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Mahatma Gandhi is smiling. The bespectacled father of Indian independence shines in a multi-layered arena. The December sun, under a clear blue sky, enhances the power of the image. The banner below reads: “India’s first line of defence.”
great city of Amritsar in India and Lahore The distance in Pakistan is only 30 miles. They are linked by the Grand Trunk Road, the “Main Street” of Asia – but painfully divided by geopolitics.
With the combined population approaching 15 million, Limit The Wagah crossing here, which is about halfway between the two, must be the busiest in the world. Instead, one of the world’s great frontiers has been given over to pure theatre.
In the center of Amritsar stands one of the glories of the planet: the Golden Temple, shimmering in a pool of the nectar of immortality. Sikhism’s holiest site rivals the Taj Mahal as India’s finest building. Once the visitor has been dazzled by the ornate architecture, delighted by the continuous sacred music and fed by the donations of the Sikh community, the next attraction awaits: a sightseeing tour to the border ceremony.
It’s 3pm, and a Punjab government open-top bus (a cost of £3) has just ferried me and a few dozen Indian tourists to the border. We are dropped off at an airfield-sized car park, and walk past “India’s first and last restaurant”, the Shahi Qila.
Like any frontier, supporting industries have emerged. Hand or face painting in Indian colors of green, white and saffron is available for 40 rupees (35p) once you get off the bus; Souvenir vendors sell patriotic baseball caps and flags. Your neck stretches up to take in the huge flagpoles, one on either side.
Many more people arrive in cars and minibuses, and head towards the border as if they are cricket or football fans. Security is tight: everyone needs their passport, and goes through airport-style security checks. In 2014, a suicide bombing on the Pakistani side killed dozens of people. Anyone carrying a power bank is sent to keep it with the left luggage.
Where once travelers would follow Border Security Force (BSF) signs across the border, they now direct visitors to the selfie point.
Moreover, the arena where the geopolitical dance is repeated daily. Imagine a large sports stadium, where in place of a running track or a football pitch there is simply a road. The halfway line is marked by tall metal gates that share DNA with the Berlin Wall. On the other hand, relatively fewer tourists are flocking to the stands to witness the flag-lowering ceremony that has been going on for decades.
Over the years, it has become a bi-national drama – where the main players are highly uniformed officers, and everyone else is extras.
During the warm-up, a line of women take turns running towards the gate with the Indian flag, then running back. Others filter from the stands to the street for family photos – officers are happy to snap them.
As the ceremony approaches, the patriotic music becomes so deafening that it leads to chants of “Tea! Coffee!” Chanting vendors with pots of hot drinks on their backs.
I managed to get a seat close to the gate so that I could see the ceremony on both sides of the border. Rather like some sporting events I have attended, the actual performance is astonishing (my team is Crawley Town FC). It has been described as a celebration of a silly outing, and the cross-cultural reference to Monty Python is appropriate. It is a military parade choreographed for the entertainment of the audience: Strictly Come Prancing.
An elaborate ritual with extravagant gestures is performed by mustachioed officers, with female soldiers in a warm-up role. Everyone looks very well dressed to go to war at any time.
They move through a series of combative ballistic maneuvers – as do their opposite numbers in Pakistani territory, although their performance is somewhat subdued.
Lowering the flag is also silent. These are not huge national symbols hoisted on skyscraper flagpoles, but much smaller flags above gates. At this stage, I am feeling sad: I want the gates to open, the authorities to shake hands, and the traveling public to be allowed across the border and along one of the world’s great arteries. When relations between two great powers are warm enough, all this happens. Presently we get mutual hatred in fancy dress.
Every evening at sunset, it Bollywood The tribute to the Berlin Wall ended in a scoreless draw. Everyone goes away happy, their feeling of national supremacy is strengthened. But at the end of Amritsar’s lively bus tour, it’s nice to return to the real world of Asia: noisy and chaotic but gentle and kind – as, no doubt, Lahore is. But to get there, it would take another long journey to reach the border on the other side.
Simon Calder paid a total of £766 to fly from London Gatwick to Delhi on a combination of Wizz Air and Air India, and Air India also flies from Birmingham to Gatwick from Amritsar. The Punjab Government border bus departs daily at 3pm, costing Rs 375 (£3).
The Foreign Office “advises against any travel within 10 km of the India-Pakistan border”.
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