A leaf from History .....

I quickened my pace as the golden dome of the great Gurudwara came into view, glittering in the late afternoon sun. I weaved my way through the crowded lanes, skirting the pedestrians, cyclists and tongas with practiced ease. The city was more crowded than usual, bustling with people who had come to take part in the annual Baisakhi mela. The air was festive, the excitement palpable.

But my mind was not on the festivities. We had nothing to celebrate I felt. Punjab was burning. The last few days had seen violent protests after a few revolutionaries were arrested. The government had retaliated by making mass arrests and  prohibiting all gatherings. Now the city lay quiet, but beneath that thin veneer of forced calm, revolt simmered.
In a flagrant defiance of our rulers, the local leaders had called for a protest gathering in an empty ground near the Gurudwara. That is where I was headed.

The speeches had started by the time I reached the place.  It took me some time to get in through the narrow cramped entrance. Once inside, I realized that the ground was actually quite huge, the size of a small football field.  But in spite of its size I felt claustrophobic, may be because it was hemmed in all sides by houses and was packed with people. Most of them were local shopkeepers and traders, who had closed their shops early to come here. I could see a lot of students – they were the most enthusiastic, shouting slogans along with the speaker. There were also many outsiders from the surrounding villages. Farmers mostly, with their sun blackened faces and colorful turbans, out to enjoy the Mela after months of back breaking toil in their fields. The windows of the surrounding houses were framed with people, mostly women who did not or I suppose were not allowed to come down to hear the speeches. People stood on rooftops and I envied them standing there on wide open spaces while I stood here in the heat and dust, being jostled by the crowds.
I joined some students cheering lustily. But after some time I realized I could barely hear the speakers. Still, I was reluctant to leave the place as it was closest to the entrance and I wanted to leave quickly once the meeting was over. I was not looking forward to getting stuck in that cramped space with so many people trying to go out together.Then the man in front of me hoisted his small child up on his shoulders, blocking my view further. Giving up, I threaded my way to the other side where the crowd was thinner. Although now I only had a side view of the speakers I could hear them clearly. Durga Das, editor of the  newspaper ‘Waqt’, was speaking. He was a great orator and I listened spellbound, all discomfort forgotten.

I heard the sound of the soldiers’ boots on the brick ground even before I saw them. They marched in and stood just inside the entrance staring straight ahead as if waiting for a command from the man standing next to them. I felt a little uneasy but not unduly concerned. As usual they would fire in the air to disperse the crowd or lathi charge us. A few lathis on the back was a small price to pay for in our fight for freedom. 

We all stood there - peasants, students, traders, children and women all united in our defiance.

Then in the blink of an eye all hell broke loose.

The first thing I heard was something that sounded like the crack of thunder. Then I heard screams and realized that the soldiers were firing at us. For a few seconds I stood rooted in dazed disbelief and then I ran towards the nearest exit only to realize that it was already crammed with people trying to get out. The only other way out was to jump over one of the boundary walls and I ran blindly towards the nearest one. Frenzied, panicked People ran helter skelter, desperately trying to find an exit out of that closed space. The air was filled with the cacophony of rifle shots, screams and of bullet hitting flesh and walls. Somehow I expected the soldiers to stop firing once the crowd had dispersed, but they fired nonstop and methodically, aiming at the spots densest with people. Even as I ran, I could see people jerk and fall, limp as rag dolls as the bullets hit them. Through the corner of my eyes, I saw some women fall into the well that was near the speaker’s podium. I was not sure if they got pushed in due to the stampede or if they jumped in to escape the bullets.

I reached the boundary wall and tried to make my way up. People were clambering over each other to climb over it. A man next to me was trying to push his wife up but she kept sliding back. I felt bullets ricochet next to me in the wall as I desperately scrambled to find a foothold in the bricks. Finally I managed to climb over and without a second thought, jumped to the other side.  

I ran mindlessly, stopping only when I was out of breath. Panting, I looked down at my feet and realized I had lost my shoes somewhere and my hands and feet were bleeding and raw. My eyes widened in shock as I saw the blood splattered on my clothes. It was a few moments before I realized that it was not my own.

 I started running again, dashing through the now deserted lanes, staying in the shadow of the houses and stopping only once I had reached the safety of my rooms.

By nightfall the city resembled a ghost town. A curfew was imposed with shoot at sight orders. None of us would have dared to venture out anyways. Because of the curfew, the injured couldn’t reach the hospital and the relatives of the dead couldn’t come to claim the bodies. For days, the air reeked with the stench of human flesh and vultures circled overhead.

Behind closed doors all of Amritsar mourned silently, while the Gods in their Golden Temple remained a mute spectator to the horror that would later be known as ‘The Massacre of Jallianwallah Bagh’.

Note:

This is a true story. My grandfather was at Jallianwallah bagh that day, and he actually lived to tell the tale. He was 19, a student in Amritsar and fired up by patriotism just like any other youth of that time.
He recounted the incident to us many times and I have tried my best to reproduce it here as he told it.I had always wanted to visit Jallianwallah Bagh with him but couldn’t do so before he passed away. He took my mother and her sisters there though, and showed them where he stood and the wall he jumped over to escape.
The fact that he changed his position a few minutes before General Dyer and his troops entered the complex and opened fire was instrumental in saving his life. For had he stood where he was, he would have been among the first to be killed.

The space within

Another challenge from Corinne of Everyday Gyan.

‘Write exactly a 100 words on the prompt and publish it on your blog – a story, a poem, a mini-essay’.The prompt for this week was “sacred spaces”

 Most of us consider sacred space to be something physical. Something with natural beauty or spiritual significance.

For me, Sacred Space has no physical presence. It is something within us. A place where we retreat to discover our true selves; beyond ego, desires, anger and jealousy. A space we must nurture through contemplation and positive thoughts. 

 However adverse our outer circumstances might be, we can find tranquility, bliss and immense mental strength by simply withdrawing into this inner space. We do not need to look outside for answers. All answers lie within.

 Create your own sacred space, create your own Happiness.

Book Review - Peep Peep Don't Sleep

I haven’t reviewed a book for a long time so when I got an offer to review Ajay Jain’s book I jumped at the opportunity. Which self respecting travel Junkie would say to no to reviewing a travelogue ! 

Well not exactly a travelogue. You can’t really call "Peep Peep Don’t Sleep" a travelogue per se. It’s a very interesting book by Ajay Jain that is basically a compilation of amusing road signs that Ajay clicked during his travels. As most of us know, Ajay Jain is a full time writer, professional blogger and photographer. He is also founder of the fabulous travel café Kunzum. 

Ajay travelled by road for over 10,000 kms, mostly in the mountains and most of the road signs he clicked and compiled into this book have been put up by the BRO(Border Roads Organization).

While travelling through the mountains, the journey is never boring because the scenic beauty around us is always enthralling be it the rugged mountains of Ladakh or the lush greenery of Himachal. 

But what make the journey even more interesting are the road signs by BRO. You cant really miss the road signs put up by them if you have travelled in areas adjoining the Pakistan, China or Nepal border. I can vouch for the fact that the BRO road signs are a sight worth looking out for !

The BRO men don’t believe in putting up just simple boring road signs. Instead their road signs are witty and quirky. I like to think that the BRO men are a creative lot who are stuck high in the mountains and the only way they get to unleash their creativity is through the road signs they put up.Their road signs combine humour, caution, wisdom and philosophy all in to one !

Ajay’s collection is vast and fascinating.Here are a few samples from the book.

It seems the BRO authorities are actually wagging a finger of admonishment signs such as 

  

or something like 

 The BRO also tries to be witty with signs such as [Go Slow on my curves] and [darling I like you but no so fast]. 

The English may be funny at times but they do manage to get the point across!

They also get philosophical and give you advice on how to live your life well.

They are also quite proud of their achievements and rightly so.And they show it through such road signs:

A lot of people don’t pay attention to things like road signs while they travel. They concentrate on the scenery, click a few photographs of the nature around them and zoom off to the next destination. 

That is what makes Ajay's book so different. He looks at travel from a vastly different angle and perspective, and manages to capture something most of us would have missed.
This book is a must buy for all the quirky travellers out there !

(All images have been taken from the website Peep Peep Dont Sleep.

A prompt and a Nudge !

I haven’t really posted anything worthwhile for some time now and Corinne from Everyday Gyan has been quite concerned about this writer’s block that just refuses to go away!  

Actually what I needed was a kick on my butt asking me to stop procrastinating and to just get on with the blogging but Corinne being Corinne she thought of a far better way. She put up a writing challenge on her blog and promptly tagged me on it!

The Writing Prompt says:

Grab the 7th book from your bookshelf. Open it up to page 7. Pinpoint the 7th sentence on the page. Begin a poem that begins with that sentence and limit it in length to 7 lines.

She then very good naturedly kept dismissing all my excuses about how  I simply cant write poetry and how I am too tied up at work to pen poems.

The seventh book in my book shelf was “The Book of Humour” By Ruskin Bond. And the 7^th sentence on the 7^th page was “How can you tell she is married?” 

And here is my humble attempt:

How can you tell

What the world holds
What adventures lie ahead
Unless you dare to step
Into the unknown
And take the road
You have never travelled before.

And to offset this very bad poetry, here is a picture of the road leading up to the Niagara vineyards that I took about a year back ! 

New Beginnings

"Thank God for New Beginnings. A new year, A new month and after every 24 hours a new day, with the sun rising over a new world."                                       
                                                   - George De Horne Vaizey

And on this New Years Day, an earnest prayer that the New year heralds a New Beginning for our country and the dawn of a safer and much more Humane Society.