Part 6 Aug 11^th  2011

 

Guwahati.


We were moving on to the next leg of the trip. As I look back at it now, I don’t know how to describe that feeling; the colours looked a little less bright. These things happens after one fights with our mums, dads, friends, or to think of it after a fight with anyone; the sunshine seems just a tad less bright, the colours around look a little less cheerful, even the air around weighs a little heavily on you. That was what happened hence forward, it wasn’t something I could point out but the tone of the trip was definitely different. There was maybe an invisible strain between me and Sudha, very minute but it was there. It wasn’t that the trip hence forward was any less fun, adventurous, unpredictable, Oh it was all that and more. The places we visited were so soothing they could have mended any tormented soul and ours was just a minor misunderstanding, more situational than personal.
On this part I was more confident too. That in control feeling came with the knowledge that now we were about to tour the more conventional tourist region with my LP (lonely planet) securely under my arm. The LP informed that Assam was divided in two parts, namely Upper Assam and Lower Assam. I knew this as I had a friend from Assam a few years back who had filled me in on this. The lower Assam which borders West Bengal, Meghalaya and Bangladesh houses the capital Dispur and its biggest city Guwahati. Upper Assam is home to the Rhinos i.e. the Kaziranga national park with Jorhat being the biggest city. The geographical locations are such that to enter any other NE state one has to pass through Assam, and hence Guwahati emerging as an important node in Indian railways. There isn’t much presence of the Railways beyond Guwahati except a line running to Dibrugarh and one has to resort to the Highways to reach the destinations within the seven sister states. The LP also gave an orientation of the city of Guwahati, the railway station being the invisible point dividing it into two parts. The exit through the back entrance takes you to the Guwahati city with its bazaars, malls, and residential areas, the Dispur road and probably the IIT too. The front entrance takes us on the side of the Brahmaputra, the administrative and judicial buildings and the Kamakhya temple. And this was the one we should take to go to the ATDC rest house.
We actually woke up in the morning hearing 'Kamakhya, Kamakhya' itself. As was expected the old couples were up and ready by four with their luggage arranged all around them; as if the train would fly by the station any moment, without giving them a chance to get down. We too got up and waited for the Guwahati station. The group was high on conversation now, but we were given a little space to sit and we were thankful. Sudha later told me she had noticed one of the lady's feet and they were extremely beautiful, clean and shapely. Umm, maybe her 'Pakeezah' moment? Anyways I was still annoyed with that lady for her mumblings in the night, beautiful feet or not. By now it was the Kamakhya station, where one has to alight to get to the Kamakhya temple. The chitchatting mellowed down as the couples got down here. I looked towards Sudha, she seemed her normal cheerful self. Maybe the night's sleep had done us both some good. Maybe our trip would progress further. Guwahati station was neat and clean compared to the ones we had come from.

 The outside facade is quite characteristic of Assam and the palm trees add to the feel. What was quite uncharacteristic was the presence of tens of Army commandoes, we saw the signage for  Army Hostel but still it wasn’t enough to justify this 'armed' presence. I would now put down our surprise as our ignorance. How little do we know about the parts of our own country, especially about the everyday detail? We moved ahead a couple of blocks towards the ATDC (Assam Tourism Development Corporation) Rest house. Sudha has an experience with a couple of State sponsored rest houses, where one can vouch for safety, which was what we needed at that moment. Peace of mind. There were two attendants at the reception counter giving us a frowning expression which probably could be translated into, "Go Away!". Undeterred we proceeded and asked for a double room, the shorter one of the two said we would have to pay the full charge for the day or we can wait till noon, the checkout time. We pleaded; we were experts in it by now, asking them what one does if one's train reaches at five in the morning. Now the other one suggested we could have the room for half the price ofcourse w/o the receipt. Were they playing the good cop- bad cop game? Again I was the one who got the hint and the deal was cracked. Agatha Christie had said 'murder is a habit', maybe every vice is a habit, and the second time is easy. Sudha actually came to knew that we had bribed those people only after I mentioned it to her later in the morning; she had put it down on their kindness. We went up to our rooms, and actually entered after a wait of quarter of an hour because the rooms weren’t ready! The attendant came up behind us, entered, changed the sheets, emptied the bin, filled up the jar of water, gave us a nod towards the end of corridor indicating the water filter, and made his exit in the same grand manner. Now inside this white washed room with the balcony looking over some posh club's swimming pool and tennis courts we couldn’t believe last night had actually happened. Even after a year now, it still seems a dream or rather a nightmare. Sudha went first to freshen up and I loitered in the balcony. I was thinking on the lines of location of this place and thought these government owned rest houses are placed in the middle of the cities still with abundant space to play around and sometimes also with views as I was noticing right now. It was around seven now and already starting to get hot and humid. Looking down, just below was the tennis court where a doubles match was on. All the players were on the other side of sixty, I think one would need that much time to come to this station of life where you could become a member of this Gymkhana unless ofcourse if you are born with a silver spoon. Beyond was the swimming pool which was yet unattended and quite understandingly. I thought by eleven everyone in Guwahati would be in need to jump into one. One attendant was sitting beside it on his hunches busy brushing his teeth, on the side he had left a hose pipe in the pool to fill. I was very curious to know what happens next, where does this guy spit? But his 'brushing the teeth' activity went on for quite a while and I lost my patience. Diagonally behind the tennis court and the swimming pool I could also make out a water body, maybe a lake? I was waiting eagerly for my breakfast and putting a stop to my eye-recce I went in. After freshening up, both of us zoomed down towards the restaurant in the lift. The restaurant looked quite posh for a government owned rest house. The colour and textures were pleasing and added a cheer to the morning. There was a television in a corner with Mr. Gogoi speaking earnestly about something and everyone in the restaurant listening to it with as much sincerity. I wondered what national news we had missed since leaving home. Neither do I interest myself with newspapers nor television when travelling, which are some of my addictions, but better indulged at home. We ordered bread-toast and butter with tea, it was a standard breakfast item in this region unless one wanted to have rice. The toast was nice but alas the tea was a disaster; it seemed the cook had poured in all the milk he had. As we were having breakfast I received a call from a very helpful friend I had acquainted during our Kailash Mansarovar trip, he wanted to share the news that he had been selected. When I told him about my location he insisted I should go to the Kamakhya temple and experience the energy felt in the sanctum sanctorum located in the underground cave. I was intrigued. I thanked him and paid attention to my toast. I couldn’t have that tea even if I had paid for it. Sudha tried to reason with me and maybe herself too that it would offend the cook and the waiter if we left it that way. We gulped it down in one go and got up at once.

We moved towards the reception after breakfast. After the formalities for booking were completed, we had the room officially now, we asked this person for directions towards any airlines office. After yesterday's experience we had made up our mind to fly back to Calcutta on our return journey. He suggested to- no actually coerced us to go to a tourist office next door for the bookings. I was under the impression that this was some part of the Assam Tourism Office and hence quite eager to go there. There was a lady sitting there inside who welcomed us with a very big smile, like the one the wolf gave little red riding hood? No, I'm being unnecessarily mean. But this one was a very apt person to sell a holiday and here she immediately took us under her wing. As soon as we had narrated the concise version of our trip and our plans ahead, she chalked out a detail itinerary with a car and a driver cum guide and all. In the end with a flourish she mentioned a figure so outrageous we just looked back at her. In the next second we were on our feet, mildly rejecting her proposal, and then as a last parting shot asking her directions to the Jet Airways office. We proceeded towards it keeping in mind all the directions given to us. We were told it was only five mins away on the road. We passed the entrance to the Gymkhana we had a view of through our balcony, and taking some more directions we marched ahead. We also passed a museum some time later and made a mental note to visit it later. It was about nine in the morning and more hot than noon in Pune. But the humidity was the real killer. After walking for about half an hour we were still nowhere near any airlines office. There was a small restaurant on the otherside of the road and we thought of having some tea just to cheer us up. I still get the shivers thinking about that breakfast tea. The restaurant looked somewhat shady, maybe because of its gaudy upholstery. We asked for some tea and the waiter immediately apologised for the absence of it, but we could have coffee. No tea in Assam? We declined the suggestion and got on our way again. We again asked around for the airlines office to be told this time to turn around and go backwards. After another ten minutes we found the Jet airways office. The young lady there asked us with a polite smile, "How can I help you?" Her tone surely suggested otherwise. We asked her for available flights to Calcutta on the 15th. She gave a strange look at the mention of 15th of August. I don’t think we noticed it at that time. There were two flights one in the morning and another in the evening which was the only one having free seats, but the prices were exorbitant and we dropped the idea there and then. Coming out both of us agreed there was no other way but to take the train. We had noticed the reservation centre just next to the railway station in the morning and decided to visit it in the afternoon. At that moment we crossed the road and jumped on a bus to Kamakhya.

Till that morning I had never heard about this famous Kamakhya temple. When the train had arrived at the Kamakhya station in the morning, Sudha had mentioned that we should go there today. She joked that some of her friends from the defence background when posted in Guwahati visited it atleast once otherwise they had to come on yet another posting here. We got settled in the bus as the driver mentioned it was more than forty minutes drive. The only seats available had been the ones opposite the driver. Though hot, they had the best view through the unobstructed front glass. Our very own 'Guwahati city tour' had started. The bus passed through many areas, some looked like second hand book bazaar, some like a whole sale market, all zooming bye as we reached one of the arterial roads. As the bus came along to join this main road, I wasn’t looking at it, no but at the spectacle beyond. In a moment the conductor screamed, "Brahmaputra stop." So this was THE Brahmaputra-The majestic, awe-inspiring, temperamental, one which was looking more like a blue sea rather than a river along the road. Now we were travelling parallel to her, no its 'him'! Brahmaputra is the only male river in India. The river belt along the Brahmaputra is planted with greens all along with gardens, parks, state waterways, private cruises all placed one after another. The road followed the river for a while and then turned inland and in a while we alighted in front of a huge entrance arch announcing 'Kamakhya temple'. The temple itself is up in the hills, about 5-6 kms from this point. As the sun was scorching down we got in a shared jeep to reach the temple instead of braving a trek. Huffing and puffing the jeep started its upward journey. The journey got interesting after a km with tree cover getting denser giving a beautiful bird's eye view of the surroundings. We reached an amphitheatre kind of thing which the driver told us is actually a parking lot. Getting down here, one has to further walk for about 300 meters to reach the temple premises. The walkway was lined with the usual shops selling offerings to the Goddess and the 'prasad' to be taken home. I have a vague feeling of red when I think about the walk to the temple. Maybe it is because of the numerous red Hibiscus flowers for sale. Climbing up to the temple premise a old stone structure came into view, dating probably many centuries before. The first thing I noticed was a baby goat running around the temple and in that moment it struck me it was there for 'sacrifice'. Born and brought up in India one has heard almost everything about superstition, black magic, animal sacrifices or even human sacrifices( in the distant past, ofcourse) but like any other profound aspect of life when you come face to face to a living creature who is going to be denied the chance of life, it is a shock. We moved ahead and I remembered the warning given in LP, especially to foreigners, to be prepared before the visit here. It was written that in the underground cave, the actual sanctum sanctorum, one feels a wet/damp feeling when we place our feet there which is nothing but blood spilled when offering the sacrificial being. There were many entrances to the temple and in the dearth of any proper signage we entered a huge room, on the end of this room was a lattice through which an idol of a goddess was visible. But the thing that caught our eye was the scene in the room. There were many girls sitting there in different groups each having their parents and a priest besides them. All these girls looked young, we guessed they hadn’t reached puberty yet. The girls were made up, with their feet painted and all and it seemed the priests were actually performing their puja. It was all probably a local custom. We moved out and asking around entered the correct entrance. Here one has to go around a long circular route to reach the insides of the temple. All this arrangement was probably for the days when there is extreme rush. Finally we reached the queue to enter and waited patiently. Already the atmosphere had started to work on me. There was a family consisting a couple, their two small girls, and their grandmother ahead of us. Sudha pointed out the ‘Mekhala Chaddar’ worn by the grandmother; the traditional Assamese wear, very similar to a sari. She had been telling me about this since we had reached Guwahati but I hadn’t understood what it was. I liked it so much that I bought one back for mums. After about a quarter of an hour we entered the actual hall of the temple. There were many idols here too and people were offering those red Hibiscus flowers. I was getting very curious because of all the bits and pieces I had heard. The queue moved at a snail's pace and finally we were at the mouth of the cave. I am going to attempt to describe the 'space' but I'm sure I wouldn’t be doing it justice. I have to first mention that this is the only temple where one doesn’t take 'darshan'(see or sight) through eyes (‘for the simple reason that there isn’t any idol here) but through touch! I know it is all very mystique and it gets more mysterious ahead. One descends about four to five uneven stone steps, all in the dark because there aren’t any electrical lights ahead. The actual sanctum sanctorum is a rectangular space, a cave actually not more than four meters in length and two metres wide.  Along the length, placed on the ground or probably generating from the ground was the form which was worshipped. This was covered all over with the red Hibiscus flowers; there was no other colour there except red. All this was visible in the dim lights of a few strategically placed oil lamps. And yes my feet were feeling that dampness, which was creeping up through my spine because of what I had read. Inspite of all this I have to admit the feeling of experiencing something very primitive and very deep. It was as if actually experiencing 'life' not within but all around. I cannot further explain it but I still remember the whole spectacle when I'm writing it down here. As I was kneeling down here I saw Sudha turn back from the bottom step. The priest told me to touch the stone and drink the water coming from an underground spring. I will explain the meaning of all this a little ahead, even I was full of all these questions then. Those few minutes spent there are so strongly etched in my mind, I couldn’t get enough of the atmosphere but it was time to move ahead as a crowd was gathering behind. Passing all the other idols I made my way towards the exit. As soon as I had rounded the last corner, I came upon a priest and when I looked down at his joint palms, I truly was stunned. He was carrying the severed head of a young goat leaving a trail of blood dripping behind him. He was moving towards the sanctum sanctorum with this offering. In a trance I moved out in the sunlight where Sudha was waiting, she too had seen it. We moved towards the exit in silence. I took a few photographs and both of us were moving towards normalcy. We didn’t discuss it till we reached the room later.
 

 

The information we collected about Kamakhya came through the various pamphlets from the Assam tourism office we visited later in the day. It is as follows- the myth: The Hindu philosophy states of the trinity who are responsible for the creation, preservation and destroying of the universe, namely Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva. Sati, the earlier reincarnation of Parvati, who is Shiva's consort jumped into her father's holy pyre as a reaction to his insult of Shiva, her husband. Shiva in extreme grief walked all over the earth carrying her dead body. Now without the presence of all the three supreme Gods the world couldn’t function, hence Vishnu sent his divine discus behind Shiva which in turn cut Sati's body into numerous parts. This was also to free her soul to be reborn as Paravti. These various bodyparts fell at various places on earth to form 'shaktipeeth' or energy points. Kamakhya is the place where Sati's female genitals fell. Most of the pieces of the puzzle fall into place and it is upto one's interpretation ahead. I want to mention that all the 'believers' and 'non believers' or the ones inbetween should have a healthy respect for each other’s opinion. Otherwise they wouldn’t be categorised under the above titles but as simply 'ignorant'. I know the whole thing above would seem quite flabbergasting to many but still it is there. And I have just described what I came across. Some food for thought- Kamakhya is the main centre for Tantric activities.

We reached the shared jeep parking place to hop on one. The sun was at its worst temper, scorching down on us. We were sweating profusely and drenched in no time. Is it possible to have 100% humidity? If it is it was then in Guwahati. There was no jeep in the vicinity and after waiting for about twenty minutes under a barely there tree we got into one. The other passengers were an Irani family chattering away, maybe to avoid thinking about the heat. They told us they wanted to go the Kaziranga national park. We informed them that all the wildlife parks in India close for monsoon, and repeated that well used idiom, "wrong time". Though I don’t think they understood what we were trying to say. As soon as the jeep reached the foot of the hill, we went off to the bus stop and luckily caught a bus back almost immediately. The wind blowing in from the windows was soothing to the skin and the soul. I guess this heat reaches the absolute core of a person. We passed again by the Brahmaputra, I noticed there were quite a few restaurants. I asked Sudha if she wanted to get down there for lunch, but she rightly pointed out that we could come there in the evenings. We could have had a sun stroke too now, it was that bad. The bus was taking a different route now, we went around many administrative and judicial buildings this time including the High court and a couple of colleges too. As we rounded the last corner to reach in the vicinity of the Railway Station and our hotel we came across the lake I had seen through the balcony. But right now it was the centre of a commotion and everyone in the bus too was trying to peep out to see what was going on. We reached the hotel without further event and immediately entered the restaurant. On a spur we ordered Paneer Butter Masala, and ineffect tasted the softest paneer ever. We thought of taking rest for a while but decided on booking the train tickets first at the Reservation centre next door. Throughout the day we had chalked out a rough plan for the next part of the tour. Tomorrow we would leave early for Shillong, Meghalaya, about three to four hours by road from Guwahati. The next day we would do Cherrapunji and come back to Guwahati the day after i.e. on fourteenth. So we could catch a train back to Calcutta on the Independence Day. I was thinking of staying put in Calcutta for two days and take the bi- weekly Duronto back to Pune on the eighteenth. Sudha also thought to go back by that time. The plan chalked out, we felt like Shahrukh in DDLJ, "Ab kuch gadbad nahi ho sakti." The reservation centre was very spacious with enough seating and numerous booking counters too, most of them empty. We booked our back ticket with the Saraighat Express, the one which had brought us to Guwahati for the 15th of August, departure at noon. I booked my Duronto ticket for 18th but Sudha on the last moment decided to book hers after reaching Calcutta. Sudha has a very good friend of hers staying in Calcutta so she wasn’t stressed about it. We returned to our room and relaxed with the overhead fan circulating in full speed.

We moved out at four, and made our way to the museum we had passed by in the morning. But as we were entering its gate we noticed the timings and realised it had already shut office for the day. At that moment an idea struck us- to take a cruise on the Brahmaputra, now that would be a beautiful memory to savour. We stopped an auto rickshaw and enquired if he would take us to the Brahmaputra, he acquiesced and we set off. The route we took passed nice quiet residential structures, then the administrative quarter we had passed by in the morning and a police ground where rehearsals for
the Independence Day were on in full swing. But now instead of taking a right turn, as we had oriented ourselves in the morning journey, the auto took a left turn. On our agitated queries he said, "Madam, Ashok Brahmaputra issi side mein hai." So this guy was taking us to that Hotel! We told him we didn’t want to go to any hotel but the actual Brahmaputra! Now we were going on the opposite side and couldn’t take a turn on this one-way. So we paid him and got down to trek towards the cruise office Sudha had seen in the morning. On the way, we noticed a garden and went around it too. There are actually quite a few of these linear green patches along the Brahmaputra walkway. Finally we reached the cruise office only to be told that the last cruise for the day had just left. We actually saw it and bid it good bye. What now? Being on the banks of the river and admiring her is quite different than actually floating on her, actually being on a different element. When we were walking aimlessly along the same pathway Sudha remembered eyeing the 'Assam inland waterways' board too. So we walked a little further and found that too. This was actual the local transport system between what is called 'upper Guwahati' on the otherside of the Brahmaputra. We purchased the five rupee ticket and jumped on to this ferry. At this time it was full of people returning home after work, some actually with their two wheelers and bicycles. We took up our seats on the open starboard side and sat put to enjoy the river. In this fading sunlight it was looking like spilt golden liquid spread out like a sea. The sky was painting itself in all the hues of gold, yellow and orange leaving behind the blues. The monsoon clouds weren’t to be left behind who embossed various patterns on this making their presence felt. There was a dim outline of a lattice bridge on the otherside, which was the roadway to this same place, upper Guwahati. I clicked the whole spectacle to my satisfaction.
 

 

 

 

                                                       

Finally the ferry started and we floated towards the center of Brahmaputra. There were weeds floating around but I remember looking upwards at the sky and being stuck by the vastness of the space. In cities one just experiences 'a mouthful of sky' but here I could watch it from horizon to horizon. I could feel the 'round' earth at this moment and wondered if I would be going around it? The shore on the otherside too came into picture. It was like the backwaters of Kerala with its sloping roofs covered with thatch or tiles, coconut groves peaking above them and mud pathways making up the approach road. The ferry docked and we jumped off to the shore. The return ferry would start in about fifteen minutes. We made our way through this place which had stopped the time and modernisation on the banks of the river itself. There weren’t any concrete structures about, nothing rising above two storeys to compete with the coconuts. There were verandas in front of the houses where old ladies were gossiping to their hearts content. There were small shop fronts displaying fresh fruits and vegetables, and occasionally those omnipresent 'Kurkure' packets. Through the gaps inbetween the houses one could get a glimpse of the Brahmaputra and have the assurance of where we were. We tried going towards it through one of the lanes but there wasn’t an opening further ahead. It was time to turn back and we made our way to the ferry. Again buying the ticket we hopped on, this time it was completely empty. We decided to try the low roof fitted over. We had seen people occupying it on our inwards journey and it had quite tempted us. We sat down and in a moment Sudha had tore her kurta on one of the edges of the asbestos sheets. We got up and choose our places carefully and then again sat down to enjoy this unobstructed 360degree view. The sun had set by now and the sky had changed into a pink dress by now. Even the moon had come out to greet us. It was the one before the full moon, and I remembered mums telling me that this one is brighter than the full moon. And it was; shinning away to glory. I attempted a few camera shots and they came out good. By now all the surrounding scenery had changed into silhouettes against the now magenta- purple sky. This breeze, these colours actually soothed all the memories of that stifling, hot, day. We eased back to this shore without a thought in the mind, just walking with one foot ahead of the other.

When out of the trance, that craving for tea had returned. We moved in the direction of our hotel (still on the river promenade) just after a few minutes there was a very attractive board for a cafe. We entered the premises to find us amidst an historical structure. On reading the legend alongside we came to knew that this place had been the venue for the celebrated 'Saraighat' battle. I admit my ignorance; I had heard the word 'Saraighat' the first time when we had boarded the train of the same name at Alipurduar. Bless the Indian Railways for keeping some part of the history still alive. So, curious we read on... The battle was fought in 1671 between the Mughals and the Ahom Empire. The ahoms had won this memorable war inspite of being the weaker side. The place still had the atmosphere within its ruins. We moved on and found the cafe tucked in one corner and it didn’t look inviting at all. Braving our instincts we ordered for some tea to be told there wasn’t any. This was the third time since morning that either the tea was bad or it was not available. Sudha commented, "Are we truly in Assam? The tea capital of India?" we ordered coffee to go with a dish of pakodas. The attendant suggested we go and sit beyond the restaurant hall. We too moved in that direction and actually came upon the Brahmaputra. This wide terrace opened directly on the Brahmaputra with the ruins of Saraighat in the background. It was THE location. We sat down to enjoy the view. There were a few people around, on close observation we realised they were mostly courting couples, what a fabulous place these Guwahatietes had. Next to us an old couple was sitting enjoying the view and they gave us a cordial smile. By this time our pakodas and coffee had arrived. The pakodas were actually dal wadas but very yummy, and the coffee was nice too. Sudha and I both sat in silence each accompanied by her own thoughts, maybe of the day gone by or maybe the time beyond. Tomorrow when we travelled to Shillong, it would be the last leg of our trip. This spontaneous, sometimes surprising sometimes shocking trip, sprinkled with fights and giggles, how would we remember it?

Part 5 Aug 10^th  2011

 

Thimpu- Phuntsholing-Alipurduar-Guwahati.

We had planned an early start to accommodate any road blockages on the way back to Phuntsholing. And true to our plan we were settled in our bus by 9. Earlier after having breakfast and settling the bill we had taken a taxi to the bus stand; passing a petrol station, the prettiest one I've seen. We adjusted seats allocation with a girl, once the bus started. Until then she was deeply immersed in a farewell scene with her boyfriend, we assumed. In order not to be caught staring, I looked down and my eyes fell on her sandals. They were in gladiator style, of dark brown leather; I had actually seen a similar one yesterday in a display window but hadn’t given it a second thought. But now I wanted them. How is it that one actually wants something when it goes into other's possession? Well, nothing could be done now; the bus was on its way. Maybe Phuntsholing? Again the day was clear of clouds with bright sunlight illuminating the blue sky. There amidst the hills is a huge golden Buddha statue visible from all over the city. Yesterday Sudha was game to climb to it but I had deferred. I was done with my climbing for the year. By this time the bus had moved into the hills. We picked a couple of passengers on the outskirts, one with a sack full of green apples. For a while, till the diversion for Paro, the traffic was heavy. Ahead we even witnessed two buses coming from opposite direction slide against one another and in the process take down one another's side mirrors. I've been on many narrow, treacherous roads, up in the mountains but never thought I'll view this scene. The road was shinning with those mirror pieces that after catching sunlight resembled diamonds. There was something surreal about the scene, I don’t know if it was the absence of fight in the aftermath of the accident or that road straight out of ‘Peter Pan’. By now the 'gladiator sandals' girl was chatting with us. She, like us, was on her way to Jaigaon where she would take a shared jeep to Darjeeling, almost taking the same route as we had taken on our onwards journey. She was at college in Darjeeling. We enquired if many Bhutanese come to India for education as we had met so many India- educated locals yesterday. She said, "No. The situation is that there is quality higher education in Bhutan, but limited seats. So those who don’t get selected prefer to come to India for it." Yes, quite logical. But she said the real difficulty is the travel to India. The only two options are the weekly flight to New Delhi or the way she was doing it now- A 6 to 7 hour travel to Phuntsholing and then a 4 to 5 hour ride to Silliguri and then again 3 hours up the hills to Darjeeling. She was planning to stay the night with her relatives in Phuntsholing and then move ahead tomorrow to have a break between the extremely long journey. Insightful though the thought was the scenery outside captivated us soon: The mountains wearing their green blankets giving a sneak peek of the waterfalls in between, the river playing hide and seek, visible one moment gone in the next. The atmosphere was set and a 'reflective' mood came over me.

At around noon we stopped for refreshments. The place was similar to the one on our way to Thimpu. The dining area was full and the chattering around had turned into noise. There were a couple of other buses, one from Paro, taking their breaks hence the rush. We shared a table with a lady, who told us she was a teacher originally from Paro and now working in Phuntsholing. She suggested we try the vegetarian momos, no they weren’t spicy. As we awaited our order, the teacher started telling us about her family, her profession. She told us there were many Indians living in Phuntsholing. I thought "Is there a place on earth, where there aren’t any Indians?" Her family doctor was an Indian from Bengal; she had a colleague from Kerala. Showing appropriate amazement we gorged on the momos, they were truly delicious. We asked for another helping. The teacher's bus started first. We too got in and started moving onwards. Now our thoughts were more in the direction of the train and what awaited us in Guwahati. Meanwhile the ‘gladiator sandals’ girl informed us there was a bandh (strike) in Jaigaon. We weren’t sure of its implications and our lack of reaction irritated her. In an extremely excited state she said, "Don’t you know what it means? Everything is closed. ‘CLOSED’. There won’t be any buses or any vehicles at all. What are you going to do?" The message got home and hit hard too. Immediately Sudha and I were looking into each other's faces as if there was an answer there. We thought maybe we would have to look for a hotel in Phuntsholing itself, but what about the reserved train ticket, how long would this strike be on? With every question the problem seemed to be growing. As if on cue even the atmosphere had become heavy, purple clouds hanging ominously above. Yes, I couldn’t see the beauty in them then. Sudha narrated her experiences with the West Bengal bandhs and the ‘gladiator sandals’ girl solemnly nodded her head. Umm I guessed as much, it wasn’t a pleasant experience; the whole place is paralysed. In a moment the ‘gladiator sandals’ girl received another call, the bandh was over yesterday! What an anti climax! I can’t explain how relieved we were, but it was to be short-lived. Atleast I didn’t know it then. Without any further event we reached Phuntsholing bus station; that organised and well decorated structure. As we got down we saw two buses ready for journey, Phuntsholing to Calcutta. On enquiry we came to knew that journey takes 16 hours. On second thoughts, it isn’t a bad proposition to come to Bhutan this way surpassing all the hurdles we had experienced. If only one knew! But maybe that’s the fun of exploring atypical routes. I’m sure neither Vasco da Gama nor Marco Polo must have any regrets. We started our march towards the border passing with luggage and all. Contemplating on whether to have a lunch or not we decided on the affirmative. It is always sensible to travel on a full stomach. We had some chowmein, not so tasty, but bearable. The border post was crossed on foot. Here the guards were scrutinising everyone, as much strictly as an airport. A lot of tobacco based product is smuggled on the border. We also saw many chic Bhutanese youngsters crossing over, maybe to shop cheap at various brand stores here in Jaigaon. We had been surprised to see 'Reebok' and 'levis' looking out at us here; a place which could win a competition for the dirtiest place, a place where poverty peeped through every face. Now we know who the clientele of these brands were. We ourselves crossed over without event, and caught an auto for the Jaigoan bus stand. Ahh, the sights of India overwhelmed us. And the events too. Running with the luggage on, we caught a bus to Aliporeduar. Settled in and the tickets bought with the remaining Bhutanese money we heaved a sigh of relief. These border areas arent strict in numismatics, both in India and Bhutan. With the exchange rate being exact '0' between the rupee and the Bhutanese ngultrum (BTN), it doesn’t matter if its Gandhi or King Wangchuck peeping from the currency bill. Now that the immediate future didn’t contain any surprises, we just had to reach the railway station and board the train, the relief spread all over me. As one views the scenery pass by in the opposite direction, in the direction of the place we travel from the thoughts too more often than not go that way. I was feeling light. And warm. A feeling one experiences after eating a meal cooked by a loved one, a feeling after reading a McCall Smith book about a gentle and principled way of life, or simply watching a good deed by a human. Besides me Sudha too was quiet, what might she be thinking about?

Giving the scene outside a little attention, I realised this was a different route from our onwards journey. We passed green farms; the rains seemed to have been kind this time. Though it was dusk by now, there were still a few people here and there toiling in their farms. We picked up and dropped many passengers on the way. Seeing all these bustling bus stations of these numerous small towns so full of people the Indian population count of 1.25 billion seemed believable. Outside the stations were the cycle rickshaws waiting for the passengers to alight the bus and then board their vehicle, a chance for them to earn. On the other side were small tea and snacks stall, again eagerly awaiting the alighting bus passengers. All part of the social ladder and all dependants on one another.

We reached Alipurduar still with some daylight left. We had discussed this queer name, Alipurduar between us. Alipur sounded common enough, but 'duar'? Was it the Hindi word for door or as Sudha reminded me this 'duar' was actually 'doar' of the famous Doars corridor with its tribe of wild elephants. On some of the billboards we got confirmation for this. At the bus station a little enquiry led us to a cycle rickshaw and in it to the railway station, about 5 mins away. Sudha had visited this place about a decade before and she was trying to remember the picture then. She described the narrow paths all surrounded by farms then with an occasional provisions store or snack bar. The scene had undergone a complete transformation- the pathways were now streets, the farms had vanished into thin air and the whole patch was full of shacks offering refreshments. Gone was the village, and a town had been born in a decade. The railways station itself had been very small with just a platform and a small shade. Now it was a full fledged organism with all its arms well in place. We entered and looked towards the announcement board, our train wasn’t listed yet. But it was still 3 hours away, no worries. We went to look for the waiting room; it was quite unclean and rather depressing. I just chained my luggage to a chair till Sudha peeped into the washroom. We moved out to see for an early dinner so as to be ready to board the train. Now the electronic announcement board had our train listed, it was running fourteen hours late! Fourteen? Was there a mistake? At that moment I couldn’t even calculate the actual time this nine o' clock train would arrive. We were shocked, would be putting down our reaction too mildly. The first thing that came into mind was where would we spend the night? At this waiting room- no. In the town at some shady hotel- no. It was a hopeless situation. We went to the inquiry counter; a Bengali lady was attending it. She was one of those people who believe in not wasting words. All answers came in monosyllables.
"Is Kanchenjunga Express late?’-“yes”

"Why?"-"Don’t know"

"When will it arrive?"-"after 14 hours"

"Sure?"-"no"
Oh my God, this was one of those situations where you wish you are dreaming and you would wake up and the problem would vanish. I don’t remember if one of us suggested it or it came out of our discussion - there must be some other train for Guwahati. We went to our 'monosyllable' lady. She answered, "Saraighat express 9.30". We made sure this one was arriving on time. Now the smart lady travelling with me suggested we go and see the station master. Sudha said he has the right to transfer tickets in special cases. We peeped in, the overhead fan was in full speed, all the lights were shining creating a glare, the brocade sofas were present but the man in question was absent. I really couldn’t help taking in all the details of that off-white and sofa with flowers and vines embroidered in gold and dark maroon. We had other problems and we ran towards the inquiry room again. Now there was a man there, he suggested we go and reserve tickets for the Saraighat. We ran towards the reservation counter. People were falling over each other here. Someone in the line suggested we write down the details on a piece of paper, a type of ‘jugaad’ (adjustment) in the absence of enough reservation forms. We found a paper and pen from God knows where and started writing our Name, Age, Train name, etc. Now the clock struck 'eight' and window was shut for the day. Wow. Now? We again made our way towards the station master's room, only he could be of any help now. There was someone there this time. We got in and explained our situation to him, he asked us to go down the corridor to the ticket checker's lounge. Only the TC (ticket checker) for that particular train could help us. We went on the way he had shown us. This room wasn’t as luxurious as the earlier one, but definitely more in use. About three to four people in the TC's uniform were in, a couple of them having food and the remaining two cooking up stories, I guess. We asked for the TC travelling with the Saraighat Express. "Madam, he will be here only 15 mins before the train." Now? They were curious, this bunch, and we explained our situation. They told us to go back to the station master as he was the only person who could do something. Back to the brocade room, we told the station master the TC was not there yet, couldn’t he do something? Maybe our desperation reached him this time and he asked for our ticket. The moment he saw it he exclaimed, “This is an electronic ticket!" " So?" we both said in unison. "This is of no use here." he said. I wish there were some officials from Railways higher up who so very aggressively advertise the electronic tickets and to think of it now the ‘paperless’ mobile message. This guy had the same look of confusion and fear  for that electronic ticket which an aboriginal has for outside world. I wonder what he would have said to the mobile ticket. On further probe he said these electronic tickets were valid only after the TC has checked them with an Identity proof. We couldn’t wait for fourteen hours for the Kanchenganga exp to arrive and get our tickets 'validated'. This system is really absurd. He suggested we wait for the TC, which was our best or rather, the only option. It was about half past eight by now. We went and booked two general class tickets for the Saraighat for some sixty-nine bucks. Atleast we could board the train, as spending a night here wasn’t an option atall. We went to the waiting room, unlocked my luggage and stood there outside the TC's room so as not to miss him. All this stress had taken its toll on both of us and both me and Sudha were sending 'this was your fault' darts towards each other. The atmosphere was ripe for a fight. Standing here in this corridor of the building, constructed by some unimaginative PWD engineer, not cleaned probably since it was made, with junk lying around was a moment of true testing. Finally when I was going to just sit down there on the floor, the man of the moment, the TC arrived. We went into the room behind him and explained our situation, probably for the nth time that evening and hopefully for the last. The other TCs gave the appropriate chorus, we gave them the acknowledging smile. The TC pondered our problem while rubbing his chin, as Einstein must have pondered over one of his equations. The solution came soon, he told us to go and wait on the platform, near the bridge. He will see what he can do for us there. We thanked him with so much gratitude, my spine would have snapped if I would have bent a little more. Picking up the luggage we went towards the platform and started our wait there. The timing and setting were perfect for a fight and we had one. A furious one where accusations flew from here to there and back. In the end Sudha closed the chapter saying maybe we should go back home from Guwahati, our styles of travelling were too different. It was half past nine by now and the train wasn’t there. Was this one late too and where was this Einstien TC? At that moment we heard the hoot of the engine, the train was coming. The TC was still not there, what happens if a TC misses his train? Anyways now the train was standing on the platform. We didn’t know what to do? Should we board the 3AC boogie or go towards the general class? The time was running, I told Sudha we'll boards the 3 AC and wait there for the TC. As we were boarding the train we saw him rushing towards the train, towards 2AC. Leaving the luggage with Sudha I ran towards him and ... i didn’t know what to ask. I just excused myself and reminded him we had met a while back, he said "ofcourse,  ofcourse. You two girls, go into the 3 AC, B1 compartment, I'm coming." I ran back towards where Sudha was waiting. We now waited but in hope of a positive outcome. The person in the compartment told us this was time before Independance day-15^th august and hence these delays and cancellations. On our uncomprehending look he explained further that all trains, atleast the night ones run at the speed of 20km/hr to avoid any mishap by the mischiefmakers. He said it got worse nearer to the Independance day, we should have taken it as a warning but I don’t think we were even listening completely. True to his word the TC came shortly and announced seats 9,10 were for us. I couldn’t believe it, it was too good to be true! It was. We kept our luggage in the compartment and he asked us to come aside. He opened his chart and explained to us the price of the ticket was about thousand bucks for this journey and he would settle the matter in half the amount. He peered into Sudha's face for an answer. Sudha is one naive person in some matters and didn’t get his meaning. I couldn’t say, 'bribe him' to her there in front of him. I said yes we were ready. After receiving the payment he took our details and said if anyone came and asked for our tickets we should say they were with the TC. He would make new tickets in that situation. He left and we climbed to our upper berths. Two old Marwari couples were occupying the middle and lower berths. Making our beds we started to relax but as soon as we had closed our eyes one of the old ladies got up and started reading some religious text, mumbling all the time. The day was such that I had no patience left for an older person or otherwise. I was giving her killing stares but she wasn’t  even looking my way. Her husband got up and both of them started mumbling. I was like, Damn these people. It was truly a day which would have been better if it wouldn’t have dawned. Here we had 'bribed' our way to Guwahati and I wasn’t even sure if we would travel ahead. I just couldn’t take it anymore. Eventually I dozed off. But this incident has kept me awake for many nights. This was the first bribe of my life. I' m not one of the people who bribe the traffic police to escape from a bigger fine. This was truly a different situation. Two girls struck at an unknown town; truly our safety was the utmost thing? Who was wronged here? The Indian railways, but weren’t they in fault in the first place? We couldn’t cancel the ticket as it was booked by that tourist agent in Madrihat, Sudha's pet, as I remember him. Now even if we would have called him up and inturn he would have cancelled it, how was he going to return our money? This is the trouble with e-tickets. The railways have so many different quotas (reservation) for this group and that institutions, shouldn’t there be something for simple, vulnerable humans? Shouldn’t the railways have provisions for tickets on compassionate ground or special cases? I was also being unreasonable, maybe because this 14 hours delay involved the night, that time where the lack of light livens the creatures of fear and vulnerability. When I look back I never felt vulnerable, but this helplessness annoyed me to no end, and I did succumb to it by ending up doing something which I had never done. I have had innumerable arguments and counterarguments in my mind over this, with either side winning each time. Maybe after writing it down in black and white here I'll let the matter rest. Just remember it as 'my first bribing moment.'

Part 4 Aug 9^th  2011

Thimpu

The next day dawned with a clear blue sky and no clutter of an itinerary in mind. We had a leisurely breakfast at the hotel and proceeded towards the reception desk for some directions. There was already a family there and I don’t know why our arrival affected the visitor but he started stammering, "We need a 3 bedroom room." As the receptionist raised her eyebrows he said, "sorry! We need three rooms with a bed.”
Sudha and I started giggling, ignoring the hard stare from the man's wife and son. In the end the poor guy got it right and we could proceed with our enquiries. The girl parroted some names like the National memorial, BBS tower, a zoo etc for the city tour of Thimpu. She suggested we hire a taxi to visit these places which would be convenient. But we weren’t in the mood to be tourists and thought we would just roam around and enjoy the day. The decision taken we set off in a random direction. We took the turns we wanted, if a high roof beckoned we moved in its direction, clicked pictures and moved on. Thus taking right, then left, then right and God knows what we reached the National memorial. It is a courtyard with roads running alongside and a Stupa placed in the center. The whole atmosphere was extremely communal. There were elders sitting in a group, some reciting chants some just gossiping. A few were busy with their grandchildren. There were young mothers cajoling their offsprings; and ofcourse the tourists. But what was holding our attention was a sea of pigeons, on the lawns, on the roof top, every plane. And just I was clicking, in a moment at an invisible signal they all took flight! Now the sky was sprinkled with grey dots. How does one describe the occurrence; just that lightless feeling when one wants to fly. We went towards the central white stupa and did the prescribed ambulation, admired the quaint wooden structures on the side. Afterwards we just sat down to take in the atmosphere all around us. The breeze was blowing mildly taking me to that street on Singapore where I had seen people in a similar display of true community living. I have heard there are similar scenes in Hong Kong under the bridges. And I longed for it to be replicated in India.

 

 

In the same mood we reached a bridge over the river Thimpu Chuu which looked like the centre of the city. The structures mushroomed in a more or less uniform way around it climbing high into the surrounding hills. There our eyes fell on a bright yellow, pagoda style roof. It looked majestic and beckoned us. We started moving towards it, first walking on a long, endless road which looked arterial. There was a group of students walking ahead of us who turned on the way into a building which looked like a college. Munching on what must be the state of education we too turned on a uphill road towards our yellow roof. This looked like a high-end residential neighbourhood. There were bungalows and cottages with substantial gardens all around. On the way we came across a youth center, on close inspection the nameplate informed us it was a gesture of friendship from the Indian government. Again diverting from our destination we entered it to have a look. We had some tea in the cafeteria while inspecting the Indian government’s goodwill work. I was actually impressed that there is some activity on the diplomatic front.

The yellow roof still looked afar and the sun shone more brightly making a couple of thirsty crows out of us. After taking another spiral road we reached what looked like a retreat faraway in the woods. The scorching sun of a moment before was invisible here. It was so peaceful that it took a moment to get used to it. We proceeded on a pathway winding upwards after crossing a small quaint bridge over an even smaller stream. A notice board was perched on the side informing every visitor to be dressed in formals or the national Bhutanese dress before entering the premises. This was one of the thing we were noticing since yesterday; the pride the Bhutanese took in parading their national dress, a kimono sort of thing for men and a wrap around skirt for women paired with a full sleeve shirt. The cloth used was of a typical linear print not too far removed from other common patterns repeated around the windows etc. What was amazing was the miniscule no of people in the younger generation following the western dressing style. Because of this uniformity in dress there was that feeling of a costume drama out of a fairytale. Just imagine one day everyone on the streets here in India wearing kurta-pyjamas and sarees. What an absolutely delectable atmosphere it would create! Though we took notice of the sign we proceeded ahead. Climbing the stone steps we stood on the veranda of this ancient Buddhist temple. This stone temple was about 15m tall and about 50 sqm in area. There was a buzz around with devotees and monks making their ambulation. Entering inside was synonymous to stepping back in time. The mud plastered walls, the chants, the multicoloured Chinese silk curtain embroidered probably centuries before and there the peaceful Buddha sitting amidst all this. It was a bit chilly in here, typical to stone structures. After paying our respects we moved out and joined the people circulating around. There were two old monks giggling like naughty schoolchildren and teasing a lady monk in between. A delightful scene as much as the Buddha sitting inside.

 

Coming down the stone steps once more we came across pathways leading to smaller shrines probably dedicated to monks. The city was spread out in front of us. I clicked and clicked some more. The panoramic view of the enclosing mountains the blue river flowing like a ribbon flying in between, the small two storeyed buildings rising from the green carpet of grass. It was a painter's dream. I know I'm repeating myself but I can’t help it. After taking in as much as we can, it was time to move on. We came tumbling down, literally.

Once down, again amidst the plains we now moved to the otherside of the arterial road. Here we came across the Thailand- Bhutan friendship memorial. Bhutan seems to be quite a ‘friendly’ country. The park was empty except a old man pushing his granddaughter on the swing. Passing them we started back towards out hotel and the city centre.

I was excited to see the city centre as I knew it was designed by Pune based architect Christopher Beninger. It didn’t turn out as I had expected. But its proportions, look were exactly what a city square should look like. There is a central obelisk/memorial around which an empty square is arranged with a few benches thrown in. A line of shops, mostly galleries define the edge. The beauty of the place is the line of weeping willows planted along the edge shared with the road. But it was too sunny to sit and bask in its atmosphere, and we moved towards our hotel, two blocks away. After a sumptuous meal with Sudha experimenting and me going with the tried and tested Palak paneer. Later we retired to our rooms for an hour. When tea beckoned we moved out again.
This time we started in the opposite direction taken in the morning. Looking through display windows of some sports equipment shops, we realised Bhutan's Olympic sport is archery. Promising each other that we would look out for them in the next Olympic we looked around for a cafe. As we came out on a perpendicular street; a panoramic view stretched before us. It was the national stadium, but nothing like a modern steel/pre fabricated structure. This one was designed to fit in the city, in Bhutan; unlike the modern day structures having no personality of their own, to be fit on any site anywhere in the world. There and then I realised that I was visiting one of the most 'individual' nation. These people nor ape the west and are neither antagonistic towards them. They are so content with their history, culture, life in general that it reflects in their dress, buildings, behaviour; actually on their faces. Self knowledge creates this unaffectedness towards the outside world. Buddha should have been proud of this middle path followed by this picturesque, beautiful nation.

Sudha nudged me to try and see the insides, I was sceptical for security reasons. But it was a cake walk; we entered it like it was a park. There were a couple of people practising their football skills who chatted with us. But I was too overwhelmed to remember the conversation. The place was a treat to the eyes with its traditional architecture surrounding the playing field. The king’s gallery, the public sitting area, the entrance gates; all of them so much in character. That tea was still beckoning and we moved out again in its quest. The surrounding wide roads took us to some official buildings, although quite beautiful. It was still around four in the afternoon and we started to think about filling the day. We remembered the zoo! But having no idea of its location we decided to take a taxi ride. Thus summoning one we hopped in and told the guy to take us to the zoo. Since yesterday every Bhutanese we met was warm, friendly, not too personal, and ofcourse English speaking. And little did we know that this guy was going to open a field of information in front of us. After deciding on the fare, we started a conversation. On perceiving that we were Indians visiting Bhutan for the first time he immediately donned the invisible 'guide' cap and gave us the first local insight into the place. The reason the Bhutanese were this comfortable with the 'English' language was their education system. Being one of the compulsory subjects till high school and having well qualified teachers, mostly from the Indian state of Kerala the masses of this 'faraway', landlocked nation aren’t at a sea with the world. I could see Sudha encompassed in the warmth of hearing praise about one's native place. By this time we had started climbing upwards, which my orientation told me was diagonally opposite to the morning hill. If the morning neighbourhood was upper class this was the crème la crème for sure. Our guide told us these were all ministerial residences with high securities and higher walls. He told us how their dearest Oxford educated king abolished monarchy and laid the foundation for a democracy. The whole city was abuzz with the king's impending wedding in coming October. It is endearing to see the subjects love their king and celebrate his life as their own. Whether it was a home or hotel the decor was incomplete without a picture of their dear king, his presence not out of compulsion or authority but with love and respect. It was truly a remarkable thing, a king giving away his 'powers' for his people but the people holding on to him. I wasn’t born in the times of selfless national leaders being 'loved' by their people in India but here I saw it firsthand.

The avenue of trees had hid the sun by now. We were moving through woods and finally reached the zoo. It wasn’t a conventional one, but by now we were used to this atypical country. Our guide told us he would wait till we were ready to leave as we wouldn’t get a taxi back to the city. Looking around we realised he was right. The way was through woods, I should say dense woods with those familiar Himalayan temperate trees. Nothing pleases me more than a birch or oak, bliss. The notice informed us about 'Takin' the national animal of Bhutan and here we saw him behind the fence grazing. No, they aren’t kept in cages. It was a queer looking thing, I hadn’t even heard of him before. It is a mix of a goat and a cow. A mythical story was written nearby about a monk and the Takin and how it came to be as it is today. After reading it we rushed back to our waiting taxi.

 

The guide suggested this time we take a more circular route back so that he would show us more sights on the way. We acquiesced and then came out of the woodland. A little ahead he pointed out a cluster of green roofs which housed the administrative departments. A little farther on the there was a modest looking white structure, which we were told was the new king's palace.

 

When we enquired about the location of an airport, he told us that there was none in Thimpu and the country's only one was in Paro, a city two and half hours away. It has a cliff-hanger monastery, absolutely spectacular. We wished we had kept a spare day in hand to go there but maybe this will bring us again to this beautiful country. From here we again started our journey to the city centre, where he pointed out the 'Taj Tashi', Thimpu's first 5 star hotel. Just next door was the 'Nehru- Wangchuck' centre, a mark of friendship between the two nations. A cultural- exchange place, named after the first Indian prime-minister and the famous Bhutanese king. We got down here and bid goodbye to our guide and new friend. The Nehru- Wangchuck centre houses a dance centre, yoga hall, a music room, a library etc. We made a bee line towards the library; though it wasn’t very extensively stacked I could see works from S. Radhakrishnan to Vikram Seth. There were Volumes of translations of the 'puranas'. Everything I like, philosophy to mythology to well, Vikram Seth. Oh how I wished at that moment that I was living in Thimpu!

 

 

 

Standing on the balcony of this centre you can peep into the entrance courtyard of Taj tashi, a very impressive architectural structure built keeping in mind the host country’s heritage. Reluctantly, we moved on our way out, still looking for that afternoon cup of tea. If I would have had a crystal bowl, I would have known the cup of tea was going to be extremely elusive throughout the trip. We had oriented ourselves by now and had a fair idea of our current location and our hotel. Keeping that in mind, we started exploring the place( another purpose was to find the 'tourist centre' to collect more  information about Bhutan). As we rounded the corner we actually came across the main entrance gate for Taj Tashi. And lo behold what do I see here- a low, long, growling, red car! A Ferrari! I admit I was till date unaffected by the charms of a Ferrari, maybe because I had never seen it in real. There is a difference of hills and mountains in seeing it there in front of you, the engine growling like a wild animal, sneaking past. Wow! My first viewing of a Ferrari! There and then it claimed the top spot in my favourite car's list. After an eternity we came out of our trance and went in pursue of the tourist centre. After going back and forth for more than half an hour we decided to quit our chase and instead move now in the direction of our hotel. Here we came across the local handicraft shop. A two storied structure, looking very much Victorian, together with the tastefully done interiors. The display was quite interesting including everything from clothes to jewellery to books to handicrafts. I picked up a papier-mâché mask of a creature looking like something between a dragon and a demon. This was for a personal reason.

Every time I used to see this collection of masks or any exotic souvenirs at anyone's house parties, I used to grudge my homebody parents. Well, after a while I did realise one has to cultivate one's own farm, and not expect the crop there all ready for us to be harvested. Hmmm. Wisdom does come gradually. Hence this hobby of collecting masks, my first is from Sri Lanka. It is my theory that masks from a place has the mark of that particular civilization right from its onset. The lines and the curves, the eyes and expressions, all are a representation of the time that has passed and the time that is yet to come. Extremely happy with my souvenir, we marched towards our hotel. As we window shopped on our way back we saw a lady with her ware spread out on the pavement. The green and red things of all sizes and shapes were nothing but chillies! Immediately the taste of yesterday's lunch was there in my mouth, immediately making my eyes watery. On enquiry she said there were five different types of chillies and all had a prominent use in a Bhutanese's everyday meal. It was assuring that it wasn’t a conspiracy against me yesterday. I picked up a 'I love Bhutan' T shirt and a bag too on the way, in between we also learned the traditional way to drape the  Bhutanese skirt, quite ingenious. It was around six in the evening now and that pinkish glow had started to spread, with everything looking mellow. A tea had now become a necessity. We reached our hotel restaurant and obliged.

Moving out again after tea, we went in the only direction left to explore. We realised that this was the route we had taken while returning for lunch in the afternoon. And so we started making our way towards the city-centre piazza. After reaching the square, on the left side we came across a bookshop named 'Junction'. Being bibliophiles we had to go in and explore. The place was a pleasant surprise with its soft lighting and wooden racks. Sudha immediately exclaimed, "Oxford". Yes indeed it was so Oxford-ish. We started moving through the aisles, discussing this author, that book. I was mostly listening as Sudha is a veteran in books with an ocean of knowledge about them. Getting introduced to so many classics, it was extremely uplifting! Here and there were handwritten recommendations in various sections; again so Oxford-isque I was told by Sudha. As we moved around, we noticed the presence of two girls, one at the teller machine and another probably her acquaintance. Beyond this cash counter was a children's section and a loft above. A notice informed us it was space designated for the 'reading club'. Ummm that was interesting. On our way out Sudha complimented the proprietor on the place and made enquiries on the response for the reading club. She replied in the affirmative, "it was building up". I was looking around and came across a notice board with lots of sticky notes. They were actually 'answers' for 'what is that one memory you remember from your nursery school?' There were amazing responses, some funny some sentimental to some philosophical. I sensed that this place had loyal patrons and judging by the no. of answers, many. Sudha was still engaged in her conversation with this girl-owner. By this time the girl had disclosed of her education in India-schooling in Darjeeling and college in Pune. Pune, I was interested. She further told us after completing her graduation in mass communication she wanted to go into publishing, especially to promote local Bhutanese writers. Here she realised there weren’t many locals and the Bhutanese literature owed it to foreign author- namely travelogues and translations. Hence she decided on a book shop. She frankly mentioned that setting up the business wasn’t difficult; her grandfather owned the whole building in which the shop was located. Her father's furniture firm helped with the interiors. And she worked on everything else that goes in it. We realised she was being modest once she described the tedious ways of ordering the books and contacting the publishers. Sudha actually wants to venture in this direction of a very 'individual' bookshop sometime in the future, and they both exchanged contacts. A thought crossed my mind. I too wanted to be a bookshop owner; I could picture me doing that. But ofcourse, my plans weren’t either as finite or as detailed as Sudha's and I kept mum. Coming back from the future to the present i.e. the bookshop in Bhutan we said our goodbyes and moved towards the piazza. Children were playing around as we had imagined in the morning. There were hassled mums and courting couples too to complete the picture. We sat there each with our own thoughts till our hungry stomachs beckoned towards the restaurant. Staying in character Sudha experimented with some rice and I predictably ordered for my Palak Paneer. Calling the day off wasn’t an effort; we could sleep on our feet. And the thought of the whole of tomorrow on the road put us to sleep immediately.

Part 3 Aug 8^th  2011

Madrihat-Phutsholing-Thimpu

 

An early morning start is always an effort. Having a cup of steaming tea on the way, we walked to yesterday’s bus stop. A very young girl in an ironed dress was waiting there with her mum. Though her countenance wasn’t exactly cheerful, we didn’t realise that at the mention of ‘school’ by Sudha she would start howling so deafeningly. We were shocked for a moment and gave her mum a very apologetic look. But she reassured us that this little moppet found a new reason everyday to avoid going to school. They left in an overcrowded shared jeep; we decided to wait for the bus. The bus came huffing and puffing, this early in the morning as if she was already bowed down thinking about the day’s burden. Then I realised this wasn’t the worry of the future but the result of the past encumbrance. We got in swiftly and searching around for seats reached the very end of the bus and perched on the last one. In no time the bus was moving out of this small town which painted a vivid picture of a very different but real India in my mind. And no sooner had we passed the mandatory surrounding wilderness, a must for all habitats did that stimulating smell of young tea leaves drifted in and took away all that acrid smell of yesterday’s sweat and setbacks and tomorrow’s uncertainties out of the bus. It must have cheered up every passenger and the bus herself too. Did I notice a sudden spirit in her gait? Now the bus was picking up passengers at every stop, some school children on their way to get educated and some workers on their way to get ‘un-educated’. The school children had a steady banter on and in between bestowed shy smiles on us. They was probably a math test by the look of it. By this time quite a few young girls dressed in fineries had entered the bus and were giggling away. All this happy atmosphere though didn’t hide the fact that I was having the most bone rattling ride of my life. I have once travelled on a tractor and had formed the opinion that it was what a human would feel in a washing machine. But this ride was one step ahead. Now the bus had passengers atop it too and I was wondering how they were staying put there. We came near a river, now flowing to its brim with the monsoon well set in and I noticed a flurry of activity on its banks. The bus stopped too and the giggling girls got down at once. It occurred to us that this being the month of ‘Shravan’ according to the hindu calendar these belles were on their way to worship Lord Shiva and ask for good husbands. The whole scene was so innocent and endearing. Feeling warm all over we reached the border town of Jaigaon. The place was a rude shock. It was so full of garbage there wasn’t a sqm of land without a plastic or rubbish lying around. It is by far the dirtiest place I’ve ever seen or smelt. Yes, probably this is some type of guerrilla tactic by the Indians to stagger any outsider coming in. But why here? Bhutan is probably the friendliest country anywhere in the world. And I was to notice that the Bhutanese don’t squirm at the mention of ‘India’ but bestowed a warm and welcoming smile to you.

After asking around , we were told to take an auto till the border post and from there pass on to the otherside on foot. We reached this ‘border post’, a very oriental looking gateway painted in the typical colours of red, yellow and green. We bought some spare water bottles on the Indian side not knowing what to expect on the other side. Thus laden with both our ‘unchecked’ and hand luggage we  walked over from India to Bhutan. Just like that. This was the second time I was doing it in as many months. Was I making a habit of just walking over to different countries? A modern day Huien Tsang or Marco Polo? Well I am not complaining, in this age of certainties these novel experiences are few to come and I treasure them. Once I was out of this ‘adventuress’ reverie the practical side took over. There wasn’t an immigration office in sight, just a medical shop painted in pastel green. We entered and asked for the immigration office, and a young girl manning the desk kindly directed us towards an official looking red brick structure about 100 meters away on the otherside of the road. After going around the structure and poking our noses inside any open doors we finally located the office on the first floor. The security guard’s empty chair made us realise that the office wasn’t open yet. We filled the two required forms which were lying around and went up the stairs to wait. There was just one other person waiting around and I enquired if this was the place to submit for the temporary permits to visit, the man gave me a look as if I was asking him to bail me out of jail. I demurred and Sudha and me sat down to wait for the enquiry counter to open. In a while the officials started pouring in, men in smart looking quilts and women in wrap around skirts, the Bhutanese national dress I was to know afterwards. The counters too opened one by one and we submitted the relevant documents at a counter along with the filled out form. The officer checked them then told us to sit one by one on a chair and look into the camera to take our snaps. That done he told us the permits would be ready in about forty minutes once his superior has signed and stamped them. We were pleasantly surprised at the ease in which the whole procedure was completed. Happy and cheerful, with a spring in our steps we moved on the second item on the ‘to-do list’- to advance book the bus tickets. Downstairs the security guard had materialised who kindly allowed us to park our luggage in a garage next door. We asked him for directions to the bus stand and moved in that direction, a walk of about half a km. the surroundings were astoundingly clean and systematic. Is India the only country full of chaos? We moved on turning left and then right, passing some shops still to open, some just arranging their display and thus reached the bus station.

Phuntsholing is as clean as Jaigaon is dirty. It was evident here that cleanliness as a virtue had to be cultivated by man and community together. The bus station proved the point. As against any bus station I’ve seen anywhere in India which is a matchbox structure not cleaned since its birth and surrounded by filth of residents and visitors alike, this bus station was an institution in cleanliness and sensitivity to traditional design. The place was inviting to travel. We booked tickets for the 11’o clock bus with instructions to report half an hour before that time. This time kept to mount luggage and proceed without delay for the long 6 hour journey. Punctuality is a quality I value most as it shows one’s thoughtfulness for others, even strangers. We traced our steps back towards the visa office. We had already adjusted our watches to Bhutan time which is half an hour ahead of IST. We were still a good fifteen minutes before time and breakfast beckoned. We entered a restaurant ‘Ashok’. Was that name popular in Bhutan because of proximity to India or as followers of Buddhism? Anyways, without pondering much on it or the menu I ordered samosas. And what did I receive in turn- the samosa of my dreams. Exactly as I would have imagined it, with the perfect spices and the sweet chutney accompanying it! My day was made. With this happy countenance I looked around the place, sipping on my tea. There were booths around with wooden partitions exactly like the ones Agatha Christie had in her novel. It was time to come out of dreams and books alike to collect our permits which were ready on our arrival. Collecting our luggage, we hiked to the bus station and started to wait for the bus to come to the bay.

On close inspection, the bus station impressed us even more with its traditional architecture, cleanliness, orderliness and user friendly setup. The bus came to the bay, the luggage was loaded and we were ready to embark on a one of its kind journey.The road started climbing as soon as we started and one could have a beautiful view of the lush green North Bengal plains. The sky wasn’t overcast but that typical grey august one. There was a Buddhist monk amongst the passengers of the bus, rather the mini bus. It was a 16 seater and must be the biggest vehicle on the roads; we realised the reason halfway in the journey when the drops along the road were 100 feet down and the turns were 180 degrees. By now the monk had opened a packet of Lays chips and was gorging on it. I remember it because Sudha and I had an extremely heated, prolonged, passionate debate on whether he was right or wrong in eating junk food. In the debate we time travelled to 5th century BCE Buddha, his philosophy of the ‘middle path’, from there we came back to the present dealing with obesity and its adverse effects. The only constructive output from this argument was the realisation of my ignorance of Buddhist philosophy. The 1^st checkpost had materialised. We had to get down and register our permits, so that the authorities could keep a track on us. I thought of it as an efficient way to keep a tap on the movement of visitors. We encountered about 3-4 checkposts upto Thimpu.

We left the monk alone with his Lays as the spectacle of nature all around us had caught our eye. Thick evergreen forests, gushing blue river down in the gorge and heavy purple clouds hanging like berries. It was soothing for the eye and the mind, both. The driver had put on some music and quite surprisingly we heard ‘Hindi’ verses from a Bollywood number. There were some local songs too which were in the soft music genre. After about 3 hours on the road we came to a small settlement and the bus stopped for lunch. The room reminded me of the 'Irani(Persian) hotel' setup. A rectangular space was filled with quaint wooden chairs and tables, an opening on the opposite side of the entrance led to the kitchen, with a washroom next to it. It too had a character with red-oxide flooring and a big brass container with holders and all. The place had a television and I was pleasantly surprised to see ' Jab we met', again a Bollywood movie running on it with sub-titles in Bhutanese. The place that was choc a block now was hooked to it. With the help of some sign language we managed to order a vegetarian dish, thupka, a potatoes and cheese seasoned with chillies and served with rice. I was extremely excited; I usually am about any restaurant food. The dish as it was served looked appealing too with a whitish preparation and sprinkles of green and reds. Hah! One bite and I was in heaven and hell together! I haven’t ever tasted anything so extremely spicy; I wouldn’t have been surprised if there would have been smoke coming out of my ears. Just like the movies! I looked up towards Sudha and she was in more or less the same state. But this is a female who loves spices and eats raw chillies with her meals, and I wasn’t very surprised when she said it was a tad spicy but manageable. Blah! I couldn’t even order something else for lack of communication, and it became one of the unforgettable meals with the title ‘The spiciest meal I’ve ever had’. The journey resumed and we were almost immediately stuck in a traffic holdup. This hill state faces the same hardships as the Himalyan Indian states of Sikkim, Himacahal or Uttarakhand. After about 20 minutes had passed we were on our way, to be stopped again by another blockage where I noticed that the labourers looked Indian. India is the biggest support to Bhutan, a land locked hillstate with India on three sides and the Tibet Autonomous Region of China on north. The terrain of the country is such with hills, mountains, dense forests and limited human resource that it cannot venture into either large scale farming or extensive industrialisation. The road on which we were travelling is actually the lifeline of Bhutan bringing in all the essential and non essentials here, from food, clothings, medicines to the luxuries.

In a while the signages told us we were near Thimpu, and we would be there in about half an hour. The surroundings had already started looking like suburbs with sprinkled habitation. It was evening by now and we saw school children returning home, carefully keeping to the side of the hills, following each other in a line, simply endearing. Everything around was orderly, as orderly as it should be where a Snow white or Pippi Longstocking lives. This is what a fairytale city would look like, I’m sure. We got down at the bus station, another orderly structure decorated in the traditional way keeping with the theme. After some enquiry about a good hotel, we took a shared taxi with a monk who was heading to some 'hilltop' hotel. We parroted the name 'Hotel Tandin' to the taxi driver, and that started our circumambulations of the city. We were lost. We didnt know the place(obviously!) and he didnt either! That gave us a joyride in the compamy of a Buddhist monk, all of us were giggling uncontrollably. Finally we got down in the city center, and in a moment Sudha's eye fell on a sign, 'Hotel Tandin'. We climbed up the stairs to enter the gleaming wood-panelled foyer. A pretty young girl behind the desk looked at us enquiringly, we asked her for a double room and the tariff. Her answer was too good to be true and we asked a look at the room first. The room was clean, spacious, homely, attractive and everything one could ask for. We settled in and took some much needed rest, after being on the road since dawn. Dinner was beckoning me more out of hunger than taste. We went around the main road a couple of times but no place looked inviting enough. Sudha was in the mood for experimentation with the local cuisine but after the afternoon's fiasco I wanted to play safe. I am sure my attitude must have exasperated Sudha but now I realise I was still suffering from travel fatigue after the arduous Kailash Mansarovar Yatra. After going around the world we came back to our hotel Tandin itself which has the most famous Indian cuisine restaurant. I had the best Palak paneer(a spinach and cottage cheese dinner) I've ever had. What a day! I had my dream Samosa and now this Palak paneer, two intrinsic Indian dishes in a foreign country. There was a sprinkling if Indian crowd at the restaurant and Sudha rightly guessed a family belonging to her home state Kerala. She was in two minds to go and chat with them and I’m afraid I didn’t encourage her enough as I was too immersed in my food. We retired after a hectic but atypical day. There was a Salman Khan movie coming on the television, it was the perfect dessert I had skipped at dinner!