Golden Temple magic...

There is nowhere like India to provoke a bit of self analysis. Last time I was here I was 24, now I am 34. This is certainly no holiday and the constant challenges to my ever shortening fuse, invasion of my personal space and the complete lack of comfort has caused me to look internally and ask: am I so different to a decade ago? I am pretty sure, although my memory does not allow complete accuracy, that back in 2000 I was comfortable with the way things are here. I mean, that's what India is like right? This is the way it is? This time round I can't help but notice the inconsistencies and contradictions which seem to be prevalent everywhere we go. Let's take spitting for example. Not such a nice subject I know, but it's a perfect example of what I am talking about. In many of the public spaces, bus and train stations for example, there are signs saying "No Spitting" (The fact these signs exist demonstrates some sort of recognition of the problem). These signs tend to be in English with the occasional Hindi translation underneath. At the bus station in Amritsar there were even "spittoons" which were essentially metal frames with a washing up bowl full of sand on top. The reality is that many men, and equally women, will stand next to these spittoons and loudly clear the back of the throat and spit on the floor right next to said "spittoon". No one will flinch, bat an eyelid or show any sign of disgust. I don't remember being repulsed by this then, but I certainly am now! The fact that it appears to be acceptable for a group of people to take Mariannes photo without permission, but turn the camera on this group and the look if indignation is palpable, is another example. The spaces allocated to women or elderly on trains and buses, which have only young men sat in them is again another example of the things I can't help notice as I travel about this crazy place. People are constantly sweeping here, I mean constantly. Yet, without wanting to appear rude, the place is filthy. This is of course viewed by my own "standards" and I cannot help but wonder if it is me who has just got older, grumpier and more cynically stuck in my ways. It probably is indeed the case.

We are currently in McLeod Ganj, home to the Tibetan Goverment in exile and official residence of his excellency the 14th Dalai Lama. It's also high up in the mountains again and nice and cool. We came here via Amritsar, the capital of Indian Punjab and the home of the Golden Temple and the Sikh religion. I remembered the Golden Temple from my last visit well, and it doesn't disappoint. It's hard to describe in words to be honest but having been lucky enough to have been to many of the worlds religious centres this one is right up there in the realms of magical, mystical places where you can feel the throng of religious fervour happening all around you. We got up early, well early for us, at 6am to try and beat the rush and the heat. It appears so did many of the pilgrims and worshippers. The entrance to the temple is a busy place full of people taking their shoes to the cloak room and readying themslelves for the upcoming prayers. Punjab has 75% of the worlds 25 million Sikhs and this is the place they all come, at least once in their lives. The Golden Temple itself is surrounded by a lake, which is where Amritsar takes it's name= The Pool Of immortality, or Sacred Lake depending on who you ask. I had to wear a head scarf, as did Marianne before we could enter the temple. You then find yourself in a large white marble square with the lake infront of you and the Golden Temple itself in the centre. The Golden part of the temple is reputedly pure gold, I have no reason to doubt this. It is a truly stunning and humbling sight, I couldn't really believe I was there again, a second time, when there are probably countless Sikhs who are lucky enough to only visit once in their lives. We took our time walking around the lake, meeting a few interested parties, most of whom were keen to talk about London and their visits there. Punjab is big in London and vice versa. We entered the queue of about 800 people walking across the walkway to the temple. This is when you really start to feel part of something. The beautiful music piped all around becomes clear. Tablas and an Asian sounding keyboard play with mystical chanting overlayed giving you a feeling which makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. Couple this with the mass of people quietly singing along with the music you begin to feel quite emotional. Well, I did.

Once inside the temple you see the musicians sat playing on the floor, infront of piles of flowers and money.There are many people vying for position to get the best spot so they can offer their money to the gods. The inside of the temple is dominated by a huge chandelier which lights up the intricately decorated room all in a hue of gold. There are balconies above with people looking down at the scene holding prayer books or kneeling with their eyes closed in a moment of reverance. Up stairs there is a holy man reading from a huge book, the holy book in the Sikh world. All these people are brightly dressed in orange, yellows, white and blues. The men with long beards and turbans, the women with beautiful sari's and golden jewellery. It is truly a welcome sight for sore, grumpy, cynical eyes.

Our visit to Amritsar also included a trip to the border with Pakistan (Wagah) to witness the bizarre ceremony carried out every night to close the road between the two countries. This whole event is played out like a military game show with around 2000 Indians on one side and considerably less on the Pakistan side. The idea is to out-do the other side with noise and bravado. I saw this in 2000 and it was considerably less rowdy than this time. It seems to correlate with the boom in Indian confidence and national pride. It's safe to say what India won this round.

Finally our time in Amritar was spent in the Jallianwala Bagh. A park where on April 13th 1919 a group of British Soldiers opened fire on a peaceful protest against the British rule killing many people, including women and children. Figures vary from 400 dead to 2000 but the fact that this was the catalyst for Ghandis quiet revolution will never be forgotten. The signs on the walls as you arrive speak of the British tyranny and evilness. Needless to say, we didn't stay long.

So here we are in McLeod Ganj, named after the British soldier who founded the town in the 1800's now the home of all things Tibetan. Unfortunately, all things exiled from Tibet since the so called peaceful invasion by China in 1959 which has seen a reported 1.2million Tibetans killed and thousands seeking asylum in India.The Dalai Lama is here and he used to do public meetings, which we would love to do, but apparently his age and health have put a stop to that. Or at least that's what we have heard. We also know not to believe anything in this land of inconsistencies until you see it with our own eyes, so watch this space.

We are planning to do some trekking from here and take advantage of the western style restaurants and hotels for a while (We had spaghetti last night, a rare treat). This is especially good because it means we can have a break from our self imposed embargo of meat and alcohol. For now, Paneer is well and truly off the menu.

Some pics below:

Sorry for the lack of pics.. the connections are slow and the pics are big files so it take ages to upload them.. will keep trying though ;)