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!

Part 2 : Aug 6,7 2011

Gangtok-Silliguri-Madrihat

 

 

The day dawned with heavy clouds hanging overhead, spreading a dull and sluggish atmosphere. That is how I picture that day, at least the morning. The day before we had arranged with our hotel to book a cab for our day’s excursion. By 9 we were ready and our driver cum guide- DG was there too. We headed for the Rumtek monastery first; this was only place around Gangtok which I had heard before hand. Ofcourse it says a lot about my ignorance. Rumtek is at a distance of 24 kms from Gangtok but geographically it is on the hill next to it. One has to come down from the city through the same approach road and then turn left crossing over the river Ranikhola climb towards Rumtek. The hour long journey gave enough time to Sudha to get into a conversation with our DG, starting with some small talk. This painted a picture of today’s Sikkim for us. It wasn’t much different from rest of India with the youth shying away from hard physical work of farming and moving to the metros for an easy and glamorous life. There aren’t many job opportunities in Sikkim except farming and the tourist industry. An interesting addition to this is the alcohol factory set up by Danny Dengzongpa, the bollywood actor. He is a Sikkimese and wanted to give back something to his motherland. All this while I made all the appropriate sympathetic noises but my attention was focused on the road now passing through dense deciduous forests with glimpses of Gangtok in between. The soothing sound of the river gushing at the foot of the hill and the prayer flags gust gently in the breeze created a tone to enter the seat of His Highness Holy Karmapa.

 

A couple of months earlier I had been in Tibet. The memories of ancient monasteries with their mud plastered walls and beautifully painted interiors were still fresh in my mind. Rumtek is different. It has history albeit of a different type and it shows in the structure. When the Tibetan Gurus migrated to India in 1959 and after they brought with them their exquisite culture. The structures they built exemplify it. The colours splashed around were fresh, the paintings beautiful and the atmosphere inviting. We proceeded towards it turning the prayer wheels to the chant of ‘Om mane padme hum’. The monastery is a small walk away from the entrance gate which is manned by the Indo Tibetan Border Force (ITBP). We climbed up to find ourselves amidst a huge courtyard lined with two storied buildings. In the centre of the courtyard was an obelisk and further in the line of vision was the main temple. It raised upto a height of more than 15 meters decorated with the Tibetan motifs and coloured in the usual yellows, browns, and gold. Two young monks went past us chasing each other. We entered the main shrine and peace swept over us. The interiors were decorated beautifully in reds and golds. There is a golden Stupa on the premises which shouldn’t be missed. We made our way to it after many left and right turns.  The premises of Rumtek are full of exotic plants and shrubs. The flowers lend colours to the surroundings and the greens create an ambience for introspection. There was a legend for library and we moved towards it. Though it was closed for the day we encountered some lamas making those exquisite butter lamps with fine carvings. Satisfied, we made our way back to the car.

 

 

On hearing our indulgent praise for the Rumtek monastery, our DG suggested a visit to another monastery nearby. We acquiesced and the convoy proceeded in that direction. This monastery was similar to Rumtek only on a smaller scale. From here we proceeded to a no. of touristy places like a waterfall with life size models of the locals etc. As we made our way back to Gangtok we stopped at a point providing a view of the city on the opposite hill.

 

 

 

We could also point out the ropeway running between two of the high points in Gangtok which turned out to be our next destination. It looked quite fascinating from this side but as we reached the boarding point it closed shop for lunch. We too made use of the time and had a sumptuous lunch at the in-house restaurant. The progress of the ropeway was visible from our strategically placed table and once it started we didn’t find it that interesting and decided to skip the ‘experience’. We made way to the DG, who was waiting for us at the car; on enquiry he informed us that it was the holy month of ‘Shravan’ and hence he prohibited himself from outside food to avoid onions and garlic. I am always touched by sincerity in the religious ways of Indians. We proceeded to the Dro-Drul chorten and gompa, a huge stupa. It has a golden apex otherwise it didn’t intrigue me as I wasn’t quite informed of its importance. Here I should mention the setting; the dense woods provide exquisite serenity and mystique to the atmosphere. A stone’s throw away is the Namigyal Institute of Tibetology.

 

It is essentially a learning place but the enriched museum is what attracts the outsiders. I was quite surprised to see one of the most genuine structures. It is a two storied, symmetrical stone structure with straight lines emerging from the ground and meeting in a conventional Chinese roof. This yellow crown is supported by a one story thick red band which turns a more subtle white for the ground story. The most breathing feature probably is the wooden balcony above the entrance. The place creates an impression of ‘authenticity’ which never ceases to touch the heart. The museum downstairs holds one of the most enviable collections of ‘Thangkas’ or Buddha’s paintings. The place is a treasure of Tibetian artefacts which were incidentally brought by His Holiness Dalai lama himself in 1959. A photograph notified the visitor that the foundations of this structure were laid by His Holiness himself in the presence of then Indian Prime Minister Nehru. As much as the museum is arresting with its soft wooden flooring and dim yellow lighting the library upstairs is the real star. Entering through the wooden balcony, the whole of the library is enclosed in wooden panelling, from floor to walls to the ceiling. This whole space is full of ancient manuscripts to modern interpretations of Buddhist philosophy. I had long before formed the opinion that ‘wood’ as a building material lends a ‘living’ quality to the enclosing space; what better place than a library to provide for the environment for ideas to ‘grow’. And it is not queer that I’ve felt the exhilaration of being a ‘thinking’ human in places like this.

By the time we came out of our sortie, the sky was pouring and we made a dash towards the car. There was just the last place on the list to visit, an orchid garden; it would be devoid of any orchids as we were out of season. This time the car proceeded through a complete new route taking us to the ‘ridge’ and in a sudden I was struck by the beauty of Gangtok. It really was in a split second that happened. it felt like being in Simla. Though I have been to numerous hill-stations it was only in Simla that I have felt the atmosphere of being closer to the sky. That feeling of lightness like a walk in the clouds?

On the way we passed the famous ‘Tashi Namgyal School’ where Sikkim’s hero Bhaichung Bhutia has studied. Our DG proudly pointed it out. He mentioned it was a school for the children of the privileged class too. Along with Danny Dengzongpa, Bhaichung is the face of Sikkim and the Sikkimese are proud of their heroes. We passed the ex King’s palace, and the Governor’s house too. Sikkim was an independent kingdom till 1975 after which it joined the Republic of India. We reached the gates of a garden; a small gazebo was visible through it. D.G told us to go straight past this to reach the orchid garden. It was raining hard now, and with our umbrellas open we started this small walk through the garden. I have always felt rain looks most enticing with a green background either of trees, shrubs, or the grass. The half opaque views around gave a mystique hint to the surroundings. We reached a green house and guessed this must be that orchid place. Even without the orchids the place was a kaleidoscope of colours with all different types of flowers. The lilies were the most enticing but the chrysanthemums, jacarandas all were delightful. Satisfied we came out and took the journey. We thanked DG appropriately for his fine service; it had been a pleasant experience.

 

 It was late afternoon by the time we were in our room for a rest and the rains didn’t encourage us to move out any time soon. In the evening, we first made our way towards an adventure sports agency we had had a glimpse in the morning. Though there weren’t any treks on at that time it gave us valuable information for any impending visit to Sikkim, when we would be in season. I had come across an interesting listing in the LP, a pastry shop ‘Tripti’. We hunted it down and discovered the temptations of the devil. Sudha selected a lemon roll while I had my usual, a piece of the chocolate gateau. We weren’t chatting for those 10-12 mins, only smacking our lips in pleasure. They really seemed out of the world, actually no, they were just out of my childhood. I experienced the same taste as the shop opposite my school, ‘Festoons’ had. Smell along with taste is a strong trigger to rake up memories. We proceeded to M.G road for food and cash- a restaurant for dinner and an ATM for cash. After hopping from one place to another we came across a place serving the best Veg momos I’ve ever had, till then; for I was to discover my ‘momo tooth’ yet in the coming days. We had an early night after that as we had to start early morning for our journey back to Silliguri.

The first bus leaves as early as 5.30 am and we were aiming for it in order to reach Silliguri by 11ish. But inspite of leaving a reminder at the reception, the hotel gate wasn’t open in the whole commotion we missed that bus. And now we were early for the next one! And I didn’t know this was going to be the trend of the day. A day of absurd situations, which took its own course. We booked our tickets and took our seats in the bus. There was still a good half an hour for the start and the conductor pointed towards a tea stall. Two young women just like us were conducting the operations; they had set up a portable table holding a huge thermos containing tea and one of them was serving it. On the side was a stack of glasses and a big kettle full of warm water to rinse them after use. The whole set up was concise, clean and productive. Those women are the best example I’ve seen of the phrase ‘dignity of labour’.

As soon as the bus started we became conscious of the damage done by yesterday’s rain. A driver coming from the opposite side had a word with our bus driver and his hushed conversation with the conductor gave us food for thought. No sooner were we out of the city, we experienced the traffic build up. This journey then would take on more than the 5hours we had allocated it; the stationary position was trying our patience. I was already on tenterhooks as we didn’t even know our day’s destination and that is completely against my nature. I always plan my travels to the T, every map, ticket, booking in place. A leopard cannot change its spots. As I have mentioned earlier Sudha had travelled on this route a decade earlier, and she remembered the bigger picture but not the details. She had an idea of reaching the Jaldhapara wildlife sanctuary by taking a bus from Silliguri, but she couldn’t remember the name of the place we had to alight at for it. Sudha has travelled in this spontaneous fashion and it goes with her nature; as against me being the control fanatic it wasn’t easy for me to digest this situation. We both realised at that moment we were as different as chalk n cheese and in turn this trip too is going to be anything but smooth. The bus started and after another couple of hiccups we reached Silliguri by half past twelve. The Silliguri bus station was a complete paradigm in itself. Starving, we first made our way to the refreshments centre. Even after trying every way to attract the waiter’s attention, he wasn’t ready to give us even a nod. He was very earnestly serving the table beyond us. At the moment when we were about to leave, he came to us and asked for our order, with exceptional courtesy. Stunned, we ordered aloo parathas. And then we realised that he had this system of his own of paying complete attention to one customer at a time. We gorged on the parathas which seemed to have come directly from Punjab, so authentic in taste. We moved towards the real battlefield now. The state transport buses were leaving for destinations in the north Bengal, mainly the Jalpaiguri district from here. At this moment when were standing there in a totally confused state a private bus operator approached us. We had had a decent experience till now with them and hence we started to follow him outside the station. Here he handed us over to one of his colleague and we inturn started to follow him, but when this guy transferred us to another person we had had enough. Again we made our way towards the state transport buses. Sudha mentioned ‘Jaldhapara’ to one of the conductors standing near a bus. He nodded and we boarded the bus. He told us to get down at a place called ‘Madrihat’ and we settled back in our seats; looking out at every stop if it was Madrihat. At the sound of that name, something clicked in Sudha’s memory. She remembered it as the place near the town, Alipurduar which housed the nearest railway station. I was at that time extremely annoyed with Sudha for the situation we were in. Though it wasn’t her fault she patiently took in my tantrums, and as I look back I find myself lucky to have such friends. Also it is thanks to her that I had this enriching experience. We were travelling through a region half of the Indians won’t even be aware of. This was the real India, nameless but impressive, poor, happy, hot, dusty, brown, green, all at the same time.

As the bus started to fill up, simultaneously the speed started to decrease. This rickety creature had probably sustained through many many monsoons. It must have transported millions of different type of people and here she was taking me off to an adventure. The grey clouds had started to congregate outside and rendering a stifling feeling inside. After a while the slow breeze had brought in the smell of tea leaves. We were extremely surprised to come across tea gardens here in the plains of Bengal. I had always imagined my tea coming from Darjeeling or Assam or atleast Munnar. Sudha and I started to confer about this occurrence and one topic led to another; it really helped in keeping the immediate discomforts and uncertainties at bay. The bus had stopped now on a dusty road with shops on both sides; the conductor told us this was Madrihat. We scrambled out and bid adieu to bus moving away.

We found ourselves in the midst of a small town where almost everyone was staring at us. I felt quite odd. Sudha, though was her usual unassuming self and went about to enquire. She at once got into a conversation with a shopkeeper manning his steel utensil shop. In the meantime I had moved towards a small tea shop and was trying to be as invisible as possible but without success. Sudha came back with some good and some bad news. The later was that the Jaldhapara wildlife sanctuary was closed for the monsoons, but we had another option. We could actually travel to Bhutan from here as the border was just one and half hour away. I was immediately excited. But it was already 5 in the evening and we decided to rest for the night here. The hot tea was beckoning and we entered the small tea shop leaving our luggage on the small wooden bench outside. I was trying to picture Bhutan, but I knew nothing about it except that it had a handsome young king and it was the happiest country in the world. The tea brought me out of my trance. It was hot, sweet and refreshing. But what was it that I was seeing, a women and her daughter had picked up my bag and were walking away with it. I was stunned. I knew I should shout but nothing came out of my mouth; Sudha had by now looked in the direction of my unwavering gaze and she was gone like a shot behind those two women. She stopped them and by now everyone around too had stopped in their tracks to observe this spectacle. On Sudha’s declaration of ownership, the women just looked back at her and then gave a pitiable smile. The older women said, ‘we thought it was our bag.’ And leaving it there both of them started walking away. I was still sitting there with the half full glass of tea in my hand. My brain was formulating the concurrent reasons- how did the women confuse the bag? There wasn’t any other black handbag around to be confused with. For that matter there wasn’t any other bag around, black or otherwise. If she thought she was confused, where was her bag? Why did she go away without even looking for it? As all these ‘what, when, how’ questions passed through my mind Sudha was back, taking the seat in front of me. We just couldn’t react and laughed the matter out. But I have still not been able to fathom the incident. By this time we were the local stars, people were enquiring if those women were really taking our bag away. I was sure we had provided the whole vicinity a topic to discuss for atleast some time to come.

Sudha enquired at the next door medical shop, if there was any decent hotel nearby; the fellow suggested a hotel nearby and told us to take a taxi. It was only about 300mts from our current position but we didn’t complain, just thankful of finding a place which was clean and safe. In a way it is supporting the local economy too. I wondered why there was a hotel here in the first place, but put it down to the presence of the Jaldhapara wildlife sanctuary in the vicinity. It was actually more of a guest house, than a hotel. The person at the reception told us there was a lady from Calcutta staying, after watching the worry lines on our faces. We met her on our way up, and left it at that after encountering her frosty smile.

We freshened up and thought of taking a walk back to the ‘activity’ area of the town for a cup of tea. There on our way we encountered a tiny ‘tour and travels’ agency. Why was it here? Hmm…That Jaldhapara sanctuary again. We entered and a young man looked up from his desk. We took the seats opposite him and started by enquiring about this trip into Bhutan we had heard a while before. He suggested a planned trip through his agency and indicated a price of about 8 thousand INR for a 3day-2nights trip. We asked for some detailed information and he acquiesced. First we would have to take the one and half hour journey to the border town of Jaigaon and crossover by foot to the otherside of the town called Phuntsholing which belonged to Bhutan. There we would need to apply for a ‘permit’ at the Visa office and would inturn be given back in anything from an hour to 4hours. The next step would be to reach Thimpu, the capital, a good 6-7 hours away on a mountain road. The catch here being that there would be buses for Thimpu only till noon; to avoid any night travel. So we would need to time the journey in a way to reach Phuntsholing early and get the permits before this stipulated time. Also the bus tickets have to be reserved atleast an hour in advance, but we would have enough time for that between submitting and getting the permits. We were overwhelmed by all this information but it was exciting too. Sudha suggested we book the trip there and then but I don’t know what made me stop her and suggest we think about it first. Instead we got train tickets booked for Alipurduar-Guwahati for the night of 10^th August i.e three days from now. We randomly picked up this date with the reasoning of taking a day to reach Thimpu, undertaking the sightseeing the next day and coming back to Alipurduar the day after. Hence we booked the night train, the Kanchenjunga express. The ticket booked, we made our way ahead to the afternoon tea shop. Here we expressed gratitude to the people at the steel utensils shop for helping us out. In the tête-à-tête we found out that we could actually do this Bhutan trip by ourselves. He told us that it had been done and we too could reach Thimpu too if we had reached till here. There was extreme clarity in his thought when he recited a step by step plan for us. He advised us to make an early start as everything ahead would depend on this first step. We thanked him again and this time with extreme reverence. In the most unlikely corners of the world one comes across straightforward and helpful commanding respect with their selfless deeds. He also directed us to the weekly Bazaar which was on that day. On one pre decided day the farmers in the vicinity of a town bring their produce for sale. At the market, it was a sight to behold. Common produce, but so colourful and interesting to the odd onlooker. The yellows of the turmeric, the reds of the chillies in the company of the pinks of the onions and the browns of the potatoes fashioned an atmosphere. The greens of the tender coconuts took it to another level. The picture wasn’t there without the background score with a hawker calling out to a customer, a donkey neighing nearby, and the quintessential cow mowing. A peep into a lane brought me face to face with heaps of fresh water fish while on the other side was a riot of colours with stacks of clothes. I was itching to photograph all this but was too shy for the attention I would receive and I strongly regret the missed opportunity. After all it isn’t everyday that one comes across such unpretentious subjects and a chance for some candid shots.

In an extremely pleased state of mind we returned to our hotel. Dinner was a simple fare served by a young boy of 11 or 12. Sudha enquired into his background and we came to knew that he came from a village on the Assam- West Bengal border. He had left school to support his parents. Sudha knows some Bengali from her stint in Calcutta but this fellow was probably more comfortable in Assamese as we couldn’t get anything more out of him. Inspite that he warmed up to her after a while and told her that actually he didn’t like studying, especially ‘English’. Sudha immediately started teaching him how to introduce himself in English, ‘my name is …’, explaining ‘name’ mane ‘naam’. It was heart warming to witness this encounter. And no it wasn’t sympathy, because it is an act between unequal persons. This was empathy. Sitting there in front of the unfinished bowl of dal, I thought about the day and warmed all over. Inspite of its ups and downs it had been progressive and productive. That in terms of human qualities- that unassuming dignity of labour in the morning, some selfless advice in the afternoon and heartfelt empathy now. I was ready for tomorrow.