We started at 8 on a moderately sunny day. The day before, some vehicles luckily escaped getting grounded - of a sudden snow flurry. Half way up, one thought kept looming in front of us all: had this been any Western country, no one would have been allowed on roads such as these. Not just were these roads perilous by Divine ordain, it was given a generous dollop of perilous-ness by teams doing simultaneous construction and repair work. Yes, it made for unintended exhilaration, mostly in the way of yelps followed by sighs from us (minus the driver, who, like all pahadi drivers, leave decisions such as safe completion of a treacherous drive to Divine powers. This helps them to be guilt-free when the passengers die of fright)
This is not to criticise the Border Roads Organization - codenamed Swastik - I'm sure they sure do fantastic work. It is not that things don't work - they do, miraculously! It is helped in no small measure by the general Indian attitudes of looking for jugaad at all costs and a disdain for human lives. This lethal combination of attributes has ensured that we do not strive and do not expect to have excellence in systems, public utilities and infrastructure. The flip side is that we generate (eke?) money out of activities like tourism earlier in the lifecycle.
The tragedy of Indian public life is that we are eager to grab the early fruits and utterly neglect the aspect of building excellence. There is no reason for the roads in this country to be so decrepit; no reason for our cities to be so ugly - take a look around you, each building is a monstrosity; no reason for non-star hotels to be so...so average; no reason for the railway stations to be several sizes smaller than current requirements; no reason for airports to be dank, unlighted, cluttered and chaotic. No, the reason of us being a third world country does not cut the mustard. All of us who watched the recent 2020 world cup remember the shots of the streets and the townships of several Caribbean third world countries. What did you see? My brother returned from Nairobi, Kenya; and swears that it is a fabulous town, beautiful and stately - Wodehousean English, even.
My goodness! What a tirade! Now after that digression, back to Sikkim and Nathu la.
We passed several lakes on our way up; including Tsomgo (also called Changu) which we had planned to see on the return. Nathu la is at 14500 feet and I underestimated the might of nature as I stepped out of the SUV - it was bitingly cold because of the stiffish breeze - and a few brisk steps later my head was spinning the way it had done in the New year's party of 2006, my worst experience of getting drunk. It took 5 minutes of deep breathing and controlled calmness to return to normal. After that I took small steps and rested copiously for the short walk up to the Chinese border. Admittedly all of us were under-dressed: no thermals, gloves or double-socks; I was even wearing rubber-soled denim shoes. So much for cuteness!
There is nothing really to see up there. An Indian building, a much larger and gleaming Chinese block (check my pictures later and you'll know what I mean); couple of very young and smiling Chinese soldiers offering us ciggies; and two benevolent-looking Indian soldiers (after accepting the ciggies) keeping a close eye on what we clicked. A curious thing happened: as we were talking to one of the soldiers, the officers marched in with the entourage. The CO ignored my greetings, looked through me as if I did not exist and walked on ignoring the rest of the 6 civilians there. The lesser officer, however stopped, wished back and even engaged us in a conversation. Perhaps that is how the officers of the Indian Army are trained - to create this caste system, if you will, between them and the hoi polloi, the civilians. Perhaps it helps them to be dispassionate and tough. I will wait for further enlightenment on this.
I will digress a little again - humour me please. On our way up we saw several bunkers and camps. In one of the camps we saw artillery carriers - which meant that the main artillery gun, the Bofors was also positioned. Now, you can't have Bofors deployed in any significant numbers by trundling them up trucks or even in the French equivalent of Chinooks that we have, it's too slow and too, too expensive. Cargo planes like AN 32 would be required - especially in light of the strategy of rapid attack envisaged under IBG (read here for further details). This meant that there had to be an air-strip up here. And since we were looking for it, we saw where is could be: a mile-long plateau on the top. It was further reinforced when we saw a road branching out from our's towards that flat and the sign, 'Entry Prohibited'. Of course none of us took any pictures that we thought were delicate so I cannot share the thrill of spotting the possible air strip - it is etched in my mind. Seeing all these preparations of protecting our country and the incredible difficulty that each soldier faces 24x7 (we spotted numerous half-concealed shelters spread across the tops and slopes. They were tiny, which meant only one, possibly two soldiers in utter and total isolation), I found myself reacting incredibly emotionally - proud and teary at the same time.
This proved to be merely the prelude to a larger emotional jhatka a few minutes later. The all-faith temple in the remembrance of Baba Harbhajan Singh. Here was a structure created out of a belief in a human being and there were hundreds of plaques saying, 'Baba bless us'. And these were from the battle-hardened soldiers of the Indian army. While I was there I saw groups of soldiers of various faiths doing darshan and offering sealed bottles of Bisleri as a gift to the memory of the Baba. There is a certain innocence and goodness required to believe in all this if you are a soldier. To see these large, well-knit men pay obeisance to an idea of faith was humbling; these same men would not hesitate to kill an intruder and an enemy. I did not have the heart to take pictures of the soldiers while they were praying - it felt odd - so I took several of the plaques and flags and the lovely poems on the doors, probably of Guru Nanak sahib. It is cold up there and the face muscles go numb, so one does not realise when things run down the face for all to see. It meant a hasty retreat to the edge of the mandir for me. An odd, irrational, heady and cleansing moment.
It was Tsomgo lake next - yaks and yak-touts, people everywhere. On the way back to the hotel, just minutes from Tsomgo, the dark clouds came rolling in. Much of the 90 minute drive was done through 10 meters of visibility, sometimes less. It was very tiring to keep checking if this time we passed 3 inches away from the edge of the precipice and doom. So I curled into my seat and went to sleep.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Friday, May 14, 2010
Vacation Report - Day Six: Gangtok
Continuing from the last blog, no, the sandwiches were not cucumber and cheese; they were instead, bathed in some kind of a homegrown tomato sauce of dubious parentage. So the breakfast-on-the-move was a flop but the tea-stop at Ravangla was nice. But before we Gang-talk, some more observations from yesterday.
Perhaps its the timing; when we leave we see groups and lines of children making their way to school. On our way back we see groups and lines of children on their way, presumably on their way home. The children are sometimes tiny - maybe 4 years old; and most often it is unaccompanied children - girls and boys in equal number. Sometimes one can spot a parent but mostly it is children. Last morning I saw a small girl, possibly a laggard, for there was no child following her, make her way slowly, with hundreds of tiny digressions (an aimless step to the right, a skip and a jump, a craning of the neck to watch a bird, a swing of the arm...) to her school which was a couple of turns up the road. It was just that little girl alone. I struggled to remember if I ever saw a child that young being unescorted at the bus stop in Mumbai, let alone a child walking all by herself to school. I was left wondering admiringly at a society that encourages and supports parents to behave in the way that they did. And not just parents; for this to work the other people on the road, the drivers of the hundred taxis and jeeps, the teachers and older school-children - all have a part to play. I hope and pray that this cheerful practise continues - it certainly brought a smile to my lips.
We had lunch at a place called Cherry Village, a traditional Nepali lunch. The food was good with a few dishes like Chhurpi bhurji being excellent! Chhurpi is Yak cheese and this particular variety was the soft kind. I also liked the way we were served - the trays held high, the food being offered with the left hand touching the right elbow; it was traditional without being dramatic - we felt quietly special. We mentioned chhurpi casually while we were eating and within minutes the bhurji was on the table.Munching on the slighty stringy beans and mustard greens I had the time to reflect that such alacrity is not something that we experience everyday; indeed, we felt special!
However the highlight of the visit was to know from Sushil Tamang that Cherry Village is actually a community-based business - the land is Sushil's and he is the MD of this group called Darap Eco-Tourism Committee. I would have hyperlinked this site had it worked. Maybe it is down temporarily so I'll leave it in. This committee provides jobs to the locals and promotes tourism. The resort has a few rooms and independent cabins; all laid out tastefully with enough space to not feel hemmed in. I hope it succeeds, and as Sushil says, it has started well. All the best DEC! I shall follow your career with interest.
OK, back to Gangtok! To say it was unrecognizable would be a cliche and completely true. I'm afraid the first impression was not positive - too crowded, narrow streets, warm, nauseating gasoline fumes and too few trees on the main roads. By the time I came back to the hotel room to write this blog I was convinced of one thing: sitting and loitering on the MG Road is cool! The people of Gangtok dress well and are good-looking; the girls and women look very chic in their high cheek-bones and slim legs, the boys and men look a tad loutish but it changes when they laugh and smile.
The weather is changeable, indeed callous. It was sunny at 1:30, by 2 the dark clouds and thunder enveloped the city and the wind threatened to pluck the prayer flags out from every rooftop, by 3 it was drizzling lightly but the dark clouds were gone, by 4 it was sunny again and I had to remove my jacket. However soon it was cold enough to wear it again. Temperamental; that is the word I was looking for.
We had dinner at Hotel Tibet. I've had better dumplings than the vegetable momos that got served, but the brothy noodle soup with hand-made doughy round noodles was interesting. Peasant's fare, true, but honest and nourishing. By the time we reached the hotel room it was pretty cold again and the sky was starry. The paan I had on the way back was just as ordinary as the one that I get near my flat in Andheri - so one could say that I was feeling quite at home.
Perhaps its the timing; when we leave we see groups and lines of children making their way to school. On our way back we see groups and lines of children on their way, presumably on their way home. The children are sometimes tiny - maybe 4 years old; and most often it is unaccompanied children - girls and boys in equal number. Sometimes one can spot a parent but mostly it is children. Last morning I saw a small girl, possibly a laggard, for there was no child following her, make her way slowly, with hundreds of tiny digressions (an aimless step to the right, a skip and a jump, a craning of the neck to watch a bird, a swing of the arm...) to her school which was a couple of turns up the road. It was just that little girl alone. I struggled to remember if I ever saw a child that young being unescorted at the bus stop in Mumbai, let alone a child walking all by herself to school. I was left wondering admiringly at a society that encourages and supports parents to behave in the way that they did. And not just parents; for this to work the other people on the road, the drivers of the hundred taxis and jeeps, the teachers and older school-children - all have a part to play. I hope and pray that this cheerful practise continues - it certainly brought a smile to my lips.
We had lunch at a place called Cherry Village, a traditional Nepali lunch. The food was good with a few dishes like Chhurpi bhurji being excellent! Chhurpi is Yak cheese and this particular variety was the soft kind. I also liked the way we were served - the trays held high, the food being offered with the left hand touching the right elbow; it was traditional without being dramatic - we felt quietly special. We mentioned chhurpi casually while we were eating and within minutes the bhurji was on the table.Munching on the slighty stringy beans and mustard greens I had the time to reflect that such alacrity is not something that we experience everyday; indeed, we felt special!
However the highlight of the visit was to know from Sushil Tamang that Cherry Village is actually a community-based business - the land is Sushil's and he is the MD of this group called Darap Eco-Tourism Committee. I would have hyperlinked this site had it worked. Maybe it is down temporarily so I'll leave it in. This committee provides jobs to the locals and promotes tourism. The resort has a few rooms and independent cabins; all laid out tastefully with enough space to not feel hemmed in. I hope it succeeds, and as Sushil says, it has started well. All the best DEC! I shall follow your career with interest.
OK, back to Gangtok! To say it was unrecognizable would be a cliche and completely true. I'm afraid the first impression was not positive - too crowded, narrow streets, warm, nauseating gasoline fumes and too few trees on the main roads. By the time I came back to the hotel room to write this blog I was convinced of one thing: sitting and loitering on the MG Road is cool! The people of Gangtok dress well and are good-looking; the girls and women look very chic in their high cheek-bones and slim legs, the boys and men look a tad loutish but it changes when they laugh and smile.
The weather is changeable, indeed callous. It was sunny at 1:30, by 2 the dark clouds and thunder enveloped the city and the wind threatened to pluck the prayer flags out from every rooftop, by 3 it was drizzling lightly but the dark clouds were gone, by 4 it was sunny again and I had to remove my jacket. However soon it was cold enough to wear it again. Temperamental; that is the word I was looking for.
We had dinner at Hotel Tibet. I've had better dumplings than the vegetable momos that got served, but the brothy noodle soup with hand-made doughy round noodles was interesting. Peasant's fare, true, but honest and nourishing. By the time we reached the hotel room it was pretty cold again and the sky was starry. The paan I had on the way back was just as ordinary as the one that I get near my flat in Andheri - so one could say that I was feeling quite at home.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Vacation Report - Days Three, Four and Five
Kolkata is steaming hot. For the next 8 days we will attempt to cool off in Sikkim. We leave tonight - train it up to New Jalpaiguri and then motor to Pelling. I've been to Sikkim before - as a child. Have only a few memories: for instance, playing badminton with a tall Sikh officer gentleman in the BSF colony. I have no recollection of Gangtok.
It was just as hot and humid in NJP. My phone conked out and had to buy a new one simply because the idea of not being 'connected' made me break into a cold sweat, which, in the circumstances made a disagreeable cocktail of sweats.
As we drove up I got reminded of small incidents from earlier encounters with hill folks. The one uniform memory is that hill people are surly and not talkative. While I noticed that trait almost immediately in our driver, I also realised that between then and now my appreciation of their taciturnity had undergone a 180 degree reversal. I now see the condescension, the aggression that the travellers from the other parts of the country heap on. This is especially true for my friends from the north-east - from Mizoram, Nagaland, Assam and Manipur - the stories they tell of everyday life in Mumbai is a treatise in cultural over-simplification and of plain, unadulterated gracelessness. So if were a Sikkimese, I would be seething inside and looking for the first opportunity to bash a few knuckles with the car door. Instead what I see is a once-bitten-twice-shy kind of wariness which, depending upon the encouragement one gets, very soon gives way to delightful smiles and an eagerness to help that has so much niceness that it makes me feel very happy indeed!
Before making the plans, everyone whom we asked advised us that this being peak season, it would be impossible to get good hotel rooms. Now that we have booked and that we are here in Pelling, it does seem bustly (too many loud Bongs everywhere), but there still are many rooms available, the restaurants are fairly empty, the shops are moderately busy. So the question is: why is it so? Is Sikkim over-designed for tourists? Or is something else at work that we are unable to spot?
Yesterday we had the local toddy called Chhang; it is a hell's brew cooked out of a millet. The fermented grain is placed in a bamboo tumbler and hot water is poured on top; we are encouraged to sip from a wooden straw - the liquor is warm, sour and piquantly fragranced - altogether an OK experience. Today I had a dish made of Yak's cheese - I loved it!
Both Pemayangstye and Rabdantse were terrific! I felt a strange emotion to see children in the monastery playing 'lagori' with gusto and unbridled merriment of kids everywhere - and at the same time think of the nature of their chosen path. Many among these would choose to be full-time monks. Perhaps it is beyond the comprehension of a person like me - someone who is wordly but not wise, someone who empathises but is actually not connected.
Tomorrow we leave for Gangtok. Bright lights and a fully functional tourist town awaits me, or so I have been warned. So it is going to be an early morning with a hurried cup of tea and packed sandwiches. What is important is that sweet-smiled chaps in the kitchen remember to pack both the cucumber and the cheese.
It was just as hot and humid in NJP. My phone conked out and had to buy a new one simply because the idea of not being 'connected' made me break into a cold sweat, which, in the circumstances made a disagreeable cocktail of sweats.
As we drove up I got reminded of small incidents from earlier encounters with hill folks. The one uniform memory is that hill people are surly and not talkative. While I noticed that trait almost immediately in our driver, I also realised that between then and now my appreciation of their taciturnity had undergone a 180 degree reversal. I now see the condescension, the aggression that the travellers from the other parts of the country heap on. This is especially true for my friends from the north-east - from Mizoram, Nagaland, Assam and Manipur - the stories they tell of everyday life in Mumbai is a treatise in cultural over-simplification and of plain, unadulterated gracelessness. So if were a Sikkimese, I would be seething inside and looking for the first opportunity to bash a few knuckles with the car door. Instead what I see is a once-bitten-twice-shy kind of wariness which, depending upon the encouragement one gets, very soon gives way to delightful smiles and an eagerness to help that has so much niceness that it makes me feel very happy indeed!
Before making the plans, everyone whom we asked advised us that this being peak season, it would be impossible to get good hotel rooms. Now that we have booked and that we are here in Pelling, it does seem bustly (too many loud Bongs everywhere), but there still are many rooms available, the restaurants are fairly empty, the shops are moderately busy. So the question is: why is it so? Is Sikkim over-designed for tourists? Or is something else at work that we are unable to spot?
Yesterday we had the local toddy called Chhang; it is a hell's brew cooked out of a millet. The fermented grain is placed in a bamboo tumbler and hot water is poured on top; we are encouraged to sip from a wooden straw - the liquor is warm, sour and piquantly fragranced - altogether an OK experience. Today I had a dish made of Yak's cheese - I loved it!
Both Pemayangstye and Rabdantse were terrific! I felt a strange emotion to see children in the monastery playing 'lagori' with gusto and unbridled merriment of kids everywhere - and at the same time think of the nature of their chosen path. Many among these would choose to be full-time monks. Perhaps it is beyond the comprehension of a person like me - someone who is wordly but not wise, someone who empathises but is actually not connected.
Tomorrow we leave for Gangtok. Bright lights and a fully functional tourist town awaits me, or so I have been warned. So it is going to be an early morning with a hurried cup of tea and packed sandwiches. What is important is that sweet-smiled chaps in the kitchen remember to pack both the cucumber and the cheese.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Vacation Report - Day Zero and One
First it was pre-poned by an hour. On the day of the flight an early SMS announced that it s postponed by an hour, so back to its scheduled time. At the check we were told its another hour late, that is 2030hrs. After the security check we overheard others say it was going to be far more delayed. At 2130 hrs we were loaded in the buses and all seemed imminent: we had promised Mum that we will all have dinner at home; so midnight seemed a late hour for the repast but not unheard of. But we were fooled, all of us; we waited in the bus on the runway, looking at the aircraft from steamy windows we waited for 30 minutes. Finally we were on board. But the airconditioning was off. And we sat for 45 more minutes until it was our turn to take-off. We landed at 1:10. But the ordeal was not over. The pre-paid taxi stand was moving very slowly - and we realised it was slow because there were no taxis at that time at the airport. Welcome to the village called Kolkata! We reached home at 2:15.
And after a quick wash, had dinner. A sumptuous, delicious dinner that only Mum can make. It was already well past three by the time we finished; and birds had started warbling.
The day started with the aroma of Darjeeling tea. After another delicious spread at lunch we sped underground to the North - and saw diases being made everywhere - it is Gurudev Rabi Tagore's birthday tomorrow. So it will lots of elocution and singing (which is all right) all day long. Hopefully we will have little of that godawful dainty prancing that is passed for dancing. The metro seemed awfully full today. The tickets are still so cheap - just INR 8 from Tollygunge (renamed Manayak Uttam Kumar Station)!
The one thing that I was impressed with yesterday and again tonight was the street lighting. All the main streets and the side ones were awash with powerful sodium-vapour lamps. The streets seemed wide - but then they do look wide so early on, with nary a soul on the streets.
I had a chance to walk along the streets in the evening tonight and the impression is the same as the last time: Kolkata is a city that looks even more dilapidated everytime; the same poor people living in exactly the same hovels; the same irrationally excited 'bhadralok', teetering on the edge of sanity. Yet it has a charm - the old-worldish charm of a city that lives in several decades all at once. It has not been trammelled by the garish new desi culture. There seems to be a system in place that allows both cultures to exist and even flourish in silos. I hope they continue to do so.
And after a quick wash, had dinner. A sumptuous, delicious dinner that only Mum can make. It was already well past three by the time we finished; and birds had started warbling.
The day started with the aroma of Darjeeling tea. After another delicious spread at lunch we sped underground to the North - and saw diases being made everywhere - it is Gurudev Rabi Tagore's birthday tomorrow. So it will lots of elocution and singing (which is all right) all day long. Hopefully we will have little of that godawful dainty prancing that is passed for dancing. The metro seemed awfully full today. The tickets are still so cheap - just INR 8 from Tollygunge (renamed Manayak Uttam Kumar Station)!
The one thing that I was impressed with yesterday and again tonight was the street lighting. All the main streets and the side ones were awash with powerful sodium-vapour lamps. The streets seemed wide - but then they do look wide so early on, with nary a soul on the streets.
I had a chance to walk along the streets in the evening tonight and the impression is the same as the last time: Kolkata is a city that looks even more dilapidated everytime; the same poor people living in exactly the same hovels; the same irrationally excited 'bhadralok', teetering on the edge of sanity. Yet it has a charm - the old-worldish charm of a city that lives in several decades all at once. It has not been trammelled by the garish new desi culture. There seems to be a system in place that allows both cultures to exist and even flourish in silos. I hope they continue to do so.
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