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Sikkim through the mist

19/6/2011

15 Comments

 
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The chapel at Dr Graham's Homes in Kalimpong. The school was founded by the Rev. Dr. John A. Graham, a Scottish missionary in 1900, for underpriveleged Anglo-Indian children. Pic by Manoj Rawat
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Flowers growing out of a used can on a window sill

Since I belong to the mountains, I speak for them but this might just hold true for other places in the world too. The memories you come back with depend upon the season you go in. For me, the mist is the most overpowering impression of Sikkim in pre-monsoon June. It seeps through the fir trees, through dense orchid laden forests and between clefts in the mountain tops. It wafts in the breeze like a swaying curtain of grey, finds you wherever you are and puts its arms around you like an old friend.

It blurs the stern outlines of monasteries that stand in solitary grandeur on the top of hills, places beads of dampness on the rich maroon robes of little boy lamas, touches the cheeks of fat babies sleeping in the cozy knot of fabric slung around their mothers’ backs and fills the fur of lazy Bhotia dogs sprawled outside roadside beer and momo shacks, adding a musty smell if you go close enough and take a deep breath.

For a week plus we tread on the toes of Mount Kachenjunga leaving behind foot marks in the damp grass but we never get to see its handsome face, however high we turn our heads. The mist has found it before us and wrapped it in possessive haze. So Tenzing’s Kachenjunga is a no show unless you’d like to count the beautiful oil painting of those snow covered peaks that hangs in the EME Officers Mess at Kalimpong. Set up in an old English time bungalow with orange spider lilies blooming along the sidewalk and thick green ivy climbing up the old stone walls, the Mess is a heritage site in itself. But, I’ll save that for another blog. For me, the most fascinating thing about Sikkim are its people – the school guard whose smile reaches so deep into his crinkling eyes that it almost closes them shut; the feisty old lady who introduces herself as “buddhi” and blows bubble gum balloons as she sits hawking her wares in the Sunday haat in Lal Bazaar, Gangtok;  the taxi driver smelling suspiciously of channg at 10 in the morning, who laughs off our crib that he doesn’t have good Nepalese songs in his car, turns his head around (yes, while still driving) and silences us by singing the romantic Rato Rani phule jhai sanjha ma, timi phulyo kaleji majhaa maa (the flower Raat ki Rani blooms in the dusk, but you bloom in my heart).

As the SUV picks us up at Bagdogra airport and winds up the curves to Kerseong, bypassing fresh green Sal forests, tea plantations and women selling piles of hot roasted corn on the cob at the roadside; the air starts getting cooler. Soon the tracks of the toy train to Ghoom (an aptly named curve in the road a few kilometers before Darjeeling) start running alongside. Wayside shacks sell tea and chips that you can have sitting on the train tracks. Though the train has not been running for a year because of a landslide enroute, even when it does, it moves so slow that there is time to blow on your tea, dunk a milk biscuit in and get up at a leisurely pace when you see it heading in your direction.      

Stephen Hawking might not agree but fact is that time slows down as you reach closer to the Himalay. Wherever you look you find people looking back at you with a friendly twinkle in their eyes. Yes, they have the time. They sit outside their little houses in Bermudas and slippers, holding babies in their arms, alongside sleepy dogs and rich pink and red begonias growing from rusting cans on the window sills, at peace with the world.  We spot young boys play carom along the toy train tracks, board balanced on an upturned bucket. Little girls with bright yellow ribbons knotted into large flowers in their pigtails skip rope outside their houses. And proud mamma hens with Bianca Castafiore bosoms waddle across train tracks with a retinue of chirping chicks, completely ignoring the rooster’s disapproving crowing from a tin roof, like any seasoned wife. She might eventually end up inside a momo but then most of us will also finally find ourselves roasting in a burning fire or inside a deep pit. That’s no reason why life cannot be enjoyed while it is still smiling in our faces, right?

Darjeeling is thickly populated with tourists, their loud chatter pierces the eardrums and their cars belch smoke into the air. They create such a mess that I would like to dissociate completely from it all and if you are planning a visit in the tourist season, I’d like to hold you back by the arm and say: “Please don’t go!” An untidy mesh of wires droop across streets and traffic jams are a painful norm. Once upon a time, Darjeeling must have been a beautiful hill town. Now, she is a worn out town gasping for breath under an overload of insensitive visitors and garbage. Signs of the beauty it must have once possessed show only in the upper reaches beyond where the hotels and the market end. If you really want to see that, walk up the narrow twists and turns in the road high up to where the Cantonment begins and St Paul Boarding School (where Sushmita Sen sizzled in sexy chiffons for Shahrukh Khan’s Main Hun Naa) stretches itself into a lazy yawn on the hillside since it’s summer vacation time and the boys have all gone home. This is where you find lilies sprouting by the wayside, wild red roses ambling up wood houses and bright blue Hydrangea peeping from behind shiny dark green leaves. Up in the cantonment, a hillside of undulating green unfolds before you. Occasionally, you run into wrinkled old men with umbrellas hanging from curved handles tucked into the back of their collars, a serious walker who reads a newspaper while he walks, who has probably been doing it for so many years that he does not even bother to look up at the winding turns in the road, an Army officer’s labs in black, brown and white unimaginatively named Blackie, Brownie and, well, Kanchi, which means pretty girl in Nepali. And speaking of Kanchis, you also run into young girls with perfect curves and salty faces and drop dead gorgeous smiles that can stop you in the tracks if you happen to be male.   

Once the men have been pulled away from that, we go down to the town for a taste of thupka and momos, try some Dansberg beer brought from the factories of the film star Danny Denzongpa, sample the Death by Chocolate pastries and chicken rolls of Glenary and pick up a few souvenirs from the sharp Nepali women who have set shop by the wayside. But thereafter, we return to the peace and calm of the cantonment and find a taxi that will cross the border and take us to Sikkim where prayer flags flutter overhead and the rich colours of Tibet show on ornate bus stops and exotic gompas.

Gangtok is where I find shady walkways that look like they’ll take me all the way to heaven. Since that’s not where I want to go as of now, I turn back in an hour’s time and on the walk back meet friendly kids in smart school uniforms not realy in a hurry to get there, young beauties wrapped in traditional bakus with shiny black hair and complexions that can put pink roses to shame. Up in the Lingdum monastery, I run into Lamas with gentle smiles and lilting Buddhist chants that don’t mean a thing to me but still fill the senses with peace and a sense of oneness with the universe. Sitting patiently on souvenir shop shelves I find green Tara devis and white Buddhas carved out of Yak bone dust. In the zoo, I find  sprawled Red Pandas that look like they are still nursing a hangover from Saturday evening and, yes, in my room I find a nocturnal visitor who stands there staring back at me, middle of the night and then exits through the window as I watch - hypnotized by terror. But that’s a horror story for another day. This one is a look at ramro Sikkim wrapped in grey mist. And that’s how we’ll let it be.

Ramro: beautiful, Kancchi: pretty girl
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Tsongmo Lake or Changu Lake is a glacial lake in East Sikkim, some 40 kilometres away from Gangtok at an altitude of 3,780 m (12,400 ft). PIC by Puneet Pareek
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Right out of a picture postcard. A hut by the wayside
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Fluttering prayer flags in Gangtok. Pic by Manoj Rawat
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Buddhi blowing bubbles in Lal Bazaar. Pic by Manoj Rawat
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Opening a window on the town of Gangtok.
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War Memorial at Ghoom dedicated to brave Gorkha soldiers who died in various wars fighting for various masters. Pic by Puneet Pareek
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Soman, the little lama we met at Lingdum monastery
15 Comments
Mahendra
19/6/2011 01:26:23 am

Impeccable writing, would have loved to seem some more pictures

"Buddhi blowing bubble gum"

Must see.

"Darjeeling gasping for breath under an overload of insensitive visitors and garbage"

Must avoid.

And there you are - Tourism in India in a nutshell. Avoid the tourist centers, especially if they have had the misfortune of attracting the attention of Pappu and his gaddi from N Delhi. My solution to this problem is to have all the beer bars and the car parks at the entrance of the hill station, and then make people walk up from there - preferably first going through an obstacle course the Army uses to filter out the pot bellied lot.

Mist in the mountains is my favorite too, especially if laden with the scent of moss / wet leaves. I recently saw a documentary on tigers in Bhutan (living at 4000m, no less...), and the beauty was amazing. Hope we do not screw that up too, and limit ourselves to just wrecking the Gangetic plains....

Reply
Rosalind Broomhall
19/6/2011 01:59:41 am

Good to see Kalimpong! :)

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Jhoomar
19/6/2011 08:50:49 am

Reading about Sikkim is like sipping a tall cool drink on a searing hot day - great job!
I love the mist swirling on the hills too, reminds me of the summer mornings in Lansdowne,

Reply
BIG B JB
19/6/2011 01:39:50 pm

Once again beautifully written article....A paradise is turning into garbage box because of ours bad habits/nature....your article gives a clear picture about the place and food for thought how to save the enchanting beauty of place...pics are awesome..Manoj has learnt after so many years....Mountains have their own charm and very few can admire this charm,locals are required to be more alert for cleanliness and preservance of natural beauty.....A beautiful article once again Congrates......

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Rajan Chakravarty
19/6/2011 04:06:40 pm

Very well written, Rachna. Thoroughly enjoyed reading it. You have written about two of my favourite places -- Sikkim and Darjeeling. I enjoyed reading this blog post even more because I am planning a trip to both these places over the next couple of months.... :-)

Reply
noopur
19/6/2011 05:53:33 pm

Agree with Mahendra about the highlights :) Darjeeling was pretty much a lost case when we visited it some 19 years back. As always beautifully written!! You weave magic with words.

Reply
ather
19/6/2011 06:36:56 pm

The more I read your words, the more I feel my body is here (in the UK) but my heart is in India...

Your article is a treat to read-thank you.

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PJ
19/6/2011 11:38:35 pm

How about Batasia Loop and `Mere Sapno Ki Rani'....I went there just for Aradhana, La Tagore and Rajesh Khanna....but that was another era....in today's WB, when Calcutta is such a hell hole, what can one expect of Darjeeling?

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meenakshi
20/6/2011 12:56:23 am

beautifully written- brought back old memories of my posting in north east.I wonder if as a routine tourist one would get to see such beauty in the midst of all the hustle bustle in Darjeeling these days-hazars of urbanization?

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Puneet
20/6/2011 06:25:45 pm

As always.. its a treat to read your blog! Relived our journey through the mountain mist and meandering roads uphill. Thanks for putting some pics by me :)

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Liz Wotherspoon
20/6/2011 07:43:12 pm

Sikkim in the mist, again a lovely picture of part of the world I have never seen. It sounds and looks wonderful away from the untidy tourists who it seems are oblivious to the damage they inflict on these ancient towns and cities, (a world problem ??)
I love the pics of the little Lama and the bubble gum Lady. best wishes Liz

Reply
Bhaiya
21/6/2011 05:20:04 am

Here I am enjoying the beauty of Scottish Highlands, the Lake District of Cumbria and the wilderness of North Wales' Snowdonia .. but your beautiful article makes the heart pine for the majestic himalay ...

While travelling the countryside here I often wish how nice if we could preserve our places just as well. Yet, because most of it here is picture postcard perfect, sometimes you feel there is nothing truely wild ... even the hills and lakes appear manicured and landscaped and too orderly ... its then that you miss some unruly rugged wild of the kind we encountered when we travelled to Badrinath in a rickety old maruti 800 ..
Thanks for beautiful pictures .. its the characters like Buddhi that make the trip there more colourful ... the lake in first picture is very like the one we saw in Wales when Kukky was here .......

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Prithvi
21/6/2011 09:50:16 am

SYA ! Super Yet Again.

And time does slow down in the mountains. And in some places it stops - like Shamali :) .. just recently read it and your writings reminds me of Ruskin Bond.

Reply
Ritha Hegde link
27/6/2011 01:43:48 am

Ramro!!!!
I was caught up in different things throughout the last week and could not spend enough time on the net.So very late in reading this fresh entry. But as I said it was Ramro!
Did you realise that another Saturday has just passed? where is the new one? Too lost in your hometown? Waiting for more...may be some more details on the old lady blowing chewing gum? or ya that horror story of the room?

Reply
Anju
29/6/2011 12:05:57 am

As ever beautifully written ,uncanny eye for such sweet minor details , crinkling eyes almost shut :)Me sure u must have come back with memories to be cherished forever .

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    Rachna Bisht Rawat is a full time mom and part time writer. She is married to an Army officer whose work takes the family to some of the most interesting corners of India.

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