By Fayes T Kantawala
Fayes T Kantawala crossed the W agah border to inquire after the age of his soul
In what turned out to be an investigation of what a region without militarized borders would feel like, I crossed the Wagah border on foot and spent a night in India last week. Isn’t that marvelous? The idea of spending a night in India feels wildly subversive, like going to North Korea for Dim Sum. Lahore is closer to India than it is to any other major city in Pakistan, and it always struck me as terribly sad that we live so close and yet so far away from so many Haldiraam stores.
My parents were in India for a wedding, and were due to be in Amritsar for a bit on the tail end of their journey. When they suggested I cross the border in the morning and join them for an afternoon of astrology and thaalis before heading home the next day, I couldn’t resist. I’d been to the Wagah border before to see the changing of the guards (love the fan kicks) or to fetch a friend, but I had never gone through the scary-looking immigration terminal or crossed that ominous-looking gate. Now I arrived at Wagah on a crisp Saturday morning to find I was the only traveller. After showing my visa and passport at the shiny new immigration terminal, I walked about 100 paces to the next security checkpoint.
The guard gave me a smile and a stamp and directed me to the gate to his left. I had barely walked three steps when an Indian soldier jumped out of nowhere and asked for my papers.
“That’s it?” I asked, looking back and spotting the absurdly symbolic thin white line I hadn’t even noticed. “That’s the border?”
“Yes, just that line,” the guard said with a smile. “Welcome to India.”
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The Bhrigu Shastra told me I am an “old soul” on its last incarnation |