I took a trip to Sikkim with my family recently. Sikkim, known to its natives as Sukhim (the land of peace and prosperity) smote me with its largely untouched beauty. Unlike Shimla and Manali, which are done-to-death tourist hubs, thronged by tourists from the length and breadth of this country and abroad, Sikkim remains under the wanderlust radar. I wish its immaculate beauty would stay that way, but tourism could actually bring in some much needed revenue and spur infrastructural growth for this North-Eastern state. There are already signs of man's insatiable spirit of enterprise conquering this hilly frontier- as we drove from the Bagdogra airport in Siliguri, West Bengal to Gangtok, our garrulous Sikkimese driver, Jite pointed out the hills that were being blown up to make way for hydel power plants- a development which rather saddened me. I quite like hills whole, unkempt and enigmatic, untamed by any of man's grandiose plans of "development", raw and feral- hills should awe, and not be pitiful testaments to man's avarice. But, such is life. Progress at any cost. We don't like concrete-free, steel-less spaces. Down with Nature.
Jite was a little sparrow of a man. He swelled and puffed with pride when he showed us the various professional degree colleges that the Manipal College has set up in conjunction with the state government, and reminded me more and more of a wet sparrow which puffs up to shake off excess moisture. The line where West Bengal ends and Sikkim begins is a curiosity- for one, the demarcation between the two states was so stark and pronounced that I had to catch my breath. The shops on the West Bengal side were tumble-down, derelict, poorly lit and the owners desultory, while a few hundred metres away, on the Sikkimese side the market place looked prosperous, planned, spick and span and the owners jovial, happy with their lot (a fact that Jite didn’t forget to point out). The transformation was not only aesthetic, but also spiritual- something that was reflected in our dispositions as well. Attending my cousin's wedding in Kolkatta in an oppressive 40 deg C, battling a power outage and braving tenacious mosquitoes had made us sleep-deprived and not-so-happy troopers. All of us snapped and bickered at the tiniest provocation throughout the flight from Kolkatta to Bagdogra and the drive from Bagdogra to somewhere around Sevak Road. Sikkim brought about the major metamorphosis-the low temperatures and lush green hills caused a meteoric increase in the "happy" quotient (which had run dangerously low for quite some time) in our hired Wagon-R.
The 4 hours long, tortuous drive from Bagdogra to Gangtok reminded me of the drive from Manali to Rohtang- except, this time we heard Kishore Kumar and not some obscure Punjabi folk, Pankaj Udhas (who just seems to sing of alcohol, alcoholics and pubs/bars- it sounds better in Urdu though) and the Dus soundtrack. It was as though a sacred hush had descended in our car- the combined magic of Sikkim’s hills and Kishore Kumar’s melodious voice was simply arresting- quite a far-cry from Kolkatta’s heat and Mumbai’s hustle and bustle, both of which I was glad to escape. The river Teesta wound in green and silver threads, with each bend, each curve in the road, as if keeping time with the car’s advance
Just as we entered Gangtok at about 8 p.m. and headed for our hotel, our car suffered a flat tyre and I shuddered at the thought of carrying our bags (crammed to capacity thanks to my dad who comes prepared for a snow-storm in a desert) up some 150 steps at an 85 degree incline (ok it wasn’t 85, but fear tends to exaggerate reality). And miraculously, this toothless, toothpick of a man emerged out of nowhere and offered to carry four heavy bags for a mere Rs. 30. I asked my dad to give him more because it didn’t seem fair and besides the guy looked so decrepit and ragged that I wondered if he would be up to the mammoth task. He did it without so much as a whimper and we, the well-fed, city slickers with the best healthcare that money can buy huffed and puffed and panted and were ready to collapse after climbing 10 steps. (My heart’s memo to me: *Gasp* Exercise *Pant, huff, puff* Stop eating junk food *Pant, scream!!! May-day, May-day. Heeeeeeeellllppppp!*)
A few torn ligaments and minor strokes later, we reached the hotel and I have almost never been as happy as I was then to see flat, solid, terra-firma with no slopes and inclines and definitely no stairs. Phew! The room was OMG, to die for and I would have kissed my dad for this wonderful arrangement if we were on those terms (we have only managed to shake hands so far-not too touchy-feely, my family). Dinner was complimentary (wow,wow,wow!), but I didn’t get too attached to the fare. My camera was buried deep in my luggage, so I don’t have any pictures of this leg of my journey :( However, this is what my room looked like (I shared it with my mum and watched trashy saas-bahu serials till my eyes couldn’t take the psychedelic saris and make-up, while my dad and bro feasted on IPL matches)
Jite was a little sparrow of a man. He swelled and puffed with pride when he showed us the various professional degree colleges that the Manipal College has set up in conjunction with the state government, and reminded me more and more of a wet sparrow which puffs up to shake off excess moisture. The line where West Bengal ends and Sikkim begins is a curiosity- for one, the demarcation between the two states was so stark and pronounced that I had to catch my breath. The shops on the West Bengal side were tumble-down, derelict, poorly lit and the owners desultory, while a few hundred metres away, on the Sikkimese side the market place looked prosperous, planned, spick and span and the owners jovial, happy with their lot (a fact that Jite didn’t forget to point out). The transformation was not only aesthetic, but also spiritual- something that was reflected in our dispositions as well. Attending my cousin's wedding in Kolkatta in an oppressive 40 deg C, battling a power outage and braving tenacious mosquitoes had made us sleep-deprived and not-so-happy troopers. All of us snapped and bickered at the tiniest provocation throughout the flight from Kolkatta to Bagdogra and the drive from Bagdogra to somewhere around Sevak Road. Sikkim brought about the major metamorphosis-the low temperatures and lush green hills caused a meteoric increase in the "happy" quotient (which had run dangerously low for quite some time) in our hired Wagon-R.
The 4 hours long, tortuous drive from Bagdogra to Gangtok reminded me of the drive from Manali to Rohtang- except, this time we heard Kishore Kumar and not some obscure Punjabi folk, Pankaj Udhas (who just seems to sing of alcohol, alcoholics and pubs/bars- it sounds better in Urdu though) and the Dus soundtrack. It was as though a sacred hush had descended in our car- the combined magic of Sikkim’s hills and Kishore Kumar’s melodious voice was simply arresting- quite a far-cry from Kolkatta’s heat and Mumbai’s hustle and bustle, both of which I was glad to escape. The river Teesta wound in green and silver threads, with each bend, each curve in the road, as if keeping time with the car’s advance
Just as we entered Gangtok at about 8 p.m. and headed for our hotel, our car suffered a flat tyre and I shuddered at the thought of carrying our bags (crammed to capacity thanks to my dad who comes prepared for a snow-storm in a desert) up some 150 steps at an 85 degree incline (ok it wasn’t 85, but fear tends to exaggerate reality). And miraculously, this toothless, toothpick of a man emerged out of nowhere and offered to carry four heavy bags for a mere Rs. 30. I asked my dad to give him more because it didn’t seem fair and besides the guy looked so decrepit and ragged that I wondered if he would be up to the mammoth task. He did it without so much as a whimper and we, the well-fed, city slickers with the best healthcare that money can buy huffed and puffed and panted and were ready to collapse after climbing 10 steps. (My heart’s memo to me: *Gasp* Exercise *Pant, huff, puff* Stop eating junk food *Pant, scream!!! May-day, May-day. Heeeeeeeellllppppp!*)
A few torn ligaments and minor strokes later, we reached the hotel and I have almost never been as happy as I was then to see flat, solid, terra-firma with no slopes and inclines and definitely no stairs. Phew! The room was OMG, to die for and I would have kissed my dad for this wonderful arrangement if we were on those terms (we have only managed to shake hands so far-not too touchy-feely, my family). Dinner was complimentary (wow,wow,wow!), but I didn’t get too attached to the fare. My camera was buried deep in my luggage, so I don’t have any pictures of this leg of my journey :( However, this is what my room looked like (I shared it with my mum and watched trashy saas-bahu serials till my eyes couldn’t take the psychedelic saris and make-up, while my dad and bro feasted on IPL matches)
The rest of my trip will be narrated in a three or four part series- depending on how verbose I feel :)
