Indian Independence Day at midnight. I write laying on the semiclean sheeted bed in the “Niagara Falls’ border hotel where Indians come for unmarried sex, only hotel here at the Wagah-Atari border post. The drain in the bathroom floor is clogged by a wad of very thick, pink used condoms.

Just watched the flag lowering ceremony at the actual border line up the road. 1,500 spectators on each side with Indians shouting “Bharat Mata Ji! Jay!” (dear mother India! long live!) and “Hindustan! Zindabad!” (Hinduland! long live!), drowning out the music and similar shouting from the Pakistani side. Intense nationalistic flag waving here with the most nerdy men in the crowd enjoying the power trip of standing up and trying to incite the others in the bleachers. The border guards on both sides have perposteriously pompus outfits and march up aggresively to the border, with a “I’m gonna kick your butt!” tough guy attitude. A bit scary from two nuclear powers.

I am tormented by the fact that only two hours and fifty cents passage away is the Golden Temple of Amritsar (the mecca of the Sikh Religion, you know – those guys with the big Turbans and Beards), such a haven of peace and tranquility and entirely free to stay and eat in ( I am paying almost five dollars for this dive!). There is such a feeling of sweet love and passion there. The small museum inside the temple contains a disturbing set of bloody images and tales of vengeance. It seems that the message the Sikhs like to put out there is “Sikhs are totally trustworthy and honorable, but don’t offend them or their religion, their honor is sacred and will be defended at all costs.”

Many, many stories of people who somehow mistreated or orderd the violation of the sacred temple at Amritsar and were then killed by a Sikh in revenge (Including Indira Ghandi’s assasination by one of her Sikh bodyguards in retaliation for during the late eighties having the Amritsar temple shelled and stormed by the Indian Army in fear that heavy armaments stockpiled inside might be used for a Punjabi independence movement). The half-blown-off faces of brave Sikh warriors in this or that honor battle are propped up, photographed, and displayed in this museum.

The temple sits at the heart of Amritsar, an otherwise unattractive city, and is fantastically maintained, beautiful marble pillared arcades surrounding a deep green pool. At the center of this sacred water sits a small island crowned by the most perfect gold temple where each day the last Sikh guru, Guru Granth Sahib (who is actually a large book containing the teaching of all the previous gurus) is carried out along the long thin bridge, set down in splendor, and serenaded by Sikhs singing lovely devotional music (called ‘Bajans’ with tabla, hamonium, and voice), coming to pay their respects, giving offerings of money and sweet prasad (sacred barleyflour, sugar, and ghee butter oil concoction – so delicious). I was told that the devotional music played all day there is broadcast by several radio stations around the world for Sikh appreciation (including one in Canadian Toronto).

Pilgrims to the temple pay nothing to go inside, can eat a simple meal of flatbread and lentils for free anytime, and can sleep in the guesthouse for no charge. The place is magic as the devotion of Sikhs from around the world come to do their pilgrimage to the Golden Temple of Amritsar pervades. Tall, bearded men, hair never cut, wound into a huge turban, some in robes, others with western clothes, many carrying long swords or knives: the Sikh that follows all of the moral precepts is the ultimate warrior – no drinking, gambling, drugs, infidelity, complete equality of men, all caste distinctions eliminated (no mean feat in India!), and total, total fidelity and duty to the Sikh community above all other allegiances.

The train ride to Amritsar from Dehli was in a fancy three-tier AC train but some bad food I ate before getting on led to an unfortunate night of sweating – cold-causing when combined with strong air con.

It is even steamier in Punjab than Dehli, had no food worth noting here and somehow I don’t think that will take a turn for the better tonight here in this flophouse. I still need to doctor my Pakistani visa (it expired seven months ago in March) – the jury is still out on whether they really do offer the landing visa at the border here or not. The man in the restaurant here says “no” but at the same time he has never seen anybody turned back who tried to cross. I arrived just 20 minutes too late this afternoon to cross the border (I was planning on sleeping on the Pakistani side and seeing the flag ceremony from there). We will see what happens tomorrow…