Shammi Aulakh

The last time I went to India, I was a drama student in 1997. Having arrived in the middle of summer the scorching heat was unbearable; it was like a hair drier hitting you on the face constantly. I vowed that if I make it out alive, I would never return back. But that was not to be.

My sister is married to a Californian man who is currently studying in Ludihana (Punjab). Since I wanted to see her, I decided to return to the land of my ancestors. As a freelance actor/filmmaker I was in between work and had already made a feature length film on Sikhs during WW II. I wanted to shoot the film in Punjab and decided that a trip to India would provide the opportunity to meet with my sister and brother-in-law, scout for locations for the movie, and also do some shopping as I had enrolled in a Masters Degree programme in Sikh Studies at Harrow.

I got a direct flight to Delhi where I was to meet a cousin from UK and go to Uttar Pradesh where my maternal uncle is settled. Since his son was getting married it would be a good occasion to witness an Indian wedding. Everything seemed to fall into place.

I arrived in Delhi on a Virgin Atlantic flight the next day. I will always remember it as I had the privilege and honour of being seated next to the great Giani Maskeenjee who unfortunately passed away a week later. I quickly made the best of my luck and asked every possible question on Sikh history and philosophy. Gianiji was a pleasant man, a quite soft-spoken person, and we talked in Punjabi. I had seen him everyday on TV, on a programme called Gyan Da Sagar. His reputation preceded him. We talked about Sikhi and its history. He not only answered every question put to him but explained it in detail referring to names and dates. I later checked them to be sure, and he was spot on. Gianiji got back to reading Des Pardes and a book on Osho while I settled down to in-flight entertainment.

In Delhi the first thing that hits you is the absence of traffic laws and if you want to drive in India it probably is not going to happen. Later in the evening my cousin, his friends, and I went sight seeing. I inquired from them how it was to be a Sikh during the 1984 riots when thousands of Sikhs will murdered in the aftermath of Indira Gandhi’s assassination. It was really heart wrenching to hear the stories on what had happened in this city twenty-one years ago.

Later I visited Gurdwara Rakab Ganj and Sis Ganj. I was surprised to see many newly wedded couples; you can always tell them apart by the chura that the bride wears for six weeks after marriage. I noticed that many women wore sindoor (Vermilion, a red powder) in the parting of their hair, which I was always led to believe is a Hindu custom.

After a delicious meal of masala dosa, I got into a conversation with my cousin’s friends who proudly informed me that they were in fact Bhalla’s of Goindwal and were related to the second Sikh Guru, Guru Angad. I promised to visit their ancestral home in Goindwal as my own ancestral village lies nearby in the beautiful region of Majha.

In the house where I was staying there was a special room where Guru Granth Sahib was placed with reverence. I went there to pay my respects and sat there in silent contemplation. Looking around I saw pictures of the Gurus as also of Hindu gods and goddesses, something I hadn’t seen before. After a sumptuous and amazingly tasty meal of alu parathas, I bid my gracious hosts good-bye and promised to take a picture of the haveli in Goindwal.

I met with my sister and brother-in law who had come from Ludihana to receive me. My sister looked good and healthy; she may have enjoyed a few extra scoops of ice cream. My jeejajee, Aman, who is studying to be a veterinary Doctor at Punjab Agricultural University must have been spoiling her. It was great to see them both. We somehow fit the three suitcases into a very small car, and then proceeded to spend an hour trying to get out of the city. The driver was not familiar with the roads in Delhi. Nay, he wasn’t familiar with any route! We finally got some good Samaritans to show us the way. Unlike England, people actually come running to you with directions, and sometimes they begin to argue among themselves on the best possible route.

We got to the wedding house in eight hours almost twice as long as it usually takes. Meeting your relatives is a great feeling. They all seemed a bit older, somewhat fatter, and a bit different from the last time I had seen them. They must have thought the same about my cousin Minto and me.

My grandfather S. Lachchman Singh Sandhu

It was only after meeting and hugging my grandfather Ex Sub Lachchman Singh Sandhu that I felt as if I had reached my manzil (destination). He hadn’t seen me in eight years and Minto in ten. With age catching up on him it was my greatest fear that I may never see him again. But for a man in his mid 80’s he looked remarkably sharp and fit.

The next day I met with more relatives and the opening line “Do you recognize me?” began to wear me off. As it was a wedding, I met some relatives whom I had not seen in over twenty-five years. Many new nephews and nieces had sprung up as well. As I am not married and some of my contemporaries had ten-year-olds running around, it made me think if it was time for me to settle down. I am only 30 years old.

The wedding day came and went and it was terrific. I caught a throat infection and sounded more like Orson Wells with each passing day. We then went to the jungles with my cousins and had a lovely time. My cousin Minto had to go to Delhi for one day to sort out another air ticket and look at some properties he was interested in. The next thing I heard, he was in Good Ol Blighty. He went back as he may have had enough of India. In fact he missed the fun since he did not see Punjab.

Left alone I actually became quite close to Aman, my jeeja who is a fantastic guy and keeps my sister very happy; happier than I have ever seen her in all my life. We went to Dehra Dun with some relatives and spent an afternoon in Mussorie were we saw the magnificent summer retreat of the Maharaja of Kapurthala.

On our way to Ludihana we went via Paonta Sahib were the Tenth Guru, Gobind Singh, had stayed for a few years. Walking around the precinct one keeps thinking of the history this place must have seen. It is a magnificent building where the weapons of Guru Gobind Singh are on display. Sikhs must have been physically strong during the 18th century since these weapons appear very heavy indeed.

Weapons of Guru Gobind Singh

We walked outside to the shops that sell Sikh religious items and cassettes. I was shocked to see these shops selling cigarettes. When I mentioned it to the Sikh shop owner, his wife came out rattling that people of all kinds came to their shop and as a good business practice they have to cater to their needs. I found her reply disgusting and decided to cut short my visit to the Gurdwara. Something was not right!

When I go to India, I tend to over eat. Every gol guppa and alu tikki stall has to be patronized. Needless to say I became ill and was bed ridden. With my health back to normal, I found myself on Shatabddi Express on my way to my ancestral village. I travelled alone as I enjoy my own company and have the confidence to rely on myself. On the way I did a lot of filming, the service is simply quite amazing. There were generally many NRI’s (Non Resident Indians) on the train.

At Amritsar train station visions of Sunny Deol in Gadar running around with a sword came to my mind. I got a rickshaw and headed towards a clean hotel and found a respectable place for £12 a night. After unpacking and a shower I made my way to the holiest place on earth for me - the Golden Temple. As I approached the shrine I was surprised to see many elderly Sikh men working as rickshaw pullers. I can never imagine sitting on a rickshaw pulled by someone my dad’s age. Knowing that Sikhs are an extremely hard-working community, I greatly admire these men. Sikhs work hard for a living, and I have never seen a Sikh begging on the streets.

The Golden Temple revealed itself as I arrived at the clock tower just outside the gates. The first thing I noticed was the presence of many white Caucasian men and women. As I deposited my shoes and walked about I couldn’t help noticing a large number of people of every colour and creed. This awesome sight is a testament to the reverence that Harmandir Sahib holds for many. I descended towards the parikarma and in the middle of it stood the “eighth wonder”. As we were studying the origins and desecrators of Harmandir Sahib at my University, all the episodes in history came rushing to my mind. Despite being blow up and desecrated by Massa Rangar, Ahmed Shah Abdali and Indira Gandhi this sacred sanctum has stood against tyranny and still stands victorious in its splendid golden beauty.

Harmandir Sahib, The Golden Temple. sacredsites.com

After spending at least an hour just sitting by the saraovar and looking at this symbol of world unity and secularism, with its four doors inviting everyone, I decided to go to the Akal Takht, which is one of the five Takhts of the Sikhs. Many pilgrims had arrived and after a wait of 45 minutes I was inside. I will describe this as a beautiful moment in my life.

I tripped over camera cables that relay sacred Gurbani live from the Golden Temple daily, and as I bowed in front on the holy Granth I was quickly ushered away because I had inadvertently held up the queue. I argued that I had not been there for many years, and the gentleman apologized asking me to stand behind him to pray. Anger is something that can besiege you anywhere, even at the Golden Temple in Amritsar. I felt ashamed of myself. I walked about and was in such awe of this beautiful place; I only wished that somebody was there to share this emotion with me, but I am sure I will carry it forever.

The Bookstore

Once outside I walked around the shops looking for books for my course. I had a list of books I wanted and was debating whether to get them couriered instead of carrying them. The books weighed over 25 kilos and I decided to send by courier. I got all books from one place just out side the Golden Temple. The gentleman who served me happened to be a PhD and a writer as well, and he recommended the books that would help me in my studies.

I must have spent over twelve thousand rupees on books, which would have cost me over fifty thousand rupees in England. The books would reach England in nine separate parcels by sea in about 3 or 4 months. I was in no hurry and it is far cheaper to send it by sea than to carry along; you always will be over weight at the airport, and I don’t just mean body weight.

I walked about Jallianwala Bagh and enjoyed the freedom of not being hassled by anyone. I could be just any Punjabi boy from Jullundar enjoying the city of Amritsar. Punjab has changed so much in these last eight years. People seem to be content and none of my relatives talked about getting out of India. You can almost get anything in India. The only thing I missed was Mum’s cooking.

I decided to go to Guru’s langar the next day since my camera battery had run out. Instead I went to Lawrence Road, named after a Mr Lawrence during the British Raj. There were lot of people there; I suspect this is where the young crowd chills. Mostly guys in tank tops with Versace written all over them. After having a meal, I made my way back to the hotel to relax. I fell asleep. I was disturbed by a guest down stairs, I am sure they could not contain their excitement on being in Amritsar.

After checking out of the hotel, I went straight to Darbar Sahib. I deposited my luggage and then walked to the offices of SGPC, which run the Golden Temple and all other Gurudwaras in Punjab. I wanted to take pictures in the Central Museum but had to first take permission from SGPC.

I arrived at Teja Singh Samundri Hall; it did look as if it could do with a new coat of paint. I was told to fill out an application, and I quickly obliged. I even showed them my student ID; being a student of the World Sikh University carries some weight? I waited out side and saw people coming and going. As I sat I prepared a speech on why I wasn’t allowed to share my experience of the museum with my fellow students. Why is it that virtually every museum in the world allows you to take photos while here we are not permitted to do so? Just as I was getting to the important part of my imaginary oratory, the door opened and I was given a paper which had permission granted on it. I thanked the Sardar Sahib and almost ran towards the museum. Memo to my self: never judge or decide anything before hand, anymore!

I spent a good hour going through the Museum. There was not a single Indian to be seen; now I know why few locals know less about Indian history and more about English and American history. The Museum had old paintings and relics, sadly it did boast of more but they were all destroyed during Operation Blue Star.

Latino Sikhs

I met Latino Sikhs. It was an interesting meeting. They were all amritdharis and wore turbans. I felt ashamed of myself. Moving around the museum, I felt proud of the Sikhs and how they survived the toughest of times in the 18th century.

After the visit to the museum, I made my way to the bus stand as I wanted to go by bus instead of taxi. I got on the bus and it was packed. The ride from Amritsar to Chola Sahib took about 90 minutes, and the journey was amazing.

I often wonder how people survive everyday commuting on these buses. Although the elderly find it difficult to get on them, there is always a helping hand. I tried to absorb everything and spoke to my fellow passengers. When they heard that I was from England almost everybody told me of a relative who lives in Southall and asked if I knew them. I had having the most wonderful time of my life amongst my people on a Punjab Roadways Bus. When the bus would stop vendors came inside trying to sell churan (a brown sticky tablet used for virtually anything), comb, orange juice, and of course dried chole, which goes really well on a long journey.

When I got to Chola Sahib, my Grandfather came to receive me. We got in the jeep and made our way home, which is in the middle of the fields on the outskirts of the village Rani Villa. In the last eight years since I was there a lot had changed. Gone are the hand pumps and mud huts. In its place are bricked houses and taps. I did find an old pump still in operation near the adjacent house and proceeded to use it for my drinking pleasure; old memories die hard. Scientists have confirmed that the hand drawn water in the northern part of Punjab is the best and cleanest. I wanted to experiment for myself and all doubts were erased. I was virtually diarrhoea free.

The next day was spent meeting relatives. I also went to the village Gurudwara. The village now has three Gurudwaras. I really don’t see the point and they seem deserted with only a handful of sevadars sitting outside playing cards. Before, when there was only one Gurudwara in the village, the sangat (congregation) was rather large. I also noticed how many of my cousins are no longer Gursikhs and have succumbed to the temptations of the hairdressers. I see more Keshdhari young Sikhs on Southall Broadway than villages in Punjab. One day I will join their ranks and become a keshdhari Sardar.

The Bhalla Haveli

Another phenomena that left me asking many questions are the enormous reverence people have for tombs of peers. In almost every village there is a shrine of a Muslim saint; sometimes a village can have three or four. Respect for all religions is paramount in Sikhism. But I saw men and women burning candles and worshipping these tombs. I was told that these peer Dargahs in Punjab get more attendance daily than the local Gurudwaras. Sadly it is on the increase and more and more Sikhs believe in Dargahs and Taweets which they wear around their necks.

I also went to Kadur Sahib and Goindwal Sahib and managed to find the old Bhalla Haveli as well. After spending a week in the pind, I made my way to Ludihana and from there it was back to England.

On my way back to England I was preoccupied with thoughts on the three wonderful weeks I had spent in Punjab. I went there as a tourist, but I left as one of them. It was the best time I had, and I leave India with lots of new thoughts about what it is to be a Punjabi and what it is to be a Sikh. I can now see my life in England with fresh eyes. As Delhi began to disappear rapidly from my sight, I had already decided to return once again to this beautiful land called Punjab.


Copyright ©2005 Shammi Aulakh. About the author