An Indian Love Triangle

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‘Depressed, lonely, feel like you’re just another face in the crowd? Come to India and be everyone’s best friend!’

It’s true, travelling in India can do wonders for your self-esteem; people want to see you, talk to you and be seen with you. When we ventured to Amritsar, home to the sacred Golden Temple we became embroiled in a bizarre love triangle that only India could compose.

The walls to the Golden Temple complex obscure the gem hiding within. Like a gleaming pearl from a roughly hewn oyster, the central shrine or Gurdwara takes the breath from devotees and tourists alike. Hypnotic music vibrates throughout; children smile, clutching sweet, precious prasad; beautiful men bathe in the sacred water, a lifetime of knowledge and memories trapped in their beards; a rainbow streak of saris fills the path to the island shrine. An oasis built to honour God, any God, where devotees, tourists, anyone from anywhere can worship, eat, sleep, drink chai and feel welcome for free, 24 hours a day every day.

Dodging jutti dealers and bandana brokers we slipped through the walls of the complex and into the hectic haven of the hostel in search of a free bed. With hundreds of rooms and dozens of ‘halls’ the place is teaming with people every minute of every day. We’d been mentally psyching ourselves for the experience of sleeping in a dormitory with 40 Indians for some time but never had the opportunity given our meeting with the two Hameeds.

Observing the chaos of the hostel foyer, I sought out a path to the counter that would least likely result in a confrontation with the surprisingly large number of blue men wielding spears and swords. Sans-shish kebab I made it to the desk and enquired of the free accommodation. The understandably frazzled sword-wielding receptionist asked me to wait on the bench opposite until someone could see to me. Like a golden ray of light reflecting from the temple, Hameed appeared through the crowd, vigorously shook my hand and ushered us into an adjacent room. Before we’d had a chance to introduce ourselves orders for chai were being ironically thrust at sword bearing men and we were offered samosas and curry. Hairy Hameed worked in the complex as a tourism liaison officer and his exceptional service to us had begun.

Overwhelmed but quietly appreciative of the free meal we socialised amongst the crowd which included Doctor Hameed, the on-call doctor for the hostel. Both Hameeds took an immediate liking to us and began sharing opinions on what to see, taste, do and buy in Amritsar. Our protests for normality went unheard, Hairy insisted that we had our own room large enough for six people, hot water, use of his private car and driver and a guided tour of the city. So much for the all-Indian pyjama party!

It was clear to us from the start that both were from privileged families and eager to advertise their status. With growing generosity came growing tension between the two. “No! My car has AC, and I’VE got a personal driver! We’ll take that!” Not five minutes in the building and I was sipping chai, masticating samosa and watching live Indian Jerry Springer! Resistance was futile; we came psyched to sleep amongst 40 snoring, staring men and failed miserably into private rooms, private cars, free food and fights for friendship.

Wandering through the temple later that day Dr Hameed, dressed in a white hospital gown, bounded up to us. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere, I wanted to show you around”. Envisioning hospital patients bleeding to death whilst nurses shrug their shoulders we tentatively followed. The communal kitchen of the Golden Temple complex feeds up to 30 000 people per day, a superhuman feat requiring human-sized super-saucepans. Great halls are filled and emptied of people on constant rotation with remarkable precision. The obligatory ‘one hand dining technique’ adopted throughout India can be difficult to grasp as a foreigner, add three hundred staring faces to the equation and it becomes impossible! Children laugh, adults gesticulate the correct method and everyone waggles their head side to side on a smooth ‘dal to mouth’ entry. During dinner on the floor with Doctor, he unfolded the story of how he and Hairy became friends. He chewed his way through an elaborate tale of attending the same school, graduating and of their fathers being businessmen who worked together, it didn’t explain the tension between the two.

Amritsar lies just 28km from the only official road border between India and Pakistan. The Partition of India in 1947 divided the Punjab region and its people, Amritsar fell to India whilst Lahore to Pakistan. There is no better way to visualise the tensions still rife between the two proud nations than a visit to the Wagah Border and the daily closing ceremony. As promised we were seized by Hairy Hameed the next day whereby he insisted we take his car and driver to the ceremony. Climbing into the huge, stealth like SUV the Doctor appeared from the shadows, asking to join us, we agreed, much to Hairy’s visible distaste.

The ceremony is as ludicrous as it is entertaining, the most common and apt description is to visualise the entire Monty Python team on methamphetamines and wielding AK-47’s whilst hundreds of people dance and cheer in support of their country. How ironic, here were our friends cheering, boo-ing, cursing, yelling “Hindustan is Great” yet they too were involved in their own ridiculous display of bravado.

The fight for our friendship between the two apparent friends escalated over the coming days, we weren’t alone for five minutes without offers for lunch, walks to temples or ice cream in the park. Hairy took us ten-pin bowling and go-karting all the time insinuating how good a friend he was for doing so. In between rolls of his fluorescent green bowling ball I asked Hairy why there was so much tension between the two friends, resulting in a peculiar confession. The men were not high school pals, their fathers weren’t chums, in fact they’d met for the first time in the hostel when we arrived! The confessions were coming thick and fast, Hairy was knocking me down like a ten-pin.

I was looking for the hidden cameras, “You been Punk’d, India style!” I knew something hadn’t seemed right with the Hameeds’ behaviour but the shock in knowing it had ALL been fabricated for the sake of our friendship bewildered me. Standing with mouth agape I contemplated dropping the bowling ball on my toe to see if I was dreaming. Things deteriorated further when Hairy confessed that he’d insisted on seeing the Doctor’s bank records to prove his apparent wealth and therefore status, “He didn’t even have 5000 rupees in there!” Hairy snickered. We felt utterly used; like pawns in a sinister game of chess. It was clear our public friendship was a token of prestige, a badge of honour, a subject of conversation for other diners as we chewed on sumptuous butter chicken in the fancy restaurants in town. To think these men had argued over their finances, family and foreign friends in order to disqualify the other seemed preposterous to us at the time but it’s perhaps not so peculiar in relation to the Indian Class-War that still rages. As shocking as it is, travelling in India for three months taught me that despite assurances that ‘change’ has occurred, prejudice in class is a feature in EVERY aspect of everyday life in India. For most Indians their future is decided from the very first day, their first breath a shackle to the trade of their forefathers. The beautiful thing about India and its people is that for you, the traveller, this means nothing. A week spent in the company and opulence of the rich will never compete with the simple, breath-taking warmth you get when a chai vendor, shoe-shiner or goat herder volleys back a smile as you stroll by. You may never see him or her again but that purest of smiles will be there till the end, that’s the India I love.

Leaving Amritsar, watching the ever changing landscape whoosh by from the train window I thought of my ‘friends’, they’d gone to considerable financial lengths to make my visit memorable yet they needn’t have, I travelled to India to marvel at the human race, to meet people who possess nothing yet adorn the greatest smiles imaginable, to believe in the power of people not the power of money. I don’t need a
fancy ceremony to tell me “Hindustan is great”, just the memory of a child laughing at me, dal running down my chin, sitting on the floor, in a room of hundreds, we are from everywhere but we eat as one.

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Comments

[Mick Dezsery]

Brilliant Tim! Really well written mate, i felt like i was there. Ive been hanging to get to India for so long now. Your story has given me the extra kick in the arse i needed to just get up and go. Love the photos too mate. Safe travels.......Mick