The alarm rang at 6:30 a.m and two lazy turns and curses later, I hauled myself out of bed, bleary eyed from the lack of sleep. I brushed my teeth and packed the last few things before waking Ben and saying goodbye.
I made my way downstairs, paid my half of the bill and began the twenty minute walk to the bus stand at McLeod Ganj. Along the way, I met Carrie from Florida who was also headed to McLeod Ganj for yoga classes, so I joined her. She was the mother of two little children aged three years and three months respectively. The kids were asleep with their father while she was head for the three month Yoga Instructor course that she was doing. This was the first whole family I had met during my travels who had come to spend a duration as long as six months in India. She had sent her son to the International School near Dal Lake.
As we entered McLeod Ganj, Carrie turned off for her yoga class while I continued down the road to the bus station. Rather than wait a whole two hours for a direct bus to Pathankot, I took a local bus to the Main highway at Gaggal. On the bus was a little ten year old club scout who was carrying out a surprisingly mature conversation with a couple of men. I watched the little fellow in admiration for a while before putting on my headphones.
At Gaggal, we hit the main Palampur-Pathankot highway where I decided to get off. I did not have to wait long before the bus to Pathankot came along. I loaded my bag onto the rack and sat down. Not much time had elapsed before the lack of sleep caught up with me and I dozed off. Just before we reached Pathankot, we had to shift buses to enter the city. Pathankot was a busy, dusty city and I got off at the bus stand. A little searching found me the bus to Amritsar. Once again settling down for the long journey, we set out for Amritsar at 12:30 p.m.
Not having eaten anything since the previous night, hunger pangs were beginning to set in but I had no option but to ignore them. We arrived at the Amritsar bus station by 4:30 p.m. Wanting to attend the Wagah border ceremony today itself, I asked around and was pointed to a bus heading to the village of Attari. A thirty two kilometer bus ride brought us to the little village of Attari, two kilometers short of the India-Pakistan border. A short, shared rickshaw ride brought me to the border. I deposited my rucksack at a safe keeping stall and made my way towards the border on foot, joining the throng of Indian and foreign tourists headed that way.
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| Gathered by the thousands - Wagah Border |
Asking around, I was told that Gate Number Three was for foreign tourists and people with a Guest Pass. Making my way there, I introduced myself and was told by a BSF Captain to join the general public. To me, this did not seem right at all. The VIP passes were signed and authorized by officers of my rank. Civilians of all ages were being allowed VIP entry on the basis of these, yet a serving officer was not being allowed in. This flustered me a little, and on asking another BSF jawan, I was told to wait till all the civilians and foreign tourists had passed through and only then would I be considered for entry. I found the whole incident of a service officer being treated as a second class citizen, that too in a defense area quite bizarre.
Making my way to the viewing area, I was shocked to see many young women and girls dancing to blaring music in the middle of the parade area. What kind of military display was this? Half an hour’s wait in the sun ended with the announcement for everyone to be seated. The ‘Beating the Retreat’ drill that followed was one of the worst I had seen in my life.
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| Standing Tall - A BSF Jawan |
Terrible mike assisted orders pooled with atrocious coordination started the proceedings. As if this weren’t enough, things went from bad to worse when, after carrying out the first bit of the drill, the jawans stood around as if in a park, scratching their stomachs and heads, and loosening their arms and legs, in preparation for the drill to come, while watching the others doing their bit, all in the middle of the parade area. Whatever happened to the sanctity of the Parade Ground, the piece of land used to pay respect to the fallen at the end of a day’s battle? The drill itself was very slack, each jawan doing something different from the one next to him. In trying to raise their legs high to bang, their arms were flailing all over the place. As if this were not enough, a BSF jawan in a white track suit and sneakers came onto the Parade Ground and with a mike, cheered on the pathetic performance, trying to instigate the ignorant crowd to cheer as well.
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| Separated by Birth and Barbed Wire |
The moment the crowd was free to leave, I made my way out. I met Luke and Robin on the way and said hello. After retrieving my bag and relishing a glass of sugarcane juice, I climbed into the extreme rear of a rickshaw with a couple of little boys. With my feet dangling out from the back I experienced a nice but unusual view of the road and countryside passing me by as the rickshaw zoomed towards Amritsar city.
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| Horseman in the Archway |
Getting off at the railway station, I asked around and made my way to the Sainik guesthouse a few blocks away. Not having eaten anything the whole day, I was famished. A well earned bath was followed by me picking up half a Tandoori chicken and returning to the guesthouse for a hearty dinner of hot chapathis, dal and chicken. This ended in me retiring to my room and writing for a while. I did not even realize when I collapsed onto the bed, pen in hand, exhausted from the day’s travels.
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