Day 3, Kalimpong and Kitam

On the way to Kalimpong we stopped at Lopchyu, home of the lollipops that Kalimpong has claimed, and tea estate that kept the name. The chai we had was only average. We were in a taxi of ten passengers. A jeep with two passengers snuggled next to the driver, four in sitting behind him and another four huddled in a row after them. SNT (Sikkim Nationalized Transport) has buses, but few people use them. We did take a journey in one and to my surprise found it more comfortable. The only unpleasant thing that happened was the depressing call from work.

Ten minutes after Lopchyu to my great dismay I realized the camera was still at the tea stall - I had taken it off to try on and admire myself in Janice's new jacket. Amidst much confusion the taxi driver stopped, hailed a cab going in the other direction, Janice got on with her phone in hand and promised to keep in touch until we met again in Kalimpong.

Despite repeated attempts at contact, Janice couldn't be reached. I finally sent an SMS and found that she was more than ok. She got the camera back and was on her way to Kalimpong having hitched a ride with a kind, long-haired biker businessman headed there for a meeting.

Kalimpong was wetter and mistier than Darjeeling. A drunk coolie kept trying to take my bag and then began following me. I used the umbrella to shoo him away and then as shelter from the rain. We stayed only long enough to find that we paid too much for the shopping at Darjeeling - Kalimpong (part of the old silk route) has a wholesale bazaar where everything costs much less. And though we reached on a Thursday (the weekly market holiday) we found a couple of joints open and shopped! And ordered another round of momos at Gomphus Lodge (recommended by a friend). Not as good as Penang's, but we were hungry.

It turns out that the view from Kalimpong, Durpin Dara in particular, is stunning. We weren't to know. We left on the 2 o'clock taxi to Namchi and got off 12km before the town at Kitam, a village in south Sikkim, where Remuna's sister Reena stays. At the Sikkim border, bird flu paranoia meant we had to get off and walk on disinfectant while the taxi tyres got sprayed. And half an hour later the driver stopped the car. I assumed it was nature calling, but he had actually heard a couple of peacocks and pointed them out to us. Kitam has been recently declared a bird sanctuary.

Day 2, Ghoom

In Darjeeling however, the rain was only just about to make impact. We checked into a hotel (Aliment, Rs300/night for a double room, free library, backpackers galore and helpful owner who refered to himself as Uncle), bought an umbrella and then a winter waterproof jacket. Ate the momos at Penang's, had high tea with shortbread at Glenary's and next morning gorged on the sausage platter at Keventer's. Darjeeling turned out to be more about the food than anything else.

The centre was Chaurasta (where we didn't go for a pony ride) and a walk upwards lead to the pubs, eating joints, Mahakaal mall and Inox. Down was the way to the main bazaar and taxi stand, both less friendly and less picturesque. We discovered it on our way out to Kalimpong.

The rain discouraged us from walking around and the mist prevented us from enjoying the view so we didn't bother to get up in time for the 4 o'clock Kanchenjunga view sunrise at Tiger Hill.

Getting to the our hotel included a 10-15 minute uphill walk from Chaurasta and the first time we climbed Janice immediately abandoned all plans of ever reaching the Kanchenjunga base camp. For two months I had laughed at her determination to trek but didn't laugh (as much) now. To her credit she had quit smoking and vowed to start excersising. Every day.

T-shirts were bought and a general gift buying spree happened. While planning, we didn't realize that shopping takes occurs in such great extent at Darjeeling. Gangtok was our final destination and place to spend all the money left over. It turns out people from Gangtok make shopping trips to Darjeeling.

Buzz turned out to be a disappointment. The live bands we had heard so much about had stopped playing over six months ago. Gorkhaland* flags and Bimal Gurung posters everywhere made me wonder if it had anything to do with that.

The next day we went to Ghoom and took a look at the Sampten Choling Gompa - our first of several monasteries on the way. Sampten Choling is the only one to depict the future Buddha. We walked back and stopped at the Japanese Peace Pagoda on the way. The road signs said it was 8km back to Darjeeling and Janice was extremely proud at the amount that we had trekked until someone pointed out that we took a short cut. 2km was probably as far as we had travelled.

*The only thing I knew of the movement was because of Kiran Desai. We later found out that her book told only one side of the story. Darjeeling once belonged to Sikkim. In the mid 1800s, the British bribed the king of Sikkim for the hills and planted tea estates. After partition, Darjeeling and Kurseong hills were part of Bengal and Bangladeshi immigrants were told to treat Siliguri as their new home. Gorkhas were always second class citizens. In 1975, Sikkim became part of India and benefactor to an annual budget for its development. Citizens got ration cards immediately, secure government jobs, education in English, roads, electricity, water and later DTH even in the smallest of villages. Their cousins in Darjeeling suddenly realized how much they were missing out on and the cry for Gorkhaland began in earnest. Subash Ghising with the Gorkhaland National Liberation Front was the first to get enough people mobilized that the rest of the country took notice. Later he was bought off by the Bengal Government which gave autonomy to the Darjeeling Gorkha Hill Council. Ghising now owns houses in different countries. Gurung used to be Ghising's man until a fall out. But it was Prashant Tamang at the Indian Idol finals that brought up the issue of Gorkhaland again. Farmers sold their cows and SMSed Tamang to national popstardom. Bimal Gurung's Gorkha Janamukti Morcha rode on his success and the coming election was to be a cruncher. Or so we were told.

Day 1, Darjeeling

NJP: Take cab not more than Rs 120-150 and take oldish looking driver. Don't fall for a young one. Call the driver Daju.

Darj:
Lunch: Penag's for momos, Tib food
Evening: Chowrasta, go for pony ride or next day, shop, look around, good coffee shops
Night: BUZZ, drink, music, food
Morning: wake up and go straight to Keventer's, sausage/meat platter etc.HOG!!
Day: go for sightseeing. Don't go to botanical garden, check monastries
If you want to shop, go to Mahakaal, or for T-shirts, just stroll around, and eat at Glenary's - very good baker
Night again, BUZZ again if you prefer or just get sloshed in your hotel, booze is cheap

The list was emailed to me by Remuna. Remuna had a lot to do with the trip. Sikkimese colleague and organizer of freebie home stays with her sister, guided tours by her cousin and intelligent conversations with her friends.

The list was important. Very important as we discovered through our trip. Daily calls from Rem (as she is fondly refered to back home) weren't just to say 'hi' but to make sure her instructions weren't written in vain.

We followed them. Mostly.

The overwhelming barrage of taxi drivers all wanting to get us to Darjeeling lead us to falling for a young driver. We did call him Daju.Younger drivers are prone to driving rash in order to impress young lady passengers, we were patiently explained. Daju meant big brother. We got to Darjeeling safely, despite the youth and his good looks.

Darjeeling was cold and wet. Much more than we had imagined while booking tickets in our air conditioned office in Pune cursing power cuts and cost cutting techniques that included switching off the AC every alternate hour.

Later, on the way to Pelling from Jorethang, we found out that wasn't the only cost cutting technique the office had thought up. A much more effective method was about to hit us hard. Pay cuts, we were told in a horrified phone call. We continued to Pelling, stayed in even cheaper places and dreamt about quitting.

so long..

I said goodbye at a railway station.
We waited holding hands
and used words equally cliched.
I never liked platforms -
the smell lingers on.
Of urinals, food gone bad and
the stale breath of the homeless
fast asleep on dirty ground.
But apart from the smell and sounds
that I don’t like and could -
like any intelligent person
(my mother repeatedly tells me) -
choose to ignore,
what I could not bear was
scenes from my life being on display
to the platform across the tracks.
I wish there was a way to go away
without saying farewell.

my poem (also)

Would you read my poem?
Do you think you could ?
Its a really nice poem,
I think you really should.

Would you read my poem?
It's rambling and nice,
It talks of all things good,
Of sugar, and of spice.

Would you read my poem?
It's a really pretty poem,
I think no other poem,
is as pretty as this poem*.

*because poem rhymes with poem.

a different view

today i bought a new pair of glasses
expensive rimless anti-glare
i tried them on and the world seemed different
my head felt further away from the ground

i think i've discovered a secret that i could
patent in the name of medical science:
buy a new pair of spectacles
and become 2 inches taller

no smoking

yesterday marked the end of an era
the second october smoking ban
finally kicks in today

so yesterday to mark the end
we decided to make the most of it
and smoked everywhere we could

at the restaurant around the corner
on the terrace, in the hallway
in the rickshaw on the way to work

there's no way it'll work
we said to each other
as we passed around the carton

but when the ban kicked in this morning
my throat was very sore
and i didn't feel like lighting up