A Gilded Memory.

by Ann Mary Thomas (India)

I didn't expect to find India

A gilded memory. It was starting to get chilly, despite the warm but comfortable crowd of people around me. Most of the shops were still open selling lassi (a sweet yoghurt drink) and woollens. Amritsar was almost like a refuge and had already fed my soul. I trudged alongside the tiled pathway leading to the Temple, glad that I made it till here. The atmosphere was filled with holy reverence and and people tread around like each step was a prayer. My guide, Mukund got into his job and started talking about the history of the Temple, how it had four entrances to welcome people from all four corners of the world. I took in everything silently as my mind tried to comprehend the fact that this sort of chaotic calm was in fact created by man. The people around were a mix from all over, with tourists and locals, except, the way they carried themselves were the same- with a divine obligation. There were people selling all sorts of oddities from tiny toy torches which could be thrown up in the air to globes that lit up when spun around. The shops mostly sold artifacts specific to the region, like juttis or flat shoes and printed shawls and salwars. We reached a place where shoes had to be taken off and was given for safekeeping in baskets with token numbers. A couple of stairs and a long turn later, we reached the body of water surrounding the Golden Temple. Amidst the mild rush and sounds of prayer recitals, it faintly registered in my mind that to think anything else at this moment would almost be a sin. The marbled pathway ended near the water bank and the Temple lay out in front of us, a structure of white and gold, with an aura so divine, it made the prayers tangible. I stood by myself for a minute, not knowing what to think. How could it be so simple? A man with a saffron colored headscarf, which contrasted with the dark stubble on his face comes up to me and invites me to the langar. The langar was a free meal service which was a tradition of the Temple. One could go to serve or eat the meal, both of which were considered as acts of worship. I look around for Mukund and spot him a couple feet away with an elderly couple. ‘Is important you have it,’ he said in broken English, heavily masked by an accent unknown to me. I replied that I did not have much time and had to head back to the University where I was staying. He looked adamant but mellowed when he realized I was telling the truth. ‘You come before? Or is first time?’ he enquired. I answered that was my first time, and I had a guide with me. ‘Good, without guide too difficult,’. I asked where he was from and he replied that he was Dutch. ‘Dutch?’ You came all the way from Netherlands?’. He was impressed by my being so surprised, and explained in his Dutch-infused English, that he used to be a teacher in a small town back in Netherlands. But when he found out that he was missing something in his life, he quit his job, and had come to India for a retreat. I smile when he says ‘I love India, is like God is here. I don’t go back ever.’ From the corner of my eye, I see Mukund walking up to me and I sense its time to leave. I shake hands with the young man, and he clasps my hand with both of his, looks me in the eye and says, ‘You have something in you, never lose it.’ I stare at him and mumble a goodbye, and strangely, even though I do not understand the prayer recitals or the chants going on around me, I understand what he meant.