words from the world

Amritsar is for the Sikhs what Mecca is for the Muslims, a holy city. Once in their life, the Sikhs have to carry out a pilgrimage to the golden temple.
Chorus of honks, tangle of bicycles, rickshaws and horse-towed carts welcome us. First images of a milling, life-seething town. A forgotten atmosphere since we went off to Himachal Pradesh in exile. The Indian truth resurfaces again. In the streets, thick beards on smiling faces topped by firmly swaddled turbans. The Sikhs, a bewildering religion.



On the way to the golden temple, we stop in front of cages full of chicks. Further to genetic modifications, they wear colours oddly different from the common yellow. Actually, the invigorating dyes aren't only for the Hindu women's saris...



We draw near the enclosure of the temple whose one of the gilded cupolas drift above the drab and filthy street. Other white-angel-like domes break away from the muddled alleyways we step on. We take our shoes off, don a scarf on the head and get into the holy area. A mesmerizing music surrounds the holy place and hundreds of followers tread around the artificial rectangular lake. Some of them purify themselves into its waters while others line up to visit the golden temple.
This quite recent religion is definitely baffling but offers us an architectural jewel, a temple covered with glistening golden leaves when richly coloured pilgrims with turquoise, pink and orange shades soak in this musical and religious aura.