Punjab - 23 Years After

PUNJAB – 23 YEARS AFTER
By Ajit Chaudhuri

I bunged the family into the car and set off with a sense of déjà vu. The last time I had travelled in Punjab was in December 1984 – the dark days after Operation Bluestar and Mrs. Gandhi’s assassination. I still remember the journey from Delhi, and the way the Punjab Roadways bus changed its music from Hindi and Punjabi pop to aggressive religious stuff that began with ‘Raj Karega Khalsa’, and the way I was one of four people in the bus with cut hair. I still remember the sandbags in the Golden Temple and the bullet holes in Harminder Saheb. I still remember the empty youth hostel in Amritsar, where I shared the whole building with the two cops posted outside.

I also remember the humour, warmth and friendliness of people I met, even in hotbeds like Gurdaspur and Batala. The way I got off the bus at some vague place outside Phagwara with a stomach upset, and was given a bottle with some water and sent off into the fields for a crap, and then given a place to just lie down and relax until I felt better. The way people sat on top of the bus in the freezing temperatures as though they were in the comfort of their drawing room easy chair, the way the conductor swung from inside to the top and back inside while the bus was at full speed, and the way people gave me some protected space on top because I was cold. The way the jampacked minibus from Wagah to Amritsar kept cramming in more people, the conductor saying ‘go to the back, go to the back’, until somebody said ‘yes, yes, there’s a balcony at the back’ – a bit lame now but very funny in Punjabi and in the situation. These guys are very different from our Delhi Punjus, I remember thinking.

Why did I go to Punjab then? Because I did not know whether it would be part of the country for long, and therefore if I had to see these places I would need to do so soon. Laughable now – it is India’s no. 1 state (according to the annual India Today State of State surveys) on most indicators except sex ratios. It says something about our country.

This time, the journey into Punjab was mostly in Haryana – national highway 10 via Rohtak, Hissar and Sirsa before crossing into Punjab at Mandi Dabwali and driving another 70 or so kilometres into Bhatinda – one of those rare occasions today where one can do 400 km without paying a toll tax. The ordinariness of Punjab’s roads took me by surprise; the highways throughout were better in Haryana (sorry Punjus, but little brother is one over you there). We spent two nights and a day in Bhatinda before heading off to Amritsar, taking in Wagah, the Golden Temple and Amritsari food over half a day and one night, and then back to Delhi on national highway 1 (the old Delhi – Lahore road).

Why the visit? Less high-funda reasons from 1984 – the push factors were that my kids had there pooja holidays and that our colony in Delhi turns into a cesspool at this time, and the pull factor was that I have cousins (technically Aunt and Uncle) in the Army who we had not seen for some time and who offered the kids a ride in a tank.

Bhatinda was a delight! My cousin commands a cavalry unit, and had us billeted in the unit’s mess. This sounds basic, but actually entailed two 2-room suites with separate dressing rooms, fridges stocked with beer, cold drinks and goodies, and meals in a dining room with tiger skins, deer heads and tank replicas. When we weren’t sleeping, gossiping and partying, we were cavorting around the countryside in a T-72 tank. The kids were neither seen nor heard for the most part. The relatives are lucky to have got us to leave.

My cousins also got a colleague, who commands an armoured unit somewhere between Amritsar and the Indo-Pak border, to put us up. He also very kindly organised a military escort for us to the border and then to Amritsar to see the Golden Temple.

I had seen the flag down ceremony at the Wagah border in 1984. At the time, there were about 20-25 of us general public watching the ceremony, the BSF and Pakistan Rangers (the paramilitary forces on both sides that control the border and conduct the ceremony) were in near perfect sync, and it was pretty obvious that they knew each other well despite the various aggressive gestures during the ceremony. Rumour had it that they used to booze it up together in the evenings, and party with Bangladeshi women (most illegal crossers of the border were poor Bangladeshis with only one asset available for bribes). After the ceremony, we were allowed up to the gate to peer at the Pakistanis and vice versa and wonder at how we looked exactly alike. I remember that there was one cute chick among them who had smiled at me, and I had contemplated writing my name and phone number on a paper plane and sending it across.

There are now huge crowds on both sides of the border, with stadium like facilities to seat them, and the soldiers on both sides seem to have been selected for their looks. The Pakistanis look different to us – the women are mostly covered, and the sexes are segregated. They play loud religious music in the build up to sundown, and they are constantly making calls to Allah. Apparently they also pay ten bucks each to watch, unlike us. The Indian crowd is much more restrained and confident, as is the Indian component of the ceremony. The Pakistani Rangers retain their aggressive gestures while the BSF dropped theirs – the Rangers explaining to the Indian side that nobody on their side would pay ten bucks to watch unless they did all that stuff. Neo-liberalism zindabad!

The Golden Temple in the late evening is truly beautiful. We put stuff on our heads, got rid of our shoes and went in, even into the Harminder Sahib in the centre. A peaceful and satisfying experience, much like it was in 1984. While we were there at the time of the langar, we decided to skip this for some Amritsari food at a restaurant called Crystal somewhere nearby – tandoori chicken, dal makhni and the works.

I am now back in Delhi, where we have all settled into our normal routine – the time in Punjab, the food, the T-72s, the border and the Pakistanis, the Golden Temple lit up in the evening, the long drives, and the Army hospitality are all in the past. I only hope that my next visit is not 23 years away.