On the Wagah Border
We sped fast to cover the 30 kms distance from Amritsar to the Wagah border. The cab driver told us that we need to take our place by 4 P.M. to be able to see the Retreat ceremony. Though we made it in time, yet the vantage positions were already occupied. This we realised after the details of the area sinked in. There was a huge gate on the Indian side with a camera crew on top to shoot the ceremony. The sides of the road looked like a stadium with all the steps filled up with people who had thronged to catch a glimpse. I decided to stand in the middle of the road, along the barricade of a thick rope but he BSF sentry would shove me repeatedly asking me to move. Patriotic songs blared at full volume from huge speakers installed on the top of BSF unit’s quarters and an athletic jawan goaded the crowd to cheer and raise the slogans loud enough to reach the other side. For the Pakistani gate, with a photograph of Jinnah visible from a distance of 500-odd meters that separated us, also had hundreds of people seated in a similar fashion trying to drown the Indians by using their lung-power. Hindustan Zindabad met with a piercing sound of Pakistan Paindabad. Some small children on our side tried to outsmart the other side by shouting murdabad as soon as Pakistan was heard over their amplifiers but the BSF jawans dissuaded them from shouting any slogans other than those in praise of India. As seconds turned into minutes and minutes into quarters, the restless crowd was fed with new slogans like “Vande Matram”. There was hostility in the air as BSF jawans and Pakistani Rangers at a distance tried to stamp life out of roads beneath by raising their knees almost to their chests and stamping the earth harshly. Then the unexpected happened. All of us were pushed to one side. When we looked back, we saw the Lahore-Delhi-Lahore bus moving slowly towards the borders as the two gates on Indian and Pakistani sides were opened to enable it cross over. The passengers peeped out and waved and captured the excitement outside on cameras. The crowd of curious onlookers waved back trying unsuccessfully to figure out their nationality. Not an easy job since Indians and Pakistanis look so much alike. Once the bus was gone, the crowds were back to their old game.
As the Sun dipped over the Pakistani horizon, it took a lot of heat away from the proceedings. The BSF jawan explained the contours of the ceremony and asked the crowd to stand up silently. The command into the microphone was the longest one ever heard over the years. The soldiers marched into each other’s territory briefly and began lowering the flags of the two nations by pulling the strings diagonally. There was aloud cheer as the two flags overlapped half way through and the vendors tried to encash the sentiment by offering CDs of the film Border vigorously. The soldiers embraced before the gates were closed in the twilight. The new day would bring new faces to the borders on both the sides and the love-hate relationship between the two neighbours would be demonstrated again. As I turned back, passing by the custom and immigration offices, I could not suppress a thought. If thousands of people throng the border on both the sides just to see a ceremony, how many must be keen to cross over and meet the people of the other side-only if the politicians and police would let them go over!
India-Pakistan relations are held hostage by them. There was a terse reminder of the same as people looked at a double fencing on both sides of the border. What is this passage for? I enquired from an armed guard. What you just saw was only a gate. This is actually the border. The double fence with flood lights is to prevent infiltration from the Pakistani side. The embraces disappeared from my mind and cross-border filled the vacuous space.
***
We sped fast to cover the 30 kms distance from Amritsar to the Wagah border. The cab driver told us that we need to take our place by 4 P.M. to be able to see the Retreat ceremony. Though we made it in time, yet the vantage positions were already occupied. This we realised after the details of the area sinked in. There was a huge gate on the Indian side with a camera crew on top to shoot the ceremony. The sides of the road looked like a stadium with all the steps filled up with people who had thronged to catch a glimpse. I decided to stand in the middle of the road, along the barricade of a thick rope but he BSF sentry would shove me repeatedly asking me to move. Patriotic songs blared at full volume from huge speakers installed on the top of BSF unit’s quarters and an athletic jawan goaded the crowd to cheer and raise the slogans loud enough to reach the other side. For the Pakistani gate, with a photograph of Jinnah visible from a distance of 500-odd meters that separated us, also had hundreds of people seated in a similar fashion trying to drown the Indians by using their lung-power. Hindustan Zindabad met with a piercing sound of Pakistan Paindabad. Some small children on our side tried to outsmart the other side by shouting murdabad as soon as Pakistan was heard over their amplifiers but the BSF jawans dissuaded them from shouting any slogans other than those in praise of India. As seconds turned into minutes and minutes into quarters, the restless crowd was fed with new slogans like “Vande Matram”. There was hostility in the air as BSF jawans and Pakistani Rangers at a distance tried to stamp life out of roads beneath by raising their knees almost to their chests and stamping the earth harshly. Then the unexpected happened. All of us were pushed to one side. When we looked back, we saw the Lahore-Delhi-Lahore bus moving slowly towards the borders as the two gates on Indian and Pakistani sides were opened to enable it cross over. The passengers peeped out and waved and captured the excitement outside on cameras. The crowd of curious onlookers waved back trying unsuccessfully to figure out their nationality. Not an easy job since Indians and Pakistanis look so much alike. Once the bus was gone, the crowds were back to their old game.
As the Sun dipped over the Pakistani horizon, it took a lot of heat away from the proceedings. The BSF jawan explained the contours of the ceremony and asked the crowd to stand up silently. The command into the microphone was the longest one ever heard over the years. The soldiers marched into each other’s territory briefly and began lowering the flags of the two nations by pulling the strings diagonally. There was aloud cheer as the two flags overlapped half way through and the vendors tried to encash the sentiment by offering CDs of the film Border vigorously. The soldiers embraced before the gates were closed in the twilight. The new day would bring new faces to the borders on both the sides and the love-hate relationship between the two neighbours would be demonstrated again. As I turned back, passing by the custom and immigration offices, I could not suppress a thought. If thousands of people throng the border on both the sides just to see a ceremony, how many must be keen to cross over and meet the people of the other side-only if the politicians and police would let them go over!
India-Pakistan relations are held hostage by them. There was a terse reminder of the same as people looked at a double fencing on both sides of the border. What is this passage for? I enquired from an armed guard. What you just saw was only a gate. This is actually the border. The double fence with flood lights is to prevent infiltration from the Pakistani side. The embraces disappeared from my mind and cross-border filled the vacuous space.
***
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