I thought I should quit and hurriedly scrambled my Rip-Van Winkle Resume and put it through fire. I grabbed the very 1^st interview opportunity that came my way and flew (literally) South to attend.  After a smooth sailing first round I got technically mauled in the second round, which wasn’t relevant to the job profile at all. Am I forgetting things? Dementia is spreading reminded the ‘Times of India’ and my 50 years was definitely an aging milestone. Nevertheless, I used the experience as a sounding board and returned with ‘my tail firmly between my legs’ vowing that I am made for better things and the Employer doesn’t deserve a guy of such wide skills as myself! Hope the first Owner and the second prospective Employer don’t get to read this! Though, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn!” – Going (Gone) with the wind! Well, I was reminded of Scarlet’s final byline: “Tomorrow is another Day!”

I needed some wild diversion and when my wife’s cousins arrived with a chest-full of kids, for a New Delhi sight-seeing vacation, I decided I’d better be a Guide, perhaps a Navigator and tour some places and discover new regions outside and ‘within my soul’. We innovated a few plans and got ourselves an Innova to drive us to Amritsar. We had the Wagah Border, the Golden Temple and Jallianwallah Bagh in our cross hairs.

On a fine day, starting at 6am from Gurgaon, we made it to the Wagah Border in Punjab, by 5pm, travelling on Sher Shah Suri’s grandly built –but now greatly ‘fly-over growing’ historical Grand Trunk Road. The BMW, Audi, Volvo, Jaguar, Hyundai, Showrooms matched the McDonalds and KFC restaurants along with the numerous Factory Outlets –leave alone the Tata’s, Mahindra’s, the ‘Lovely’, ‘Lucky’ ‘Brotherly’ Dhabas and the Haveli’s. Pashtun Suri surely has his kind of company!

I could understand the “General” anguish on “ammunition shortage”, when on reaching the Wagah Border I found everything but discipline and orderliness. If I had come to see Indian Border pride being high-kicked and grimaced on the faces of superbly precision trained parading Army Officers, in a studiously repeating flag-lowering and gate closing ceremony I was disappointed. Not with the parade, but with the naked, brazen all round madness and the Border Army’s indifference in controlling and organizing this daily ritual, which draws jaw-dropping Tourists from all over the World!

This part of the Grand Trunk, which runs into Pakistan’s Lahore was a total mess, with every inch of road occupied by every conceivable model of vehicle in various states of locomotion in the most alluring angles competing with the Delhi-kind of Lal-bathi’s cars for free-way space. We had to walk over tar & cement mortar and iron & steel, squeeze through noisome human bodies, evade “hand-bag grabbing safe keepers” and water-bottle selling vendors, to reach the Final Frontier only to see people scramble over (probably, poorly imitating the Army’s training methods) the upstream Gate check-post (closed) to get a better view of the blustering sun-set parade.

If the Border Security Force cannot control ‘such forces’ what the hell can they really do? Oh tell me! Why cannot a spacious parking lot be made and managed? Why cannot a huge stadium be built alongside to enable unobtrusive viewing of the ceremony? Why cannot the Army ensure a disciplined, self-controlled queuing arrangement to provide for people to file in an orderly manner? Why cannot ordinary citizens who care a damn on following traffic rules, be taught the meaning of discipline-at least at the Border?

Having been thus wowed by the Wagah Border affairs, we made our way, with any thing but pride, to the Golden Temple to seek peace and deliverance. We got rid of our, by now smelly shoes, covered our heads and watered down our feet at the entrance shallow pool to ‘see holy gold in a pool of nectar’, at 9pm. We energetically joined a pretty long queue leading to the central Mandir, convinced that this time God will guide us well! Alas, this was not to be! The two modest queues became three and then four-growing sideways rather then lengthwise, multiplying faster, growing fatter and flowing from all directions as we neared the central holy spot. The enthusiastic queue moderator wasn’t keen to keep good lines and encouraged liberalism resulting in us reaching a closed door at 10.15pm-when we were almost there! We watched the Holy Book go close by, to be put to sleep for the day and said our prayers. Nevertheless, with all the perseverance that could be mustered we squeezed into the central mandir with enormous difficulty-almost getting crushed to the juices in the process and made our offerings. A colleague had given me a cash-offering to drop and I was glad I could do it along with some of my own.

Once out of the central mandir we walked around and enjoyed the beauty of the magnificent Temple, which was simply amazing at this time of the day. The holiness was all pervading and the experience unforgettable!

But then, why this kolaveri queue mismanagement? Should not there be a deftly controlled, divine discipline and quiet in a place of worship? Why cannot a certain amount of soft strictness be enforced so that people learn to push aside their hard fiery nature and meekly follow a line of worship? A stampede is only waiting to happen in such places. I believe any hustle-bustle in a sacred place is simply unacceptable!  The roads, streets and paths leading to the Temple are so badly maintained and filthy that it lowers the aura of the great Golden Temple. Is not cleanliness next to Godliness? 

The next day I fired early into Jallianwalah Bagh only to be greeted by the ‘It-happens-only-in-India-Citizen neatly sprawled – asleep on the memorial benches, that too, so early in the morning! Did the martyrs sacrifice their lives for such freedom? Will someone wake-up please?