Oy Punjabi!

I just got back to Delhi from a trip to Punjab – my first trip to Punjab - Chandigarh and Jalandhar, to be precise. And I thought my semi-adventures were worth writing about, so I started this blog. Hopefully more will follow, at reasonably regular intervals. I went to New Delhi Railway Station on Monday morning to get a ticket for that evening’s Shatabdi Express to Chandigarh. After a short wait at a reservation counter that happened to be for current booking ‘from 2 hours to 5 minutes before the departure of the train’, I was directed to the main reservation area, followed by a fellow traveller who had had the same query as me and was therefore directed to follow me. I WAS wondering actually, how on earth a city like New Delhi, the country’s capital and second-largest populated city after Mumbai, had hardly any crowd in the reservation area. Why, I’d seen bigger queues at Madras and Coimbatore!! My surprise, of course, turned out to be short-lived because at the main reservation area there were enough people to make up for the earlier anti-climax. It was an air-conditioned hall and people were standing in orderly lines. Being a female (which has its advantages, especially in a country like India), I got to stand in the much shorter ladies queue, and was (of course) ‘requested’ by that ‘fellow traveller’ to book his ticket as well. Apparently if he waited his time out in the queue, he wouldn’t have got any tickets for his train that evening. Being the soft-hearted fool that I am, I agreed to help him out. In a few minutes, an argument erupted at the next counter between a man and the reservations clerk. It was settled soon enough. Another thing that never ceases to amuse me in railway station queues is people walking right up to the front of the line without waiting for their turn and doing a horrible job of acting like they had no idea they were supposed to wait! Tickets in order, I handed the chappie his, took mine and went on my way. The journey was very comfortable and we were well looked after with a regular supply of food and drink. Its no wonder that that particular train had a regular clientele. Of course, your usual few foreign tourists were also on it, on their way to (where else) but Shimla (the train went up to Kalka). Chandigarh is India’s only wholly planned city and a refreshing change from other parts of the country, as far as orderliness is concerned. The thought that popped into my mind as I went around was why all cities in India couldn’t be this planned. I answered the question myself – I suppose then India would no longer be India. Where would the hawkers go, or the bullock carts that clop along at the speed of one kilometre an hour or the cows that settle comfortably in the middle of the road as cars whiz past them?!! Places of tourist attraction in Chandigarh include the Rock Garden and the city’s main lake. I ventured to the Rock Garden, which is a veritable maze of charming little figurines made of stones and rocks of all kinds, but also ceramic and glass pieces of many colours. I didn’t have any preconceived image in my head of what it would be like, but it was quite a treat for the first-time visitor. Except that at various points I wondered if it would ever end – it just led from one cave to another gallery to another path which would lead to another cave….. There were also a waterfall or two, charming bridges, any number of places to rest your rapidly-tiring legs, and a number of nooks and crannies where I chanced upon more than just one love-struck couple sitting quietly or chattering animatedly. The walk culminated in a large open courtyard, with swings hanging from old arches, lined by a gallery with mirrors. If you took the long way back to the exit, you would have to walk through a few more galleries of rock-men, by the way!! A piece of advice for girls who want to venture there alone: try to avoid it unless you can find someone to go with you, and if you absolutely must go alone, stick to families walking in groups. I took the state government Punjab Roadways bus to my next stop, Jalandhar. To those who haven’t been on one before, a word of advice: take along a cushion to sit on, or be prepared to be bounced along like a stone in a glass jar. Jalandhar is a typical Punjabi city, with none of the peace and discipline that is Chandigarh. One of the most interesting places to visit here is Haveli, an eatery a few miles outside the main city, which according to my guide makes a profit of Rs.1 crore a month and has Ghulam Nabi Azad as a stakeholder. I was very skeptical about the authenticity of the information but in retrospect I think its actually quite possible! The place has a permanent crowd of at least 60 cars in its parking lot and is open 24 hours, something that is made possible by having politicians as a stakeholder, is what I was told ;-) Haveli has been constructed like a typical Punjabi village. The story goes that the owner wanted authentic bricks which were hundreds of years old to build the place, and he said he would pay villagers enough to buy a new house if they would trade him the bricks used to construct their ancient houses. Whatever it is, the effect is beautiful. Realistic-looking statues of Punjabi men and women in traditional dress doing day-to-day activities were placed here and there, and I often couldn’t make out which were the statues and which were visitors! The food was typical of the state – home-made white butter with lots of small round naans, parathas and rotis and yummy vegetarian curries like paneer makhani and dal. The waiters are dressed Punjabi-style and insist on feeding you till you feel like a balloon about to burst (but a very satisfied balloon, might I add!!). I also took it upon myself to trace a childhood friend of mine for whom I had a five-year-old address in Jalandhar. When I went to that address, I discovered, as all the heroes and heroines in Hindi movies do, that the family I was looking for no longer lived there. But I had the sense to check with the petty-shop owner just opposite (thank God for India and its sense of neighbourliness, quite different from countries like the UK or the US where days go by without even knowing if your neighbours are at home or not), and he was able to direct me to an address in the next colony, where I had a very joyful reunion with my friend’s family. My friend had got married and moved to Jamshedpur earlier this year, but it was nice to catch up with people I had known so long ago, nevertheless. The early-morning train back to Delhi saw me sleep through most of the journey. As we approached New Delhi Railway Station, we passed by huge groups of poor people living right next to the railway tracks. From a lady sitting on a mat with her baby playing right near the passing train, to a group of men having a game of cards, the sights were unsettling to the human mind. At one point, I saw what looked like a massive garbage dump, with kids in tattered clothes and slipperless feet picking out plastic from mounds of waste as others played cricket in an abandoned station. I recalled an article I read which spoke about how the Shatabdi Express, the train I was in, pampered its moneyed travellers while the poor who travelled in sleeper-class in other trains had to put up with more than just extreme discomfort and unsanitary conditions. I got down from the train as it stopped at the station and walked into the sunlight.