Yesterday Once More

“Yesterday I dreamt I was in Manderley again.” Rebecca could well be voicing my own sentiments. I have dreamt that I am in my Manderly again, in Darjeeling, thousands of times, only to wake up wistfully in another place. The day I was to finally go to Darjeeling this winter, I had trouble keeping calm. GJMM, the party at the epicentre of the Gorkhaland statehood demands, was holding the district to ransom by calling strikes at the drop of a hat. To put it in perspective, strikes in this part of the country mean that life comes to a standstill: Nothing moves and nothing works! Understandably, I was nervous.

I was in Darjeeling for a day and I had ambitious plans: a ride in the toy train, visiting the zoo, visiting my school, walking on the mall road, going to Tiger Hill to see the season’s first snow, savouring  aloo dum at the tuck shop above my school, eating momos at the tourist lodge in Kurseong….phew!

The Kurseong Tourist Lodge has always been the designated stop for everyone I know who’s travelling on the Darjeeling-Siliguri circuit. The yearning to sip on the freshly-brewed pot of Darjeeling tea while gazing at the heart-stopping view of the mountains, has made me go back every time and hunger for more. What’s more, I can safely say that the lodge serves one of the best chicken momos I’ve eaten anywhere! So I was disappointed when we reached a tad too early in the morning and the momos weren’t cooked yet. The Darjeeling tea was brewed to perfection though, and for some inexplicable reason I became a tea convert that day.

The perpetual mist that Darjeeling is shrouded in, only added to its mysterious appeal that day. Ironically, I recall hating the fog so much when I lived in Darjeeling, that I’d imagine the sun to be crying (and hence the fog and rain) when we returned on a Sunday from our weekend trip to the foothills.

As I drew up a mental list of the places I had to go to, the zoo was the first place I decided to put a check mark against. Having walked along the length and breadth of the zoo a gazillion times, I knew the place like the back of my hand. Yes it did feel familiar but without the jaded sameness of some other places. The tiger ambled about not caring about my presence, while the red panda looked at me with a royal disdain before disappearing into the trees. The wolves, always the fiercest of the lot, seemed to look hungrily at me, and I chose to discreetly move away. I could probably go on about each animal but that’ll be another blog entry.

Darjeeling for me has been synonymous with my school. The 160-plus year old building never fails to awe me when I think of the stories that seem to be woven in each brick. I remember girls recounting tales of spirits of nuns and world-war soldiers drifting along the hallowed corridors and in the garden during the evenings.

Going back didn’t seem like such a good idea when I saw the unkempt state of the garden and the ugly blue color the lower wall of the school was painted in. The garishly painted “Immaculate Conception Cathedral” on the stone bricks of the church looked like a grotesque practical joke. Not to sound mawkish but I realized what it meant to have your heart bleed! The aloo dum at the top shop above our school was just like in the old days though, and that made Juni and I forget everything else.

I also forgot that I was in Darjeeling for only a day until the driver called to give a polite reminder. As I hurried along the mall road, it was heartening to see the bustle and the loud bargaining. Just a week ago, things were so bad that my mother and sister thought that it was the end of tourism in Darjeeling. Glenary’s, where I had my first Irish coffee and a lot of other ‘firsts’, was packed with people trying to get last minute goodies for the New Year’s eve. Yet an old favourite, Das Studio, looked forlorn. It wasn’t business as usual with the flow of tourists slowing to a trickle on account of the impending bandhs.

It was 4 in the evening and I still had to take that ride in the Toy Train, see the snow in Tiger Hill and return to Siliguri. Having lived in Darjeeling for eight year, it was a royal shame to never have taken a ride in the Toy Train. It looked like I would not be able to enjoy this piece of Unesco Heritage this time as well because the services were shut..again because of the increasing political disturbance.

It was becoming progressively colder and foggier. Yet, Juni and I decided to go to Tiger Hill, more so because Juni had never seen Tiger Hill! The snow had started to melt by the time we reached and we saw only dirty patches of it. It nevertheless made for a good end to our brief trip to the “Queen of Hills”.

Much had changed and things looked bleak, but there was hope yet!

Margaret’s Hope

I waited for Margaret who is believed to visit the tea estate manager’s bungalow every night from the guest room on the west. She then goes to the study and then to the tennis court through the verandah. Margaret, for those who are curious, was the daughter of the owner of Margaret’s Hope Tea Garden in Darjeeling who died in the 1930s, when she was still a child.

I was staying in the century old manager’s bungalow courtesy of old family friends who had graciously let us enjoy their warm hospitality and marvel at the antique charm of the bungalow nestled in the middle of the tea garden.

Maybe it’s to do with the brown man’s (in this case woman’s) fascination with the white skin and all associated paraphernalia, but I love the old British buildings and the tea gardens in Darjeeling still retain that colonial charm that’s slowly fading in India. That haughty aloofness of the tea gardens and its folks only adds to the reclusive appeal of the garden that is reminiscent of the British Raj.

Like a bibliophile given a rare manuscript, I delighted in exploring every corner of the sprawling bungalow. The roaring fire in the huge fireplace added a kind of Christmas cheer to the place in the evening. Basking in the warm glow of the embers, I read about Margaret, the history of the garden and how it came to be called Margaret’s Hope from Bara Ringtong, the garden’s original name.

The next morning, the factory manager gave Juni and me a factory tour. Unfortunately, winter is the machine-overhauling season and we missed watching the tea leaves being processed. After a hearty breakfast, we debated for a while on whether to go to Darjeeling town or go home, and we opted for the latter because of the possibility of a strike (more about this in the next blog).

 And oh, I didn’t see Margaret but maybe she dropped in when I fell asleep.

Summers in Nepal

My blog looks forsaken. And it’s not because I haven’t been travelling. In fact, I’d count 2009 as the ‘Year of Travel’! Just before coming to the US, I went on a holiday to Ladakh and Nepal and came back with a renewed enthusiasm for the Indian subcontinent. The diversity of culture, religion and geography that’s bound by a shared history couldn’t be starker in any other region.

How do I describe Nepal? Without going into the hackneyed “Himalayan Kingdom juxtaposing modern with the traditional” tripe, I’ll say it’s where Bob Marley meets Om Mani Padme Hum. It’s the place where dreadlocked westerners smoke charas with dreadlocked sadhus. Rastafarians meet Nirvana? Maybe!

 

It’s also a place I went to ten years ago when the royalty was still revered…..and then the royal massacre changed Nepal. This blog is not about the political landscape of the country, even though politics of the nation has had an impact on tourism quite a bit. Who would want to be stuck in an eight hour long bandh (like we were) on the road when you’ve come on a holiday?

Summer seems like aeons away, but the two places that stand out in my memory are Pokhara and Thamel. Pokhara is a popular lake town, where nifty “German bakeries” jostle for attention with momos on wheels. Live rock bands entertain you with Pink Floyd and Metallica in a pub called Busy Bee, even as you guzzle beer and munch on a wood oven smoked Pizza under the starry sky. And of course, there is the Fewa Tal boat ride, which is de rigueur in the tourist itinerary.

 

The lakeside too is a tourist hotspot with exotic eating joints and souvenir shops dotted along the lake. It’s easy to be equally charmed by the wonderful sights around Pokhara. Pamay is one of those idyllic villages near Pokhara which epitomise a bygone era. We sprawled on the grass as cattle grazed nearby, their tinkling bells interrupting the silence. It was a hot day and I wished I could take a dip in the cool stream where we could hear cowherds splashing and sharing jokes.

On our way back, we stopped at Dunatapari, a restaurant famous for its fish curry. Duna means a bowl and tapari means a plate made of leaves. The ambience was deliberately rustic, with mud plastered walls and floors. We sat on the ground over durries which matched the theme. The menu seemed elaborate for such a place and we chose the obvious: a bowl of fish curry with a plate of rice for everyone. The flavours of the delicately spiced curry played a tango on my taste buds, reaching a crescendo every time I bit into the succulent pieces of fish. Not everything flavourful is fattening after all!

Talking of flavourful and yet unfattening, another epicurean delight that I partook of was the Thakali thali in Kathmandu. Thakalis are a community who have been cooks for generations in Nepal and this fact should be recommendation enough. I ordered phee, a sweet alcoholic drink made from rice, as a side drink. It tasted like sweetened yogurt gone bad. No, I didn’t like it and I decided to concentrate on the food which was every bit as delish as I’d imagined it to be.

This was in Kathmandu, which gives me segue into the account of the rest of my stay there. I visited all three durbars this time: one in Kathmandu, one in Bhaktapur and the third one in Patan. Durbar means the court of a King. I was especially excited about the one at Bhaktapur, a Unesco World Heritage site. The durbar boasts of the tallest temple in Asia. Walking through the labyrinthine red brick roads, I felt awed by the ancient buildings. I imagined the royal retinue making their rounds in those streets, the power and the glory apparent in the royal visages. I envied the old stone bricks which are the only present witnesses about what once was.

I was staying at Seema’s, which was at a walking distance from Thamel, a melange of the east and the west. Shops selling dream catchers compete with curios selling Thankas, and silverwares. Colourful handmade paper shops squeeze themselves in the crowded bazaar. Sounds of hip-hop and reggae meld with Buddhist chants to create a Shangri La-like experience. The days in Nepal waltzed by, bringing the week’s vacay to a close. I still had lots to do. For one, I still hadn’t tried Newari cuisine; at least not the authentic one. Well, there’s always next time!

Ju’Leh’ Ladakh

I’m not sure what triggered my fascination with Ladakh. In the era when Doordarshan used to be the only source of information on the outside world, a fleeting memory of a movie on Ladakhi traditions may have sown the seeds of a love that’s continued to grow. Add to it the mystique of the Himalayas and you get a combination that’s hard to get anywhere else. Anywhere else apart from Tibet that is.

Ladakh is not called Little Tibet without a reason. Stark mountains with patches of green along the river Indus or Zanskar present a dramatic landscape not different from that of “The Roof of the World”.  Culturally too, the two regions share an affinity that is remarkable. Monasteries or gompas as they’re called abound by the dozen in Ladakh. Shey, Thiksey, Stok, Hemis, Likir, Alchi, Lamayuru are just some of the more renowned ones on the tourist circuit close to Leh. The exterior of Thiksey looks like a cluttered and miniature version of the Potala.

Alchi is one of the oldest monasteries in Ladakh and it is evident in the intricate paintings housed in the various temples. For me though, the highlight was the rain of apricots we got every time the wind blew. Bored with the endless rounds of monasteries in other parts of India and Nepal, Panu and I decided to do only a quick round of the monastery at Likir, only to regret it later. We missed the human skull lamp and tame mouse in one of the inner chambers!

We also stopped at Saspol enroute to Likir monastery, to explore some caves with ancient paintings. It wasn’t on our original itinerary. However, the British family we were sharing the cab with, was keen to look in on the caves. As I came to know later, Kate had worked in UNESCO earlier and hence was quite interested in paintings and everything to do with heritage. While it had seemed like an easy walk from the road, the actual hike turned out to be much steeper. In fact, Kate and I had almost given up, but a sudden adrenalin rush got us all pumped to do the climb. It turned out to be fine except for a few stretches which had me navigating the path with all my limbs. While, the paintings were worn out and in some cases barely perceptible, the scenery from the top was beautiful and that made the climb and the equally tricky descent completely worth it!

There are only so many monasteries you can really enjoy in a day. After a point they become another check mark on your itinerary. Determined to escape that routine, we decided to go rafting in the Zanskar River instead. In the three hour of battling the rapids, we escaped whirlpools, marvelled at kayakers disappearing in the water only to re-surface with a flourish and seen a raft toppling. Until then, everyone had been doing well and taken the rapids in their stride. However, the bobbing heads in the water threw everyone into a panic. The rescue was done within minutes though, and we were back on track after some time. Ironically, this happened at the last turbulent stretch of the river.

Having heard so much about Pangong Tso, there was no way I was missing it. Picturise shimmering blue water, the yellow sun in an azure sky and you get the Pangong Lake. The sky unfortunately was overcast the day we visited, and my vision of a clear sky with flecks of clouds reflected in the aquamarine and turquoise water was shattered. The lake was beautiful though and even with a dull grey sky, I managed to get some great shots of the lake. On our way back we saw several marmots within touching distance. While most of them were shy, there was a spot where they were obviously used to visitors and came forward sniffing for food. Sweet!

Nubra valley is in a way what epitomizes Ladakh in my mind even though it is warmer and the terrain is different from the rest of the region. The road from Leh is oh-so-beautiful and did I mention that you cross the highest motorable pass in the world -Khardung La? There are more monasteries in the valley and the one at Diskit dates back to the 14^th century. You get acquainted with the word ‘quaint’ after sometime. Hunder in the valley is where you get to see the Bactrian camels that came from Central Asia when the silk route for trade was open. The entire experience is surreal and it feels like you’re in another time and another place.

My holiday was coming to an end. Like all my previous vacations, I wasn’t completely satiated with the place. But I had another country to explore. That cheered me up a little. So I’ll close with LG’s tagline: Life is good!

Colours of Sikkim

The year 2009 started with a bang as far as travelling is concerned; the Sunderbans in January and Sikkim, Gangtok to be precise, shortly after in February…I was on a roll!
What took me to Gangtok was ostensibly Panu’s brother’s wedding. Apart from the usual excitement, there was also an anticipation of revisiting a familiar world; a feeling of comfort on seeing things one associates with childhood.
I breathed a sigh of relief when the Jet Airways flight finally touched down on the runway in Bagdogra. I had nearly cancelled the trip due to ethnic problems in the Dooars that’s been brewing for almost a year now.  Sikkim is a peaceful state, the most peaceful I would say in maybe the whole of India; no caste skirmishes, no communal riots, no ethnic violence and no scourge of terrorism! Quite heartening to note for a place in the North-East, where every other state is battling with its own separatist movements and insurgency. However to get to Sikkim, one has to come to Siliguri in the Dooars, which is right now a hot bed of political turmoil. Fortunately, things worked out fine in the end and I was on the road to Gangtok, taking in all sights like a greedy child given a choice of candies.
The leisurely five hour long journey by road took us through terraced fields and small villages with the river Teesta quietly accompanying us. It was winter and the landscape was a trifle brown and not the verdant green as in the monsoons. Even the Teesta was tame and in no rush.
The first landmark, I passed by was the Coronation Bridge over the Teesta river. It was built by the British in the year 1930 to commemorate the coronation of King George V, and is an engineering marvel. While newer bridges have collapsed and rebuilt several times due to the numerous landslides in the region, this one has stood the test of time. Numerous monkeys dot the landscape here, waiting for benevolent tourists to throw some food at them. This perfectly encapsulates nature’s ways gone awry; discarding the crude but natural forest produce to forage for the artificial and the easy. In a way, it is also a mirror to our own actions.

The hotel I was staying in was perfectly located with the mighty Kangchendzonga offering a peek of itself on clearer days. The third highest peak in the world, it is more than a mountain to the Sikkimese: it is a guardian deity. So sacred is this mountain, that successive expeditions have left the summit unconquered in deference to local beliefs.
Though I was in Gangtok for a week, I had just two days to take in the sights of the town, and even that was fortuitous given the hectic marriage preparations. Tramping all across the town for small errands, I must have crossed the mall road a hundred times. 
The Sikkim CM has vowed to make Sikkim into Switzerland, though his efforts so far are visible  only on the mall road. It does make for a pretty sight, with benches lined up in the middle of the road, and dainty flowerpots dangling against ornate streetlamps. Traffic is prohibited in this stretch making it a pleasure to walk on the stone floor. The mall road houses several snazzy restaurants and shops. One which captured my imagination was a cozy Western style Bakery called Baker’s Cafe, supposedly the only place in town which sells cappuccinos and lattes; an ideal place to catch up with someone over a cuppa!
The day after the marriage, with everyone in a snooze mood, was one day I found myself free to do as I chose. The first place Panu & I went to was the Do Drul Chorten, which was a walking distance from my hotel. The lamp room, unfortunately was closed for renovation. My carefully laid out plans to click the lit lamps had gone for a toss! After turning the 108 prayer wheels in the complex and clicking numerous pictures of the stupa, the colourful prayer flags, the monks and what have you, we left to go to the Namgyal Institute of Tibetology. The institute sponsors and promotes research on the religion, history, language, art and culture of the people of the Tibetan cultural area. You realize that cultures of Sikkim, Bhutan and Tibet are interlinked by that one thread: Buddhism. The motifs are similar, designs so intricate, the use of red all-pervasive and the buildings, a painter’s palette. The thin line between culture and religion has always been rather fuzzy in India; it is all the more apparent when I see the church, where the marriage vows were solemnized, looking more like a Buddhist place of worship than a Christian one.

After a quick lunch at Porky’s, a restaurant I’ve always wanted to go to because of it’s name, we hired a cab and decided to do a reconnaisance of the outskirts. We passed by several homes along the road; even the smallest and the shabbiest proudly displayed orchids and other local flowers on their window-sils and porch, fine enough to put cityfolks to shame.

Sikkim should be called the land of monasteries: there are so many of them! The last day of my stay was when I went to the Ranka monastery or Lingdum monastery, around an hour’s drive from Gangtok. It is designed in a Tibetan Buddhist style of architecture. One is struck by the silence that envelops you here. Peaceful is the word that strikes you. The long row of prayer wheels beckoned me again to accumulate good karma and to purify negativities. What better way to end my vacation?

Kingdom in the Delta

 Sunderbans, that group of islands in the Bay of Bengal where tiger is the king, is a destination for those who like to be in the middle of nowhere with only the flora and fauna to keep you company. So, there isn’t much tourist traffic coming this way. Thank god for small mercies!

To elaborate on my account, I boarded the cruise from Kolkata at night and it glided silently under the starry sky while I slept. The morning brought the first glimpses of the mangroves…those islands of green interspersed in the blue-green Sunderban waters.

 

 

At the crack of dawn, we transferred from the cruise to a launch to see the tiger from close quarters, or at least that was the idea. A distant red in the horizon gave way to a frenzied clicking of the sunrise as the red glow transformed into a ball of fire. There is something about sunrise and sunsets that makes the most ordinary folks into passionate photographers.

Our launch took us to the island of Dobanki where tigers can be often spotted. As we waited in the early morning chill, we noticed something ambling towards us in the haze. The more imaginative among us excitedly whispered, “tiger!” The wave of euphoria caught the rest of us till everyone waited in anticipation of the venerable beast of the jungle. A little while later however, what we thought was ‘the lord of the jungle’ turned out to be a spotted deer foraging for its breakfast.

Our growling stomachs reminded us that we needed our own refills and we boarded our launch to go back to the cruise. The breakfast spread was one of the most lavish one could expect away from civilization……..fluffy idlis, poha, scrambled eggs, sausages, assorted breads, parantha, egg bhurji, fried tomatoes made my day. After having had our fill, it was time to explore the Sunderbans again. We transferred to the launch yet again. The boat took us to the narrower stretches where the cruises couldn’t normally traverse. The fact that Sunderban is the biggest mangrove ecosystem in the world is brought home when you see the diverse flora and fauna of the place. Stilt roots supporting trees in the mud and “breathing roots” pushing their way towards the sky through the mud in the marshy land are a common ecological adaptation visible to the eyes. Sunderbans are not just home to the dreaded tiger, but also the crocodiles that thrive in the marshy land, deer, dolphins and birds of various hues.

 

  

 

We also had a speedboat at our disposal, and it further helped us to go places that even a launch cannot go to. Spying a rifle in the speedboat brought home how vulnerable we were in the water. A stealthy tiger could easily have taken us unawares. But, an animal usually avoids confrontation with humans and so it is with the tiger also.

The ride did not yield much success in terms of seeing the majestic beast. However, we saw numerous deer, a crocodile sunbathing along the banks and birds; one a flaming orange kingfisher! Once back on the cruise, it was time for lunch, which again made me wonder where all the food was coming from in the midst of mangroves.

The afternoon was spent lazing around in the cruise, exploring the amenities, clicking pictures of the sunset and generally having a good time.

 

 

There was a small soirée in the evening and wine flowed freely. There was a small magic show by a forest department staff and a local folk dance. We joined in and after a few steps realized that the innocuously simple steps were actually deceptive. After ten minutes, I was panting and went back for some more wine in the winter chill. Floating on water, the legend of Bonbibi came alive as the drama troupe from one of the several Sunderban villages enacted the folklore aboard the cruise.

Bonbibi (the protector of the forest) wanted to rule the Sunderbans jointly with Narayani, mother of Dakshin Ray. Dakshin Ray, Lord of the Tigers, refused as he wanted to be the sole ruler and wanted human blood in return for collection of honey.

Dukhe, son of a poor widow, was apprenticing with this uncle Dhana, a rich merchant. One day Dakshin Ray appeared in his dream and asked for the sacrifice of Dukhe, in exchange for honey and wax from the forest. His greed getting the better of him, Dhana agreed and left Dukhe in the forest to become the tiger’s dinner. Dukhe remembered his mother’s advice of invoking Bonbibi’s blessings in times of need. She appeared with her brother Shah Jongolee and saved Dukhe from the tiger. In the end, Dakshin Ray admitted defeat and promised that anybody offering prayers to Bonbibi before entering the forest would not be harmed. 

And that is how the legend of Bonbibi grew, a legend of a deity who is worshipped by Hindus and Muslims alike and on both sides of the border: in India and in Bangladesh. Small temples dedicated to Bonbibi in the various islands stand testimony to the absolute faith that locals have in the divine. They also bear witness to the communal harmony that can exist between two religions, which have historically been at odds with each other in the rest of the country.

I intended waking up the next morning to capture the sunrise. But I realized that when you’re on vacation, it’s difficult to do something like waking up early. So I lolled about in the bed long after the sun rose. As we inched towards habitation, I saw numerous dinghies and small fishing boats dotting the landscape. Fishing is not allowed in the Sunderban waters for ecological reasons and the only contraption we saw there were launches ferrying tourists. The sun glimmered on the water, and as I pointed at some boats to shoot, a few fishermen got excited and waved back. Further ahead, I saw a few fishing villages with boats aground on the banks.

 

 

 

In general, the air of tranquility was all pervasive. The winter sun seemed to be smiling on the world. It reminded me of the French poem

“Le soleil brille pour tout le monde,

il ne brille pas dans les prisons,

 il ne brille pas pour ceux qui travaillent dans la mine

……… ceux qui ont du travail…”

The lines translate as, the sun shines for everyone, it doesn’t shine in the prisons, it doesn’t shine for those who work in the mines, and those who have work. I couldn’t agree more. The prison reminded me of Delhi (metaphorically speaking) and I delighted in the fact that I was away from it all. As I spent the day clicking photos and savouring the wonderfully delicious Bengali cuisine for lunch on board, we had already reached the quay near the Millenium Park in Kolkata. It was disappointing to walk on terra firma after gliding on the hungry tides of the Sunderbans. But there were unexplored horizons still……

Cruising Around

After almost 2 months of looking around for quick weekend getaways from Delhi, we finally zeroed in on Nainital. The destination was finalized just a week before leaving. Not very original on first thought, but that was how it was after taking numerous considerations into account. The weekend in question was the 3 day long break after 15Th August and getting acco at the last minute in Nainital (with the entire Delhi crowd descending on the place), was well nigh impossible. However, thanks to Anita’s army connection, we got great rooms for a day and that too just opposite the lake. The rooms were luxurious with a huge bed and an equally huge bathroom. It even had this quaint concept of a dressing room!!

We reached Nainital around early afternoon. The light drizzle on the way had turned into a downpour. Since we were all tired from the journey, the day was spent idling around in Nainital in a quintessential tourist way: boating and walking the length of the mall road, shopping for stuff you will never use. 

Along the way Photo: Sandeep

The next day was more interesting as we were going to Binsar, away from the crush of tourists. Since we had a cab to our disposal, we stopped at quite a few places including a stop at Jageshwar temples. It turned out to be one huge disappointment! After having seen temples like Baijnath (in Uttarakhand) and Hatkoti temple (in Himachal), Jageshwar turned out to be like any other temple in the city. Individual havans had taken away the pristine beauty of the place. The stream running beside the temple was littered with the remains of the havan and the usual wrappers, plastics etc , not to mention that the entrance was crowded with the numerous stalls hawking ‘religious’ stuff. The architecture itself was old though and it would have made for a pretty sight, situated as it was among the pines. 

Jageshwar Temple

We reached Binsar around late evening. Inquiries at the various resorts confirmed our worst fears; almost all of them were booked out. However, by a stroke of luck, the tourist office informed us of the “Eco Lodge” within the Binsar wildlife sanctuary. This was an initiative of the government to give support to the villagers who had lost their means of livelihood, when the forest was declared a protected zone.

Road in Binsar

We had to trek 2 kms in the forest to reach our mud house built in the traditional pahari fashion. The place had no electricity and by a strange combination of events, we found ourselves trekking through the narrow paths at night, with only the hazy moonlight streaming through the clouds, praying we wouldn’t slip down the mountain. Jyoti almost did and we walked even more gingerly after that. The place was beautiful at night with not a soul nearby. I was looking at stars after a long time. The dinner was wholesome and we gorged on the fresh rotis with great gusto.

Eco Lodge Photo: Sandeep

On the way to Eco Lodge

The next morning, we did a small trek to the zero point (I wonder why all trekking destinations are called zero point), from where you can supposedly see a few peaks. However, that morning it was raining and far from seeing the peaks, you couldn’t even see a few metres ahead. It was great to just trek though.

In the course of our travel, we realized that not having prior bookings in such a weekend was a bad idea. Hotels in even little known places like Ramgarh were fully booked. Not to be daunted, we went further ahead to Mukteshwar, and sure enough we got a decent place called Anand Resorts, to stay in with a great view to boot at very reasonable rates. I wouldn’t recommend the food though, which was unappetizing and expensive. We had to return the next day to Delhi. En route, we visited Ghorakhaal, which was where Anubhav had done his schooling from. A particular viewpoint at the place gives a panoramic view of the Bhimtaal lake and the nearby areas. The rains seemed to have painted everything with a fresh coat of paint. It felt good to indulge one’s senses. However, we had to leave for Delhi and we were running short of time. Waving a hasty goodbye to the place, we started our long ride back to Delhi marking the end of the good times…….. at least for a while!

Panorama from Ghorakhaal

Live like you were Dying

“I went skydiving
I went rocky mountain climbing
I went two point seven seconds on a bull named Fu Man Chu
And I loved deeper
And I spoke sweeter
And I gave forgiveness I’d been denyin’
And he said some day I hope you get the chance
To live like you were dyin’ …………”

I’ve loved this song by Tim McGraw from the moment I heard it. It talks about the things this guy (someone the singer knows) does when he knows he’s about to die. Life is short and when it’s the end, it unlikely that you’ll feel proud about spending more time in the office (at least I won’t!). It’s the small things in life that count towards the end and that’s what the song is about. I’ve already made the ‘List of 30 before turning 30′ and I guess, its never too soon to make your own “bucket list”. So here’s mine and I’ll keep adding to it, cause you never know when you’ll kick the bucket and regret not having done things you’d like to do.

1. Visit Macchu Picchu
2. Visit the Rio carnival
3. Take my parents to Masai Mara
4. Go up to at least the Everest Base camp
5. See the Northern Lights
6. Go around the world in my own boat
7. Visit all the continents
8. Visit all the states in India
9. Buy my own house and then spend time making it into exactly what I want, especially a cottage in the hills
10. Learn to Ski
11. Run a marathon
12. Go canoeing or kayaking
13. Take horseback riding lessons
14. Learn a martial art
15. Go scuba diving
16. Go white water rafting
17. Learn to juggle
18. Learn to make pottery
19. Take up yoga and make it a way of life
20. Go for Oktoberfest in Munich

Down Nostalgia Lane in the Dooars

As the plane taxied on the runway in Bagdogra, I couldn’t help but feel a wee bit of dissapointment. The weather in Delhi had been pleasantly cool for the past few days and here I was in North Bengal wiping away the first drops of perspiration. Yet, it felt strangely exhilerating to be back in North Bengal after 8 years….probably the feeling one gets on coming back home from foreign lands.

The ride from Bagdogra to Sukhna was familiar. Nothing much had changed; there was still that languid air when all people do in afternoons is either sleep or huddle in groups watching cars go. Small houses with potted plants decorating the small entrances is no anomaly. Time seemed to move lazily there encouraging me to live in the ‘now’. It seems like a nice life and even poverty seems poetic.

The four day stay in the Dooars was a whirlwind of activities-hopping from one forest rest house to the other, gorging on delicious Bengali cuisine and of course soaking in the tranquility of North Bengal.

The first stop was at Sukhna, the transit point linking Darjeeling with the Dooars and one of my favourite forest rest houses in West Bengal. A scrumptious lunch comprising ‘papda’ was awaiting us. The buzz of the crickets was reassuring, flooding me with memories of the endless afternoons I’d spent in my childhood at the place.  

The halt for the night was at Hollong, another old haunt. Located inside the Jaldapara wildlife sanctuary,  the Hollong rest house has always remained an absolute favourite. The kitchen in this rest house once boasted of a chef straight from the King of Coochbehar’s palace. It is also one of the most picturesque with a stream running right in front of it. Many a night has been spent waiting to spot animals coming to the clearing next to the stream. Not to forget the numerous elephant rides I’d taken in early dawn hoping to catch  glimpse of some animals. Unfortunately, for these same reasons, it’s also a huge favourite with the tourists. Fortunately, the inflow is not so high as to disturb the ecology of the place.

Mama Elephant with Baby in tow

North Bengal is full of places with quaint, outlandish names like Khuniya, Gairkata, Hashimara etc. It was one of these places called Rajabhatkhawa that was next on our map. Rajabhatkhawa (literally Kings eat Rice) was supposedly the place where the King of Bhutan and King of Coochbehar signed a treaty followed by a banquet of course. Hence the name! A trip to the 23rd milestone watchtower from this place was its highlight. Now this watchtower is in the middle of the forest and it’s not unusual to spot a herd of bisons grazing nonchalantly or even an elephant drinking water at one of the water holes in the early morning. The elusive tiger is well….elusive! It’s quite a trick to spot one and since it was almost noon by the time we reached the place, we satisfied ourselves simply by drinking in the greenery of the place.  The green colour is most unusual there. It’s like seeing the world with a double green filter! We saw hundreds of butterflies congregating at the various damp patches of earth flitting away the minute we reached a few inches from them. Watching the forest from a watchtower, one couldn’t help feeling that god is the greatest artist of them all. Hearing the symphony of birds, I wondered if there was a sound more soothing than that. A sound which heralds life and makes you want to weep with joy!

 

Despite the seemingly lazy time, my four day holiday was edging to its end. We had been travelling from one place to the other and most of the time was spent on the road. The roads were surprisingly not pot holed at this time of the year. For those unfamiliar with the topography of the Dooars, it would be no exaggeration, if I wrote that the the worst Delhi roads were like polished steel compared to those in North Bengal. Nonetheless, most stretches were so beautiful so as to make you forget all else. Trees, some in full bloom, lined both sides of the road. We passed through villages where the huts were hidden by clusters of supari trees. Children gamboled in the local pond, splashing about like children will. It makes one smile to think that life is still uncomplicated for some.

A road in the Dooars

The Supari Trees near the Road

After spending a night at Chapramari, another of those weird sounding places, we had to say our goodbye to the place. The ride back to Bagdogra was difficult. It was like leaving behind someone you love. But can you leave your loved one for long?

Walk to a Glacier and Back

Azure sky above, glaciers around, green meadows dotted with a thousand tiny flowers below and everything else in a limbo…. I was looking at the snow capped peaks of Nanda Kot and Nanda Khat, silently applauding god on his masterpiece. Having the Great Himalayas looking down benevolently at us is a humbling experience and I could only gawp at nature’s wonders.

 

Delhi, where this idea of a trek to Pindari glacier transpired, was another place in another time. Tired of the bright city lights, I and a motley bunch of Indians of various ethnicities and an Australian, decided to take off for the solitude of the mountains. Pindari Glacier, one of the most accessible Himalayan glaciers with an inflow of only around 1000 tourists per year, was my promised land. A long ride till Bageshwar, then another ride till Saung in a creaky old contraption, and then yet another cramped ride in an even creakier one halfway to Loharkhet and our trek had started. The initial stretch turned out to be too steep for novices like us and the stop for lunch at Loharkhet tourist rest house was a relief. The food, with a smoky taste, turned out to be the best I’d had in a long time and the early hours-10 O’ clock in the morning- didn’t deter me from piling on food, enough to give a stomach ache in other circumstances. We were off again after the lovely meal. Each of us trudged along in silence, maybe drowsy from the heavy meal but mostly because there wasn’t much need for speech anyway. Instead, the usually dormant senses had come alive with nature’s offerings–variegated shades of green, the faint tinkling of cow bells, the sound of flowing water, the rustle of leaves beneath our feet, the taste of wild strawberries and the smell of the earth.

We stopped at places that inspired a photographer in us and for some chai. That Maggi is immensely popular along the trek is evident from the menu list at all the food stalls- ‘Lunch’, ‘Dinner’, ‘Breakfast’ followed by the inevitable Maggi. Dhakuri was our halt for the day. This is where we managed to get a peek at snow clad peaks of Nanda Devi through the clouds.

We had lost track of time knowing only sunrise and sunset. It was a time for introspection and reflection while we trekked along the Pindar River next day to Dwali via Khati. Legend has it that the Pandavs came to conduct the last rites for the departed souls, the ritual called Pind-daan in Hindi and hence the name. It was a beautiful river, with quaint wooden bridges across it at several places. Yet it wasn’t a tame river, with stretches where it became a roaring, boiling, rumbling leviathan. The creaky wooden bridges, with a missing slat or two not really inspiring our confidence, helped us cross anyway.

 

The distance from Dwali to Phurkia is a mere 5 kms and this is where having a package with KMVN really pinched! It restricted possibilities and had we not been tied up, we could have trekked till Zero point, camped overnight and trekked back to Khati the next day, and in the process save a day! Not that we were in a hurry to complete the trek, but idling around at one place wasn’t really enticing. We spent time near the waters of Pindar at day. The water was ice cold while we had a blazing sun overhead. A striking contrast! Bon fires at night had become de rigueur in this journey and we asked Sushil, our porter, to make some arrangements in the evening. A resourceful person, he got the fire working. Phurkia was a place we missed camping sorely since the rest house looked quite menacing in the dark and the bathroom looked haunted. It wasn’t the most comfortable place I had stayed at. Yet the promise of what tomorrow was to bring, kept up the high spirits. Our trek to Zero Point started early in the morning. We needed to catch a glimpse of the snow peaks before it got fogged up. The route was treacherous in places and we had to use all our limbs to climb. Crossing the huge swathes of snow covered with sleet seemed like an impossible task and it took us several minutes to navigate this stretch.

A couple of hours later we found ourselves at a Babajee’s. A trek to the glacier is not complete without the mandatory stop at his place. The house that he’s built for himself is quite a comfortable one with a telescope and library to boast of, not to mention the amphitheatre like view of the glacier visible from his stone house. He provides food to all free of charge, and it’s become quite a tradition now to drop off some donation- makes sense in order to keep the free food going! The topography in this stretch had considerably changed with trees giving way to grassy slopes and the air becoming cooler. Sushil informed us that in the months of October, one could even spot a snow leopard and other animals of the higher reaches. It gave us another excuse to come again. To say that the place was beautiful wouldn’t do justice to it. It isn’t often that you get to see nature in its pristine glory. Flowers that you didn’t know existed forced their way out of tiny crevices, the air was so crisp that you’d want to fill in your lungs with all the supply you’d ever need and who would think of snow in June when the rest of the country was sweltering? The last point on the trek, prosaically called ‘The Zero Point’ was marked by a sign board next to a deep chasm. This was the destination. Strangely though, the destination was not our quest and it was only another stop along the way. This did not mean however that the place had left us untouched. Nonetheless, to put it in Ruskin Bond’s words, “The adventure is not in getting somewhere, it’s the on-the-way experience. It is not the expected; it’s the surprise”. Half an hour later, as if to say goodbye, the fog had enveloped everything in its fold and the mountains were lost, leaving us to continue onwards on our journey.

The return turned out to be a test of sorts for us. While returning from Phurkia to Dwali, it started raining like there’s no tomorrow and the five km stretch stretched on to eternity. I had sprained my ankle at zero point, and even though Sandeep had done some first aid and it seemed like it was going to be okay, the constant rain beating down on us made it worse. The water seeped in through my shoes and everything felt sticky and damp. Our waterproof gear was only a small consolation. Only Joel was the happiest of the lot: He had an umbrella! His bag was like a magic lamp throwing up the most useful stuff at the required times. By the time we reached Dwali, my ankle had swollen and become the size of an apple. What was worse, our clothes in the rucksack were wet too. So the better part of the evening was spent in tending to my swollen ankle, drying our clothes required for immediate use and drying our shoes over the fire that was made with damp sticks; needless to say it was a herculean task. Most times, there was more smoke than fire and the little fire that we had threatened to go out after every half an hour.

Thankfully, we did not face further mishaps after this. On our way, in a little tea shack we came across a group of villagers carrying a sick woman back to their village. Apparently, the doctors in Bageshwar, the nearest town, had been unable to diagnose anything or maybe they didn’t want to. To add to that, the villagers had incurred huge expenses in the process without any result. Now the only thing left to do was take her back and wait for her to die. It was a rude shock for me to come across such a scenario which is an everyday affair for people in villages. All the talks about India being the next superpower seem hollow when you think that basic medical care is denied to majority of the people. I wasn’t sure that the illness was so severe that nothing could be done about it. We walked on in a sombre mood after that. The beauty of the place had diminished somewhat. What we call pristine and unexplored is okay as long as you’re just visiting the place. It’s a different story when you need to live there and face the challenges.