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!