Amritsar: A first posting, a lasting memory

Having left Kerala in the ’80s, I was used to the quiet rhythms of life — lush landscapes, gentle conversations, and a pace that rarely rushed. But in June 1985, my first posting as an Assistant Superintendent of Police under training catapulted me into the vibrant chaos of Amritsar. The city greeted me with a sensory feast: the colors, the noise, and the irresistible aroma of Amritsari kulcha, lassi, jalebi, and chaat. It was bold, beautiful, and unforgettable.

Punjabis, with their deep affection for uniforms, welcomed this young “Madrasi” IPS officer with open arms. Eager to make a mark, I tried to streamline the city’s traffic — herding rickshawallas and improvised “Marutas” to one side to allow faster vehicles through. What I didn’t realise was that I was attempting to rearrange the heartbeat of the city. Lawrence Road, iconic and bustling, was less a road and more a food bazaar after sunset. The street belonged to the people.

The area around the Golden Temple felt sacred — like Vatican City—a sanctuary for devotees from across the globe. Our role wasn’t to impose order, but to respect the organic flow of pilgrims, tongas, vendors, and onlookers. When I entered the temple complex to pay my respects at Sri Harmandir Sahib and the Durgiana Mandir, no one asked my religion. The khaki I wore had no religion. That silent acknowledgment moved me deeply.

Amritsar pulsed with life well into the night. It was hard to reconcile that vibrancy with the devastation the city had endured just a year earlier. Looking back, I marvel at the indomitable resilience of the Amritsaris. Their spirit was unbroken.

Years later, while serving with the United Nations, my Pakistani colleagues fondly recalled the pre-Independence camaraderie between Amritsar and Lahore — just 50 km apart. “Lahoris still speak of Amritsar with love,” they’d say. And I’d reply, “Amritsaris can’t stop talking about Lahore.” The border may have been drawn, but it could never sever the umbilical cord between these two great cities.

Amritsar’s patronage of education, art, and literature was another revelation. Khalsa College stood tall as a beacon of learning. At a function hosted by DAV College for Women, where I was a special invitee, I was bowled over by the grace and charm of the students — especially as I was a bachelor then!

Of course, Amritsar also bore the solemn weight of history. The haunting silence of Jallianwala Bagh spoke of sacrifice and cruelty. Saluting those martyrs in uniform was the least I could do to honor their sacred memory.

Years later, after hanging up my boots and laying down my UN mantle, a quiet wish surfaced — one that had long been buried. I wanted to return to Amritsar. To walk those streets again. To relive the warmth, the chaos, the beauty. My first posting had become a lifelong memory.

Abraham Mathai, Geneva