Buddhism 201

I ended up attending the blessing ceremony. It wasn't part of the original plan, but then again, nothing is :) And it's always better that way.

I arrived back at Tashijong (this time getting off at the right place!) slightly earlier than the scheduled start of the ceremony, and walked up the hill, exploring more corners of the colony. I wanted to reach the highest temple, but was told by a man coming down that it is not possible today, as the sadhu is praying there...or something like that. Heh. Stupid clueless white girl... He invited me instead to join the blessing ceremony down at the main temple.

 

I went inside and found a spot on the floor next to some elderly French people. The ceremony had not begun but already the temple was getting packed. I felt really awkward, as I often do inside a religious establishment, particularly one whose customs I am almost entirely ignorant about. So I did what has often served me best in awkward situations; I tried to forget myself and observe as much as I could around me, took some photos, tried to blend and disappear into the background.

The few foreigners there seemed to know what they were doing, or at least less uncomfortable. Some had prayer beads, and went through the motions like the other Buddhists there.

And then the sober rituals officially started, with the younger monks sitting and chanting in two rows facing one another, Tibetan trumpet players droning behind them, and the head monk (wearing sunglasses!) sitting sternly on an elevated seat at the front.

At certain times, a monk would pass around offering small amounts of different items. First, a small handful of rice, which was to be kept in one hand (not knowing this, I dumped mine in my bag!). This was followed by several rounds of small spoonfuls of water, then wine, which were meant to be drunk from the palm, and then the hand was to be passed over the head in cleansing. Eventually, I found out what was to be done with the rice; it was supposed to be thrown behind over the head - ouch, close your eyes :P. The last thing offered was a spoonful of what looked like clay, which was to be eaten (it was tasty, something like peanut butter!).

I was still astounded by the lack of (or at least extreme sparseness) of Indians in the crowd. Definitely not used to that anymore! At some point Eric popped up behind me, and being awkwardly super tall, tried to fold himself in a space between myself and some other people. I was glad he found me because the place was packed inside and out!

Blessing with the holy cone (?)

The head monk went around twice, blessing first the monks, then the attendees inside the temple, and lastly the ones nearby outside the temple. After this, the procession consisting of the head monk and some attendant monks proceeded further outside to bless the larger crowd that had gathered, followed closely by the younger monks distributing large amounts of food.

 

More monks passed around with wine/water, as well as more of the holy peanut butter. My dying hippie bag was beginning to be full with chips, biscuits, candies, mints, bananas, oranges, and chocolates, so I declined further food. This was the start of a new era for me: less greedy Alina :P Usually, wherever free food or drink is involved, I tend to abuse, and sometimes it ends poorly (especially where free drink is concerned!), and being in a country surrounded by people who have so little, I chose to let the other people's bags become full instead. Something about being introduced to Buddhism made me want to change the way I travel a little.

When the ceremony came to an end, it was too late to head to Bir for the nun's talk. Eric was a bit bummed out about this because he had previously met this nun and told her he would attend. There were only three days of talks, and two days had already passsed. He decided he would go the next day, come what may, and at least be present for the final day. 

Seeing things...

We headed to the same café as the previous day, where we enjoyed an even more intense discussion on just about everything awesome; religions, anthropology (human migrations from Africa to South India to everywhere else), conspiracies & myths (Shangri-La, the Aryans...), benefiting humanity, our future paths, travel, intense meditation practises, the mind... 

After some time, one of the monks that Eric knew joined us for the conversation. His English was rather good, considering he was attempting to explain the finer subtleties of the mind to us. Apparently, in Tibetan there are many more words to describe consciousness than in English (nod to the popular tidbit about Eskimos and the words for 'snow'). I asked many questions, and he was patient in explaining them all, aided by Eric for some translation and details. The nature of Samsara, reality, metaphysics, human nature, greed, the precepts of Buddhism, and the different branches of the religion... 

To save you from opening a Wiki tab, here is the convenient summary. Basically, nothing is real, and so we should not be attached to anything, and happiness comes from giving and helping others. By becoming truly unselfish, one can escape Samsara, or the wheel of death and reincarnation. I kept asking: "What about attachment to nonmaterial things, like accomplishment, or love, or another person, or to liberation itself?" And I still feel like I didn't get a clear answer to that. Or perhaps it was beyond my puny comprehension. The monks have these debates every day, and challenge each other with question and deliberation sessions. It would be cool to attend, if I understood Tibetan.

Before I knew it, the sun was setting, and I was still so engulfed in this conversation. I had brief thoughts of spending the night there, as I did not feel like walking back to the main road in the dark and attempting to flag down a bus that may or may not pass. I texted Vishal to let him know that I would not be making it back that night, and Eric kindly agreed to share his room. Hurray, more unofficial couchsurfing!

As a fun anecdote, Eric's laptop had crashed on him literally right before we met, and, having told him I had studied a bit of computer science, he subtly requested my assistance. Don't get me started on my useless minor, but the least I could do was to have a look. He was particularly worried because he had just started a new webproject and had many relevant documents saved on that computer. Well, when I turned it on, there was one of those Windows' messages about unexpected glitches and repair options. I don't quite remember what I did, I picked one of those options, and the computer magically functioned afterwards. Me -> saved the day. Eric -> impressed.

I had also decided to join for the talk in Bir the next day, so we set the alarms for 6am, as we planned on catching a local bus to make it there for the beginning at 9am.

Photos: Tashijong

Buddhism 101

I spent a few days in Palampur exploring the area, with vague intentions of heading to Dharamsala afterwards, followed by Manali, and planning the next big destination (either Nepal, via Uttarkhand, spending some time with another family I met on the train from Bhopal, or Kashmir to try to go overland to Pakistan then China).

Vishal kindly made a list of suggestions of things to see the next day. As I set out, I enjoyed, as I always do, noticing the small differences between states in India. The way the people dress, the way the buses look, the way they treat foreigners, etc. I felt less stared at in Northern India, but I also felt a certain coldness from the people.

Tashijong Gate

The first thing on the list was Tashijong monastery, which happened to be located in a small exiled Tibetan colony of the same name. These settlements dot the Himachal landscape with increasing frequency as you go North. It was my first introduction to this culture, and it was quite a shock! Leaving the Indian roads and people behind, I entered into another world (quite literally), and it was rather unexpected. After passing through the settlement gate, I noticed a few Tibetans minding their own business, dressed rather modernly, NOT staring at the white girl. I felt transposed, and safe. It was strange to feel like I could let my guard almost entirely down. It felt a little like being in Montreal's Chinatown!

I walked around the streets, mesmerised, and awkward all over again. All but my legs and sense of awe were paralysed, so I didn't even take many photos initially. I headed towards the temple that I had seen on the hill from the main road, and I could hear drums. As I approached, I stumbled upon some sort of ceremony taking place; dancers performing in front of the temple, with a crowd surrounding the area, and a row of monks at the far end. Children sitting on the grass, old people sitting on chairs spinning prayer wheels. Surreal. A few foreigners were attending as well. I couldn't help noticing the way the people dressed, after being so used to seeing salwar kameez and saris for months. The older folks were dressed in more traditional Tibetan dress, while the younger ones were rather hip and modern.

Eventually, I mustered the courage to strike up a conversation with a tall and handsome stranger watching the ceremony. I asked him, still somewhat dazed and unaccustomed to everything around me, if he knew what was going on. Well, wouldn't you know it, I had stumbled upon the perfect person for that opening question. Go me! Enter Eric, a student from the States, who had been staying at Tashijong for a month now, and had studied Buddhism for years in both China and Tibet before finally making his way to India as well.

It turned out it was a Puja that had been going on for a few days now, and the following day was supposed to be the final day - the blessing. I kept asking more and more questions, ravenously curious about this entirely new culture I had stumbled upon, after months of attempting to learn bits and pieces of Hinduism. This was turning into a pretty cool conversation, so Eric invited me to the small Tibetan café below where he was staying. (Uh oh, welcome to the world of momos; I used to love them until I got crazy sick after eating a bad batch in Goa) After going through some of the formalities about our own lives, we returned to the topic of Buddhism. It was clear that Eric had gained so much knowledge from his studies and life abroad, and if there's one thing I love when I need to get out of my own confused head a bit, it's listening to people passionate about what they do.

Tashijong house

I had already learned so much in only a short time speaking together, when we had to part. But Eric invited me to the blessing ceremony the following day, as well as to a series of talks he had been meaning to attend, given by an apparently famous nun in a nearby town, where meditation courses were also possible (I had mentioned to him my wish to try out the Vipassana course in Dharamsala). I was still unsure whether I wanted to go to any of these, but we exchanged phone numbers and I told him we'll see how things go and that I'll try to make it tomorrow.

I still had one more destination planned out before the end of the day (all recommended by Vishal). I walked to nearby Baijnath (where I had gotten lost earlier with the buses, trying to find Tashijong), and visited the impressive Shiva temple in town. I sat for some time inside, as a tribute to my temple excursions with Martin in Hampi. Finally, I found a nice spot outside to watch the sunset, took out my knife and a pomegranate, and was ready to dig in when I saw them. Evil monkeys. I had to keep moving to avoid their hungry glares, eating my pomegranate messily on the go. When I was finished, my face and my hands must have looked like a murder scene.

Shiva mandir

So I headed back "home", after what I deemed a rather successful and awesome first day in the towns around Palampur. I recounted the adventures of the day as excited as a hyperactive child who's just seen something cool blow up, and Vishal nodded and smiled as he strummed his guitar :)

Photos: Tashijong & Baijnath

Himachal Pradesh Stole My Heart…

After leaving Jalandhar, I was so excited to see the Himalayas for the first time. While on the buses, I kept texting my host in Palampur, Vishal, to let him know of my progress. I didn’t quite know how to get there, but I was enjoying the adventure of getting lost, taking the wrong connecting bus, still floating on a nostalgic cloud after leaving my Punjabi family. But I eventually still ended up where I needed to be. (August retrospect edit: And oh man did I ever! :D) I chose Palampur because, along with needing some company after two difficult goodbyes, I thought that knowing someone there would offer better insight about this new state, Himachal Pradesh, and about Kashmir also. I thought it would be best to get informed before heading to the touristy places like Dharamsala and Manali, of which I knew nothing.

What drove me to do this, even though Palampur didn’t sound that appealing initially, was my experience last summer in Northern Norway. I had insisted on getting to Nordkapp on the first day I arrived in the area, before going to stay at my host’s place in another town some distance away. And it was a mistake. It turned out my host had valuable information about Nordkapp, which would have saved me a lot of money and trouble and would have made the journey oodles more fun. So I told myself: next time, I will spend time with the locals first and not rush to the final destination so much. Well, with a few months’ retrospect, going to Palampur was one of the best decisions I’ve made as a traveller, I think.

So. Getting there. I thought to myself that if I get the wrong bus, I would spend one night at the wrong destination, and if I liked it, it would become the right destination. And I could continue on to Palampur the following day. Either way, I was excited. I was appreciating having some freedom after staying with my incredibly sweet but very protective family.

While on the bus, I witnessed rain. It put such a huge smile on my face. I hadn’t seen rain in months! Since Pondicherry! And then they popped up… Looming snowy peaks, silent and immortal, beckoning in the background with the setting sun. I could not take my eyes off them. I knew I was meant to be there then (or rather, for the less esoterically inclined, I knew I wanted to be there at that time). I needed to spend the next months in the mountains.

Family

I can't believe I spent the first couple of months in relative fear of mingling more deeply with locals I met during my travels. Sure, there's the occasional light conversation ("where you from, madam?"), and there was always enough mingling with local culture through CouchSurfing families. But India is one of those places where you can easily "couchsurf" minus the website, the real human way. Anyways, as I slowly started to experiment with this, I met many amazing people who shared so much with me over the following couple of months.

When I was on the train from Delhi to Amritsar, a lovely encounter had occurred, and although initially I was not intending on visiting Harvinder and her family, some chatting with other adventurous couchsurfers made me say "F it, I'm going off the beaten path for a while." So I got a box of Punjabi sweets and called them up telling them I'm coming over. Their English was not so good, but we agreed that they would pick me up at the train station in Jalandhar, and I should just keep them posted on my arrival time. However, I had lost my phone as I left Amritsar, so I had to ask around on the train to use other people's phones.

The train eventually reached Jalandhar and I was greeted by Harvinder's husband who took me back to their place on his bike with all the bags. They lived in a quiet area with narrow winding streets, and I was thoroughly enjoying being off any Lonely Planet radar. 

Meeting with her again was like meeting my mum after not seeing each other for a long time. She took me in her arms and treated me like family. Her entire family was incredibly sweet, even though her daughter (Simran), daughter-in-law, and husband were a bit more shy to attempt conversation with me. Simran spoke really good English, and so did Lovely, her son who recently got married. The five of them lived together, although there is one more son, Simar, who currently resides and works in Australia. They offered to host me for a bit even though they had a small place. I shared a bed with Harvinder and Simran (who would always steal the covers), and it somehow felt so familiar, safe and comfortable - I had no issues with any of it.

During the couple of days I spent at their place, I was recuperating from Amritsar and, feeling a little sick, I didn't go out almost at all. They fed me delicious home-cooked Punjabi food (too generously), we talked, they taught me some more Hindi/Punjabi, they showed me photos and videos of Lovely's wedding. And as if that wasn't enough incredible hospitality already, they even got me a new pair of sandals after my chappals had been stolen at the Golden Temple! I was so moved and I didn't know how to thank them or refuse or react. They helped me get a new phone as well, and gave me medication for my not-so-happy digestive system and foot rash. 

Harvinder was working, so I spent some time alone at home with the girls, mostly in silence, with occasional giggles and smiles, and my trying to get them to share and eat with me, since they always brought me plates of goodies (as the saying goes in India: "Atithi devo bhava", loosely meaning "the guest is God"). I got to try on the sari version of the clip-on tie (sooo much easier to put on than a regular sari!). I also got to use their internet to Skype with my mum in Canada. She and Harvinder got to see each other in the virtual world and talk a bit also. The conversation went something like this (imagine Harvinder with a thick, sweet Indian accent, and my mum with a just as heavy and lovely Eastern European accent):

Harvinder: "Namaste! How are you? I am here with Alina, your loving daughter!"

Mum: "Yes! I can see that! I'm fine, how are you?"

Harvinder: "Very good. We love your daughter very much. Don't worry, we are taking good care of her now. She is safe and we love her very much."

Mum: "Awww, thank you, you are very kind. I miss my daughter also."

Harvinder: "She misses you too, and I will miss her too when she leaves. You should come visit our home also, with your daughter!"

Mum: "I would love to! One day!" 

Laughter ensued. Harvinder gave me a big hug, and my mum was a bit jealous.

Harvinder also Skyped with Simar, her son in Australia, and I was introduced to him. We ended up talking for quite a while and I'm looking forward to visiting him when I will travel there later on.

One pretty awesome thing that happened on my first night there was a wedding party in the streets! Before dinner, we heard some noise outside - drums and singing. And Harvinder called me to the door. There was a procession of people dancing, some musicians playing traditional songs, photographers and people with lights. She told me it was a tradition during the wedding ceremony. The person getting married goes from house to house with family and friends, and there's dancing and customary rituals being played out. She then asked me if I wanted to go join for a bit. So, naturally, yeah of course! 

We approached the crowd, and almost immediately a girl grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me in front of the lights where a few other girls were dancing. So I just joined in and tried to imitate their Punjabi dance moves (I already had some practise with the crowd at Wagah border). I was dressed in my usual hobo-indian-hippie-fusion style, and felt a little self-conscious among the ladies clad in fantastic and sparkly Punjabi suits, but still managed to abandon myself to the ceremony. It was just an incredible feeling to be a part of this. One of those "my own feet and brain have brought me here" happy moments. The women kept asking Harvinder who the white girl was, and when she told them how we met they were incredulous, and she would sometimes add "She is my Canadian daughter!". But everyone was so friendly and welcoming and smiling.

They would pass around a sort of metal pot to put on the head and walk around with it for a few minutes before passing it on to someone else. I got to try it also. And one of the common traditions in North Indian weddings: twirling a 10 rupee bill around another person's head (usually the one getting married), for good fortune. That gesture and custom always fascinated me. As I was dancing with the ladies, the older women would twirl the money around the younger girls' heads (I'm guessing they were bachelorettes), and Harvinder did it to me as well. I almost melted from the sweetness of the gesture. It meant a lot to me coming from her. I also melt whenever someone does the hand-waving gesture that people do to beautiful young girls, to ward away evil. Harvinder also did it to me on my last night. It's difficult to describe; something like an elegant hand wave with both hands around the girl's temples. But I would often do it to the lovely ladies I met and it would make them giggle.

The ceremony proceeded to somebody's house, Harvinder explained it was someone in the family. And they had to give us some treats and drinks. More dancing ensued, I was trying to get Harvinder to come dance with me. I can't begin to describe how much appreciation I have for this woman I barely knew. Then the procession of people flooded the streets again and continued in this fashion. Harvinder, myself, and part of her family who joined us went back to the house to have dinner.

I would have stayed with the family longer, but I was still really yearning for the mountains and wanted to spend time there before leaving the country. On my last night before parting with Harvinder's family, we had some incredible conversations about their life, the gurus they follow, the teachings they attended, and their general philosophy of life and God. One thing Harvinder had said among all the compassion and wisdom and incredible stories she had to share was "worship of God is worship of mankind". And, again, as if it all wasn't enough, she presented me with a Punjabi suit as a parting gift! I was afraid it would get ruined in my bag, but I ended up carrying it for a couple of weeks and using it at another wedding later on, before sending it back to Canada.

The next morning, as I was getting ready to leave, they were all pampering me; they gave me two locks for my bags and more medication. Harvinder was being sweetly overprotective, telling me not to talk to strangers or take food from anyone on trains. But considering how we met, it was still pretty funny to us. She told me to call her every day, or she would call me if I didn't contact her for a while. Kept asking when I would be back, and to bring my mum too. I took down their address even though she kept insisting I shouldn't send them anything. 

I hugged the girls and hopped on the bike with her husband who would drive me to the bus station. From there I would take a bus to Palampur, near Dharamsala, to stay with my next CouchSurfing host (Mountains! Oh boy oh boy!). As I got on the bike and embraced Harvinder one last time, tears started streaming down her face. "I will miss you, my loving daughter, I love you!" "I will miss my Punjabi mama too!". I was beyond speechless and so incredibly touched. She is one of the most loving and selfless people I have met in my life. 

At the bus station, the husband bought me some bananas for the road, even though I was trying to refuse and pay them myself. We shook hands when I got on the bus, but I could see he was saddened as well.

They really were like family to me. And we talked almost every day after that. I called Harvinder for her birthday, sent postcards and photos, and occasionally I call from other countries now also. And it is always so uplifting to hear their voices. I would love to visit them again one day. I really only wish I could have given back as much generosity as they showed me! But it was time to pay it forward...in Himachal Pradesh.

Ik O’nkar! The Golden Temple – Aliens Have Landed

My brain's baseline levels of anxiety are abnormally high I would say. I try to deal with it now by throwing myself into a crazy adventure. Fight fear with fear. Not sure if it's working.

***

Sign at Langar entrance

So after leaving the crazy castle, I headed over to spend a night at the Golden Temple. Some pilgrims arrive and stay there for months. Food is provided, space to sleep is available, all free of charge or by donation, and they can devote themselves to the service as well. For foreigners, there is a separate dorm area, also by donation, but they expect this donation quite strongly.

The heat was already starting to be unbearable. And there were no windows in the dorm. In retrospect, I would have liked to have slept outside where it was cooler, with all the local pilgrims. But before sleep, I walked around the Gurdwara, gliding barefoot (after the footwash at the entrance) on the incredibly shiny marble, admiring the almost ascetic cleanliness, listening to the broadcasted prayers, witnessing the incredibly efficient organisation among the people doing their bit of work. Quite a contrast to the world outside the temple complex, hence why it reminded me of some alien colony.

Soon, a seemingly nice elderly Sikh man approached me and we started talking. He became my unofficial guide that night and the following day. I was a bit wary, but I hung out with him for a while. He introduced me to their religious philosophy, took me to the Langar (free kitchen), and showed me around some of the buildings. It was quite surreal to be sitting down with him in random places at the temple while discussing the meaning of life. He taught me some of the prayers, the first one being Ik O'nkar, meaning God is one. I can even write this in Punjabi now, lovely script! However, although I still don't know much about Sikhism, some things rub me the wrong way, like how everything is so luxurious and made of gold, yet lines in the prayers suggest that these material things are not needed. I find this kind of contradiction with many religions actually.

Eventually, my new friend had to go home but we exchanged phone numbers and were going to meet the following day for morning prayers. I also left for my dorm only to discover that my chappals had been stolen! When I went inside initially, I knew there was a shoe stand at one place, but I decided to leave my flip-flops in a pile of other shoes outside another entry point. I didn't think anyone would steal them because they were the cheapest and dirtiest things I had walked in for months, and they had the Union Jack flag on them :P But they were gone, and I was kind of disappointed; this was the first time I had something stolen on this trip, and it was outside a temple too... Thankfully, I had another pair of nicer but not so comfortable chappals to last me until I find something else.

Sitting for Langar meal

Giant Langar cauldrons

Back at the dorm, one of the other travellers told me the same had happened to him, but he went and spoke with the people at the shoe stand and managed to get a pair of sandals that had been unclaimed, and much nicer than what he originally had! I decided I would try that the following day as well (but it didn't work out so well for me...).

Before sleep, I went back inside the temple around midnight, because usually there was a giant queue to go inside the central building, but at that time it was pretty clear. It was quite surreal to be surrounded by all that gold and sitting down while people sang prayers. Then I went to Langar one more time (I was hungry!) and went to sleep. I set my alarm for 4am to go check out the super early prayer inside the golden temple but it was mad crowded and I gave up just as I was about to enter the building. I really wanted to take photos of the temple at sunrise instead :P

After some lost in translation awkwardness over the phone, I met up with my guru guide friend again and we walked to the nearby Jallianwala Bagh memorial, which I had really wanted to see ever since I learned about the massacre. Afterwards, I felt he was becoming a little weird, so I kept trying to say my goodbyes as I was headed to Jalandhar (decided to visit my adoptive Punjabi mother :) ). He kept reassuring me that there's lots of trains, and he would get pretty sad, almost offended, when I insisted on leaving. But my gut feeling about him was getting worse. He even offered me an apartment in Amritsar.

Gunshot holes in the walls at Jallianwala Bagh memorial

Eventually, he accompanied me to the train station and helped me find my train, and even called the family in Jalandhar to let them know when I will be there. After this, he wanted a big hug and even asked for a kiss. Bam. I had told him previously that I was married, but even this didn't seem to help with some of the advances I got in India, sigh... So I refused, and he left immediately. Right afterwards, I noticed that I didn't have my phone, which I always kept close. I panicked a little as I had no way to contact the family, and was also a bit pissed that this dude probably took my phone. Likely unintentionally, in the awkwardness of our last moments, but still... Two things stolen/lost in Amritsar. However, good luck was quickly headed my way at my next stop :)

Photos: Amritsar

What’s the Story Wagah Border?

The next day, the girls were headed to the Indo-Pakistani border for the highly-praised flag-lowering ceremony, so I tagged along. I felt that it was going to be incredibly touristy and overrated so I wasn’t too keen, but I went because I had a few very enthusiastic recommendations, and I wanted to spend more time with the girls. Yes, I gotta admit, it was one of the more touristy things that I have seen. And one of the most damn worth my time! What an experience! Such incredible energy and atmosphere!

After being sold snacks and mini flags, we passed through numerous security checks with the rest of the crowd. Eventually, we were ushered in a "foreigner's gallery", but I wish we had stuck with the locals. Sparks were flying among them. The energy would have been more than sufficient to power a spaceship most likely. Officials were trying in vain to keep order, because people (locals and some foreigners alike) would disobey their direction again and again, and go running about everywhere dancing and taking photographs.

It was madness. At first we sat down where we were shown and watched the women parade about with a huge flag, followed by singing and dancing. Seeing how much fun everyone was having, I soon rushed down to the crowd to join the party, followed by the girls. The smiles were wide. Everyone was dancing with everyone. All united by our love for this fantastic nation. Hindustan zindabad!

Eventually, the actual ceremony started, and everyone had to sit down. The next best thing to the real deal is a youtube rendering. Those high kicks sure were high...

Marching towards the gate

The flags being lowered simultaneously

 

After the ceremony, more madness as the crowds rushed back. At some point I felt something pulling at my hair and turned to find a scowling woman had yanked the flag out of my hair. "Have you no respect?!", she told me, "Is this what you would do with your own flag? Think before you act, and show some respect!". Youch. Well, actually, yes, that is what I would do with my own flag! :D In fact, on Canada Day, people wear maple leaf rub-on tattoos on their faces, flags in their hair, on their bags, everywhere! Guess not in India, oops...

Photos: Wagah Border Madness

Due North – “Short” Detour in Punjab, Chapter 1

So hop on a day train from Delhi to Amritsar, with a couchsurfer’s place to stay at (although if he didn’t answer, I would have spent the first night at the Golden Temple). In my “compartment” sat a man who looked like Stephen Ouimette from Slings & Arrows (one of my favourite tv series), and a family. The wife offered everyone around biscuits. I was pretty hungry since I didn’t have breakfast, and I had forgotten the advice not to eat food from strangers on trains, plus she was so insistent, so I took some.

A few hours passed and I started developing a bond with Harvinder – my adoptive train mother – so we exchanged contact information and she invited me over to her family’s town, Jalandhar, about 1.5 hours from Amritsar. I told her I might come for a visit after my stay in the city, but I wasn’t sure how possible that would be.

Eventually, the train reached Amritsar and I took an auto to my host’s place, which was some distance outside the city. The night air was chilly as we exited the city and neared Mr. Singh’s place, and I was thankful to be moving North. Soon, we pulled up to what looked a bit like a Mogul castle in the middle of nowhere. Loud music could be heard from inside the walls, two camels were tied just outside, white horses were in the stables, and men with turbans and rifles stood at the gate. It was pretty surreal.

As I was ushered inside, the loud music got louder, and more madness ensued. The place really did look like a castle, there was a pool with a stage, where dancers dressed in flashy Punjabi attire were performing – and a midget among them as well :P. A gypsy-looking woman with a big smile took me by the hand and guided me to a room. It was like suddenly entering a fairytale.

I dropped my bags and went back outside to join the people I could talk to; Mr. Singh and two other Canadian girls who were also surfing there. The music was too loud to have a proper conversation but I gathered that the girls had lived in Montreal for some time and one even studied at McGill. It was a strange blast from the past, and even more mind-boggling to meet them in such a setting.

Reshma – the gypsy woman – pushed us three Canadians on stage to dance with the Punjabi performers (and the midget! XD). I couldn’t help giggling at how absurd it all was. I love this kind of travel madness, but sometimes it’s a little overwhelming when you just want a few moments of peace.

The girls shortly retired to their room and I got a chance to chat with Mr. Singh a bit more. He had an air of deeply-rooted placidity and wisdom about him, which was soothing and could easily put one at ease. When he smiled, he reminded me somewhat of the Cheshire cat. As it turned out, he had hosted Arvind – my host in Bangalore – some years back. He had an excellent memory of him still, recalled Arvind’s intelligence, and also that he stayed in the same room I was given. Coincidences! Mr. Singh’s hotel was his family’s property for a couple hundred years, and he had been maintaining it and using it mostly as a space to hold parties and where locals could come eat. He lets couchsurfers use the rooms, but the locals don’t sleep there.

I was pretty knackered so I also went off to sleep, despite the loud music and dancing going on until 11pm. Falling asleep was more difficult than I expected, and not due to the noise. It was the first time since Hampi (about a month back) that I had a room to myself. I was not used to gliding into unconsciousness without some humanly company in the same room anymore. Being alone gets me thinking too much. And missing.

***

As an aside, this music and show thing happened every evening. One night, there was even a company business celebration. They all got to wear traditional suits and turbans while the girls and I went in the kitchen and started learning to make chapati.

Otherwise, life at the castle was pretty sweet. I got to ride one of the horses, and even gallop by myself for the first time, weee! Hung out with Reshma who made some awesome drawings in my notebook. Witnessed a completely newborn baby horse being fed. Walked around the countryside villages, playing with the children. Stumbled upon fields of wild cannabis... wait, what? Yup. You know you've hit North India when you start seeing them everywhere.

 

Photos: Punjabi Castle