Lucknow, India-1984

Nestled like a jewel on the shoulder of India, Lucknow is a place of ancient memories. It shimmers with dreams. Every place has their charm. Each city its allure. Lucknow has a special blend of modern surprise mixed with ancient splendor. I brushed through the city more than 23 years ago. Although I spent only a few days there, I was intoxicated by the place.

I can't remember specific names of streets or restaurants. I do remember the Carlton Hotel. The manicured lawns. The peaceful atmosphere. History is food for my soul and the Carlton fed me with delicate memories of what must have been. A palatial place fit for royalty but definitely showing signs of years of use. The hotel not only held a significance because of its past but it housed fascinating people in the present. Travelers from diverse cultures and countries found refuge in the sprawling building. When you enter the Carlton you are a stranger, but once inside you become tied to the other guests.

How does one visit Lucknow without visiting the Bara Imambara. This magnificent edifice rose up during a time of lack. A great famine spread through the land, but it was at this time the building went up. All through the years of famine there were people who secured income by working on the construction of the Imambara. It could be said this was a project of mercy. The massive building is known for its intricate tunnels and passageways. The bhulbhulaiyan is a maze which not only is exciting to explore, but also gives support to the entire building. A visitor is warned not to enter the labyrinth alone. Far too many people who entered these passageways without a proper guide were never heard of or seen again. Oh, that made me want to enter in and see what rich secrets could be found. My better judgment stopped me before I got too far down the dark hallways. Well it was either my better judgement or the fact I had no flashlight and things were pretty dark!

Lucknow cannot be bottled up in one simple post. It is a city to be tasted and savored. Lingering upon each part of the city, there are different flavors which emerge. Old and new tastes mingle together producing a full flavor.

Nov. 1st - Nov. 4th 1984

Blossom, Blossom's mother and Padma

“I can’t go out and get the food; I’m too afraid! With this curfew on I am petrified of being out in the streets. I beg you, go for us.”

Blossom’s eyes implored me to be the brave one and at that moment I felt anything but brave. We had every right to be scared. Just days before, on October 31, 1984, Indira Gandhi, Prime Minister of India, was gunned down by her Sikh body guards. Suddenly anyone who was a Sikh became a target.

Before the tragic incident I lived in what I considered a peaceful enclave. My neighborhood was largely inhabited by Sikhs along with a few Hindus and Muslims. This once peaceful place was now a hot spot for those who wanted to retaliate against Indira Gandhi's brutal murder. I was a 23 year old woman, thousands of miles away from my family, in a country that was not my own. No one could guarantee my safety.

Angry mobs raged for days. Rioters stormed through the streets setting houses, vehicles and people on fire. Smoke billowed in the distance. What would happen when the danger finally reached me? Who would save me? Those who I trusted: my friends, my neighbors, my landlord, they were now just as helpless as I was.

Our food ran out. My body felt weak with just the thought of having to leave the safety of the apartment. Unfortunately I knew there was no other choice.

I needed courage. Nothing I had experienced had prepared me for this. My mind grasped frantically around for some kind of emergency switch to help me get the boldness I wanted. Verses flashed through my mind assuring me that when all else changes God never changes. I was reminded that God is my very present help in time of danger. He promised countless times in the Bible that He was my fortress; He was my deliverer.

I prayed, begging God to give me courage. With heart pounding, I slipped down the stairwell. Although I prayed for courage, I still didn’t feel brave. At the bottom of the stairs, I pressed my back against the wall and peeked cautiously around the corner. Seeing no one in sight, I slipped through the alleyway, making my way to the nearby Kailash Market.

The sight of the deserted market sent shivers up and down my spine. The vacant stalls taunted me. Whether rain or shine the market place was always teaming with life. The empty space in front of me was just another reminder that there was nothing I could count on anymore.

“God, please, do something. Help me.”

“PSSSSsssss…”

My head jerked around to see a door open.

“PSSSssss, come here, we have rice to sell.”

I purchased the necessary food and dashed home. In the safety of the apartment my teeth chattered uncontrollably and my body shook violently. Blossom guided me to the bed. I lay there listening to the distant roar of the mob. The volume increased and my curiosity got the better of me. Slipping out onto the balcony of the third story apartment, my timing couldn’t have been worse.

A gang of rioters were tying two men to a tree. The men fought for their lives but they were no match against this blood thirsty crowd. Weren’t these the people that I mingled with everyday? Weren’t these good people? It didn’t make sense that these people were filled with such hatred.
Looking down at them, my mind still grappled with the questions that bombarded it. I realized that some of the people were holding burning torches.

“What is that they are doing?” I wondered. My heart registered what was happening before my mind could comprehend the horror.

My heart raced up into my throat, gagging me, as I realized the crowd had lit the two men on fire. Their bloodcurdling screams mingled with the smoke that curled up past the balcony. I wanted to yell at the crowd, but before I had a chance to say anything Blossom jerked me into the apartment. Her hand closed tightly over my mouth as she frantically whispered in my ear, “We can’t do anything for them now! They will try and rape us if they know we are up here. Shh, be still. It will be over soon.”

I fought against her. Tears of frustration slipped down my cheeks.

“Why? Why can’t we help them?”

There were no answers. I knew Blossom was wrong and yet so right. Nothing made sense anymore.

The death cries ceased giving way to an eerie silence. Blossom and I lay quietly on the bed. Our ears were finely tuned waiting for any noise alerting us to the return of the attackers.

On the fourth day the riots stopped as abruptly as they started. The army marched through the streets. I wondered why they took so long. No one else cared where they had been, all that mattered now was they were there. Unified cheers rang out over balconies and along the roadside. Despite the cheers, I sensed an underlying insecurity. The same insecurity I battled with over the preceding days. Now I was forced to choose either to cling to the insecurity or to cast it aside. What could I look to for security? Myself? I had discovered I was weak and full of fear. Would I trust those around me? I could not, especially after seeing how they could change at the drop of a hat. Would I trust in the military or machinery? I had no assurance their actions were done to uphold my best interests.

On November 4th 1984, I came to the conclusion my security had to be in God.

October 31, 1984

The auto rickshaw moved like a small bug through the traffic. Hanging onto the side of the contraption, I attempted to read my letters. Suddenly the vehicle stopped, sending me and my letters flying.

"Sorry, Sorry!"

"What happened?"I asked as I retrieved the scattered papers.

The driver frowned as he surveyed the rowdy crowd. His Hindi flowed as he questioned those who stood nearby. My limited Hindi kept me in further suspense.

"What is it?"

"Oh, you will have to walk now."

"Why?"

"No road, you have to go now."

"What is going on?"

"Please Miss, please get down."

No explanation was given. I was told to get out of the auto rickshaw nearby the All India Institute of Medical Sciences. The crowd seemed angry, but then many crowds I walked through in India seemed angry. All I wanted to do was get to the other side of the gathering and find another auto rickshaw to take me home. Letters firmly in hand, I made my way through a sea of people. Some were crying, others were yelling, and others were arguing but I couldn't understand why. After what seemed like an eternity I made it to the other side and got into a new auto rickshaw.

"Do you know what is happening?"

The driver almost crashed into the sign post. He turned his head and stared at me as though I was from Mars.

"You do not know?"

"If I knew, would I ask?"

"Indira Gandhi was shot by her body guards today."

"WHAT? No, this must be a mistake!! Is she dead?"

"They say she isn't."

It wasn't until later that evening they finally announced she was dead. Her body held 31 bullets. Each bullet coming from guns her bodyguards held. The ones who were supposed to protect her turned against her like they were actors in a Greek tragedy or Roman drama. Someone forgot to tell them this was real life and the consequences of their actions would be far reaching.

October 31, 1984 the day Indira Gandhi was assassinated.