My knowledge of Sikhism doesn't extend far past the unanimous turbans worn by the men. Though I walked through the temple museum, I only retained it as a mass portraiture of blood and massacre - their story seems a bloody one. So I can't give you much history, nor could I really be bothered to. It was pretty much the Sikh's generous hospitality in conjunction with a few grains predisposed awe that brought me to Amritsar; to the Golden Temple, to the attached dorms for pilgrims and visitors, and to the kitchen serving 40,000 people a day. Waking to instinctively follow the long white esplanade to the temple became the first trip each day, of many.
While in Amritsar, you just go to the temple. And then you go again, then again...and again...
Your shoes stay shoved under your dorm bed, retrieved occassionally to accomodate wandering to the bathrooms at the back of the sleeping quarters. Somehow I felt more at-par here than anywhere else in India, washing my feet and peeing in the squat toilets of the by-donation guesthouse of their holiest temple. Or eating in their massive dining hall that winds people in and out like a snake.
Prep:
Dishes:
The mantras and live music that waft nineteen hours still resonated as I waited for the train per my departure. Sitting by the barred windows as the carriage rocked back and forth before concluding its northerly course, I realized I didn't really do anything else in Amritsar.
-Tara
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