Our borders are not safe

Run people, pack your bags, apply for immigration visas to Bangladesh, Myanmar or any nearby place where you can quickly escape, because our borders are not safe anymore.

Flashback: 2 weeks ago I went for a short trip to Amritsar. And like all the 20,06,345 tourists that flock the city every weekend, I decided to stop at Wagha border. I can't describe in words my level of excitement at being at a place that has witnessed so much during the course of history. Partition, wars, brotherhood, you name it and that tiny spec of land has got it all. We reached the border around 3 in the afternoon only to realise the gates would open at 4:30. With truckloads of time to kill we decided to murder it the Indian way, by having cold drinks, tea and challi( we call it Bhutta or corn).

Being at a place of such importance comes with a price. In our case it was the exorbitantly over priced bhutta. Not willing to pay 20 bucks for a bonsai looking piece of corn I decided to use the cunning emotional Indian inside me. 5 mins of blabbing to the man selling corn how it is my privilege to buy corn from the last corn seller of India. He finally did with my persuasion what I did with his corn, he bought it.



Oh and by the way you will have to bear with the whole story to reach the part where I reveal how our borders are not safe.

The next thing to battle before you enter the gates are street vendors selling VCD/DVD of the famous hoisting of the flag ceremony at Wagha border. The poor guys are blessed with just a 10 second memory. What else explains the fact that the same vendor you refused 3 mins ago comes again and again and again to sell you a CD. His lame attempts to hard sell us his product reminded me of my own job where people try to sell their ideas. So, relatively the CD guy was sweeter than most hard skinned people in advertising.

So finally the clock struck 4:30 and the gates were opened to all innocent people and foreigners who after a few hours would think of themselves as slaughter lambs. Everybody was rushing in towards the amphitheatre carrying their wailing kids, water bottles, food packets, bags and litres of sweat mixed with excitement.

After I was frisked thoroughly by BSF personnel at three different levels, I was really impressed by their efficiency. How painfully and frustratingly I would have to eat my thoughts and crush my instant admiration for them later.


Torture begins......to be continued