Today, I arrived in Amritsar. In the state of Punjab, north-western India. This is a holy city. The Golden Temple of the Sikh faith is located here. It is an old city with a long history. Today, I arrived by airplane and spent the afternoon and evening looking around. This is what I saw…
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The airport is new, clean, and modern. Though small. My flight from Delhi arrived early and I found the taxi and driver that had been arranged by my hotel. We drove the 13 kilometers along the straight highway to Amritsar. Passing a thin line of urban settlement all along the route… and seeing some glimpses of rice fields and farms in the distance.
It is a festival season in India and there is much travel. Amritsar itself is a famous tourist city, and so there are many visitors at this time. I am actually in Amritsar on business… I have meetings arranged with the City Commissioner and City Mayor on Monday and Tuesday. But I arrived early on the weekend to get more familiar with the place. I checked into my hotel, drank a glass of water, and rested for a few minutes.
I was hungry. I’ve heard of a famous Amritsari bread, called Kulcha. I sought it out on the street, wanting to try its authentic flavor. My hotel is in a narrow alleyway off of Queen’s Road. There are many hotels in this area, and some famous restaurants. I asked one man at one hotel where I could find Kulcaha. He looked me over from head to toe. He must have judged me to be a bit feeble and vulnerable. He asked me to wait, made a short phone call, and then told me I should go to a place called “Kulcha Lane”. It would be a 30 rupee and 20 minute rickshaw ride away. I scowled. I asked for something closer, where I could walk. He told me to look on the road. Maybe he felt I needed a more sterile environment.
The next man I asked was behind the corner counter of a jewelry shop. He seemed delighted in my interest for Kulchas, and pointed me straight along the roadway. “Right there”, he said. And there was a small roadside tent with a clay oven and a man in a red T-shirt at the end of his extended finger. I walked over, minding the puddles and mud in the road along the way.
I stepped up to the tent. An old woman was waiting in the queue. And an adolescent boy. I asked for one Kulcha and the proprietor gestured me to wait and stand at the little counter at his tent. He began preparing my meal.
A Kulcha is a ball of dough stuffed with spiced mashed potato and then flattened into a thick disc. This is then baked by sticking it onto the inside of a charcoal-burning tandoori oven. I watched him flatten some dough into his hands, fill it with mashed potato from a bowl he kept above his head, and then roll it out into the disc shape. He baked it, removed it from the oven, and then spread generous spoonfuls of butter on top – which instantly melted into the crispy surface of the bread. He finished by picking up the Kulcha and smashing it with one quick closing of his fist – thus shattering the Kulcha into bite sized pieces. He served it to me with a bowl of bean and onion soup.
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I spent most of the afternoon then at the Golden Temple. It is a wonderfully peaceful place. Open to anyone and everyone, from any religion and walk of life. If you get the chance, you should go. That is all I will say about it for now. This photo shows the Golden Temple, painted pink in the setting sun.
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When I left the Golden Temple, it was dark. I thought I would wander the streets for a while. Amritsar has an old walled portion of the city. It is form a medieval time, with narrow jumbled streets. It is dark, and crowded, and dirty, and noisy. A little mysterious. I wandered through these narrow streets, with no particular aim. I just wanted to look around and feel alone in this ancient city.
At one point, the intersection of five angular roads, I saw a large truck rumble to a stop in front of me. In the distance, at the edges of the intersection, a number of street lamps stretched streaks of light in my direction. But this light only seemed to enhance the shadows, not to dispel them. And so it was in this light that I saw something at first frightening, then confusing, and then wonderful and fun.
Out of the truck many large shapes began to spill and crawl. Hunched bodies climbed down the sides of the truck. Five, seven, ten different creatures emerged. All wore crimson robes wrapped tight around their limbs. In the shadowy darkness, I caught only brief and fearful glimpses of shocking faces… men that had the faces of apes! I could not believe my eyes! And in the darkness, I was scared. They all carried clubs… but some carried drums. And they wore large ornaments around their neck. But they were not menacing. They were joyful, I might say.
They started beating their drums, and walking down one of the angled roadways. As they approached the lamplight I could see that it was a team of youngish boys and girls dressed as Hanuman, the Hindu monkey god, and his army of langur monkeys. They were a party sent to bring the blessings of Hanuman – through music, dancing, and cheering – to a newly opened textile shop down the next street. They wore masks of monkey noses, and long haired furry wigs and tails. I was delighted to see my fright turn to happiness as they musically went about their blessing. I stood in a doorway for a while to watch them.
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Eventually, the evening made me tired, and after some more strolling around narrow alleyways and nighttime markets, I decided to go back to my hotel. I found a main road and attempted to hail an auto-rickshaw. After some moments one auto stopped, but when I told him my destination, he mysteriously turned down my fare and drove away. Next an old man with a very long, grey beard pulled up on a three wheeled bicycle and asked me my desired destination. I felt my hotel was too far for a cycle-rickshaw, but I told him anyway. He told me his price. I hesitated, but decided to go for the cycle ride anyway. And we set off.
It was very dark by now. We passed in and out of the pale patches of street lighting. A half moon mostly hid behind dark clouds. We entered one particularly dark part of the road, and by some miracle, the constant din of car horns and people-noise altogether ceased on this stretch. Probably the first silence I’d heard all day. Only the sound of the bicycle wheels on the road could be heard, and the friction of the driver’s clothing as he pedaled. I remembered at that moment that nighttime is only the absence of the sun on one half of the earth. The world is the same at night as in day, it is just that there is no light.
Then we re-emerged into a glowing street lamp, and the horns and shouting began again.
The driver pedaled and pedaled. We were approaching a flyover road, that soars above the railroad tracks. The driver struggled and then stopped as we ascended this steep slope. He asked me to step off from the chair behind him, and he began to push the cycle up the slope. We had a long way to the top. At first, I walked alongside him as he pushed. But I then remembered that we are two people, and I stepped behind and also pushed the heavy rickshaw up the slope. Many cars and motorcycles passed us along the dark street. The moon had emerged from her hiding cloud, and the railway lines stretched endlessly in parallel lines below us. We reached the crown of the flyover hill, the old man driver thumped the seat of my chariot with his palm as the cycle began to roll downhill. I jumped on and steadied myself in the seat. He swing his leg over his saddle and we coasted down the hill. Traffic weaved around us – the slowest cart on the road. One million thoughts passed through my mind: of humanity, of traffic laws, of development, of happiness, of hope and hopelessness, of meaning, and of gravity.
Before long we arrived at Queen’s Road and the driver stopped to let me off. I gave him double the fare he had at first announced. He is a very old man who has to climb hills every day. And this is a holy city.
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