March 27th.

The day of departure dawned. After a fairly exercising couple of days, staring blankly at piles of garments, trying to decide on an array of gear for all climes, shuffling things around a bit then unpacking and repacking my bag several times over, it was suddenly time to go. The last notes left, texts sent, silent prayers offered up that our long suffering house sitters, kind neighbours, our Head of House Jane and the decorators would all join up and not war fatally… we found ourselves banging the door shut and heaving our bags into the taxi. Another Stoke Tour was starting.

Apart from the noise and some indifferent food the flight was good. The noise emanated from a child in front. Having experienced three of my own I was reminded that size of child bears no relation to the level of disturbance created. This one beamed and bawled by turns as well traversing the cabin in search of entertainment. The exhausted mother seemed powerless to soothe the wee thing. Cabin staff did what they could. I felt sorry for her.

The toddling bundle eventually succumbed to slumber having screamed with impressive force for the first three hours. But when not screaming he radiated charm from two black orbs widely spaced atop the glistening pouches of his cheeks.

I attempted some sleep with the seat fully flattened but by the time I was drifting anywhere breakfast was brought and it was time to sit up again. And a beautiful dawn was softly breaking – 0608 local time.

We had left Birmingham Airport at about 8pm and touched down in Amritsar about 7.5 hours later.

Ranjit’s Svaasa

‘Svaasa’ means breath of life. And so it is here:

Everywhere you look there is delicious light and shade. Fronds frame doorways, dark wood and whirling fans hint at bygone days of the Raj. Small marble elephants guard the doorways.

After being shown up a winding stair to our room we fell in love with the atmosphere of airy calm. There is even a balcony. The tooting of invisible traffic, the sound of birdsong and the gentle hum of the air conditioning blend hypnotically as I sit here..

A couple hours later sees us lunge by tuk tuk into the thronging maelstrom of down town Amritsar, in search of The Golden Temple.. Our tuk tuk was, unusually, electric, and so very quiet. Not much suspension though – rather like being on board a careering milk float. Every street here is one way – and that’s forward – but in any direction. Cars, bikes, mopeds and rickshaws simply cut across our path out of nowhere. The equanimity of all concerned, bar the tooting, was astonishing. Beautiful girls in diaphanous saris wafted calmly behind their pilots while vehicles came pushing and shoving at them within a hair’s breadth. No crash helmets or anything… I just closed my eyes!

Amongst it all this man was quietly wheeling his wares..

We got off the tuktuk and threaded our way through bobbling turbans and every bright colour of raiment towards this wonder of world:

After some confusion we found an entrance, took off our shoes and donned the appropriate head gear.

The Golden Temple of Amritsar is the spiritual centre of Sikhism. It is a vast complex with the Temple, coated with gold in centre of a holy lake. People are permitted to dip in the waters. There are special dip cabins for women if they wish to do so. It is thronged with visitors – many of whom prostrate themselves to pray right in the middle of the crowds. Many sit simply crossed cross legged at the lakeside and gaze at the Temple. There were queues and queues of people waiting to get in. We simply walked slowly round, taking in the sheer spectacle of it all.

With the light fading and our jet spaced energy with it we bid the Temple farewell.