Aisa Desh Hai Mera...

Already dueling with the hot sweltering heat, I let out a cry when a rough hand caught my arm and pushed me to the side. As the freshly dug scratches turned a darker shade of red, I looked up angrily to watch a plump lady dressed in black proudly beckoning her kin to the front of the line. To the spot she had now claimed to be hers in the unruly 'queue' that had formed, waiting for the gates to open.

Cursing under my breath, I glared at the woman from behind my sun glasses but to no avail. She had long forgotten me. There was not much to expect from a woman who wore all black on a hot summer day, I told myself, shifting my gaze to the rusty lock that adorned the still shut gate.

As I watched the Jawan fiddle with the key, I found myself moving forward, pushed and jostled towards the gate even before it had opened. I braced myself, waiting for the inevitable crash into the wrought iron that stood tall in front of me, but the heavens took mercy and the gates flew open just as the crowd started to topple over.

They were running all around as if the world had been set on fire. Maybe it had, I might have failed to see. So I joined the maddening crowd, letting out a triumphant glee each time I overtook and got nearer to the security check kiosk. A frivolous check and a few more huffs and puffs later, we were seated in the gallery, glad to have found almost 'front row' seats to watch the ceremony. 

Happy and elated I sat there, perched on my step, eagerly looking forward to what would be store next. The imagery had already started to form in my mind; the crisp and smart looking Jawans steadily marching towards the border holding their heads up with our national flag soaring high. The feeling of patriotism was overflowing in my mind and heart, wetting the eye every now and then.

The lady who stamped my hand and stood in my face

As I reveled in the moment, I felt a knee sharply jab into my back and that of my niece’s almost pushing us off our painfully attained seats. I turned around to find young girls perching on their knees in the middle of those seated, doing their best to knee us out. The unruliness could have been ignored had it not been aimed at an innocent seven year old.

Politely, I asked them to stop only to be told “ladka to nahi hoon na jo tumhe chhed raha hai, chup chaap aage dekho” (I am not a boy molesting you, keep quiet and look ahead). With sheer disbelief we stared at the young girl who seemed to be a part of a college group. She glared at us and the little one before clawing her way through to the front to demonstrate her pelvic calisthenics on the patriotic songs that were playing. For us the songs were an expression of patriotism, for her and many like her, it was a mean to gyrate their bodies to. Disgusted, we did our best to ignore the pushes and the shoves and waited impatiently for the ceremony to start.

It finally did, but with it, the animal behaviour we had already got a glimpse of dipped to another low. Women of all age, heights and weights, descended upon those seated and roughed their way forward. A perfectly sensible looking lady stamped over my hand before positioning herself right in my face to enjoy her view of the ceremony. That she had hijacked someone else’s was a matter that didn't matter. She was not alone, despite multiple requests to maintain decorum, each and everyone ignored. They had all grown paws and claws within minutes.

Frustrated, we tried out best to peek through the sticky arms and backs that seemed plastered to our faces and bodies. Despite being that close, we were way too far. Taking our minds off the brutishness we saw in front of us, we sat down amidst the sea of legs that seemed to think stamping every soul was their given birthright.

The 'On-Demand' Toilet

This was the end, I told myself. It would soon be over and we would be headed out; away from the brashness of this crowd. I had just about begun to believe myself when I had a trickling sound right in front of me. A young boy stood inches ahead on the step below us, relieving himself amid all the rowdiness that surrounded him. With my mouth wide open, I looked beyond him to see his mother smiling away, encouraging him to create his own on-demand toilet. Instantly I looked down at my niece, not knowing how to react at the stunned yet confused look she had plastered all over her face. Hearing a squashing sound I turned around but couldn't locate where it had come from. Was it a bottle or was it a piece of that little girl’s innocence I wondered.

The bugles had stopped and the flags had been lowered. The ‘ladies’ were finally settling down. Some on the surface that had been wetted just minutes before. I started to stop them but then thought the better off it. Probably a bit of them had rubbed on to me.

Finally the retreating ceremony came to an end. Once in a life time experience it was, just as everyone had said it would be. I had gone there hoping to celebrate patriotism but instead saw its entire paradigm being shattered right in front of my eyes. While on one hand I was filled with pride watching women Jawans who protect our borders, on the other I had seen my own kind squelching that very feeling with their terrifying mindsets and mindless encouragement to children to do the wrong thing.

That evening we drowned the voice across the border with our show of 'patriotism'. We must have seemed to stand united in our neighbour’s eyes, only we know how intolerant we were among ourselves.

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This post is a narration of my experience of the retreating ceremony at the Wagah border in April 2014.