At this stage I did not realise the significance of this ceremony, I did not know what to expect and I could not have begun to fathom the feeling and emotion that I would encounter. The level of patriotism and the passion and pride on display. I had never experienced anything like this before anywhere in the world.

The ceremony happens every evening, it has been happening since 1959. The Indian Border Security Force (BSF) and the Pakistan Rangers each do a complex routine that includes marching and dancing and as the sun goes down the flags of both countries are lowered. It is meant to be at the same time a symbol of power and rivalry but also a display of cooperation between the two countries.

And of course, another never-ending queue. Even the separate one for foreigners was not much better. I made my way through the throngs of people and once I had entered the complex, I was taken aback by the sheer size of it. It was so grand and overpowering. A real physical depiction of power. It was in a semicircular shape like an open-air auditorium where the border gates were the stage. Rows and rows of seats stretching up high into the sky. And the fact that the stands were already packed with people like sardines was even more intimidating. There were thirty or forty thousand people on the Indian side. 
 
<img alt="Wagah border" data-entity-type="file" data-entity-uuid="686be775-4525-4b4b-948a-f358498e0f25" src="//cdn.wionews.com/sites/default/files/inline-images/Untitled%20design%20%289%29_47.jpg" />

There was music and dancing. There were hundreds of girls and women all dressed in brightly colored outfits who were dancing on the main parade on the road which leads directly to the border. There were dashing men in military uniforms standing to attention lining each side of the street. I walked slowly trying to take in this visual feast, making my way to the section for foreigners which is closest to the border fence on the right-hand side. It was slightly less crowded. Everyone with a camera or phone in their hands while the rest of the stands continued to erupt with music and chanting. It was overwhelming, the energy and excitement was palpable. &nbsp; 
 
<img alt="Wagah border" data-entity-type="file" data-entity-uuid="ea11b1a4-e353-407e-a2d9-9c82b00730c2" src="//cdn.wionews.com/sites/default/files/inline-images/Untitled%20design%20%288%29_54.jpg" />

Once I was settled in my seat facing the festivities I glanced to my right where I was looking toward the border and beyond the fence...Pakistan. What I saw there was in such stark contrast to the happenings on the Indian side.&nbsp;

The structure at the border is a lot smaller, the capacity is probably half the size.

And there were hardly any people there. I could count less than fifty. There were armed men in uniform, the Pakistan Rangers standing guard in the same way as the Indian side along the edge of the same street and the marching band was marching and parading and there was music. But there was only one person dancing. One man, in military uniform, with one leg and holding one flag. And he was spinning around in circles to the beats of the marching band. The contrast between the two countries' celebrations was so stark. I later discovered that it had been a public holiday in Pakistan which is why the crowd was so diminished on that day.

Patriotism exists in any country, for any person and every person. That kind of nationalism is strong, and it gives anyone a reason to sing and stand proud and dance even if we only have one leg, and in this stark difference I saw so clearly that We are the same in our longing for a sense of belonging. 
&nbsp; 
The spectacle of the ceremony really was worthwhile, but I was exhausted and suddenly realised that all of these people would soon be leaving this venue just after sunset. &nbsp;I decided that I would not survive another interminable queue and made the very brave decision to get up and leave just before the mass exodus.

This was brave as there were so many soldiers all standing at attention. No one else was standing. All approximately 80 thousand eyes were focused on the two guards who were slowly folding the flag and then there seemed to be silence as I stood slowly and made my way down the steps that lead to the road and it felt like all of those eyes had shifted focus onto where I so conspicuously made my way along the path, walking past all the soldiers.&nbsp;

A thought suddenly struck me that this might not be the wisest thing to do, make moves towards where the guards were standing to attention and alert and so 'on guard', I tried my best to appear non-threatening and gave a little swoon almost as if I were about to faint, and that, thank goodness seemed to work to dispel any sense that I may be up to anything other than trying to leave the premises. &nbsp;

Once past the guards I made my way to where I knew that Ash was waiting to take me back to my hotel. What a day. &nbsp;

The next morning began with another impossibly early flight back to Delhi and straight to work from the airport, but not before one last run in with the border security forces. Well, that is slightly dramatic, but it definitely could have ended with me calling in late to the studio from an Indian prison.

I got to the airport with only my cabin-sized baggage as this is the only way to travel for a quick weekend soul searching, answer finding get-away. And with my boarding pass in hand made my way through security..... almost. &nbsp;

I was waiting for my bag when I noticed it was pulled to the side for inspection. I knew that I hadn't even packed my mini nail file so was unsure of the reason and waited a little impatiently as the security rescanned my bag. &nbsp;They then called out enquiring who owned the offending bag, I made my way forward claiming it and dreading the embarrassing search of all your possessions, I'm ashamed to say that had been hurriedly and messily packed for my early journey. &nbsp;

The guard watched as I pulled out anything that I thought could be causing the security scanners to light up. &nbsp;After it seemed that I had more or less emptied the contents I pulled out a Sikh sword. Yes, I know now that this is not really something that one should carry onto a flight.

But in my defense, it was simply a memento purchased from a store outside the Golden temple, a gift for my godson, it was a curio, a keepsake, not meant to do any harm. &nbsp;All of this I tried to explain to a fierce and serious-looking female border guard. &nbsp;

After all the pleading and persuading nothing worked but she said she would allow me to check in my luggage. &nbsp;This seemed the only option if I wanted to bring home a little piece of Amritsar for Joshy. So, I made my way back to the check-in counter but during my unsuccessful negotiations with GI Jane another long queue had formed, it was the sword or my job. &nbsp;

I went back through security, with the same boarding pass and the same sword, GI Jane was not happy, even when I explained that I was willing to surrender my sword, she told me I now needed a new boarding pass, with the time pressure this is something I could not do. &nbsp;&nbsp;

I started getting really worked up, as I was feeling the pressure of time and the thought of missing my flight and began letting my impatience come through in my slightly raised voice, and then, thank goodness, that same strange new sense of calm prevailed, and allowed me to see so clearly the mistake I was making here. I stopped and gave this border security guard a big smile and apologised and thank goodness the sudden shift in my behavior seemed to totally disarm her. She returned my smile, and the ice was broken. We came to a quick compromise, she kept Joshy's sword and let me pass with the nearly destroyed boarding pass, a “namaste” and a friendly pat on the back.&nbsp;

I was so relieved to not be pulled into the dreaded side room, and to find myself safely on the plane, armed only with the new lessons I had learned from this adventure, patience is something that needs work but it is so worthwhile, a plan can be made if you keep a level head a little trust and have belief in the ultimate goodness of people, and a smile really does go a long way.

(Disclaimer: The views of the writer do not represent the views of WION or ZMCL. Nor does WION or ZMCL endorse the views of the writer.)

At this stage I did not realise the significance of this ceremony, I did not know what to expect and I could not have begun to fathom the feeling and emotion that I would encounter.

At this stage I did not realise the significance of this ceremony, I did not know what to expect and I could not have begun to fathom the feeling and emotion that I would encounter. The level of patriotism and the passion and pride on display. I had never experienced anything like this before anywhere in the world. The ceremony happens every evening, it has been happening since 1959. The Indian Border Security Force (BSF) and the Pakistan Rangers each do a complex routine that includes marching and dancing and as the sun goes down the flags of both countries are lowered. It is meant to be at the same time a symbol of power and rivalry but also a display of cooperation between the two countries. And of course, another never-ending queue. Even the separate one for foreigners was not much better. I made my way through the throngs of people and once I had entered the complex, I was taken aback by the sheer size of it. It was so grand and overpowering. A real physical depiction of power. It was in a semicircular shape like an open-air auditorium where the border gates were the stage. Rows and rows of seats stretching up high into the sky. And the fact that the stands were already packed with people like sardines was even more intimidating. There were thirty or forty thousand people on the Indian side. There was music and dancing. There were hundreds of girls and women all dressed in brightly colored outfits who were dancing on the main parade on the road which leads directly to the border. There were dashing men in military uniforms standing to attention lining each side of the street. I walked slowly trying to take in this visual feast, making my way to the section for foreigners which is closest to the border fence on the right-hand side. It was slightly less crowded. Everyone with a camera or phone in their hands while the rest of the stands continued to erupt with music and chanting. It was overwhelming, the energy and excitement was palpable. Once I was settled in my seat facing the festivities I glanced to my right where I was looking toward the border and beyond the fence...Pakistan. What I saw there was in such stark contrast to the happenings on the Indian side. The structure at the border is a lot smaller, the capacity is probably half the size. And there were hardly any people there. I could count less than fifty. There were armed men in uniform, the Pakistan Rangers standing guard in the same way as the Indian side along the edge of the same street and the marching band was marching and parading and there was music. But there was only one person dancing. One man, in military uniform, with one leg and holding one flag. And he was spinning around in circles to the beats of the marching band. The contrast between the two countries' celebrations was so stark. I later discovered that it had been a public holiday in Pakistan which is why the crowd was so diminished on that day. Patriotism exists in any country, for any person and every person. That kind of nationalism is strong, and it gives anyone a reason to sing and stand proud and dance even if we only have one leg, and in this stark difference I saw so clearly that We are the same in our longing for a sense of belonging. The spectacle of the ceremony really was worthwhile, but I was exhausted and suddenly realised that all of these people would soon be leaving this venue just after sunset. I decided that I would not survive another interminable queue and made the very brave decision to get up and leave just before the mass exodus. This was brave as there were so many soldiers all standing at attention. No one else was standing. All approximately 80 thousand eyes were focused on the two guards who were slowly folding the flag and then there seemed to be silence as I stood slowly and made my way down the steps that lead to the road and it felt like all of those eyes had shifted focus onto where I so conspicuously made my way along the path, walking past all the soldiers. A thought suddenly struck me that this might not be the wisest thing to do, make moves towards where the guards were standing to attention and alert and so 'on guard', I tried my best to appear non-threatening and gave a little swoon almost as if I were about to faint, and that, thank goodness seemed to work to dispel any sense that I may be up to anything other than trying to leave the premises. Once past the guards I made my way to where I knew that Ash was waiting to take me back to my hotel. What a day. The next morning began with another impossibly early flight back to Delhi and straight to work from the airport, but not before one last run in with the border security forces. Well, that is slightly dramatic, but it definitely could have ended with me calling in late to the studio from an Indian prison. I got to the airport with only my cabin-sized baggage as this is the only way to travel for a quick weekend soul searching, answer finding get-away. And with my boarding pass in hand made my way through security..... almost. I was waiting for my bag when I noticed it was pulled to the side for inspection. I knew that I hadn't even packed my mini nail file so was unsure of the reason and waited a little impatiently as the security rescanned my bag. They then called out enquiring who owned the offending bag, I made my way forward claiming it and dreading the embarrassing search of all your possessions, I'm ashamed to say that had been hurriedly and messily packed for my early journey. The guard watched as I pulled out anything that I thought could be causing the security scanners to light up. After it seemed that I had more or less emptied the contents I pulled out a Sikh sword. Yes, I know now that this is not really something that one should carry onto a flight. But in my defense, it was simply a memento purchased from a store outside the Golden temple, a gift for my godson, it was a curio, a keepsake, not meant to do any harm. All of this I tried to explain to a fierce and serious-looking female border guard. After all the pleading and persuading nothing worked but she said she would allow me to check in my luggage. This seemed the only option if I wanted to bring home a little piece of Amritsar for Joshy. So, I made my way back to the check-in counter but during my unsuccessful negotiations with GI Jane another long queue had formed, it was the sword or my job. I went back through security, with the same boarding pass and the same sword, GI Jane was not happy, even when I explained that I was willing to surrender my sword, she told me I now needed a new boarding pass, with the time pressure this is something I could not do. I started getting really worked up, as I was feeling the pressure of time and the thought of missing my flight and began letting my impatience come through in my slightly raised voice, and then, thank goodness, that same strange new sense of calm prevailed, and allowed me to see so clearly the mistake I was making here. I stopped and gave this border security guard a big smile and apologised and thank goodness the sudden shift in my behavior seemed to totally disarm her. She returned my smile, and the ice was broken. We came to a quick compromise, she kept Joshy's sword and let me pass with the nearly destroyed boarding pass, a “namaste” and a friendly pat on the back. I was so relieved to not be pulled into the dreaded side room, and to find myself safely on the plane, armed only with the new lessons I had learned from this adventure, patience is something that needs work but it is so worthwhile, a plan can be made if you keep a level head a little trust and have belief in the ultimate goodness of people, and a smile really does go a long way. (Disclaimer: The views of the writer do not represent the views of WION or ZMCL. Nor does WION or ZMCL endorse the views of the writer.)

Discovering India with Alyson le Grange: The Beating Retreat at Wagah border

"So, here I am, a young-ish South African woman, living and working in India. &nbsp;As I write this, I have already had so many wonderful, crazy, terrifying, amazing adventures and experiences in this beautiful, soulful, heartbreaking country that's magic has made me love it and hate it sometimes a hundred times in a single day. I want to share some of the moments that have made me cry, cry with laughter, scream, hyperventilate, seriously worry, question my own sanity, love, and live, live to the fullest, where I have felt alive and living like nowhere else. &nbsp;This is India. &nbsp;

The Golden Temple

All I want is answers Universe, so I'm going to travel to one of the most spiritual places on earth to get them! &nbsp;

Unfortunately, as I have discovered, that is not always the way the world works, unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, because as I have also discovered, sometimes the most incredibly beautiful moments that really touch the deepest depths of your heart and soul are the moments in between, the ones you didn't plan, or the ones that accidently happen to you while you are on your way to the plans you have made. &nbsp;And this is how I happened upon a village in the middle of India, the last village before you reach Pakistan, where I met a child of about 9, who did me a kindness that was so unexpected and more generous than some millionaires would do for a strange stranger, that really made me know who I want to be, and how I want to be. &nbsp;This little boy is someone I think of often. 
&nbsp; 
I make my way to the golden temple at around 10am after a long, very early morning journey. &nbsp;I arrive at a lovely hotel, big, impersonal and anonymous, which is nice when one isn't even sure if one knows oneself. &nbsp;Asking those questions about who you are. &nbsp;Which after all is part of the reason for this journey, the answer to those questions, the quest of self-discovery. &nbsp;

Walking through the archway that leads to the magnificent sight that is the Golden Temple. &nbsp;This place is magical. &nbsp;A beautiful architectural marvel that is a blend of Hindu and Islamic architecture.&nbsp;I feel a flutter through my heart, and that small seed of faith that was planted when I made my intentions clear, seems to have begun to sprout.

The next sight I notice is... the crowd. &nbsp;Literally, millions of people have come to this temple through the years, for their spiritual fulfilment, enlightenment, devotion, faith and belief . &nbsp;But I am convinced that most of them are here on this morning. &nbsp;So, my first reaction is, I'm not standing in that queue". &nbsp;So, I sit down on the edge of the water of the Amrit Sarovar, where there are devout men submerging themselves rhythmically in the water and praying. This is considered sacred by the devotees. Before offering prayers in the inner sanctum, they bathe in the holy water of the Sarovar. The Sikhs believe that spiritual possessions can be gained by taking a dip in the holy water of the sacred pool and legends say a dip in the Amrit Sarovar can cure ailments and disorders. &nbsp;I watch without staring, not keeping my eyes on any one worshipper, but the rhythm of the jump jump dip, jump jump dip is calming and the effect on me in the blazing sun with my feet dipped in the edge of the water washes a wave of emotion over me. &nbsp;I start crying, a sort of release of the pent-up frustrations of all the recent challenges. &nbsp;And after a while, I slowly stand up and walk toward the back of the endless queue to walk through the Golden Temple to say a prayer.

Standing in this line with all these bodies all packed so closely along the bridge that leads to the architectural marvel, it is boiling hot, there are fans every few meters that offer a slight relief momentarily when they face your way, but in the sticky uncomfortable mass of bodies there is a feeling of togetherness. &nbsp;We are all people, just trying to explore our faith and maybe find a purpose or a reason or some meaning.

There are the most beautiful acts of service performed here, every person who works at the Golden Temple is a volunteer. &nbsp;And the entire place is run on donations. The langar sewa is the largest free kitchen in the world and serves fifty thousand meals on a daily basis, all provided through donations. &nbsp; &nbsp;There are cups of water distributed through the crowd. &nbsp;A woman faints from heat exhaustion and she is carried ahead to an area of shade and people make way and give her water and fan her to help cool her. &nbsp;Such a feeling of care and solidarity to your fellow human. &nbsp;

After being in line for almost two hours I finally reached the entrance, it really is beautiful and an incredibly holy place, there are prayers being offered and rituals practiced in the center, &nbsp;priests chant from the holy Guru Granth Sahib, while we all walk around and through the temple. &nbsp;Some make signs on their hearts and heads and bow in prayer; others kiss their hands and touch them to the walls and columns. The foundation stone of the Golden Temple was laid by a Sufi saint called Mian Mir and the sacred gurudwara is open to devotees of all faiths, irrespective of religion, caste or creed. &nbsp;The four entrances to the temple symbolize this.

I make my way through this holy sight and say a quiet prayer and as I exit there is a man with what I assume is holy water and everyone puts their hands in and drinks a little, they are then handed some sweet Kara Parshad, I learn this name later. At the time, I don't know what it is, and it is literally being handed to me out of a huge bowl by a man dishing out handfuls straight from his hand. &nbsp;I am in India and have been warned about the water and the cleanliness and hygiene of food, and to be careful where to eat and what to eat. &nbsp;But after my beautiful experience I feel brave, and with another prayer that I will be okay, "Oh well, &nbsp;I think, in for a penny, in for a pound" and dip my hands into the water and take a sip and then accept the sweet offering from the kind old man. &nbsp;Sweet prasad is delicious, it's all I can do not to pull an Oliver Twist and ask for more.

I wander around the temple for a while longer,&nbsp;watching the volunteers going about their duties and the devout praying and finding solace, some of the women minding children who play quietly. &nbsp;The whole place is really magical. I am touched deeply and feel something profound; I feel at peace. A kind of patience and lack of worry and a feeling of belonging.

I leave feeling like I have just had my India moment, almost like my own version of Eat, Pray, Love.

I decide to find myself some lunch and then make my way to the border for the beating retreat ceremony. &nbsp;This I have been told is "Really worthwhile"....".

"So, here I am, a young-ish South African woman, living and working in India. As I write this, I have already had so many wonderful, crazy, terrifying, amazing adventures and experiences in this beautiful, soulful, heartbreaking country that's magic has made me love it and hate it sometimes a hundred times in a single day.

"So, here I am, a young-ish South African woman, living and working in India. As I write this, I have already had so many wonderful, crazy, terrifying, amazing adventures and experiences in this beautiful, soulful, heartbreaking country that's magic has made me love it and hate it sometimes a hundred times in a single day. I want to share some of the moments that have made me cry, cry with laughter, scream, hyperventilate, seriously worry, question my own sanity, love, and live, live to the fullest, where I have felt alive and living like nowhere else. This is India. The Golden Temple All I want is answers Universe, so I'm going to travel to one of the most spiritual places on earth to get them! Unfortunately, as I have discovered, that is not always the way the world works, unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, because as I have also discovered, sometimes the most incredibly beautiful moments that really touch the deepest depths of your heart and soul are the moments in between, the ones you didn't plan, or the ones that accidently happen to you while you are on your way to the plans you have made. And this is how I happened upon a village in the middle of India, the last village before you reach Pakistan, where I met a child of about 9, who did me a kindness that was so unexpected and more generous than some millionaires would do for a strange stranger, that really made me know who I want to be, and how I want to be. This little boy is someone I think of often. I make my way to the golden temple at around 10am after a long, very early morning journey. I arrive at a lovely hotel, big, impersonal and anonymous, which is nice when one isn't even sure if one knows oneself. Asking those questions about who you are. Which after all is part of the reason for this journey, the answer to those questions, the quest of self-discovery. Walking through the archway that leads to the magnificent sight that is the Golden Temple. This place is magical. A beautiful architectural marvel that is a blend of Hindu and Islamic architecture. I feel a flutter through my heart, and that small seed of faith that was planted when I made my intentions clear, seems to have begun to sprout. The next sight I notice is... the crowd. Literally, millions of people have come to this temple through the years, for their spiritual fulfilment, enlightenment, devotion, faith and belief . But I am convinced that most of them are here on this morning. So, my first reaction is, I'm not standing in that queue". So, I sit down on the edge of the water of the Amrit Sarovar, where there are devout men submerging themselves rhythmically in the water and praying. This is considered sacred by the devotees. Before offering prayers in the inner sanctum, they bathe in the holy water of the Sarovar. The Sikhs believe that spiritual possessions can be gained by taking a dip in the holy water of the sacred pool and legends say a dip in the Amrit Sarovar can cure ailments and disorders. I watch without staring, not keeping my eyes on any one worshipper, but the rhythm of the jump jump dip, jump jump dip is calming and the effect on me in the blazing sun with my feet dipped in the edge of the water washes a wave of emotion over me. I start crying, a sort of release of the pent-up frustrations of all the recent challenges. And after a while, I slowly stand up and walk toward the back of the endless queue to walk through the Golden Temple to say a prayer. Standing in this line with all these bodies all packed so closely along the bridge that leads to the architectural marvel, it is boiling hot, there are fans every few meters that offer a slight relief momentarily when they face your way, but in the sticky uncomfortable mass of bodies there is a feeling of togetherness. We are all people, just trying to explore our faith and maybe find a purpose or a reason or some meaning. There are the most beautiful acts of service performed here, every person who works at the Golden Temple is a volunteer. And the entire place is run on donations. The langar sewa is the largest free kitchen in the world and serves fifty thousand meals on a daily basis, all provided through donations. There are cups of water distributed through the crowd. A woman faints from heat exhaustion and she is carried ahead to an area of shade and people make way and give her water and fan her to help cool her. Such a feeling of care and solidarity to your fellow human. After being in line for almost two hours I finally reached the entrance, it really is beautiful and an incredibly holy place, there are prayers being offered and rituals practiced in the center, priests chant from the holy Guru Granth Sahib, while we all walk around and through the temple. Some make signs on their hearts and heads and bow in prayer; others kiss their hands and touch them to the walls and columns. The foundation stone of the Golden Temple was laid by a Sufi saint called Mian Mir and the sacred gurudwara is open to devotees of all faiths, irrespective of religion, caste or creed. The four entrances to the temple symbolize this. I make my way through this holy sight and say a quiet prayer and as I exit there is a man with what I assume is holy water and everyone puts their hands in and drinks a little, they are then handed some sweet Kara Parshad, I learn this name later. At the time, I don't know what it is, and it is literally being handed to me out of a huge bowl by a man dishing out handfuls straight from his hand. I am in India and have been warned about the water and the cleanliness and hygiene of food, and to be careful where to eat and what to eat. But after my beautiful experience I feel brave, and with another prayer that I will be okay, "Oh well, I think, in for a penny, in for a pound" and dip my hands into the water and take a sip and then accept the sweet offering from the kind old man. Sweet prasad is delicious, it's all I can do not to pull an Oliver Twist and ask for more. I wander around the temple for a while longer, watching the volunteers going about their duties and the devout praying and finding solace, some of the women minding children who play quietly. The whole place is really magical. I am touched deeply and feel something profound; I feel at peace. A kind of patience and lack of worry and a feeling of belonging. I leave feeling like I have just had my India moment, almost like my own version of Eat, Pray, Love. I decide to find myself some lunch and then make my way to the border for the beating retreat ceremony. This I have been told is "Really worthwhile"....".

Discovering India with Alyson Le Grange: My 'Eat, Pray and Love' moment at Golden temple

It’s one of those experiences you can’t Not have when visiting Amritsar. Even if you haven’t heard of the Beating-the-Retreat ceremony (and I suppose most foreigners haven’t) you will definitely wonder what the fuss is about because every tuk-tuk driver on the streets of the city will offer to take you to Wagah—a drive of half-an-hour from Amritsar at the India-Pakistan border—and bring you back, for varying sums of money.

The ceremony that involves lowering of flags and a spirited display by soldiers of India and Pakistan, was instituted in 1959, and takes place before sunset every day. It’s quite the highlight for visitors to Amritsar and was certainly on my itinerary.

I left the Golden Temple filled with a sense of peace…a strange calm, not sure how to articulate it. I think a kind of quiet confidence comes close to describing how I felt.

<img alt="Alyson Le Grange Wion foreign anchor" data-entity-type="file" data-entity-uuid="fc8f523c-2c47-4031-b97a-0a01aead2828" src="//cdn.wionews.com/sites/default/files/inline-images/alyson%20le%20grange.JPG" />

Hubris creeps up on you when you aren’t careful, and then, something happens that brings you back to mother Earth…my thoughts were interrupted by yet another gentleman offering to take me to the border. He seemed quite expensive but I was too exhausted to scout for a better deal and I felt that I really wanted to travel in comfort especially after the tough time I had been having and after being on my feet for hours at the Golden Temple—this was during the north-Indian summer with the mercury soaring well over 40 degrees Celsius—I decided to give myself a break. The prospect of having an entire ‘air-conditioned car’ to myself, seemed too good to resist.

Not only that, but the man also kindly threw in a visit to a temple and a lunch at a famous ‘dhaba’—roadside eatery—in the package before dropping me back to the hotel.

This sounded good.&nbsp;

I felt like I had managed to arrange another wonderful experience, I felt like things were flowing, like maybe I must have tapped into something during my Golden Temple experience.

A friend of mine once remarked that I have very ‘strange luck’, and, now that I think about it, I think that she meant that the big picture, when it reveals itself to me, finally helps me make sense of events that did not seem particularly fun when they occurred. I suppose that's the same for most of us. On this occasion, things were going well enough until Ash, my driver, who'd asked me to wait while he pulled the car out, disappeared. My Hindi was basic at that point and Ash’s English, well, was worse than my Hindi. I was waiting for a while and just when I began wondering if I had, in fact, been conned, that a vehicle came sputtering along in my direction.

Now, this wasn’t exactly the fancy ride I’d been expecting; it was a jeep all right but looked a bit like the original article—the very first jeep ever produced. Just when I was hoping this wasn’t my ride Ash leaned out of the window and gestured that I should hop in. At this point, I had serious reservations, but Ash looked so eager and excited that I didn’t want to pour cold water on his plans. So it was, in an ancient jalopy, which looked like it might fall apart any minute and in fact the cubby hole fell off and landed on my leg, that the two of us began our journey to the Wagah border.

Our first stop was at a temple in a place called Mahindra Colony. Beautifully ornate, and decorated with stone carvings of deities, it was a great start and had me feeling somewhat mollified with the way things were going.

But I was hungry; it was already late afternoon and I’m not ashamed to admit that I get notoriously grumpy on an empty stomach.

Ash noticed my impatience and indicated that our next stop was for lunch, which was a relief. Just when I was thinking about the delicious Punjabi food I’d order when, exactly what I’d been afraid of happened: our venerable ride, decided it had had enough, sputtered, wheezed, and died.

I looked over at Ash as he guided the freewheeling vehicle to a stop by the curb; he looked somewhat bewildered, as if confused about what had just happened. I couldn’t understand what he was trying to explain to me (in Hindi, or Punjabi I’m not sure) but I was quite certain that the argument had no merit. This was not good.

We looked at each other blankly for a while before he motioned for me to disembark from the car and led me to a room-sized metal box on the roadside masquerading as a shop. &nbsp;

There were boxes of sweets, packets of cigarettes, and a tiny fridge stocked with fizzy drinks. The proprietor was lounging a little way away; Ash roused him and asked, presumably, if I could use the solitary chair facing a small fan to wait.

So, here I was, A South African girl, with little knowledge of India, no communication skills in the native tongue, sitting on a chair, in a small shop that was located on the side of the highway pretty much in the middle of nowhere in the hinterland of Punjab. For a moment I nearly gave in to panic but something kept me together. Maybe it was the epiphany I’d had at the Golden Temple, the inner peace I felt had not left me and I began to consider my situation rationally. I reached for my phone to call for help and realised, to my despair, that it had zero connectivity. I looked over at Ash, who pulled out his phone (that appeared to be the same vintage as our jeep) and shrugged—his phone was of no use either.

This was the point that the edifice started crumbling. In spite of my best efforts, panic began to set in. I began walking up and down, holding my phone in the air as high as I could to get some signal.&nbsp;I could no longer see my driver; Ash had disappeared, presumably to get help, he hadn’t said a word to me and as I sat on that little chair, I felt at a complete loss. Unsure of what to do next, unsure of what lay in store.

It was at this moment that the universe took pity on me. From the corner of my eye I noticed curious little faces peering at me from around the corner of a wall. &nbsp;These children, obviously fascinated by this unexpected visitor slowly overcame their fear and inched closer to me. I suppose they must have been between five-to-twelve years old, and they looked so sweet and inquisitive that I momentarily forgot my predicament and gave them a big smile.&nbsp;I could imagine how strange I must have looked to them: a white woman, wearing traditional Indian wear, headscarf and big glasses, blonde hair sticking out from beneath the scarf. Encouraged by my smile, they grew brave, came right over, and said hello.

<img alt="Alyson Le Grange Wion foreign anchor" data-entity-type="file" data-entity-uuid="ca24ed77-e5e9-4a58-a40d-aae8cd60fbc1" src="//cdn.wionews.com/sites/default/files/inline-images/alyson.JPG" />

They had obviously seen me prancing up and down vainly seeking mobile connectivity. One little boy in a red turban whipped out his phone and came up to me with both hands outstretched, his phone in one hand and I handed him mine.&nbsp;He quickly linked my phone to his mobile hotspot and returned it to me. &nbsp;

I was back! &nbsp;Connected to the world at large! &nbsp;

My phone started buzzing off the hook and I quickly called Naresh, Ash’s boss, and told him what had happened. It turned out that Ash had already been there and was on his way back to me in a new vehicle. I was so relieved I could have cried.

The children and I spent the next 20 minutes or so, taking selfies. There was a little girl named Khushi (which I was told later means happiness) and that kind kind little boy who had been my knight in shining armor. I offered him some money for his help that I regretted immediately as he shyly recoiled from the offer. I bought all the sweets in the shop for the children and that’s when Ash rolled in—this time driving a shiny new jeep.

I got in, and my heart grew heavy as I waved goodbye to the children who waved and chased the car for as long as they could, as we resumed our journey.

I don’t think they realised that they’d saved me, re-instated my faith in the inherent goodness of humanity as it were. That little boy’s actions not only allowed me to get in touch with who I needed to but restored my belief that the human connection—one that transcends language, countries, and cultures,—is the one connection that we can always count on. That moment I felt, even in such a foreign place, that I was not alone. And that feeling was worth everything.

Also Read | <a href="https://www.wionews.com/opinions-blogs/blog-langar-satnam-and-sikhism-my-eat-pray-and-love-moment-at-golden-temple-366462">Blog: Langar, Satnam and Sikhism — My eat, pray and love moment at Golden temple</a>

With these thoughts running in my head, I barely noticed as we rolled into the ‘Lahore Dhaba’ for lunch. My hunger pangs which had subsided in the wake of my predicament came rushing back with a vengeance. Now I don’t have to tell you, dear reader, just how delicious Punjabi food, especially in Amritsar, can be, but at that moment, it was, by far, the most delectable meal I’ve ever had. Feeling full and refreshed, I continued on my journey.

(Disclaimer: The views of the writer do not represent the views of WION or ZMCL. Nor does WION or ZMCL endorse the views of the writer.)

It’s one of those experiences you can’t Not have when visiting Amritsar. Even if you haven’t heard of the Beating-the-Retreat ceremony (and I suppose most foreigners haven’t) you will definitely wonder what the fuss is about because every tuk-tuk driver on the streets of the city will offer to take you to Wagah—a drive of half-an-hour from Amritsar at the India-Pakistan border—and bring you back, for varying sums of money.

It’s one of those experiences you can’t Not have when visiting Amritsar. Even if you haven’t heard of the Beating-the-Retreat ceremony (and I suppose most foreigners haven’t) you will definitely wonder what the fuss is about because every tuk-tuk driver on the streets of the city will offer to take you to Wagah—a drive of half-an-hour from Amritsar at the India-Pakistan border—and bring you back, for varying sums of money. The ceremony that involves lowering of flags and a spirited display by soldiers of India and Pakistan, was instituted in 1959, and takes place before sunset every day. It’s quite the highlight for visitors to Amritsar and was certainly on my itinerary. I left the Golden Temple filled with a sense of peace…a strange calm, not sure how to articulate it. I think a kind of quiet confidence comes close to describing how I felt. Hubris creeps up on you when you aren’t careful, and then, something happens that brings you back to mother Earth…my thoughts were interrupted by yet another gentleman offering to take me to the border. He seemed quite expensive but I was too exhausted to scout for a better deal and I felt that I really wanted to travel in comfort especially after the tough time I had been having and after being on my feet for hours at the Golden Temple—this was during the north-Indian summer with the mercury soaring well over 40 degrees Celsius—I decided to give myself a break. The prospect of having an entire ‘air-conditioned car’ to myself, seemed too good to resist. Not only that, but the man also kindly threw in a visit to a temple and a lunch at a famous ‘dhaba’—roadside eatery—in the package before dropping me back to the hotel. This sounded good. I felt like I had managed to arrange another wonderful experience, I felt like things were flowing, like maybe I must have tapped into something during my Golden Temple experience. A friend of mine once remarked that I have very ‘strange luck’, and, now that I think about it, I think that she meant that the big picture, when it reveals itself to me, finally helps me make sense of events that did not seem particularly fun when they occurred. I suppose that's the same for most of us. On this occasion, things were going well enough until Ash, my driver, who'd asked me to wait while he pulled the car out, disappeared. My Hindi was basic at that point and Ash’s English, well, was worse than my Hindi. I was waiting for a while and just when I began wondering if I had, in fact, been conned, that a vehicle came sputtering along in my direction. Now, this wasn’t exactly the fancy ride I’d been expecting; it was a jeep all right but looked a bit like the original article—the very first jeep ever produced. Just when I was hoping this wasn’t my ride Ash leaned out of the window and gestured that I should hop in. At this point, I had serious reservations, but Ash looked so eager and excited that I didn’t want to pour cold water on his plans. So it was, in an ancient jalopy, which looked like it might fall apart any minute and in fact the cubby hole fell off and landed on my leg, that the two of us began our journey to the Wagah border. Our first stop was at a temple in a place called Mahindra Colony. Beautifully ornate, and decorated with stone carvings of deities, it was a great start and had me feeling somewhat mollified with the way things were going. But I was hungry; it was already late afternoon and I’m not ashamed to admit that I get notoriously grumpy on an empty stomach. Ash noticed my impatience and indicated that our next stop was for lunch, which was a relief. Just when I was thinking about the delicious Punjabi food I’d order when, exactly what I’d been afraid of happened: our venerable ride, decided it had had enough, sputtered, wheezed, and died. I looked over at Ash as he guided the freewheeling vehicle to a stop by the curb; he looked somewhat bewildered, as if confused about what had just happened. I couldn’t understand what he was trying to explain to me (in Hindi, or Punjabi I’m not sure) but I was quite certain that the argument had no merit. This was not good. We looked at each other blankly for a while before he motioned for me to disembark from the car and led me to a room-sized metal box on the roadside masquerading as a shop. There were boxes of sweets, packets of cigarettes, and a tiny fridge stocked with fizzy drinks. The proprietor was lounging a little way away; Ash roused him and asked, presumably, if I could use the solitary chair facing a small fan to wait. So, here I was, A South African girl, with little knowledge of India, no communication skills in the native tongue, sitting on a chair, in a small shop that was located on the side of the highway pretty much in the middle of nowhere in the hinterland of Punjab. For a moment I nearly gave in to panic but something kept me together. Maybe it was the epiphany I’d had at the Golden Temple, the inner peace I felt had not left me and I began to consider my situation rationally. I reached for my phone to call for help and realised, to my despair, that it had zero connectivity. I looked over at Ash, who pulled out his phone (that appeared to be the same vintage as our jeep) and shrugged—his phone was of no use either. This was the point that the edifice started crumbling. In spite of my best efforts, panic began to set in. I began walking up and down, holding my phone in the air as high as I could to get some signal. I could no longer see my driver; Ash had disappeared, presumably to get help, he hadn’t said a word to me and as I sat on that little chair, I felt at a complete loss. Unsure of what to do next, unsure of what lay in store. It was at this moment that the universe took pity on me. From the corner of my eye I noticed curious little faces peering at me from around the corner of a wall. These children, obviously fascinated by this unexpected visitor slowly overcame their fear and inched closer to me. I suppose they must have been between five-to-twelve years old, and they looked so sweet and inquisitive that I momentarily forgot my predicament and gave them a big smile. I could imagine how strange I must have looked to them: a white woman, wearing traditional Indian wear, headscarf and big glasses, blonde hair sticking out from beneath the scarf. Encouraged by my smile, they grew brave, came right over, and said hello. They had obviously seen me prancing up and down vainly seeking mobile connectivity. One little boy in a red turban whipped out his phone and came up to me with both hands outstretched, his phone in one hand and I handed him mine. He quickly linked my phone to his mobile hotspot and returned it to me. I was back! Connected to the world at large! My phone started buzzing off the hook and I quickly called Naresh, Ash’s boss, and told him what had happened. It turned out that Ash had already been there and was on his way back to me in a new vehicle. I was so relieved I could have cried. The children and I spent the next 20 minutes or so, taking selfies. There was a little girl named Khushi (which I was told later means happiness) and that kind kind little boy who had been my knight in shining armor. I offered him some money for his help that I regretted immediately as he shyly recoiled from the offer. I bought all the sweets in the shop for the children and that’s when Ash rolled in—this time driving a shiny new jeep. I got in, and my heart grew heavy as I waved goodbye to the children who waved and chased the car for as long as they could, as we resumed our journey. I don’t think they realised that they’d saved me, re-instated my faith in the inherent goodness of humanity as it were. That little boy’s actions not only allowed me to get in touch with who I needed to but restored my belief that the human connection—one that transcends language, countries, and cultures,—is the one connection that we can always count on. That moment I felt, even in such a foreign place, that I was not alone. And that feeling was worth everything. Also Read | Blog: Langar, Satnam and Sikhism — My eat, pray and love moment at Golden temple With these thoughts running in my head, I barely noticed as we rolled into the ‘Lahore Dhaba’ for lunch. My hunger pangs which had subsided in the wake of my predicament came rushing back with a vengeance. Now I don’t have to tell you, dear reader, just how delicious Punjabi food, especially in Amritsar, can be, but at that moment, it was, by far, the most delectable meal I’ve ever had. Feeling full and refreshed, I continued on my journey. (Disclaimer: The views of the writer do not represent the views of WION or ZMCL. Nor does WION or ZMCL endorse the views of the writer.)

Discovering India with Alyson Le Grange: The boy in the red turban

Author

Zee News Rajasthan

Editor

Alyson Le Grange

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