Pakistan Travel Blog: Crossing the Wagah Border
The moment had come!
The clock showed 10 am — that was when the immigration gates were supposed to open, and the Indian fellow (yours truly) was going to get to the other side.
How did I get the visa? What was the plan? Why in the world would I think of such an outlandish idea? I will address all these questions in a separate post. For now, let’s come back to that particular morning.
I was the first one to reach the check-post, which is about half a mile from the immigration office. You’ll find a bunch of taxi drivers here, asking 200 rupees for such a small distance. Avoid them, unless you are carrying some heavy luggage. Additionally, the coolies would also charge 200 rupees at the immigration office if you ask for help. I had finished a couple of paranthas before the gates were opened so I had some energy to walk all the way in.
An overwhelming sensation of anticipation gripped me as I approached the immigration officer. The India-Pakistan border is much more than just a physical demarcation; it encapsulates the histories, shared yet separate, of two nations. So yes, there were butterflies in my stomach.
The immigration process was an experience in itself. While the paperwork and checks were just as thorough and meticulous as any other border, there was an underlying sense of suspicion. A lot of questions were asked. In the end, though, it all worked out just fine.
As I moved from the Indian post to the Pakistani post, the transition was subtle but discernible. The immigration process was similar, just that the things were slightly warmer, in the air as well as among the people.
I looked around. A different pattern of Urdu script adorned the boards, the architectural nuances shifted slightly, and the very air seemed to carry with it the weight of countless tales waiting to be told. It was as if the colours of Punjab had faded a little and given way to a more serious outlook.
Once in Lahore, I couldn’t help but notice the curious duality of Punjab. I had heard so much about the city, whether in literature (remember Kim by Rudyard Kipling?) or from my own grandparents.
The undivided Punjab, a melting pot of cultures, traditions, and history, now lay on either side of the border, manifesting its splendors uniquely. The vibrant bazaars in Lahore mirrored those in Amritsar, the aroma of freshly made kebabs wafted alongside that of naans, and the melodies of qawwali reverberated with the rhythms of Punjabi bhangra. Yet, beneath these familiar sights and sounds lay an intricate fabric of distinct experiences, shaped by decades of separate histories.
The two Punjabs, just like estranged siblings, seemed to possess an innate bond, wrapped in layers of resemblance and divergence. This journey was not just about crossing a border; it was an immersion into the depths of a shared past, intertwined fates, and a hope for peaceful coexistence.
The journey is far from over… it has just begun. Keep following this space to hear more of my stories.
