Yes. No. And finally Yes.
Debreena, my wife, was unsure whether she will join me in my winter holidays. She was unable to decide whether she should choose rest over another hectic whirling trip and this time it would have been a mixed bag. Mostly cities with historical and religious importance. Not that we are overtly religious, but just that we wanted to explore and discover India in all her forms and flavours. Definitely religion and spirituality are two of them.
At last her wanderlust ensured that the resting period was reduced. Spicejet flights were booked to Amritsar in August itself. Things to see there: Amritsar temple, Jallianwala Babh and Wagah Border. The night stay at Amritsar was supposed to be in a farm house, set in rural Punjab. This would be followed by our trip to sacred Vaishnav Devi temple in helicopter, which was of special interest to my daughter.
Cancelled SpiceJet flight - A boon in disguise:
Spicejet has been a faithful airline as far as we are concerned, They have never let us down, even in the most tiring times. In fact so impressed was I with them in of the occasions that I ended up mailing their Customer Service VP. But this time the acute financial crisis took a toll on their flight schedules and resulted in cancellation of a huge number of flights. Our flight to Amritsar from Bangalore was one such unfortunate flight. When we were notified about it at the last moment, the other flight fares have already shot through the roof. And we had to rely on the great Indian Railways. But there too finding a last moment ticket was uncertain. Fortunately I was able to book a train ticket in first class compartments.
We always wanted to experience the first class compartment journey for a long time. But didnt know when and how we could get that. Cost-wise its more than the flight tickets offered by the no-frill airlines. And time-wise, it takes the normal time the train takes, which is a quite few times that of flight. This was perhaps a time tailor-made for us to take on the first class journey. The first class coupe was a cute homely "room" with two broad berths, an almirah and a wide window with clean and embroidered curtains. Once the door of the coupe is closed, privacy reigns supreme. No wonder, its also called honeymoon coupes!
Our Spicejet flight was scheduled on 24th December, Wednesday to take up to Amritsar directly. But since the train takes more than 36 hours to Delhi itself (!) we had to prepone our starting date from Bangalore. Depending on the ticket availability, we actually started on 20th December, Saturday. That means we would be in Delhi by 22nd (Monday) morning and Amritsar that day evening (Amritsar is approx 5 hours journey by train from Delhi). But that means we spent a whole lot of time in Amritsar having nothing productive to do. I was wondering whether we can squeeze in some other place, when I was pleasantly surprised to find that our train passes over Agra! Wah, Taj!
Now my final plan took a better shape. Agra, Amritsar and Vaishnav Devi.
The Taj Mahal in the evening (23rd Dec, 2014 - Monday):
The fogs in Delhi can play a major havoc with the travel plans. Flights and trains get cancelled and rescheduled at the last moment. Trains run late by hours. We were victims of a late train. To add to that some work in the railway tracks were getting carried out on the Bhopal-Agra route. Trains were running late by huge margins. Our train dragged its feet in the last 500 km, taking a whooping 17 hours, instead of the standard 8 hours. We were growing restless in the train. By the time we got down at Agra station, we were around 44 hours in the train! The train was supposed to reach Agra on Monday morning. It reached on Monday evening, a couple of hours before sunset. Our hotel had sent a vehicle for us, who took us to the hotel straight-away.
Because of the late arrival, we were unable to visit the Fatehpur Sikri, which lies a good 40 km from the heart of Agra. We went to see the Taj Mahal from the opposite side of the river Yamuna - from Mehtab Bagh. When we reached the Mehtab Bagh the sun was shinning like a vermillion dot on the western horizon, just like the Indian ladies were the "bindi". The red dot added a completely different dimension to the panorama in front of me. The majestic Taj, which needs no introduction. wore a yellowish-reddish look as the faint light of the setting sun pierced through the fog that was already setting in. Time seems to stand still.
There were some relics along that area. While jumping from one block to the other, my daughter fell and wounded her knees. I wondered whether these relics were the basic building foundations of the supposed black Taj Mahal! No one knows the answer for certain. Some mysteries remain as mysteries and people take the answers with them to the grave or the cremation centre. There are so many who speculate, guess, hope and do all sort of research and thinking behind the mysteries, but , I doubt, whether 100% of the truth ever comes out.
We went to Agra Fort from there to watch the light and sound show. It was pretty cold, definitely below 10 degree Celsius. People queued up for the show. We sat on, what can be loosely termed as, gallery in the open air. There was no shade on top. The show started in Hindi with generous use of Urdu. It described the Mughal dynasty and the history of the old city of Agra. We listened with rapt attention as we were transported to the Mughal era, as the sound of hoofs from racing horses came from the distant building or the laughter of the mistresses, the deep baritone voices of the emperors, sound of wines being poured on the glasses echoed from all around us. We had goose-bumps. Suddenly we realised that the show was over. We felt a marked difference in the chillness of the atmosphere.The temperature has dropped substantially, the fog grew denser.
The messed up train schedule, rushing to the Mehtab Bagh lest we missed the setting sun and then dashing to the Agra Fort before the show starts meant we had little time for a good decent lunch. So, we went to Pinch of Spice, one of the most renowned restaurants of Agra. We had a sumptuous dinner. When we returned to our hotel, we were almost freezing, thanks to the auto that we took. The bone-chilling wind actually pierced through our skin into our bones! We drew up the thick blanket over us and fell asleep very soon.
Morning Taj (23rd Dec, 2014 - Tuesday):
Our vacations are never relaxing. We woke up early morning when at least 99% people of Agra were still under the blanket, took a bath and set for the Taj Mahal. We were among the first to arrive at the monument. Even the rays of the sun hadn't reached the minars! The Taj was hardly visible beyond the foggy outline. I will not spend time or waste energy on the beauty of the monument as library of books have already been written by authors and poets across the globe. This is my second visit to Taj and yet there was no dip in the excitement. Since there was hardly any people, we strolled the area in our own sweet time. But we also knew that we have to take the cab to Delhi, for there awaits at 4:35 PM our train to Amritsar. Cab was not our first choice. It was the train. But this train got cancelled.(We have been unlucky with trains in this journey!) So, the cab. And again the cancelled train was a boon in disguise as we zoomed through the Yamuna Expressway. In the 165-km stretch highway from Delhi to Agra its almost impossible to keep the speed of the car below 120kmph. For those whose one of the pastime is criticising India and thinking all thats "abroad" is much better, the Yamuna Expressway is definitely one of the innumerable places they haven't seen!
Chit-chats with our driver on the Yamuna Expressway
We started from Agra at around 9:30 AM. Soon after we jumped in the car I started chit-chatting with our driver, Ashok-ji. At one time I dozed off. Then woke up, only to find to my horror, that he was about to doze!! At that speed if he closes his eyes for a fraction of a second, we all will have to permanently close our eyes. I immediately gave him chewing gums and had a couple myself. On the back seat of the car, my wife and daughter were sleeping like logs. The nice drive, no traffic, no horns, no bumps and the refreshing cool breeze from the adjoining agricultural fields provided the perfect recipe for a nap.
"So, how long have you been driving?", I started conversation with him. It will ward off my sleep, and more importantly, his. He went on to say his story and I just put a question here and there to keep it going.
He had an interesting story to tell. He was from Bihar, came to Delhi about 15 years back. By caste he was a Rajput, which is the warrior class of India and who hold self esteem above all. In Delhi when he was first came, he joined a security agency. Thats perhaps the stepping stone to most of the immigrants to bigger cities in India. The job doesn't demand much than to put on the uniform provided by the agency. Occasionally, open the gates for a car to get in or out, salute the boss and his acquaintances, drive away any dogs, beggars and other unwanted guests. Thats all if the duty is for the day. Night duties are even lucrative. You are paid to sleep! When actual criminals come, fully equipped, these security guards will be the first to run for life! Delhi, being the epicentre of political and bureaucratic India, has innumerable government residential properties. Our Ashok-ji was one such security guard in one of those government officer's residence. In the unknown mega-city, the security agency arranged for the boarding and lodging of a village youth, gave him uniform and even paid him! He loved his job. He had no complaints, except one. He can't salute to every Tom, Dick and Harry who passed through the gate.
"I am paid to maintain security of the area, not to salute. As a Rajput, it was against my self-esteem!", he said with a sense of pride. In the bureaucratic world, where coaxing and flattering is the name of the game, this did not go down too well with his manager. This issue snow-balled when he did not salute his owner's boss. He was left jobless. Then he learnt driving and since then have been on the roads.
Thats not all about him. As we approached Delhi, I realised he has a strong dislike for the fraud "baba-jis".
"I told my wife", he continued,"If you fall for any baba-ji, go stay in his ashram and never come back. When husbands ask for a good food, wives dont cook. But when baba-jis ask for payasam they cook the whole day for him. I say, who feeds the wives, husbands or baba-jis?", thundered Ashok-ji. The traffic in Delhi was already congested. That must have definitely added to the temperament of Rajesh-ji.I cooled him down a bit with a Limca that we had bought.
"Next time you come, let me know...I also do tours in Rajasthan side:, he said as we approached the New Delhi Railway station . "You can also send me message on Whatsapp", he said with a shy smile on his face.
Mobile technology has definitely percolated to all the sections of the society!
The Delhi-Amritsar Shatabdi
The Delhi-Amritsar Shatabdi train started on time. It was quiet initially. But as the evening rolled, some children on the train grew impatient. Soon, the compartment became a noisy place to be. People were getting disturbed, but maintained the courteous smile. After a couple of hours they got down to their destination. We realised the train was running late and the obvious culprit was the fog. My daughter made friends with two girls in the train. They will, in all probability, never ever meet in their life and yet they developed an instant connect in the short train journey. This is common in most long distance train journeys in India. The friendship rarely lasts beyond the journey.
Even I met an Army Major. When he heard I have plans to go to Kashmir too, he shared his experience in the recent Kashmir flood. "I was deputed there for two months. It was horrible. I dont expect much improvement. Be careful on where you stay and what you eat. Chances of epidemic can't be ruled out", he warned me. After more than an hour of delay our train reached at 12:45 AM. Visibility was a few metres. My daughter had already fallen asleep. There were quite a few people in the station, thanks to the train delays and cancellations.
We had booked the Railway retiring room and so did not have to step out of the railway complex.
The chilling cold at night and the hot Kulchas in the morning. (24th Dec, 2014 - Wednesday)
The retiring room was a huge one. At least thirty feet by twenty feet. In the middle of it lay a double-bed cot. It was like a lone scare-crow standing on a barren field. We were provided with two light blankets, a far cry of what we actually required to fight the cold. I could hardly sleep that night. Shivering, waking up, gulping a few mouthful of ice-cold water and then again desperately trying to get a few hours of sleep. But nothing worked. It reminded me of the night in Gnathang Valley the last winter. But this was worse. The big room was just not getting warm.
At around 8 AM, we stepped out of the retiring room, refreshed but slightly red-eyed because of lack of sleep. The fog engulfed the railway station like a thick blanket. We asked some people about a good place to have breakfast. Everybody was unanimous about the Kulcha shop on the posh Maqbool road. "Mind you, its not a big restaurant. Its a road-side small dhaba. I dont blame your eyes if the shop does not draw your attention. But DON'T miss it", an elderly man ,in his sixties, categorically told us.
We took a rickshaw, who seemed to know the dhaba very well. The breakfast at Amritsar kicked off our daily dose of dollops of "desi ghee". The smoking-hot finger-licking delicious kulchas in that cold morning warded off our sleep. People stepped out from their luxurious Benz and Audis to have kulchas from there. Even the best of restaurants in Bangalore did not serve me a kulcha and chole as tasty as these. After filling ourselves to the brim, we continued our rickshaw ride to the famous Amritsar Golden temple.
Holy Golden Temple:
Harmandir Sahib of Amritsar is popularly known as the Golden Temple of Amritsar. It is one of the most sacred places of worship for the Sikh community. It had been much talked about a few decades back when the Khalistan movement disturbed the region. It was the battleground for the bloody Operation Blue Star and Operation Black Thunder. None of those past historical events managed to scar the holy and pious temple. We had to remove our shoes, wash our feet, cover our head and enter in. Stepping on those marble floors felt like walking on ice blocks. We made a circle around the premise, stood in the queue and offered our prayers. The waterbody surrounding it reflected the temple, as can be found in most photos of the temple. But it is one thing to see the photos and another to be physically there. Sikhs volunteered to serve at the temple, including keeping the shoes that we removed before entering the premise to serving us "prasad". The humming of the prayers by the Sikhs, the sight of the religious Indians, irrespective of the religion they belong to, make me feel proud of my country.
Whatever said and done, no country has so many religions nesting side by side. There are frictions, differences in ideologies and yet we are part of a country, which we proudly call India.
Patriotism at Jallian Wala Bagh and Wagah border:
Visiting Amritsar's Golden temple has aroused a sense of pride in me, as an Indian. A few yards from the temple is the famed Jallianwala Bagh. It is here that, in 1919 British General Dyer opened fire on a crowd of innocent people who had gathered there one full moon night. It left over a thousand dead in one of the most gruesome massacres in Indian history. I saw the bullet marks on the wall, symbolically representing scars on the human civilisation. I would have preferred had the solemnity of the place not been disturbed. But that was not to be. The free entry to the site invited love birds from around the city and even some picnic-going public. I am not sure how many tourists understood the importance of the place and massacre in the Indian freedom struggle.
Today we have taken our freedom so much for granted. It is given. But only a few decades back it was a dream for millions. Our present India is the result of selfless sacrifices of innumerous men and women, mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers. Jallianwala Bagh , at its core, is one of those mute spectators who have seen the struggle and sacrifice from very close quarters. If she were able to express herself, her sob would have been heard from every nook and corner of the country. I am sure, away from the maddening crowd and their cacophony, in some untouched corners of Jallianwala Bagh one might just find drops of tear and blood. And in some of those silent full moon nights when the world sleeps you could still hear echoes of inconsolable weeping from the broken heart of Jallianwala Bagh.
We left the place and proceeded towards the Wagah Border. If Jallianwala Bagh is about India's zeal to seek freedom, Wagah Border is about celebrating the freedom. Wagah Border is the border that India shares with Pakistan, about 30 kilometre from Amritsar. Our car dropped us at the parking lot. There was no mobile signal in the area as jammer had been put in place. From the parking lot the border is 1 KM. We started walking on foot. It was around 4 PM. By 4:30 PM the Beating Retreat Ceremony was scheduled to start. When we arrived we saw the galleries were almost filled to their capacities and we thought we were one of the initial ones! After slipping in here and there we got to the front. The atmosphere was absolutely electrifying. Photos will not tell anything; vidoes will convey nothing. People shouted slogans at the top of their voices. All had worn patriotism on their
sleeves. The ceremony started with perfect co-ordination between the army on the either side of the border. It was difficult for the Army to control the crowd who were too eager to take a closer look at the ceremony. We jumped off the gallery and were on the street. One army men came shouting at us and we played hide and seek with him. Everytime we saw him coming, we sat on the gallery. My daughter, who was unable to see, got on my shoulders and , undoubtedly had the best view among us from then on. But whether she remembers the frenzy atmosphere is another question. She shouted with us, definitely not understanding what "Vande Mataram" and "Hindustan Zindabad" means. The ceremony ended with lowering of the two flags on either side of the border. They were done simultaneously, such that one mirrored the other.
A lot of water has flowed between the two countries.But the ceremony seemed capture the essence that we do share a lot of common with each other and yet differ in some aspects.
From there we drove to Virasat Haveli, a farm house where we had booked for the night. Through the crowded and cold city of Amritsar at first and then the foggy village roads, where visibility was reduced to a metre our driver, Daman-ji, drove us. We took a diversion from the highway and then through roads hardly illuminated by lights we inched towards the place. Once we arrived at the Haveli at around 7 PM, it was a different world altogether. It had a look and feel of some zamandari house - large courtyards, rocking chairs, huge terraces. Lassi was served upon arrival. The room had beautiful decorations on its walls and ceiling. "This is glass mosaic", informed the attendant. Soon a cultural festival of song and dance started. Awesome kababs filled the plates in front of us. To keep us warm the staffs put a huge vessel with red-hot charcoal pieces on it. The aroma of the food, the smell of the charcoals burning behind me and the traditional Punjab folk music still mesmerizes me. The atmosphere and the hospitality had a very Indian touch.
Rural Punjab on a foggy Christmas morning (25th Dec, 2014 - Thursday):
The next morning we were up for some fun activities. Riding a tractor was fun. My wife fears to be behind the wheels of our car in Bangalore, but there she was too eager to drive the tractor on those aisles and narrow roads through the yellow mustard fields.It was foggy even at around eleven o'clock.
People were wrapped in shawls and mufflers. We stopped by a barn to find herds of buffaloes grazing on dried straw. My daughter was excited and a bit skeptic to see those robust animals munching
endlessly. My wife remembered her good old childhood days when there was a barn near her house. That time she used to complain about the adour from the barn. But now she was happy to find one again....memories from past came to flood her. Then my daughter rode a horse. It was still very cold. We were not able to eat much for lunch as the heavy late breakfast still needed some time.
"You eat very less", said the punjabi lad who was serving us the breakfast and also the dinner the night before.
"Is it?", I wondered, putting one more mouth-watering kabab piece inside. I was already over-eating a lot during those days. The smell and taste of fresh vegetables, plucked from the garden a day or two earlier, made the dishes all the more tastier. We miss those taste and those smell in our metro life. I was constantly reminded how mechanical I have been and how I have changed over the years. Buffalo barns excite us, fresh vegetables makes us over-eat, the heat from burnt charcoal takes me to a different world. Yes, I have changed. In the never-ending goalless race, we miss the small things and precious moments in life. Not sure whether I have really achieved much considering the toil and effort I have been putting in. Perhaps I should take solace from the fact that at least I have got the privilege to explore the country, the world and myself.
Our train to Katra was from Jalandhar Cantonment station at midnight. Jalandhar is around eighty kilometres from Amritsar. Our driver, Daman-ji suggested we explore the Jalandhar Haveli, which seems a popular gateway from Delhi.On the way to the Haveli he, in his typical Punjabi humour he said how Punjabis are obsessed about singing
"You will definitely find a few Punjabi singers in every village. Now, whether they can sing or not thats a different issue. But most of them will pay to publish CDs for their musical album. Needless to say nobody buys those CDs", he quipped. "They love their photo on the album cover of a CD. That's their ultimate aim in life!"
The cultural evening at Jalandhar Haveli:
We reached the Haveli at around 7 PM. It was a great carnival showcasing Indian tradition and culture. We rode camel and the horse. My daughter saw the puppet shows and the magic shows, which you typically find in Indian fairs. She saw how pottery and weaving are done, and felt excited about them. People were having fun. The pani-puriwala was the most sought-after man, having quite a few orbits of people around him. There was a cultural song and dance show that was going on, which was entertaining. Then we had a sumptuous dinner and left the place. It is definitely a place worth visiting if you are around.
Bangalore or Delhi or Mumbai, these places have become metropolitan in every way. There is a very strong under-current and influence of the Western and American culture, as also the diverse culture from different parts of India. Something we also found in our recent weekend trip to Goa, where the influence of Russian culture can hardly be ignored. The good thing about this is it provides an ideal melting pot for cultures and traditions to interact. But the individual culture gets diluted and does not find a way to maintain its purity. For example, we were disappointed to find most restaurants in Goa
serving a bland continental-type food, unlike the hot and spicy Goan curries, which we were eagerly looking forward to. The Red Indians of USA or the aborigines of Australia have been pushed to a minority in their respective counties. Back home, the Kannadigas in Bangalore or Marathis of Mumbai have been sidelined by the millions of people around India who have thronged the metros in search of better opportunities. The Marathis have been for years raising their slogan for the "Marathi Manush". But there is nothing that be effectively done to prevent this cultural confluence. With mobile and net connectivity reaching every nook and corner of the country, it will only increase with time. As a human we have reached out to a wider world and no longer dwell within the four boundaries of our house. But for every such advancement in human evolution we have to make a sacrifice. Losing our tradition, culture and heritage is a price that we pay when we strive for globalization. And so, pockets like the Jalandhar Haveli or the Amritsar Haveli or Chakki Dhani of Jaipur are so important. Living in metros, we can still find our roots in some corner of the country.
When we take our kids to those places, we shall be able to provide them a life thats beyond the tablets and smart phones, cars and concrete jungles that they have grown along with.
Chilling night on the railway platform and an almost missed train:
We arrived at station at 10 o'clock. The train was scheduled to arrive at 11:45 PM. The station was a relatively small one. There was no decent waiting room. Whatever seats were there were already occupied by passengers who came earlier or were waiting for other trains. During this time of the year, the train schedule goes for a toss as fog play havoc. Only the day before the same train reached the destination 10 hours late. That was worrying to me. We had the helicopter ride booking at 8:30 AM as our train was scheduled to reach around 5 AM. A 10-hour late would ruin my plans.
As we were sitting on the platform, it was getting colder and colder. The pigeons flocked on the iron rods of the platform and kept cooing, perhaps discussing about the chillness with their friends and relatives. There was no indication of where our coach would come. Coolies were nowhere to be seen. My daughter was tired and soon fell asleep on my wife's lap. We were not sure how we would pull all the luggage to the coach if daughter does not wake up.
"Don't worry, I will wake her up in time", assured my wife.
I checked the train schedule. It was late by 30 mins. That means it will come around 12:30 AM. Phew! This seemed to be a long wait. A couple of trains passed, mostly late by 10-12 hours. An almost-empty passenger train halted for a few minutes. A few got down, making the train even more empty.
At last the announcement of the arrival of our train was made. My daughter woke up. Ours was coach B10. We stood at somewhere in the middle of the platform, unsure where the exact location of the coach would be. Gosh! we stood in front of B2 ! That means we had a huge distance to cover and in the 2-minute stoppage time. We ran as fast as we could, but soon realised that it would be impossible to reach our coach. A quick thinking and we jumped into the B5 coach. The train started crawling in no time. Through the train compartments, we pulled the luggage to our seat. A person took pity on us and helped us reach the seat. When we arrived we were sweating. This is the first time we sweated in the last few days. It was a close shave, just like the flight in Port Blair. Hope we dont have too much such touch-and-go moments in future,
The exciting helicopter ride, horse ride and Vaishnav Devi mandir (26th Dec, 2014 - Friday):
We reached the picturesque Katra railway station about an hour late from the normal schedule. That meant we had just enough time to get refreshed for the helicopter ride. We went to the hotel, off-loaded our luggage and rushed to the helipad.
My daughter was especially looking forward to the helicopter ride, thanks to her favourite Doraemon cartoon. My wife felt that a sudden take off might cause nauseating effect on her. At the end, it was a great experience. The thrill started from the time we walked towards the machine. Strong winds set the pace. My wife and daughter took the front seat. I was sitting behind, grabbed a window seat. Through the Himalayan mountain range and above the green forests our helicopter took off.
Once we got off we took a pony ride to the temple and further up. Just before a kilometre to the temple, we removed our shoes and socks and were walking bare-footed on those paths built mostly with stones and bricks. It was like walking on freezing water. Our foot soles were numb in no time. My daughter, generally a happy-go-lucky girl, who rarely cries, started crying. I took her on my
shoulders and put her feet into my jacket. That was giving her the much-needed comfort and warmth. However, it became tougher for me to go uphill with someone on my shoulders. Like most of the famous and celebrated temples in India our time in front of the deity was for a few seconds, but the planning and journey that took us here was all that mattered. After offering our prayers, we arrived at the helipad well before our scheduled time. Now the fear of the ride was no more, but not the excitement.
When we arrived at Katra, in the evening we had the famous "rajma-chawal" in one of the small restaurants.You tend to get better with experience. And one thing we learnt is that if you truly want to explore the local food, a luxury restaurant may not always be the best choice. A road-side dhaba, a small shop in a busy market, a stall in the corner of a road might give you just that illusive taste that big ones dont provide. We were very hungry, hardly had anything since last night's dinner. And then when the hot lip-smacking "rajma-chawal" was served, we finished it in no time. We roamed around in the evening around the taxi stand, looking for a taxi to take up to the Jammu airport. We found one at a good price. But soon we were very tired. By nine we had dinner and were snoring in our hotel room. What a tiring day it was. In fact in the last 24 hours we hardly had a good rest. A long wait on a chilling railway platform, an almost missed train, a hurriedly taken helicopter ride, then 25 km or so of horse ride, frozen feet....our bodies had enough of it!
Parting thoughts
The fifty kilometers from Katra to Jammu was mostly on highways. We were cherishing and talking about the last few days. Generally, our journeys have a flavour. Be it the turquoise ocean (Andamans), the drive along the Ganges to a ski resort (Haridwar to Auli), the casual sea outing (Puri), The Kanchenjungha (North Bengal), the cold dry desert (Spiti) or a weekend in a national park (Bandipur). Apparently this vacation of ours may seem like a pilgrim trip. But a closer look revels this is not so. True, unlike the past, it was not that much about Nature. Its theme was more about celebrating India and her heritage. It was a mixed bag. It was visiting the Taj Mahal, built by a Muslim emperor and then Sikh's Golden Temple to the Hindus' Vaishnav Devi. We covered the Jallianwala Bagh memorial, which bears testimony to India's struggle for freedom. And then we were made proud by our soldiers at Wagah Border. We had our share of fun at Haveli's camel ride, Katra's helicopter ride and pony ride. We met people of so different characters. In the first 48 hours we were in a coupe in the train's first class compartment. There was no one to talk to. And then we met a whole lot of warm-hearted God-fearing people wherever we went - be it the driver, Ashok-ji, at Agra, the Army general in the Delhi-Amritsar Shatabdi, the owner of the Haveli, Daman-ji and many more whom I have come across in some way or the other during the journey. I have seen the dedicated old lady in charge of the Amritsar retiring room, who was awake till 1 AM for us. I have met the chef at Virasat Haveli, who cooked authentic Punjabi food, only to discover that he is a migrant from Nepal. I have learnt so many things from so many people during those five days that blogs don't tell, photos don't show, words don't express and history and geography books don't teach.
For that you need to pack your bags, take a deep breath, look towards the horizon, tighten your seat belts and get ready to embark on a journey. Once you are back, dust yourself and plan for the next one. When thats over take another one. And then the next...until the journey of life meets her destination...
