Sikkim chronicles: Day 1

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)

The rest of my trip will be narrated in a three or four part series- depending on how verbose I feel :)

Feeling good.

Sana and Sali- two beautiful, intelligent, spunky, talented girls with stars in their eyes and so full of goodness that it breaks my heart. These kids graduated out of my organization recently.

Sali is a great cook and insists on getting lunch for me everyday. So, in addition to my own lunch which my mum packs for me so lovingly, I end up eating Sali's lunch- not great news for my increasing waistline, but who cares so long as we are feeling good right?

Sana couldn't care less about cooking. She talks nineteen to my half a dozen. She keeps calling everyone "gorgeous" (me included..yippee).

Sana and Sali are best friends and my heroes. I admire and respect them. They bought me a chocolate and made this for me:

They are incredibly talented and create the most beautiful art I've ever seen. They make me so happy, I feel like I'm floating high up somewhere, away from all the despair and sorrow.
I have almost never been this shiny and happy in anyone's company :) I think I prefer kids to grown-ups.

Animal crackers

Conifer and I have the habit of taking a stroll after lunch (which in my case is just an excuse to walk to the little shops that line the roads leading to my workplace and buy chocolate for my daily chocolate fix). The shop which is nearest to our office is next to this little spot where pigeons (gazillions of them) come to feed. So everytime we walk by, we have to be careful not be smattered by pigeon poop (Conifer's score is 2 and mine 1-so she's still leading me by 1 point for getting smattered more frequently than I). When we do get smattered, some idiot says "buy a lottery ticket" because apparently it's lucky to be pooped on, and it makes me wonder if that superstition was invented just to cheer up the victim. It makes me wonder if most superstitions have some mundane explanation- e.g. maybe too many accidents occurred when people walked under ladders, may be mirrors were hard to come by (those who didn't want to deal with 7 years of bad luck would have to be careful with their mirrors) and so on.

Conifer is a huge animal lover. She wants to join PETA, but can't because she loves her chicken and fish. She contends that meat/fish is dead anyway, so why shed tears. She sees no conflict between her carnivorous food habits and her otherwise tender feelings for animals. I agree. A girl's gotta eat. Anyway, she is fond of animals and birds ( my charity rarely extends beyond my immediate circle of humans, so I find her love for animals quite unusual) and feeds the stray dogs of her area, celebrates her pet canary's birthday and the list of her cookiness is never-ending. Whenever we walk on the streets of Mumbai in sweltering heat, dodging traffic, perverts, bulls and other stray animals, Conifer stops to marvel at the "cute way the stray cat sleeps", or the "sweetness of the dog" who patiently waits for the biscuit as she unwraps it for the dog and then sniffs her in gratitude or whatever.

I took this picture when Conifer and I were on one of our strolls to the pigeon-poop store. She bought a packet of biscuits and split it between the dog and the cat, who broke bread (or biscuits in this case) side-by-side, in peace.




Whatever happened to fighting like cat and dog, I wonder? Funny thing peaceful co-existence, wouldn't hurt to try it out for size, I think.

Auld Lang Syne

I was woken up last night by the wistful cry of the friendly neighbourhood koel. There seemed something deeply eerie and haunting about that cry which rent the still night. Like it wailed for lost times, memories in which it both rejoiced and mourned. Like some deeply entrenched emotion in the darkest recesses of it's being had been released and all it could do was coo in response.
It was an epiphany of sorts for me. Nostalgia struck. I thought about seemingly unconnected things- things which were important once or had touched me or affected me deeply, but had been since forgotten. So, should old times be forgotten...

For Donna di. I remember how you were the only one (except Bubun da) who came to watch me debut in my 10th standard school play. You made it a point to come for my play since my parents were out of town.You said Christmas Carol came alive for you with my "Ghost of the Christmas past" (hideous wig and make up and all). I remember how I stayed at your place for a while when Ma and Baba were out and we listened to country music on 107.1 till 12 a.m, how we experimented in the kitchen with random masalas. I remember how you kissed me on my cheek (right on the street, I might add) the day my 10th standard results came out , happy with my performance.

For Bubun da. Thank you for scaring the bully in my class who used to torture me and call me names, when you were 8 and I was 5 (then I became the class monitor and got back at him.) We barely speak anymore, but I will remain forever grateful to you for teaching me how to burst Diwali "crackers" (atom bombs, hydrogen bombs, lavangi etc) and for introducing me to your delicious "banana cream" and Table-tennis. You were the one who accompanied me on my first day of engineering college and even paid the travel fare!

For Tinks. Am not going to use your real name out of respect for your privacy and because I'm too ashamed to admit my flaws. You were one of my best friends and I don't remember ever having as much fun as I did with you. Yet, I went ahead and betrayed you quite wantonly, for perverse reasons of my own which I'm neither too proud to admit not too strong to forget. You are my greatest regret. Not a day goes by that I don't think about the pain and hurt I must have caused you. I never remained in touch because I was too ashamed to do so. But the golden girl that you are, you forgave me for my transgressions and even called me before you left. You wanted to meet the one person whom you considered a friend and who gave you betrayal in return. How did you come to be so generous?

Unspoken words. I wish I had the courage to say these when it mattered.