Day 3: Amritsar

Over breakfast we firmed up our itinerary for the rest of the trip. We decided on Simla and Jaipur as our final two destinations, and Dave went to the booking office at the Golden Temple complex to make train reservations. Before that we dropped by the musical instrument shop, and Govin got a tabla. Dave got himself a flute, and I got myself a dhol, in preparation for the inevitable mid-life crisis when I'll probably get the urge to do something different, like learning to play the dhol. Of course we couldn't carry it back ourselves, so we arranged for them to be shipped over. I've yet to receive my dhol though... I suppose it'll arrive just in time for my mid-life crisis.

After all those musical arrangements, we walked over next door to Jallianwalla Bagh, the site of a massacre of Indian civilians by British soldiers on 13 April 1919, which proved to be another nail in the coffin of the British Empire. Some of the masonry is still preserved, pocked with bulletholes, and there's also the well in which many jumped into to escape the deadly fire.

After this we made our separate ways, Dave to book our Jaipur tickets as well as arrange for transport to Wagah later in the evening, Govin to get his bathing implements for a dip in the sarovar, or pond surrounding the Golden Temple, and me directly to the Golden Temple to enjoy the kirtan and the atmosphere. I headed to my favourite corner of the complex, Bhora Sahib, a little gurdwara beside the Akal Takht. It's built around a tree trunk next to which Guru Tegh Bahadur apparently sat and meditated when the doors of the Golden Temple were closed against him. There's a small darbar sahib atop the tree trunk, with two narrow winding staircases on both sides going downwards. Walk downstairs and you'll find the tree trunk. For me it's not the tree trunk or the history that brings me back, it's that the external sounds are totally cut off in that little place next to the tree trunk, and for a while you can just forget that there's an outside world. It's a great place to meditate.

After some time there I walked over to the Golden Temple and found myself some space to sit on the upper floor to listen to some kirtan. Govin came over after his dip and after a while we both headed back to the hotel to spend a couple of hours before heading to Wagah.

Our driver, Kulvinder (name changed to protect the forgetful) was outside the hotel at 5pm sharp to take us to Wagah. With us for company were two couples, both south indians judging by their conversations. And so, three of us squeezed at the back, we headed off to the Indo-Pak border.

It's a 30km drive from Amritsar along the Grand Trunk Road that connects Bangladesh to Afghanistan, and it took about an hour to get there. Once there we managed to get into the tourist stands, which were closer to the border gate, by flashing our Malaysian passports and talking in fancy accents. It was autumn the last time I came here. It wasn't that fun then and it definitely wasn't fun now, sitting for 90 minutes in the mid-thirties summer heat, waiting for the show to begin. Within 10 minutes I was already soaked, and sweat was pooling around my feet in my slippers. Occasionally soldiers will come over and get us to squeeze more to make space for the constant inflow of people. Kids - and some soldiers too - were making easy money selling water bottles and soft drinks. Both sides of the border engaged in a competition of who can blast patriotic songs the loudest. Both sides had their cheerleaders egging the crowds on to sing and dance along to the music, and the Indian guy got some volunteers to run to and back from the border gate carrying the Indian flag. It was 90 minutes of brainless and jingoistic spectacle from both the Indians and Pakistanis, making me despair all over again for the human condition when people can get so whipped up and primitive over an imaginary line in the ground.

After all that foreplay came the main event, which in contrast to all that nationalistic breast-beating that came before, was a remarkable display of coordination between both countries, albeit of an antagonistic nature. It was 30 minutes of complicated rituals and maneouvres that wouldn't be out of place in a Russian cultural dance show. And so the flags came down, the gates clanked shut, and the guards disappeared into the encroaching dusk, the echoes of 'Mere Desh ki Dharti' probably still travelling over the flat plains of Punjab, scaring many small birds.

We made our way back to Kulvinder and his jeep. On the way to Wagah Dave had discussed with him the possibility of taking his jeep for the next day's journey to Dharamshala, and he had quoted us the price of about 3000Rp. On the way back we decided to take up his offer and made arrangements for a morning pickup.

In the evening we did a little souvenir shopping and headed back for an early night, especially since I was planning to wake up at 2am to go to the Temple. Before turning in we decided to just settle the bill since we were starting early the next day and didn't want to rush everything there. When I got the bill I was quite surprised since I was expecting our stay to have been pricier, but hey, why ask to pay more, so I promptly settled it.