Wagah border ceremony

Lowering of the Flags as the Sun goes down

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Attari%E2%80%93Wagah_border_ceremony

The name Amritsar evokes different thoughts for an average “South Indian” and history buff like me.

Harmandir Sahib in all its glory

It’s known for the famous Golden temple, the infamous Attari train station, a twin city to Lahore, and for foodie in me, it is Amritsari Kulcha and nearness to the Wagah border. Pakistan is hardly 25 kms away from Amritsar. 

While there was no reason to visit Amritsar and that too in the North Indian Summer, the fact that we were to terminate our Leh - Zanskar valley drive (Landrover Defender journey conducted by @Cougarmotors) at Chandigarh prompted me to decide on a trip to Amritsar as my wife had not seen this place and I had earlier made one, albeit brief visit to this city, but not witnessed the Wagah border ceremony. 

So, we drove (driven) down from Chandigarh with a halt in Ludhiana at the “Haveli” for a cold, lip-smacking, calorie overflowing Lassi with cream. Nothing like that on a hot summer to satisfy a person.

We made a quick checkin at the hotel, refreshed and went to watch the spectacle at the Wagah border. 

The Atari - Wagah border on the Grand Trunk Road (connects Lahore to Kolkata)

We were “Aam Aadmi” in the land of VVIP, VIP and “Kya Maloom hain mein koun hoon?” and chose to join the long queue to get in. People were patient and organised, BSF people were extremely courteous and helpful.

We were almost about one and a half hours earlier to the show which was to start at 6.30 PM. 

Forget beating the retreat - we were trying to beat the heat. The concrete step on which were to sit and watch was fit and ready as any punjabi tandoor would be and our bottoms like those tandoori rotis were to get baked / cooked and burnt. People worked with multiple “Jugaads” to make it a bit comfortable (like pouring precious drinking water to cool down the seat). I tried my own “invention” and kept my slippers and sat on them, while hanging down my legs and not touching the feet on the ground, dangling like a school boy.

The master of ceremony, a BSF person was absolutely brilliant in the way he played around with the emotions of the crowd, which was already charged with enthusiasm. 

It was a brilliant idea to get the ladies from the crowd to get involved and participate in the pre-function. The patriotic music was a tad bit too high on decibels for me personally, but the crowds were enjoying obviously. Whatever we (Indians) do, we believe in exaggeration and it was true here too. 

The cynic in me was shouting out loud for the MC to ask the crowd to shout out “kaun tax bhar Rahein ho?” Or “Kaun traffic rules follow karthein ho?” and expecting to hear a thunderous shout back from the crowd “Mein” instead of working up the crowd with “Bharath Mata ki…Jai”, “Hindustan…Zindabad”, “Vande…Mataram”. 

Alas, all that was left to my senile imaginations. 

The event itself was awe inspiring with a lots of stomping, posturing and the famous leg up march, which we had all seen on videos. 

The person shouting out the commands would have put my best performance of pranayama breathing to shame and any classical singer would have envied his breath control.

While all this patriotic fervour was appreciated by the crowds on the Indian side, the Pakistan side portion looked to be under some sort of renovation (with an excavator dutifully doing its job on the “other side”). A few Pakistanis could definitely not match the huge crowds on the Indian side (no, I am not describing a cricket match).  

As the sun went down over the land of Pakistan, the Flags of both the nations were respectfully lowered to the sounds of the bugle.

It was a very emotional moment, when you connect yourself to a land mass and call yourself a Nation and you identify yourself as a Citizen of that Nation. 

It was an irony that I saw a set of birds flying from East to west and disregarding the man made boundary with impunity. 

How, I wish that I was that bird - belong to the unbound and unmarked skies. 

We left the place with warm memories and a lasting impressions and funnily enough a thought passed my mind of a shaayari written by a Pakistani shaayar Bashir Badr (Wagah is interestingly in Pakistan and Attari is the first village / town on the Indian side)

Mujhe maloom hai uska thikana phir kahan hoga

Parinda aasman chhune meinjab nakaam ho jaye

And we returned back to the hotel.