Could you say that a place was joyful? Even walking through the entry arch to the Golden Temple precinct, the Sikh people were warm, friendly and welcoming. The centre of Sikh worship, the Golden Temple in Amritsar is a glittering spectacle reflected in the calm surrounding lake.

Everyone is welcome. People from all over the world and from every conceivable religion promenaded around the central lake with the temple sparkling in the sunlight as their focus of attention. Ordinary people chatted, welcomed each other and introduced themselves. There was a palpable atmosphere of warmth and benevolence. Even the rather stern looking, tall black bearded temple guardians brandishing vicious long spears broke into stunning bright smiles when approached. Would they pose for photographs with us weird foreigners?  Certainly.

We chatted to many people, some Hindus from Chennai who had lived in Birmingham for twenty years, young people who came from Shimla and a lone tourist from Turkey.

The universal Sikh welcome extended to providing free meals for everyone. Every day tens of thousands of meals are cooked and served by volunteers to anyone who is hungry.  It is a massive feat of organisation and a wonderful gesture of all encompassing acceptance and fellowship.

There are also rooms for travellers available in the temple complex. These are basic and clean, but relatively cheap.

By contract the atmosphere at the Amritsar massacre site is decidedly sombre. On April 13 1919 the British General Reginald Dyer positioned his troops at the only narrow alley out of the Jallian Wala Bagh Square and ordered his troops to fire on a peaceful and unarmed crowd. The people had gathered for a Sikh festival and to discuss protests against their treatment by the British. The death toll of 379 men, women and children with 1500 wounded shocked the world. General Dyer returned to England, was promoted and retired on a pension. A shiver ran up our spines as we walked up that narrow alley and saw all the people relaxing in the square which is now a memorial park.

If the feelings in the massacre park were dark and foreboding the prevailing sense in the Golden temple was one of positive energy, looking to the future and optimism. It was a very beautiful place of joy  

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There was always something going on in our street. Whenever we heard a band we raced to the balcony to see the latest offering. Once again the bandsmen in white uniforms were marching or shambling up our street. With drums, bugles, tubas and cymbals they were in full discordant form, encouraged by their dark suited musical director waving his trumpet.

Statues of Shiva, bedecked with garlands, tinsel and bunting moved slowly behind in an open backed truck. The noisy generator towed behind provided power for the ten huge chandelier lights held aloft by uniformed bearers flanking the Shiva tableaux.

Dancing and cavorting adherents gambolled behind, watched patiently by two brightly painted elephants slowly lumbering along, bearing golden howdahs and parasols.

The next band wore red uniforms and were distracted by motorbikes trying to progress up the crowded street. They in turn were weaving to avoid kids rushing to catch sweets scattered from a large trailer also bearing an effigy of Lord Shiva, pulled by a tractor.

As twilight descended the lamp bearers came into their element. Gleaming shafts of light caught the excited expressions of adults and children alike, as small snacks were distributed from other canopied carts hauled by large white bullocks with long horns. The atmosphere was electric. Surging crowds pressed in on a phalanx of eight white camels draped in richly ornamented blankets with swinging tassels.

From a carriage drawn by four magnificent white horses more goodies were thrown to the swelling crowd.

The procession took hours to slowly parade past our balcony.  Bands stopped and went through their repertoire. Camels snorted, horses nodded their heads and elephants grabbed high leaves with their trunks.

To the music of many marching bands and the cheer and clapping of excited people dancers on slowly moving flat bed trucks performed traditional temple dances. Huge fantastic shadows were thrown onto the walls of adjacent buildings expanding the whole extravaganza from glittering street levels to the very tops of the surrounding buildings.  

As the last stragglers danced from the scene fireworks blossomed in the night sky in a glittering display of sparks and colours that mirrored the spectacular parade that had just reached the temple.

Days before, market stalls were selling packets of bright coloured powders. More upmarket shops extolled the virtues of organic vegetable derived powders, guaranteed not to stain clothes. Kids roamed around the litter strewn alleys and back lanes tentatively trying out their new water pistols. Panic stricken cats rushed for cover whilst somnolent dogs escaping the Delhi heat in deep shadows just shook the droplets off their heads.

Holi is the Hindu Spring festival when bright colours were traditionally smeared on the faces of worshipers at temples. Somehow this lovely tradition has mutated into an exuberant free for all where anyone and everyone can be liberally coated in vibrant colours.

It is a happy day, one of community celebration and family togetherness. In some communities coloured water is sprinkled or poured on friends and neighbours. In other places colourful petals are gracefully bestowed on the heads of smiling passers by.

Apart from watching all the fun and hilarity we had friends around to scoff cakes adorned with Holi coloured icing.

Lajpat Nagar, our neighbourhood, was alive with gleeful families scattering coloured powder on each other, throwing water on arriving family members and even passing cyclists. The kids emerged from the back alleys, now with free licence to demonstrate their finely honed skills at showering grinning rickshaw peddlers with streams of cooling water.

Have a look at the pictures