Last night, as I mentioned, we finally broke into the torrone. It was… *starts drooling and forgets to talk*. I also showed off my mask to Saibi, tried to ask someone a straight-faced question while wearing it (supreme failure, I really must work on my poker face), and ultimately went to sleep in a squished bed (at least I didn’t have middle), all the while setting the alarm progressively later as the dark hours marched steadily forward without us. My mom finally suggested I turn it off altogether, but I was having none of that. I would not go any later than 4:30.
When 4:30 rolled around, of course, I was pretty darn reluctant, though still had some feeble sense of determination. My mom got up and out of bed, and I was about to follow her glorious example, when she promptly clicked on the TV to the Golden Temple channel and crawled straight back in. Somehow my early morning logic managed to consider this more than ample justification for a couple more hits of the snooze button, one of which must have inadvertently been the off button, as it was suddenly 6:30 and I was the last one left in the room.
I dragged myself out of bed and into my clothes, already feeling slightly guilty about my acrobatic mental politics of the amrit vela, and then practically ran down the stairs and across the street to the Golden Temple. I was frantic because at this point I basically had time to run in and bow, rush back to the hotel, finish stuffing everything into my suitcase, engage in the battle to close my suitcase, haul it all downstairs to load up my bag on the bus, and then maybe possibly grab a parantha on the way out, though I had a suspicion that breakfast this morning might not extend past prashad, a tradeoff I was happy to make.
In this hurried sort of panic mode I turned in my shoes and rushed across the marble steps to the parkarma, passing BK along the way (which just made me more nervous as it confirmed my fears that by this time I should be leaving not entering). Then I stepped onto the parkarma, touched my forehead to the marble, and it all just melted away. I felt suddenly so peaceful and relaxed.
It was a little funny because as nice as the Golden Temple is, I’ve always felt somewhat cheated of the homecoming experiences that everyone describes having. I never really got that. But here on this one hurried morning, it ironically managed to find me. I suppose that’s how it goes.
I made my way around the parkarma and suddenly saw myself behind a group of four nihangs, absolutely decked out to the brim in their weaponry. Just massive spears, swords, weapons I don’t even know the name of. It made a beautiful picture, the pink sunlight foggily illuminating these four blue warrior saints, the long shafts of their weapons bristling uncontrollably in all directions. I watched as each tapped a weapon on one of the orange-robed flagpoles before making their way out of the complex. I headed across the bridge towards the Guru.
The sunrise was so peaceful as it glowed warmly through the fog and haze, birds flying in lilting arcs over the water. Once inside, the bowing was as jostly as ever, maybe more so if that was possible. I bowed my head, battled my way outside, and made my way up to the roof gurdwara. I sat briefly, then went out and stood on the center point of the Golden Temple where an inlaid flower marks the crown.
It was incredible. I felt like a balancing weight, a plumb line was pulling from my feet all the way down through the earth, out the other end, off through the infinity of space, lining it all up in perfect symmetry, like a morning eurhythmy exercise that actually works. It was one of those feelings that makes your face automatically break into a smile, regardless of how silly you feel. Then I stepped off the point and immediately felt like I was on earth again. Neat. At that point I headed back to the hotel where I was informed that I had been spotted on the TV. Well ain’t that dandy.
Chaotically we all clambered aboard the bus and cars and headed out of there, soon on the road to Salindran’s village. Turns out the driver, despite all his insistences to the contrary, had no idea where we were going, so we got completely lost and ended up spending a very unnecessarily long time in that bus, a thing to be avoided at all costs, let me tell you. If you happen to be in an aisle seat (as I was) you spend most of the ride concentrating really hard on staying in your seat. The whole thing is slanted inwards. The seats are made of very smooth wood and are exactly the size of a person’s bottom, so there’s not a lot of sliding room as you’re floundering, desperately trying to stay seated as you’re careening along the viciously battered roads of rural Punjab. The view is also enough to cause claustrophobia in the most stalwart of persons. One poorly angled and significantly blocked view of green streaks of Indian countryside is attainable through your seatmate’s window. Otherwise it’s just seats, heads, bags, the person across the aisle, the two of you leaning ever dangerously closer to one another as your respective seats slowly eject you further and further.
The village was cool. We started in the langar hall with a “snack” of absolutely awesome pakoras (I was not to be thinking this the same time next week). We then went over to the gurdwara where the entire village had turned out to see us. I stepped out of the blinding sunlight into the shadow of the gurdwara’s entrance and blinked as the images materialized themselves. On the left were the ladies who had gone in before me. In front was, of course, the Guru. It was the right side that had the view.
All the village women from the newest little girls to the oldest wrinkled crones were assembled there in possibly the most dazzling sea of hues I’ve ever laid eyes on. The brightest possible colors of every shade packed into every inch of the gurdwara with hundreds of shining faces looking back. It was gorgeous. We talked a little about ourselves, played a little kirtan, and finished up the gurdwara (because we were so late we had to keep it short). BK got a huge fly in her prashad (it was her birthday), cause for much merriment both among the small Punjabi children and my mother, who was unable to continue leading the chanting as she was virtually crippled by an excess of mirth.
Then of course it was lunch time. We had to scarf down our food in record time and leap back onto the bus (did I mention we were late?). Upon arriving back at the vehicle, however, it because apparent that Nirinjan’s cell phone had gone missing. After searching every possible corner of the bus, we began to piece some clues together. Well first, the cell phone was missing. On a second check through, Nirinjan was pretty sure she’d had another 500 rupee bill in her wallet. We also soon uncovered that Nirinjan’s bag had actually been discovered in a different location than the one she’d originally left it in. In the process of searching the floor for the missing cell phone, well also came across a discarded swatch of fabric lying on the floor. Nirinjan identified it as the one she had stuffed into her bag just before leaving the bus. In short, someone had definitely gone through her stuff. Discussing it fervently along the way, our complex powers of deduction led us to suspect the driver.
We stopped at Haveli’s for dinner (best lassi ever, I tell you). And then it happened. Someone actually caught the drivers red-handed, looking through people’s luggage. They stopped immediately when they saw her, but that was enough for us. Nirinjan was furious at this point, but the powers that be (namely the camp staff) wanted to wait until Anandpur Sahib to deal with the situation. When we finally did arrive in Anandpur Sahib our first stop was Keshghar Sahib, the main gurdwara, where we were going to temporarily install the Guru and have an akhand path read.
As we were waiting for the Guru to arrive, a scooter zoomed by with a guy wielding a thick metal tube, out of which was streaming a viscous white cloud. The cloud rose up into the air, billowing towards us, bearing down upon us, expanding exponentially it seemed, without losing any density. It was a terrifying, spellbinding sight to behold. DDT for the mosquitoes, someone mumbled apprehensively. But to see this cloud racing towards you, opaque with viscosity, looking like that one famous picture of the jeep outrunning the cloud from Mount Saint Helens but white instead of grey, man it was intense! I desperately felt like I was supposed to hide from this cloud, but I could not! Oh, the terror! And then it was over.
So then we finally brought the Guru in, bowed, got back on the bus, and finally made it to the Siri Singh Sahib’s house, Dashmesh Sadan, a.k.a. home. Where they fed us yet again. Before dinner my mom and I were coming down the stairs to my room and we could hear some pretty intense Punjabi yelling coming up from the driveway. Whatever it was about, they were arguing HARD, screaming at each other at the tops of their lungs. As we were sitting at the table eating about ten minutes later, one of the guys came up and handed over Nirinjan’s phone and 500 rupees. So there we had it. Turns out it was indeed the driver’s sidekick, who was immediately fired from the job and kicked off the premises.
So now it’s 12:40 and I’m on wakeup duty at 3:15. I just keep getting better at this, don’t I?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment