Sunlight bounces off of the water that mirrors the golden domes and towers of the temple. So many are people milling about around me, some bathing in the glistening body of water, others eating in the shade of the great white arches. Thousands of sikhs make this pilgrimage everyday, they walk around the Golden Temple, praying, bathing, and offering food to the Gods. And yet I stand in quiet, on the crowded walkway. There are hundreds of people in the courtyard, baking underneath the hot Indian sun, and yet I stand in quiet. More people come in every minute than go out, and yet, standing in the gateway, it is quiet.
Outside the Golden arches and marble pillars, is an empty Indian road. A few people mill about, selling things, buying things, trying to get home. I stand on the dusty paved road, trying to catch a tuk-tuk, in complete mayhem. There are less people on the streets than in the temple, but horns honk, and people yell. As I cross the street, I yearn for the quiet of the temple. No longer am I standing amongst hundreds of people, and yet in quiet, no longer am I avoiding thousands of pilgrimagers on a crowded walkway, in the quiet. I am outside, in a fairly empty street, hoping that my eardrums make it out alive.
Maya
Outside the Golden arches and marble pillars, is an empty Indian road. A few people mill about, selling things, buying things, trying to get home. I stand on the dusty paved road, trying to catch a tuk-tuk, in complete mayhem. There are less people on the streets than in the temple, but horns honk, and people yell. As I cross the street, I yearn for the quiet of the temple. No longer am I standing amongst hundreds of people, and yet in quiet, no longer am I avoiding thousands of pilgrimagers on a crowded walkway, in the quiet. I am outside, in a fairly empty street, hoping that my eardrums make it out alive.
Maya
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