement -- had never seen a digital camera before. It took a lot of persuasion to explain that I wouldn't be coming back to Amritsar in a hurry, and could I watch what was going on below, please. It means I have lots of pictures of the audience; if not the border display.

I returned to Delhi overnight on another sleeper (cattle class again, as there were no other classes available) and caught up with Jackie. I arrived on her doorstep absolutely filthy, not having showered for several days and my clothes black with grime. I think she was slightly shocked.

But more of this all later. I am very tired, not having slept in a bed for two nights, and covered goodness knows how many kilometres in the last three/four days.

I am now in Agra. I have caught sight of the Taj - a grey outline - from the roof terrace of my guest house. I intend getting up at 5am to see sunrise; I shall of course let you know how it goes.

Bises, mes puces.