Tag Archives: Jallianwala Bagh

India, On the Road

Amritsar on the half shell

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Tony and I enjoyed Amritsar so much last fall that we decided to share it with our guests. The four of us took the train on April 1 for six hours to the state of Punjab. At the Amritsar train station, a young taxi driver approached us. Sunny gave us a ride to our hotel, and we liked him so much we hired him for our whole visit.
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At the recommendation of our school’s travel agent, we stayed at Mrs. Bhandari’s Guesthouse, which featured a pool, outdoor eating area, garden, courtyard with water buffalo and a humble collection of rooms. Liz snapped this shot of our fellow guesthouse residents.
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We checked in, grabbed a quick snack, and took off for the Wagah Border-Closing Ceremony at the Pakistan-India border, about 45 minutes out of town.

Just like our last visit, food and drink vendors lined the path approaching the stadium. I loved this papaya seller with his papaya-colored shirt and turban. Theresa got the shot.
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Sno-cones made on the spot with the Indian flag colors!
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A water boy wisely targeting the men in line. This may be the only place on the planet where the women’s line moves faster!
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After passing through VIP security, we took our seats in the Foreigners Gallery and watched the bedlam. A full Bollywood street party was followed by people actually LINING UP to run a short distance with the Indian flag.
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Great shot by Theresa:
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Eventually the hollering, high-stepping, gate-slamming, foot-stomping, thumb-gesturing, hat-straightening, mustache-twisting, anthem-singing, flag-lowering antics came to a close. I took so many pictures on our last visit. This time I just watched. Check out the Pakistani guard (black beret and shades) who Theresa photographed. You do NOT want to mess with him.
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Returning from the border ceremony, Sunny eagerly asked if we knew the story of Ganesha. I did, only because I had heard it at school during India Week. However, Sunny told the tale with such exuberance and joy that I just let him run with it. Here’s the story, fyi. (This is NOT how Sunny told it. His rendition featured generic nouns slapped with unconjugated verbs in an unintelligible but joyous English soup.) From the website religionfacts.com:

Incensed by the refusal of her husband to respect her privacy, to the extent of entering her private chambers even while she was having her bath, Parvati decided to settle matters once and for all. Before going for her bath the next time, she rubbed off the sandalwood paste on her body and out of it created the figure of a young boy. She infused life into the figure and told him he was her son and should guard the entrance while she bathed.
Soon after, Shiva (Lord of destruction and husband of Parvati) came to see Parvati but the young boy blocked his way and would not let him in. Shiva, unaware that this lad was his son, became furious and in great anger fought with this boy whose head got severed from his body in the ensuing battle. Parvati, returning from her bath, saw her headless son and threatened in her rage to destroy the heavens and the earth, so great was her sorrow.
Shiva pacified her and instructed his followers (known as ganas) to bring the head of the first living being they encounter. The first creature they encountered was an elephant. They thus cut off its head and placed it on the body of Parvati’s son and breathed life into him. Thus overjoyed, Parvati embraced her son.

Theresa took this great shot of the dashboard decor in Sunny’s car: Ganesha in a Clam Shell. I love it so much! No, I don’t know why this Hindu elephant god is resting on a mollusk, but there’s no denying that it’s awe inspiring.
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Basically re-creating our first Amritsar visit, we took Liz and Theresa to Kesar da Dhaba for dinner. Everyone seemed happy with their food, and the restaurant owner remembered me from November! We bought dinner for Sunny, who tried to have a philosophical discussion with Tony about the Sikh religion.

Liz being a BIG risk taker!
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After dinner, Sunny drove us to the Golden Temple. It was not the peaceful oasis we remembered from five months ago! It was a mob scene … a happy, spiritual, family-oriented mob scene, but a mob scene nonetheless. I was trying to take a photo of Tony and Liz in front of the temple when this family crowded in to the shot. Okayyyy.
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Another family shoved a baby into Liz’s arms, which she confusedly cuddled until the mother realized its absence and abruptly yanked it back. Craziness! I liked this calm lady who was chilling and enjoying the glowing temple.
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The next morning, Liz and Tony ventured back to the temple and the Jalianwallah Bagh Memorial. Apparently, they hung out with this guy.
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Theresa and I lazed around the guesthouse, taking photos of the colorful garden.
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For more details on the places we visited, check out my old posts about Amritsar.

On April 2, it was time to head our separate ways. Tony and Liz returned to Delhi and later took a daytrip to Agra. Theresa and I drove to McLeod Ganj, a hill station in the Himalayas and home of the exiled Dalai Lama. That story is coming up next!

India, On the Road

Unwanted Adulation Mars Memorial Visit

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On April 13, 1919, thousands of people gathered in the Jallianwala Bagh, a garden down the street from the Golden Temple in Amritsar, for a religious celebration amidst a buzz of political restlessness. In the weeks preceding this day, tensions had escalated between British imperial authorities and activists for Indian independence. A series of protests and riots rocked Punjab, and rumors circulated that a revolt was planned for later that spring. To quell the uprisings, British governor of Punjab, Sir Michael O’Dwyer, declared martial law, which included a ban on public gatherings. When word of the crowd in Jallianwala Bagh reached Brigadier-General Reginald Dyer, he marched British and Gurkha troops into the garden and ordered them to open fire. His armored cars with mounted machine guns were too wide for the enclosure gate or he would have used those, too, he later admitted. Official figures put the death count at 379 with almost 1,200 injured, but other sources say close to 1,000 people were killed. More than 100 died by leaping into a well to escape gunfire.

The garden now stands as a memorial to the massacre, so we stopped by to check it out. Entering the garden, we could envision people 92 years ago chatting under the trees and lounging by the stone wall, never suspecting the imminent ambush. Just as we were feeling appropriately somber, just as Jan was reading the story of the massacre from a guide book, we experienced a completely different kind of attack.

“On April 13, thousands of people gathered at Jallianwala Bagh in 1919. An hour after the meeting had started at 4:30,” Jan read, slowly raising her head from the book, “they were attacked by a wild mob of women in saris!” I looked around at the encroaching photo-seeking fans. We laughed but honestly couldn’t escape. Lucky for me, Jan created a diversion with her sing-song voice: “Well, hellllooooo. Oh, don’t you just look so beautiful! Well, I don’t know what you’re saying, but you’re absolutely adorable.” And so on. I slipped away and stared in shock at the group engulfing her. We had warned her not to make eye contact! We had tried to teach her the art of kind rejection, but there she was, trapped. I wish I could say that I parted the crowd and staged a daring rescue, but I am ashamed to admit I bolted for safety without a backward glance. Well, I looked back long enough to snap this picture.

I didn’t get far, however. Another group of smiling Indian tourists accosted me, rattling off Hindi louder and louder to help me understand. Finally, an English speaker asked where I was from, and I heard, “No British, American!” For once, being an American was an asset. It was far worse to be British in this emotional place. The group moved in closer. One lady embraced me, stroking my face and resting her head on my shoulder. She and her entire extended family insisted on cuddling and posing for phone photos, which took ages and left me a bit traumatized.

Finally, I was released to walk about the garden. But freedom was short-lived. Every time, I lifted my eyes from the ground, somebody was desperately bobbing around trying to catch my glance. Unlike the gentle snapshot requests at the Golden Temple, the memorial paparazzi were brutal. Although amusing, the attention really did keep us from fully experiencing the memorial and its displays. Next time, we’ll have to wear disguises.

Notice the girl taking a picture of me taking a picture of the memorial. ALL of my photos at the memorial have that common feature.

Can’t you hear their moms? “Go stand by the tall white man!”

These school kids were dying to bust out of that line and chat with us, but a nun with a stern face kept them in check.