Faith, Flavour, and the Warmth of Punjab

I had been planning a trip to Amritsar for years, but somehow it never worked out. There was always a reason to postpone—work, schedules, life. And then, as Punjabis often say, “jo rab di marzi”- it happened when God willed it.

I finally found myself in the city I had long imagined: Amritsar, the beating heart of Punjab, where faith, flavour, and flourish come together. The first thing that struck me was the warmth of its people. My auto driver, on learning it was my first visit, insisted on taking me for lassi before dropping me to my hotel. At the stall, he pushed a steel tumbler into my hand, filled with rich, frothy buttermilk. “Ab Amritsar aa gaye ho,” he said. Now you’ve truly arrived.

That, I soon realised, is the essence of this city. In Amritsar, hospitality isn’t an act; it’s a reflex. Ask for directions, and people walk you halfway. Shopkeepers welcome you to sit with a cup of tea before you’ve even bought anything. Conversations often begin with “Have you eaten?” It was welcoming – and grounding.

Faith at the centre

Every path in Amritsar seems to lead to the Golden Temple. I went at dawn, when the world was still dark and quiet, and the gold of the shrine glowed against the sky. Barefoot on the cool marble, I moved with the steady flow of devotees circling the shimmering sarovar, the sacred pool that surrounds and reflects the temple. The air was abuzz with kirtan, the vocals rising and falling in unison. At the langar hall, I sat cross-legged on the floor, a steel thali before me, and shared dal, rotis, and kheer with strangers. Pilgrims, locals, travellers, we were all served the same food by volunteers and we all ate side by side. As I walked out, karah prasad in hand, another lesson was driven home: equality doesn’t need to be proclaimed, it can be practised.

A city of memory

But Amritsar is also a city of history and scars. Just a few minutes from the temple is Jallianwala Bagh, where bullet holes in the walls still mark the massacre of 1919. Standing there, amid the preserved well into which people once jumped to escape gunfire, I felt engulfed by the weight of silence that no museum can capture. The Partition Museum carried that memory forward. Through oral histories, photographs, and artefacts, it revealed the story of one of the largest migrations in human history. Listening to survivors’ voices on audio stations, I understood why Amritsar is not just a border city but also a keeper of collective memory. And then, just outside the city, at the Wagah-Attari border ceremony, the energy shifts again. In the late afternoon, as the stands filled up like a stadium, the crowd cheered, clapping, and waved flags as soldiers from both India and Pakistan marched in exaggerated steps, lowering their flags in perfect synchrony. It was theatre, ritual, and nationalism rolled into one.

Bazaars and by-lanes

Back in the old city, I lost myself in the many bustling bazaars. In Hall Bazaar, I ran my fingers through vibrant phulkari dupattas embroidered in jewel tones. Guru Bazaar sparkled with goldsmiths’ work, while Katra Jaimal Singh pulled me into shops stacked high with colourful fabrics. Sound was everywhere: the bargaining calls of shopkeepers, the honks of scooters, and the sizzle of frying snacks. One evening, I stumbled into a tiny lane where a man was frying Amritsari machhi, fish coated in a spiced batter, golden and crisp. He handed me a piece with a wedge of lime, eschewing payment until I was finished eating. “Pehle khao, phir baat karo,” he grinned. First eat, then we’ll talk.

Food as faith

Of course, Amritsar is a pilgrimage for food as much as for faith. Breakfast meant flaky, butter-laden Amritsari kulchas, stuffed with potatoes or paneer, served with tangy chole and onion chutney. At Kulcha Land, the crowd was so thick that the man at the tandoor barely had a moment to breathe. At Kesar da Dhaba, which has been serving meals since 1916, I ate black dal simmered for hours, stuffed parathas, and thick phirni in clay pots. I repeated the order at Brothers Dhaba – and it was as delicious. But the most unforgettable meal remained the langar at the Golden Temple—not for the food itself, but for what it represented: humility, community, and service. Every now and then, I took a lassi stop. The tumblers of creamy sweetness that made me wonder how anyone in Amritsar gets around after breakfast without needing a nap.