AMRITSAR TRIP

“Ser kar duniya ki gafir
Zindgani gar bhi kahan
Zindgani gar bhi rahi
To naujavani phir kahaan”

And with a heart to explore unvisited horizons, four jobless mechanical engineers packed their bags for amritsar. How we cooked up cash despite our unfavourable bank accounts is altogether a different story best untold. I, the protagonist, stand corrected in my erstwhile notions of pre-planned travel. From time to time I religiously applied Adam Smith’s thesis of devising the best solutions for the group and each individual member but was sacrilegiously waved aside by yawns and grunts typical of engineers.

We left our hostel around dinner time in order to take an overnight bus to Amritsar from Pipli, putting aside my idea of taking a direct evening express train. The dinner was to be at Parakeet, the highway restaurant of Kurukshetra from where we were to catch a bus. Now, it is a fairly accepted notion that once you step out of the boundaries of kurukshetra, it’s a treat for the eyes and the soul. Parakeet is the revered paradise for thirsty throats but because of yashank’s apprehension of being drunk on journey, we remained sober. This setback was somewhat made up by dinner and the view of two pairs of gorgeous legs underneath an adjacent table.

Yashank’s Chandni Chowk Tommy Hilfiger chappals died out on the walk to the bus stand. We stood laughing at his plight until an hour passed by when we started getting restless waiting for a bus. Kamal and Yashank avoided my dirty glances and stressed on the truth of the info that it was a high frequency bus route. An experience of a lifetime was to follow. After a few minutes I found myself leaping on to the back of an open truck with the others. However fun it may appear in movies, I assure you it takes a few minutes before you make friends with inertia. The next half an hour to ambala was a blast. We lied down, squatted at times and then stood tight braving the mighty winds and hurled curses at the top of our voices.

Now at ambala, we stood on the highway looking for a transport to amritsar. Murphy barked in my mind, “If something can go wrong, it will”. Kamal unsuccessfully tried to pacify me by leading us towards the railway station in hope of getting a late night train which I contested by saying there were none, as I had seen the schedules before. Again I was waved aside. As we rested our butts alongside a garbage bin at ambala station, kamal and abhishek euphorically ran on the platform towards me waving 4 general class tickets. They claimed to have broken the queue and purchased 4 tickets for the darbhanga-amritsar train. Now, like most Indians, I view with scepticism anything and everything related to bihar and a train originating from that noble state couldn’t be expected to follow IST standards. Still, we waited.

At 12 midnight a female Haryanvi voice pierced through our ears. “Amritsar se aane wali gaadi darbhanga tak jayegi…”. My lips mimed, “from amritsar to darbangha”. A series of engineering college adjectives were attributed to kamal and abhishek and we dragged our selves back to the bus-stand. Kamal treated me with a classic which helped me keep my eyes open and my lips from assaulting him. Now none of us are particularly fond of snakes. Neither was abhishek. His heart skipped a beat when he was about to step upon a snake; yes, a snake on the highway. As he ran back to us, I stood agape, the classic stuck onto my lips making it the longest drag I had ever taken.
Pacing up and down the highway, a glass of tea and the relished classic in my hands, I spotted a bus on its way to jalandhar and we ran for it. Our good times had got going. We managed some sleep until the sardarji conductor implored us to get off at jalandhar. Now, my bladders desperately prayed for a leak but before those prayers were answered we had to hop on to a bus for amritsar lest we miss it and go through the ordeal of waiting again.

I had never witnessed such a scene in my life before. A bus full of sardars. Pagdees everywhere-Red, blue, yellow, green, white, black, orange and what not! My laughter had to be controlled lest my bladder gave way. The bus finally stopped for a few minutes when I relieved myself. The rest of the journey was relished. The view through the glass windows of the sunrise across the lush green fields of Punjab was brightening for the soul. I realised how colourful and warm the fields were unlike those of haryana. My ipod filled my head with the tunes of “Tujhe dekha to ye jana sanam” and I was lost in my thoughts which hovered over those homely fields.

Once in amritsar we freshened up at hotel “hilroz” and laughed off the events of the previous night. We caught a sardarji auto-rickshaw to the Golden Temple. It was one of the most serene and austere places one could visit. We tied holy scarves around our heads and bowed down in reverence. Cameras clicked and the mind registered. I met a sardarji who was cleaning the floors in compunction for his misdeeds of the past. I concurred with his views on the necessity of a righteous life in order to reach God and in turn he directed us towards the bathing “kund” to take holy dips and wash away our sins. The dips were awesome fun with large fishes tickling at our feet. (The sardarji had assured us they wouldn’t harm being “fishes at the house of god”). All of us wanted to take back some “gold” literally but held back ourselves in the fear of God. We ate at the “langar” where all and sundry are offered free food. It was then we realised that none of us had ever seen a sardarji begging. They never felt the need to!

The temperatures soared in amritsar with innumerable sizzling punjabi beauties around and the sun glaring down upon us angrily punishing us for leching. Jalianwala bagh brought back memories of that tragic incident of Indian history and we spent some time in contemplation. A sardarji auto-rickshaw took us back to the hotel where we fell fast asleep.

Our next destination in the evening was “The Wagah Border”. I suggested taking a private cab. Again I was waved aside. We must have aged by a year till the auto-rickshaw ride had taken us to the border. We didn’t get front seats to watch the parade and stood at the back shouldering and elbowing our way all the time. The atmosphere at the border was electrifying. Smartly dressed soldiers stood at attention and patriotic songs filled the air. Few yards across stood the gate to Pakistan. The air was mixed with the slogans of Hindustan and Pakistan “zindabaad”. Birds soared in the sky trespassing from one nation to another; we stood confined behind barbed wires.

We all revelled in our “Indian-ness” on the way back in the auto-rickshaw and had build up good camaraderie with the autowala who was two years younger to us. He took us to the “praaon da dhaba”, one of the best of amritsar. We tore into amritsari kulchas and drank off the thick lassis filled up to the brim in giant steel glasses.
The autowala then drove us back to the Golden Temple to enjoy the mesmerizing view of the temple lit in coloured lights. As before, the beauty of the place didn’t fail to captivate us.

It was time to bid adieu to yashank and abhishek who took a bus to delhi while kamal and I went back to the hotel to catch a night’s sleep. The idea of sleeping with kamal haunted me and I let myself not fall asleep until I had ensured he had snored off.

We got up early to catch a bus back to chandigarh. The bus stopped at the jalandhar bus stand around 5 in the morning. As I was getting off the bus to freshen-up my sleepy eyes met those of an angel, so beautiful in her simplicity and definitely Punjabi. She enquired of me whether the bus was on its way to chandigarh. I let the sweetness in her voice settle and strived hard to find mine. I whispered, “Yeah, anywhere you’re going”.

The rest, they say, is history.