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Somewhere for the weekend
Ever fancied spending the weekend in a Golden Temple? Well, in the city of Amritsar you can - no matter your religion, race, nationality or class the Golden Temple offers food and lodgings to all.
Last weekend, I escaped Delhi and took the six-hour train to Amritsar in the Punjab, home to the Sikh people's holiest shrine - the golden temple. It was built to house the book written by the 4th of ten Sikh prophets or Gurus, with the instruction that it should be treated as though it were the incarnation of God. Accordingly the book gets some serious pampering; its home is a temple made using 750 kg of solid gold, which sits in the midst of a pool of holy water (said to cure leprosy and the source of countless other miracles). The book rests on richly coloured velvet cloth and is tended to by the highest priests in the Sikh faith. Every day thousands of pilgrims visit with offerings of money, prashad (a kind of sweet) flowers and prayers. Not a bad life for a book eh?
On my way from the train station, I approached a woman in a pink sari to confirm I was heading in the right direction. Turned out she had spent the first ten years of her life in Manchester, before her family returned to Amritsar. I could still detect a faint Mancunian twang in her accent. Following in the foot-steps of her father, Preeti had just finished medical school. She offered to take me to the temple as she was going that way.
My first glimpse of the Golden Temple occurred mid-conversation with Preeti, so I didn't get the full "Oh, so that's the Golden Temple /Taj Mahal / Eiffel Tower, Sphinx' effect of coming face-to-face with one of the world's iconic buildings. However, this seems fitting for the Golden Temple; unlike the hushed and reverent atmosphere at the Taj, it was informal, relaxed. There were no security checks, no ticket required; you just remove your shoes, cover your head and join the other people milling about, chatting, praying, bathing and taking photos. It's a chilled-out temple scene.
I explained to Preeti that I wanted to stay within the temple complex and she lead the way. After making some enquiries, I was shown to the "Foreigner's Dorm" where I would enjoy such luxuries as hot water, and a proper bed - things us softie foreigners apparently can't do without. Despite this, it was basic and also - as I came to learn - very noisy (nothing new there), chilly at night and home to a small mouse population (eeeeeek!)
But did I mention, it was FREE of CHARGE! Yep, it was a 30 second bare-footed walk away from one of the India's most beautiful buildings and I was paying precisely diddly squat. Suppose it's a bit like staying in the stables at Chatsworth House and having free reign of the house - a pretty rum deal. Besides any time I felt a complaint brewing, it was instantly ceased by the sight of the hundreds of Indian pilgrims, including old people and children, sleeping on the ground, washing in cold water at public taps and seemingly have a whale of a time.
After giving me a tour of the temple, Preeti took me to another temple where she was meeting her father. She was a devout Sikh, kneeling and pressing her head to the floor before every shrine, touching the entrance to holy rooms on entering and leaving. She indicated that I should do the same and I was faced with a dilemma; do I respect her wishes and beliefs, but feel like a hypocrite in doing so, or risk causing offence by explaining that, for me, such gestures do not carry the meaning or value they do for her. I wondered what she would think if she knew my own beliefs (or lack of them). Was I being unfair or disrespectful by concealing them? But she didn't ask me openly and I took what is probably the coward's route out - emulating some of her gestures, leaving out the more elaborate ones.
While Preeti waited for her father, who was running late. She told me about the temple we had just visited. Legend has it that a Sikh warrior was beheaded in a fight there and before dying, threw his severed head all the way from this temple into the Golden Temple complex (about km away), so that he would officially 'die' within it walls. Gory stuff, but it didn't put me off the road-side snacks that Preeti had bought for us to munch on!
That night I ate in the communal dining hall - a truly novel 'dining experience'. Staffed by volunteers, it serves food to anyone and everyone free-of-charge, twenty-four hours a day. The whole operation runs like clock-work; thali plates and spoons are given out, you are shepherded into a huge hall and seated in lines on the ground. Chapattis, dhal, vegetables and sweet are dolloped on to your plate with lightening speed and re-fills frequently proffered. The food is simple, delicious and hearty. As you leave, the clean-up operation is already in process behind you, as volunteers mop the floor ready for the next batch of hungry diners.
Following this, I made up for months not doing household chores and volunteered myself for some dish-washing. I joined the people surrounding one of the giant trough-like sinks, and along with curious glances, was given a sponge. I rolled up my sleeves and got stuck in. Washing-up has never been so much fun! There was a great atmosphere and frankly there were more volunteers than work to do; it became a friendly competition to see who was first to get their hands on the dishes which were flung at regular intervals into the soapy water. From here more volunteers took them to be rinsed ready for use again. After an hour my hands were prune-like and I relinquished my spot to another waiting volunteer.
The next evening I tried my hand at vegetables prep and in the process stumbled across a new and highly effective form of therapy, which I have termed PST (Pea-shelling therapy). A woman beckoned me over to where she and others were sitting around a mountain of peas, shelling them into giant tin bowls. I sat next to a young boy and studied his technique. Nobody spoke, but warm smiles were exchanged. After ten minutes I found myself feeling very relaxed and calm. The satisfying pop of the pod snapping open, releasing the little family of peas into the steadily growing mound in the bowl. There was a refreshing smell - a mix of freshly mown grass and rain. The repetitive motion had a meditative effect. I felt a sense of camaraderie and common purpose. An hour later I left feeling light-spirited and peas-ful (sorry I couldn't resist!).
Once again I was baffled by India's contradictions. The Golden Temple is the epitome of organisation, efficiency and cleanliness. Inside the main temple, there are people on their hands and knees cleaning the floor around and behind you - it is difficult to avoid stumbling over them. The loos were kept spotless by a team of women who actually slept inside the toilet block! It is also genuinely inclusive - I really felt that everyone was welcomed here.
Yet, step outside and there is squalor, chaos and dirt on an epic scale. Poverty is endemic and there is a yawning chasm between the haves and have-nots. Legacies such as imperialism and the caste system have left a society riddled with inequalities, enslaved to immovable categories of status. Indian people have explained to me that one of the challenges facing the nation, is imbuing the rapidly growing middle-class with a sense of responsibility for the marginalised and disadvantaged in their society. India leaves me reeling; one minute I am disgusted, repulsed, condemning; the next I am full of respect, wonder and admiration.
My weekend had plenty of other highlights; a visit to a Hindu temple decked out in mirrored glass, with bizarre statues - sort of psychedelic. Apparently it is thee place for women who want to get pregnant to go and pray. I spent a sobering hour at Jallianwala Bagh, the site where over 400 hundred Sikhs were massacred by British troops during the conflict over sedition. I had another mouse in my bed - this being incident number three so far this trip! Staying in such close proximity to the temple, I really got to know it and to see it in different conditions; at sunrise and sunset when its reflection turned the surrounding water into liquid gold; shrouded in mist, blurred by drizzle and spectacularly lit up at night.
Lastly there was the border closing ceremony - which is worthy of a blog entry in its own right. Amritsar is on the border with Pakistan and the only crossing point between the two countries. At 4.30pm daily the military perform a bizarre and ostentatious ritual as the border is officially closed. I am at a loss as to how to describe it. The animosity between the two countries was swept aside in a flurry of trumpet playing, yodelling, silly games, flag waving and soldiers strutting up and down in a manner clearly derived from the Ministry of Silly Walks! There was an atmosphere of friendly rivalry - with crowds gathered on the Pakistan and Indian sides shouting and cheering on their respective soldiers. Popcorn and postcards are for sale; it could easily have been light-hearted family entertainment, as opposed to the meeting of two countries between whom there is a long history of turmoil and blood-shed.
Three days sped by and I was soon on my way back to Delhi and the much more humble surroundings of my new flat (see last entry). It walls may not be made of gold, but inside them I slept soundly - free of mouse invasions and pilgrim-related clamour.
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