Pomp and Posturing: Pep Rally on the Pakistani Border

August 7, 2010

“They must have a height requirement,” Meredith said.

I voiced my agreement as I looked up at one of the tallest Indians I've seen thus far. Smartly dressed in a pressed brown uniform and wearing a cap that appeared to have a fan stuck in it the young Indian solider wore a sour expression as if the whistle he perpetually had to his lips didn't agree with him. However, it was probably the mob behind us that brought on his consternation.

 Jean, Meredith and I sat shoulder to shoulder on a curb not more than 100 yards from the Indian/Pakistan border gate. At our backs were grandstands teeming with a throng, occupants of which unerringly drew regular whistle blows and angry shouts from the aforementioned soldier. Other similarly dressed and prodigiously tall soldiers buzzed here and there but he seemed the only one tasked with keeping the thousand or so souls in attendance seated and not pouring into the street. Guess, he'd drawn the short stick for that afternoon's duties.

Allow me an explanation of how we came to be here. My younger sister Meredith has a penchant for going places and doing things that more cautious individuals might consider dangerous. Currently, her sights were set on Kashmir, and area in northwestern India whose ownership has been contested by Pakistan for the last sixty years. Often fiercely contested as evidenced by three wars during that time. Jean, Meredith and I split off from the rest of the Texas contingent two days ago, headed northwest via Delhi to Armristar near the Pakistani border just south of Kashmir. At 3:30 this afternoon we took a shared taxi the 30 km from Armristar to the border where we arrived into a carnival like atmosphere.

Between the blistering afternoon sun and the the heat of the curb seeping through the seat of my pants I was sweating buckets. A breath of breeze touched my brow as two teenage girls in white sprinted by. Each had hoisted over her shoulder an Indian flag whipping in the wind. A regular procession of similarly dressed girls sprinted past. They were followed by anyone who wanted to join in. A queue formed. Old grandmas and children were cheered as they went by sporting the Indian colors.

Where's Meredith?

After some time the flags were collected and the music began. Almost instantaneously and throng formed in the street. A bobbing, gyrating throng. Dancing seems to be an essential part of Indian culture whether it be in cinema or at your daily border closing ceremony. People swarmed down from the grandstands into the throbbing mass. Meredith couldn't resist and leapt into the fray. I reserved her seat on the curb with a paperback I had mistakenly brought. This wasn't the atmosphere for reading.

The music ended and people began crowding back into the grandstands. Numbers had swelled in the past hour as people were still coming in. The surly soldier returned to his post. New arrivals were directed to form a row immediately behind us and in front of us. A middle-aged Indian lady leaned on my back and one of the girls in white sat at my feet.

A man in a short sleeve shirt and trousers holding a mic walked into the now deserted street. He grinned broadly and addressed the crowd in Hindi. Whatever he said was met with a rousing response from the assemblage. Then he said something else and the crowd replied in unison. I tried to join in the chant as best I could.


On the Pakistani side grandstands had also been erected. In lulls a similar chant could be heard issuing from the crowd there. Cheers broke through the chant as two women in smart brown uniforms goose stepped out and down the promenade. They moved at a break neck pace and appeared intent on crashing through the gate. On the other side a pair of black clad Pakistani soldiers were approaching at a similar pace. At the last moment both parties turned took a couple of steps and spun to face each other  at attention.

The display was repeated two or three times as pairs of soldiers came out. A quick goosestep toward the gate and then a face off with Pakistani soldiers on the other side. The Pakistani soldiers in their black uniforms and turbans would throw their arms up when reaching the gate bringing eruptions of cheers from the crowd. I began to wonder how much rehearsal went into this border closing ceremony.

Next, five Indian soldiers marched out led by a bearded officer in a red turban. They goosestepped to the gate and back again where they stood in attention. The officer would shout commands and occasionally one of the soldiers would step out of line and do a sort of stomp walk to the gate and back again. The whole time the crowd was chanting or cheering.

Finally, the officer stomp walked up where he was met by the Pakistani officer. The gate slid open, the two officers exchanged salutes and then the gates banged shut. Flags on either were lowered, folded and the officer and his five soldiers marched out with it. They were followed by the other soldiers and now the border was officially closed. Same time, same place tomorrow.