Harmandir Sahib & Amritsar

Amritsar, a city very close to India's border with Pakistan has the most holy temple for the Sikh religion named Harmandir Sahib, popularly called the Golden Temple.

On a clear day, I landed, checked in, and headed straight to Sikhism’s holiest shrine — the stunning Golden Temple, wrapped in the calm embrace of the Amrit Sarovar. Inside its sacred walls, the Akal Takht is housed, the highest seat of Sikh spiritual authority.

From every angle, the Golden Temple was a visual enchantment — so mesmerizing that I found myself snapping photos like a starstruck tourist. The shimmering lake wrapped around the temple added a poetic calm, making its golden reflection ripple like something out of a dream. And the gold plating — real gold, mind you — wasn’t just decorative, it was a lavish spectacle of intricate beauty that turned religious devotion into dazzling art.

After my first visit, I knew I had to return to see the Golden Temple lit up at night. But until that dazzling moment, I had another sacred mission: a meal. Amritsar is practically synonymous with Amritsari Kulcha, so I made a brisk 10-minute pilgrimage from the temple to the legendary Bharawan Da Dhaba. Established in 1912, this Dhaba has been serving up Punjabi goodness for over a century, winning hearts one buttery bite at a time.

Whether you’re a hungry pilgrim or a flavor-chaser on a mission, their spicy, tangy kulcha-paratha combo is the kind of meal that makes your taste buds do the bhangra.

Served hot on the round steel plate, the kulcha came with its own entourage — tangy pickles, crisp onion quarters, and a generous side of Sarson ka Saag. Slow-cooked mustard greens mingled with fenugreek, infused with ghee and a whisper of garlic. It was a delightful meal.

Given Amritsar’s close proximity with the Pakistan border, a visit to the Wagah-Attari crossing felt almost inevitable. On the Indian side, it's increasingly known as Attari Border, a name gaining traction in official references and local pride alike.

I knew what awaited: the Beating Retreat ceremony — part drill, part theater, and all patriotism. This daily spectacle, which began in 1959, sees soldiers from both nations high-stepping, flag-lowering, and out-staring each other with dramatic flair. What started as a military ritual has evolved into a symbol of both tension and tribute — a choreography of rivalry performed with remarkable unity.

If only I'd had a distant cousin in the military or a long-lost uncle in politics, maybe I’d have landed a VIP pass to sit closer to the action. But with no strings to pull and no miracle at the eleventh hour, I happily joined the wave of cheering citizens in the free general stands.

The stadium — capable of holding over 30,000 pumped-up spectators — was buzzing with anticipation.

It felt like a festival with flags. I spotted suited VIPs floating in as well as foreigners, all excited, soaking in the energy. The former Kashmir Chief Minister Farooq Abdullah was also strolling in with flair. Not bad for general seating, if I may say so!

At the Wagah-Attari border ceremony, the spirit of India shone brightly — not just through synchronized marches and soaring flags, but in the confident presence of Indian women.

Unlike their counterparts across the border, Indian women stood tall with equal rights and personal freedom, dancing to patriotic music, waving the tricolor, and participating shoulder to shoulder with men. It was a living tribute to the values enshrined in our Constitution — liberty, equality, and dignity — proudly showcased in every step, smile, and salute.

After nearly three hours of flag-waving fervor, high-octane salutes, booming patriotic anthems, and a collective chorus of “Jai Hind,” the ceremony wrapped up in spectacular fashion.

As dusk settled, the 30,000-strong crowd — fired up but impressively composed — streamed out in an orderly manner. It was celebration, discipline, and national spirit all rolled into one unforgettable spectacle.

Back to Amritsar by road, in half an hour I was on the streets ready to see more sights, sounds and historical monuments.

I stepped into Jallianwala Bagh — a garden haunted not by silence, but by history’s loudest cry for justice. Here, the walls bear bullet scars and stories of innocent lives lost in General Dyer’s brutal 1919 massacre.

It’s a site of remembrance, a heartbreaking reminder of colonial cruelty and the resilience that fueled India’s fight for freedom.

Bathed in night’s calm, it was now the perfect moment to witness the Golden Temple in all its radiant splendor.

I returned to the temple once more, drawn by the allure of its gilded glow dancing across the still waters of the Amrit Sarovar. Purple and yellow lights lit up the temple and its surroundings like brushstrokes on a dream — surreal, serene, and utterly mesmerizing.

With over 50 photos capturing the Golden Temple from every imaginable angle, my camera became a devoted admirer of its splendor.

Built in the early 1600s under Guru Arjan Dev, this architectural marvel shimmers with intricate domes and breathtaking details. Each picture accentuated its timeless beauty — the reflections in the sacred pool, the ornate carvings, the golden glow — all amounting to a symphony of serenity and grace.

As I stood amidst the soft hum of devotional music, with sacred verses glowing on a giant screen, the atmosphere seemed deeply spiritual.

Sikh guards, dressed in traditional attire and carrying ceremonial swords (known as kirpans), stood watch with quiet authority.

Caught up in the moment, I began recording a video — only to be swiftly intercepted by one of the guards. With a stern expression, he pointed to a clearly displayed sign prohibiting videography. What followed was a lesson in temple protocol: he took my phone, deleted the video, and even asked me to unlock the deleted items folder to ensure it was permanently removed. No drama, no debate — just a firm reminder that in this sacred space, respect for tradition reigns supreme.

At the Golden Temple’s legendary langar — the world’s largest free kitchen — I knew I was stepping into something extraordinary. Every day, over 100,000 free meals are served here, prepared in massive vats by a small army of volunteers and staff.

I was eager to see it all: the towering utensils, the chapati machines, and the choreography of service. Within minutes, I was seated cross-legged on the floor, shoulder to shoulder with hundreds of others.

No hierarchy, no discrimination — just warm, vegetarian food served with grace and generosity. And the best part? You’re welcome to as many helpings as you desire.

The day of my visit, February 26, 2025, coincided with Maha Shivaratri, a major Hindu festival honoring Lord Shiva. The Golden Temple often sees surges in visitors during significant spiritual dates — drawing thousands of devotees to the sanctum sanctorum.

I joined the sea of pilgrims, shoulder to shoulder with men, women, and children, all inching forward in quiet reverence. The line stretched endlessly, and I was told it could take over three hours to reach the heart of the temple. But in that slow, sacred shuffle, there was no impatience — no one was cutting the line, volunteers were serving water. Fans were being placed to improve air circulation on the hot afternoon. It felt less like waiting and more like journeying inward, one step at a time.

As soon as you step into the sanctum area of the Golden Temple, a sacred silence is imposed and photography is strictly prohibited. From there, it was a slow 45-minute shuffle toward the sanctum sanctorum, surrounded by the soft murmur of devotees reciting verses. Their words, rich with devotion, were beautifully transcribed on giant screens both inside and outside, making it easy to follow along even if your Punjabi was a bit rusty.

Devotees came bearing flowers and offerings, which they handed to the priest with reverence. In return, the priest offered 'Kada Prasad' — a warm, velvety halwa made from equal parts wheat flour, ghee, and sugar, alongside it came a 'battasa', a crisp, sugary disc that melts like a sweet whisper on the tongue.

Eager to receive my share, I reached out with one hand — rookie mistake. The priest gave me a gentle but firm lesson in etiquette: prasad must be received with both hands cupped like a bowl, a gesture of humility and respect. I corrected my form, received the offering, thanked the priest, and walked away with a smile.

From the serene glow of the Golden Temple to the thundering applause at Wagah-Attari, Amritsar was a vibrant blend of devotion, cuisine, and national pride. In just three days, it gave me memories as rich as its flavors.