A Mysterious Sikkim

This is not a travelogue merely. I cannot do anything without getting my emotions embroiled in. But I will switch on to the topic so as I am able to catch your attention for a while longer.

This would be about a trip to Sikkim during an unconventional time. This would have been a better time for places a little more east to it. But none of us, I and two of my best friends had ever been any east than Bihar (along the northeast). So, we had decided to stay restricted. For our first time. Once the gateway was crossed, I had hoped we would find time again to wander off, yes!

This trip was planned thanks to the fare cut for my friends. And desperation to get away, for me. The trip was planned months ago but I could only get the ticket a week before. The tickets were available the whole time of course since I was checking daily. But, procrastination, like it always does, kept pushing the auspicious date.

The time before I left on this trip was very confusing, really. Emotionally turbulent, one after the other too many things in the shortest time period had occurred. In reality, my fear of “actually embarking upon the journey” didn't set in until only a day before. This exercise which involves fear and little turmoil is like white noise - exclusively different from wishing to go on the trip, planning the trip and the excitement to wait for the day I would leave for the trip. It is a natural thing to happen to me, so first-time readers are advised to get over it. Yet this time there was a new, unknown scare that was going to overshadow the trip. I had been dreading the day I was to embark upon the journey. Even the calm, collecting words of motivation, “Now don’t think about anything. It is six days of your heaven (and even in the worst case, you will have another 4-5 days at least).” hadn't helped. I needed bear hugs and pamper. I couldn't make out the significance of “my days of heaven” and at times I was willing to let that hope of finding joy go. Oh poor me! So, the reassuring words which usually worked wonders every time else were not helping my befuddlement then. They were adding to my annoyance over that. Ok, let’s get over the solemnity - change of status quo, anxiety over catching the train and then reaching places. A perfect classic case of introversion.

But I have to admit, I was way relaxed after I had stepped inside the train and I had hoped to forget about what I was getting away from for at least five days. And, boy! did I? Yet the scare of having to leave the place, I was barely coming to terms with, just after returning didn’t plummet. No matter what I did. Humbly put, the trip had started on with mixed feelings. But, don’t worry, it ended better than it started off. Good enough for me.

 

DAY 1

We all arrived in Bagdogra at the right times. Station and airport, cab on time, we left on time. In no time we were aboard the Chicken Neck. There is no way around it. I liked how chicken-neck-y it was because nature needs to be preserved in pristine as well. I, however, wished it was connected like Himachal is, but it wasn’t and that had its own advantages. The plains were to follow us longer than I had expected. I had no idea about the places we were to come across on our way. I only had my basic knowledge of geography to rescue me. The famous names, the popular monikers were the few things I knew. V had done the research so he was right somewhere and then not so much elsewhere, while we came across many shanties and raggedy small towns of Bengal on our way. In front of the PWD office in Siliguri came our first break where we stopped for pineapples. Oh, I love pineapples and hate when I get sour ones in my town. Hunger had us hoover up pineapple and its cousin of shorter variety (I don't remember the name, cat… sorry about that!). The seller had smoked us here with sweet pineapples and the sour cousin. Imagine the betrayal, for he had promised they were going to be better than pineapples and had tried to convince us to buy even more. More of those ‘cat…’ things. We moved on further and had stopped along to find fish. The carnivores had the urge too strong. Finally, we managed to leave Siliguri much to our driver’s chagrin. The moist deciduous forests flanked us on both sides. Cleared by settlements and buildings and establishments at places, and raggedy towns the whole way. Monkeys were moseying around or sitting lazily. They were busy posing themselves and not finding us entertaining enough to send a glance our way.  We made a smooth segue into the mountain foothills with the classic 'mountain on one and river on the other side' proverbial Sikkim.

And, I was found in my own world after being lost for so long.

This account would be about them only. The rivers, the plants, the animals, the biodiversity and the geography. This was a beautiful trip. With a trustworthy partner. The rivers would follow me along the whole way. Nearly the whole way.

First, it was the beautiful, meandering Teesta. She would follow me every time I would find myself looking at her. She was dancing and playing the whole time. Playing with me as well, as I would try to seek her when she would hide between the parallel hillocks full of trees, hidden from the roads. Such a coquette! Sometimes, she would just hide behind the dense vegetation along the roads. She was moving at a pace comparable to mountain rivers I had already seen but her cheekiness was new. She was to amaze me more in the days to come till she would become my 'favourite' river.

We entered the Mahananda wildlife sanctuary after Siliguri. We took a food break just before the Coronation Bridge. We were told we won’t be able to find food for long after that. (A sordid lie!) Usually, I am so lost in my own thoughts nit-picking or doing things that catch my attention, I tend to miss out on taking action on time. When a colleague of mine had told me about the Coronation Bridge I had nearly told him off. I had rolled my eyes because it had made me think of ‘coronation' - the extravagant ceremony, which I am so tired of watching. Coronation to me had become just an act of self-aggrandisement, self-gratification. Completely undeserving and futile vicious cycle, can't live with and certainly can live without. This feeling may as well have been more nuanced but here right now is not the right time or space to discuss!

So, when I actually came across the Coronation Bridge, I was dumbstruck. It was completely opposed to what I had thought. I wish I could have stayed a little longer there. I may not have been permitted for it was a narrow road with high vehicle footfalls. I was so mesmerised by the beauty that I came out of the reverie a minute too late. I think it was its whiteness, its majesty, its stateliness. It looked daunting yet calming. It looked as if it commanded respect from the people entering the northeast so they know the worth of place they were travelling to. It looked as if it wanted to incoronate these travellers and tourists coming to it gracefully. Nothing seemed undeserving and wasteful about it. It had felt like it wanted to celebrate the people and the culture in general, no one in particular. I had been so engrossed in these excogitations that I had forgotten to click it, walk on it (don’t know if I had been allowed to). By the time I had realised that, I had to turn my neck back to look at it but then it had been receding and then gone in few seconds. I had been such a fool! I still remember it. Later I had tried to find the photo online. Apparently, no one saw what I had seen. No one beheld what I had beheld! I was a little disappointed.

And once again I was back playing with my new lasting friend Teesta. Every time she would swerve, I would chuckle and when she would hide behind the foliage, I would tilt my head to watch her reappear.

And, beyond Reang, (we were near to Kalim-pong I think) we had slid into a near stop when we were indeed caught in a landslide. It was a likely thing to happen considering the days we were travelling in. We had a fixed destination for the day and activity – checking-in and resting – planned, we were not particularly ruffled. The fresh air and views had us drenched in the bliss of nature already. Especially me. We were sort of blessed in this case. Even the data supported a time-loss of three to four hours maximum after which traffic would be normally up and running. We were there around 1 pm and we could escape only after three and half hours. But I hadn't seemed to care. M had been motion-sick so she slept most of the way. I strolled around a little trying to breathe in as much of this air as I could. Smeared with the feeling where sand kept falling from within the gaps of my fingers, a stroll about nature was calming my nerves. The currents in Teesta were getting stronger.  It seemed logical because the higher we would go, Teesta would get younger, full of energy and zeal. I started imagining the words of my books where I had read that Teesta makes a sharp fall in Sikkim.

We were still in Bengal. I was dazed, I was yet to drink in the beauty of Sikkim. But I was finally at peace.

I had never seen a landslide like this. I haven’t been to the prone areas of the Western Himalayas either, especially on rainy days. I usually avoid trips if I get information beforehand. And, that’s why when I saw water flowing on the road in confines of the landslide area I started yammering about how liquefaction was an implication of the landslide I had studied in those geography books while the water then slithered along the hillsides into the Teesta. Very soon I was to realise how I was to enter the land of waterfalls. Falls every fifty meters or even less. And...

Water, water, everywhere and all the drops to drink!

Oh, the hills in the monsoons, oh wow, they are beyond words. Monsoon, monsoon, you had filled a crevice and created another craving to see your flamboyance once again.

One just cannot see the most beautiful waterfall ever in a lifetime. Because there is always another one! And, I gained this precious information during this trip.

A road diverged to Teesta Bazaar. Kalimpong was not en route and we saw some ads for rappelling. Tried to win a 'yes' to go for it but I was the only excited one and even that excitement was on the wane.

We stopped at Sharmaji’s on driver’s advice. Never ever do that! We gave in and may blame it on the weariness of travelling for long. This trip was about having fun, views, eating, drinking and merry! I wanted to eat the best momos and I thought this trip would give me that opportunity. So, even if not the best, we really felt we would find a better than an average morsel. But when the first momos one eats with that kind of expectation turns out to be such disappointment, followed by bad Maggi and even coffee, I implore you to not lose faith. The good is on its way reaching you slowly.

It was getting darker after we left Sharmaji. Grrr! Complaining all the while we reached Rangpo at 6.49 pm. I love how lofty the entry once again was. I don’t see this normally in plains where an iron headboard, with some Hindi words scribbled on, does the welcoming. And, that suffices apparently because I haven’t seen anyone complain. So, structures like the one in front of me had left a definite thrill inside me.

No radio wave signals all the road and M was miffed.

We entered Sikkim. The people representing the authority took hard copies of our RTPCR tests and all the information about our stay. I don’t know if the pleasure of feeling the suspicious eyes shining once on us and then on our papers and then on us again was ‘exclusive’-ly meant for us. Did we look like hobos or disruptors of sorts which was why they needed to assure themselves of our whereabouts of every minute? The thought crossed my mind many times. But one should have heard the confidence in my voice. I was so glad we had booked a place in Gangtok and I was ready to show them off. Afterwards, we crossed into Sikkim nicely.

The whole trip went music-free. The OnePlus aux didn’t fit in the cab, so no music other than the few good ’ol songs the bitstream allowed me to play on my Wynk could stimulate our eardrums. 

And, I was back with my companion yet again. Anywhere I would go, she would find me. And, I relied on her without hesitation. Gladly. A new experience for me. 

We checked in the guesthouse. The best part was that the two adjacent rooms had a common portico and the portico had a solid shade. Raining for the whole day and imagine… playing music, chugging at the glass, enjoying rains. Even crying “We are the Champions”, rubbing eyes an innumerable number of times or not. I was set. We had our dinner, full Bihari style - roti daal, bhindi, and one more sabzi. Who would miss ‘food at home' here!

The sad irony was we never sat down there together. In the portico. I did sit there alone though for a few moments only so I wouldn't let that luxury go to dumps. And it was nice. The loneliness of it all with dark all around, nothing but the pattering of the raindrops on various surfaces -  the portico shade, the pump set room nearby, the houses on the hill slopes nearby, the trees around, the stone hedges, etc. It was comforting. 

 

Day 2

Our transportation was planned for 8 am with our planner himself. We were going to NathuLa. There was a deadline of 10 am to enter the ‘permitted’ zone,  no entry without a permit.  

Usually, Nathu La is open for 100 vehicles a day, two or three days a week. But we were moving on army permit I guess the off-season does have its charms. The weather was so foggy. We thought while we would go up we would find the weather more distorted than there in Gangtok. There we weren’t able to see five meters beyond us and thus, V suggested cancelling our plan and shifting it to the next day. The permit was not extendable or changeable, and also, I love sticking to plans if there is a plan. Or just don’t plan anything and wing it! I don’t believe in any other option and that’s why I was starting to agonize. 

We got ready by 9, had our breakfast and left for Nathula. We came to the checkpoint at 9.55am barely making it to the cut-off time. I had donned a half-jacket because it felt a little chilly and I had anticipated it would get chillier when we would go up. It was not too cold down there, just cool enough to roam around free.

A little above the checkpoint, the mobile connection was gone. Songs were playing inside the cab, with little less climate control. With songs, all I could think of was my life, my past, my present, my future. Songs and I have a visceral connection. Each brings out a distinct memory or makes a memory inside my head to recall in future. It is especially tactile when my mind is vacant. Ready to be flooded with memories and that's when my songs go on repeat. 

Ashish, our planner, had assured us the weather was much clear there at the top. But what if the weather wouldn’t clear, the choice of time hadn’t left us with many choices. So I was happy I was going to enjoy the fog all over. The whole way up there was only fog nothing but the fog. Nothing else was visible other than the boards, the shacks, the constructions, vegetations on the immediate side of the road. I realised I was not enjoying it as I would have expected. A looming anxiety of what was to happen when I returned back was still aboard my shoulders. Not late from then I had realised this was not going to let me breathe unhindered. I could not let it ruin my moments of the present. I could not let it haunt me for the rest of the trip. I was supposed to preserve these moments to survive the coming days. And I could not let jumping off the cab and visiting different places be my only way out to disengage from these lugubrious thoughts. It was making me relive what I had lost. Not just that, it was making me sense it, feel it, and let it crawl over me. It was something in the air. Misty, unclear, cloudy, obscuring, always keeping me on edge for what I was to come across. They would come towards me as wisps through these fogs, and enter me as fireballs, running behind chasing me. 

The most beautiful places hide within them many mysteries, many stories and when we stare into their souls, they transfer a part of them to those who really want to know. They evoke those similar frequencies where you resonate with their brightness, their darkness. Their clarity, their fuzziness. And, at the same time, you transfer yours as well to them and an unearthly relationship blooms. I was suddenly taking deep breaths in solitude. I was not going to run away from it, I never do. I embrace the dark like I would accept a cleanse to my soul, one which would give it the strength to countenance another glitch in this world.

So when nature took me in her lap to slough off the monotonous darkness from me I took the opportunity with open arms and never got out of that warmth to feel the cold again. With those innumerable waterfalls for the moment. On route, so many waterfalls so beautiful. Spilling down from here and there, I had never seen so many falls in one day. And, that was just the first day of Waterland!

We passed the Chhangu lake. I could see the yaks, the fat, beautiful creatures lazing around, splitting the fog to emerge from behind it. I started making those wave movements with my hands sitting inside the cab. Ever felt those hands beating down the air one moment and moving it up the next, feeling gravity’s loss of weight and then going against the gravity the next moment around. It is so much fun! I was told we were going to stop at the lake on our way back from Nathula. But who would stop the song in my mind, “ta-da-da, mere jaise laakhon mile honge tujhko piya mujhe to mila tu hi.”

The structures of mountains there in Sikkim had left me stumped already. When you go to a place with basic knowledge and theories and then you see them happen in practice the knowledge strengthens. And that’s what had happened in Konark and now it happened here. Block mountains, tors all around, gave me the feeling of eroded, denuded ancient mountains but with softer rocks laden with green trees, shrubs, creepers, it could only be the Shiwaliks or the Outer Himalayas. And it's moist deciduous forests.

The whole ride up to the top was marked by humble yet didactic reminders by the BRO.  

First, deserve then desire.

The whole time in the town of Gangtok and till Nathula, we were ensconced by the Army. Nathula Eagles, Sentinels of the Watershield, etc., were some of the army epithets we saw along. The ITBP was platooned in the lower parts closer to Gangtok. 

Suddenly, a board appears “Yakla village is out of bounds for all travellers.” 

Alert today alive tomorrow.

Faith can move mountains.

If you are married divorce speed.

Accept responsibility.

Sherathag welcomed me after that.

Be curious not judgemental

BRO then told me that I was at a height of 13294 feet.

Brtf swastik Life is precious.

Suddenly driver tore apart a pack of Dairy Milk and threw it for the dogs. He left the wrapper and the dog pounced. With wrapper? I wanted to yell but I was so confused between generosity and a stupid morality lecture! The doggo of course knew to tear the wrapper off.

We reached Nathula. The taxi stand was a huge open area overlooking hills like Tiger Hills. I don’t know where and how I was pulling the reference from, maybe because the only border town I have visited has been one with Pakistan and everything is “Sir kata sakte hain lekin sir jhuka sakte nahi”. A road then started circling those hills wandering through ‘Proud to be an Indian’ cut-out in the grass and through various posters by BRO. We reached the post. With the niceties of the Indian soldiers, we could photograph without masks. Grateful immensely! We were already warned to not rush and the moment we started feeling breathless, we should just stop and turn around. But, thankfully, after minor shortness of breath for a few seconds, we were up at the post. It was so nice; it didn’t feel like we were in a border region. I don’t know why but the conventional me sometimes takes over and goes back into the conventional, narrow interpretations of things like border areas are high-tension conflict zone.

A family, either a family of a soldier or someone with higher clearance managed to have a better, top view of the border in front of us. The barbed wire served as the boundary line. We couldn’t go up, a couple who tried were screamed at. Imagine, a barbed wire was holding two countries apart. At our homes, even a solid, cemented boundary wall can’t keep us from fighting our neighbours like Frost so precisely mentions.

The Chinese trooper kept clicking the visitors’ photos on the Indian side. I couldn’t understand the logic. Was it to show it to their people how crazy Indians were to visit the border as a sort of shrine, or was it to showcase a potential to develop as a tourism site, or was it a way to spy on us with these one-time pictures? I didn’t get a definite answer from the soldier on our side but he did say they also took photos of visitors on the Chinese side though they didn’t visit in such numbers as we do on our side. So, I made my peace with that. V suggested how advantageous and disadvantageous we were while staring around at the location of the hills around us. We were able to trace out a few of the gun positions and sandbag shades that were conspicuously located. Finally, we trudged along down to the parking stand.

While returning, we diverted towards Baba Harbhajan Singh Mandir. V’s research had helped. I had read about it a long, long time back. Even the story about how he protects the posts and people posted there and fulfils their wishes. It was a veritable temple with a human being idolised as God. The temple The Diyas were lit inside the temple with offerings of prasad where people thronged with folded hands to remember their God, who protects them day and night. 

There was a beautiful waterfall just by the side of the Mandir where there was a statue of Shivji – such a worthy place to caper around. Stream seeping from between the stones through the gradients reminded me of the waterfall in Mcleodganj. Yet it was so different at the same time. I was a bit irked, for the McLeodganj experience was getting in the way. The way Western Himalayas are different from the Eastern, the experiences were similarly apart. This here had a gentle incline, sappy mud, smooth gradient, and gravel. Sediments oozed water.  My shoes were completely soaked. And, after a careful orchestration and timed posing, we succeeded in getting some really cute slo-mos to look over at in future when our memories of the places have faded. I will cherish them (That Good!). Once your shoes are soaked and can’t soak any further, there is no holding back. And, so didn't we! Yet for some reason we didn’t climb up the whole way. I can’t recall the reason though; maybe we were too lazy or the entire way was too water-laden, or had a slippery slope. It could be anything. We had spent hours in the place loitering and jumping around in the water.

The weather was getting clearer while coming down. The intermittent yet perennial series of waterfalls along the ride was coercing me to keep a few more nice memories in the nook of my mind. For a long time to trudge me through the existence-less voids which keep coming in and going out of my life. Yet, sometimes, too many disagreements and voices keep you from saying things out loud.

But we did stop near a magnificent waterfall. Lucky for us, it was one by the curve of the road. Beautifully hidden behind the vegetations on the arms of the curves. In a nook. Devoid of any tourist. It must be one of those unexplored ones - pristine, raw yet cultured. Like it was ornated to appease my senses. This nook opened into a beautiful open area spread out in acres with mountains on the opposite side. It was an easy hike, flitting from stones to stones towards the waterfall which was not too high. Very gradual, low-height, flowing into the river which would somewhere be used to generate electricity. Maybe.

Coming down, downer, we came to Chhangu lake once again. We saw a few tourists around taking photos with yaks, taking yak rides, getting their photos taken in the Sikkimi attire.  It didn’t seem to attract my attention and I was just staring at the body of water. Going up it was clear around the lake but this time it was foggy and shadowy. The huge lake appeared like it was lost to the fog. Oh, however, does nature work! It was brighter when we were going up but this time it seemed a little haunted, a little mysterious. An opaque layer of darkness had spread over the vast span of sparkling grey. Like a shimmering Thanjavur silk, it was glazing intermittently. I wanted to skirt around the lake along the path around it. I wanted to but then there are compromises to be made. The lake freezes in the winters and I wondered if I could complete my Zanskar here if I waited long enough. So, I stood static at its boundary near the small temple. It was kind of a nook that hid me so I could stand undisturbed and stare without any eyes looking at me. While I stood there at the brim, the lake seemed to transfer its longingness, its thoughts which had remained stifled inside it until I had got there. It had been waiting for its soulmate for so long. The transfer was smooth and but my heart grew a little heavier. Its story amalgamated well with my own, strengthened the crack inside deeper yet it had felt fulsome somehow. Maybe it was trying to put me at ease that I had found camaraderie in this lurch and anytime I could come back to it and tell it all. I could cry and lose all my sadness in its vastness anytime.   

Too many photos, too many poses. Too many copies. It felt awesome. 

The mountains were threatening of a different kind. They had seemed more friendly than formidable, but riskier. Prone to several natural disasters. The regular flow of water had confused me for a while. Would it not erode the foothills of the hills and mountains if not immediately but over a while? And, this ‘over a while’ is significant because the waterfalls have been there since antiquity. But the fact that these are seasonal structures had assuaged the fear. The gully carved by the flowing water had emerged as natural safety. At other places, there were artificial reinforcement of drains along the foot of the hills to siphon off the waters from the waterfall. They were cemented at some places as well.

We then dropped at MG Road to dawdle around. We went to the Local Café, then moved to Great Tibetan Cafe for authentic Tibetan food. Where we had Thupkas, Gyathuk (I) and cold drinks and Tibetan Tea (I had), egg spring rolls(noice!). The quantity was enormous and thanks to V we had to get it packed. It didn’t taste nearly as good later in the evening, when we were back at our homestay. But with the company, it was easy to chug down. The Tibetan Tea was a shock to me. Apparently, it was just me who didn’t know it would taste salty. With that shocking taste on my tongue, I could not comprehend any way to down the complete tumbler. But, to my utter surprise yet again, the taste had started growing on me so much that I might have started liking it actually.

Day 3

What I had thought of as a once-off was to become a trend in the coming days. After V had finished cribbing to cancel, once again, we started for local sightseeing. A full day was dedicated to local sightseeing. It was more about taking a chill pill and lazing around, soaking Gangtok and its weather in. It sure had been a leisurely trip. The weather had cleared a little. The fog was nowhere as dense. I was up around 7 after getting down at 1 am after finishing half a bottle 

Black Cat museum, whose signages were visible kilometres before, was now in sight. I wished I could get in. Black Cats seemed to shadow the town as well. Primary School. Various other haunts.

Anyways, the first drop was the ropeway ride. Remember, Qarib Qarib Singlle! The cab driver had dropped us at the entrance of the Institute of Tibetology. It's a wonder how the tourist places don’t accept plastic! Do they really expect people to carry cash from home given their ATMs are also almost always drawn out? Then, the next reward is the cheekiness in their voices one gets to hear when they are asked ‘kindly’ to accept cards, etc? So, like the previous many trips, we were scraping our luggage, wallets for the last paisa.

The ropeway was strung across over the middle of the town. Around 500 metres in length. Beautiful ride. Oh, the sight! The drops of rains pouring down on the outside of the glass windows was enhancing its nascent beauty. The whole time the attendant inside the ropeway kept trying to seek balance. Trying to fit us in order to balance the centre of gravity. Naturally, we would pose and snap. More like trying to pose. Who knew the actual fun was yet to come! We landed at the station across the length of the ride. At the other end. So, then the door opened and we were stopped from disembarking. Wait for it! I could not understand it either for a while. It was the same attendant. He had stopped us by putting his hand across the entrance. He then let out a person. Another travelling couple had been inside with us. We thought maybe we could follow the suit then and put off as well. No, the next minute, we were made to return minus the one who was let out.  At least we all had a huge laugh about it. We posited later, after the debacle, that guy who was let out could be working there and so he was let out.

Next stop, after the repeat telecast of 'what’s the point of going', we entered the boundaries of the Institute of Tibetology. The institute or the museum for the visitors was closed. But, a Chorten (stupa) walk was open. Peaceful. My first encounter with Tantric Buddhism. Via the ‘Drums of life’. The writings over the drums had seemed a little more stretched not that I could really read what was written on it or any ‘Drum’ I had come across in Bihar or Himachal or anywhere. Yet the basics had remained the same all across. The impact of Tantricism, like the conventional interpretation of the thing that I had talked about earlier had been imbuing into me a sense of mystic. And not a positive one. Does anyone remember Jaadugar Zingalu Zungla from Alif-Laila, I don’t know why but every stretch in those words were reminding me of the stretch in his eyebrows. Please don’t sweat it if you can’t remember the character or notice the similarity. It was just a mind trick yet I must confess I did keep recalling that. There was a place of meditation as well in front of the Stupa. Full of diyas which were lit. Even the Stupa had diyas lighted at the feet itself. These were probably sunflower oil-based. A little waxier than the regular mustard oil, yet liquid enough. We loitered around rotating every drum, took photos, shared the little we knew about Tantric Buddhism amongst ourselves. Now this Chorten walk was a walk up a steep road. Almost 70 degrees steep. The stroll down was to become dreadful for the slippery road full of moss. Though the road was lined with stone-slab stairs covering the drain that was even more slippery. Imagine the slipperiness on the stone plates or slabs. We slipped, we laughed, we ran, but managed to get down.

We were then on to visit a designated waterfall. I say so because the last day and the day before I had already seen a hundred waterfalls lining the hills on our cab ride.

So, it was named ‘Bakthang Falls’. With the coloured flags fluttering across wires around the waterfall, it had seemed like a significant place of reverence. Or it might have been a feared place, there was a Vighnaharta statue in the hidings. Flanked by a bridge in front of it, where below it the water from the fall flowed into the stream, which met the river a little further down. A secluded place but fully stomped down by tourists. Even at that time, there were many.

We had many temples to visit, but I wanted to knock more at nature’s door. But other falls were not open apparently. Even the Zoological Garden was closed. So, we moved to Ganesh Tok. Another round of ‘what is the point?’ I had to bear down upon. But, soldiering on through this and more importantly through my emotions all along the journey we got there. The light-brown tint of the weather was reflecting in the air around me. The mist had been trying to engulf me. I had tried to resist or I wanted to just give in just so I could slough the solemnity off me, to feel peace of some sort. It was merely the start of day 3 and it was supposed to wean me off not exacerbate the acrid undertones of my phenotype. Resolve me once and for all. I didn’t want to bear through this alone. I wanted to know if this heaviness would go if we stopped and got to any place. More like engaged ourselves with sight-seeing than just being lonely with the roads, and the trees, and the misty-brown air. I wanted to rush to our next stop only if I could help it enough, a feeling which had lingered once again from the day before. Every turn in the road was churning my insides and bringing my life to my mouth. I got restless, had been sighing heavily in the hope of letting my desperation out. The haunts for my life out. It had almost felt like the place itself had been trying to engulf me. The place I had gone to seek respite seemed like it was looking for shelter in me. Another reiteration from past. It was not helping me at all. And, that’s when it had hit me how that was the place which had vacuumed out and extinguished my hope! And, I could do nothing but chuckle at the irony of life.  

Then we moved to Hanuman Tok. It was surprising how a land of Buddhism as I had thought had a significant mix of Hinduism, another ‘conventional interpretation’ from before. Huge shade-lined stairs were stacked till the temple with different choupai from Ramayan. The Tok was lined by the BlackCats protecting them in custody.

Imagine a person asking a BlackCat in the custody of the temple that they must be scared in the night guarding the temple! Just imagine, not joking. Even the soldier seemed quizzed and tongue-tied because he mumbled, “Nahi, hum … kya…”, unsure if he heard it right.

The Tashi Viewpoint was a good enough place, another place bunch was unwilling to go but there was a telescope, nothing visible clearly like it would seem. A small museum-cum-big souvenir shop. Swords, gun replicas, purses, tools, small, idols, carvings, mats, mugs, etc.

We now had only two options, to get back to our guesthouse or drop-down at MG Road like yesterday. I wanted to get back to our guesthouse, order food there and leave out all the rest while sitting on the porch. There was enough blackness and mistiness inside me to balance against the same outside in nature. Which was why I was not in a position to absorb any of it inside me anymore. I stole any joy I could that oozed out of the mystic weather, the one I had travelled so long to feel and clung to it. So, I thought a run back to the guesthouse would be a small salvage. But we went to MG Road and Lal bazaar for which they wanted to skip everything but no vehicle was allowed to that point. I felt like I was losing my voice as well here in Sikkim.

We went to Bakers Café to have something sweet for our stomach for breakfast was all we had done. It was a confusing time. We didn’t have stomach too much to have proper lunch yet it was gurgling enough to eat a pancake. And dessert and I are two peas in a pod, hells yeah! It was a fairyland, colourful desserts, artistic, trinkets adorning the walls and stairs up to the wonderland. It was as if a kid would get lost in the magical world of fairies, mermaids, angels, gnomes and toys on a Christmas day. And lucky for me, they had a wide assortment of desserts as well, not much taste but the aura of the place made up for most of it. It is not wrong: a little tap dance in your heart, everything else fits itself in. Apparently, my excitement knew no bounds, so I had some and got myself the whole course for the remaining days. Packed and loaded. The excitement on my face was well reciprocated by the server who said, “I have tagged yours as ‘Maam’”. I unabashedly blushed.

We then went out to find ourselves a good enough restaurant on Zomato, after a little stroll around, with a good review and went there to have our lunch. Osm Restaurant. The name and the way it was spelt was not inducing any confidence in me but then it looked decent. And it was good. We had our proper lunch.

Meanwhile, I had been interjected twice in a matter of 2-3 hours for not wearing masks. So there was that.

Then started the window shopping, a strong willingness to buy things but materialising into nothing of the sort. So I took the time to wander around in the drizzle. I had walked the MG Road plus another road that diverged from the public square during this time. All I missed was the lake alongside where I could feel the flicker of the halogen lights on my back while I would stare down at the almost-still water trying with all its might to reflect those lights on itself so it can keep all of my attention to itself. I would feel so important and adored.

I took photos with the pandas. They were so beautifully sculpted and painted, wish they had life in them and not just life-like cement bodies. Even the Red Panda. Gandhiji also graced the visitors.

There was another paradise waiting for me at the end of the MG Road where M’s hunt for tea actually took me to a Sikkim Tea Board shop in Lal Bazaar. Oh, from non-expensive to the most expensive teas, the aroma of the shop (ok not shop, because everything was so tinned and packaged) took me to a world so deliciously aromatic and romantic. Let that be a secret! Every time I would try to smell those leaves, I wouldn’t want to take my face off the tin. I would want to get lost in the smell. Green tea, black tea, Lopchu tea, Darjeeling Tea, Temi Tea, Oolong Tea …! There are four categories of tea in India. Depending on the decreasing order of their oxidisation, they are – White Tea, Green Tea, Oolong Tea, and Black Tea, or so Manish tells. Imagine how would that have felt when our planner told us the route to the tea gardens were closed.  

It got late there and we had to take a cab to go up to the guesthouse. In the midst of the drizzle which later on morphed into heavy rainfall, I started off on my own. Window-shopping is not my thing and I won’t give it a second thought when I can enjoy the solitude of the roads, the drizzle on my naked skin, the repression in the air pregnant with the courage this time to whisper all her secrets to me. But it was nothing like that in the morning. I knew this dark from before. It was not misplaced, it was regular. A regular companion. It didn’t hurl my stomach; it didn’t remind me of my loss. All it did was bring me happiness.

Day 4

Another new, beautiful day and grand experience waiting for us, who knew! We had breakfast and we left for Pelling via Namchi. Although the plan turned out to be sturdy because we were very restricted in terms of places to visit the process of planning for this trip has been very fragile.

Only a few things on itinerary that day – Namchi monastery (Ravangla), Chardham, and then beeline to Pelling. But the journey was going to be long. And this alone was going to take our whole day. Indeed, we did reach Pelling only after 8.30 pm. So, yeah!

It all started with M not being able to get her lemon tea. We had our pohas, and packed aloo paranthas. Too many annoyances. Planning to meet some friend but can't their move their own butt to talk to the driver and find places.

But it was fresh. The weather was a little clearer than before around Gangtok. The journey was beautiful as always. The songs, the weather, the chits and the chats, it was almost perfect. I was finally breathing. I wanted every pore and cell of mine to breathe like they never breathed before. I wanted to make a storage capacity for them like in Li-Ion batteries to last as long as they could in their first and only charging.

I requested them to breathe and hold however long they can. And then I beseeched them to hold on to this memory after we have moved on.

Oh, I was in the awe of the vegetation. I couldn’t believe the mountains had such rich variety and what does the deciduous vegetation in the mountains look like. The mountains have plantations of bananas, palm, taari trees. The taari trees looked like lemongrass but it is an oil palm grown out of the forest and not sown.

Oh, I could just climb out the window, push my torso out, and experience the rain like I wanted to but I pacified myself by stretching out my hands only. Feeling the drops now and then.

We came across a river town named Singtam, based by the side of Teesta. Oh Teesta, how lucky the inhabitants are to be able to depend on you. It seemed she ran to me just to let me know she intends to keep the promise she made to me. And I was grateful to have her by my side for the next few days. Once again. She is a comfort.

Teesta here is so fast-flowing that created a scare. But she seemed adventurous. Such a teaser it was refreshing. It was rejuvenating rather than scary. I was amazed at seeing water moving so fast without any terror and no breaking news. Life is calm and slow and natural. It is so well-seated in her bed. Gravels and rocks I can see from the top. She continues to stay with me ever since Singtam. Maintaining speed with me probably.

We even moved downwards towards the river. I just wanted to look at it for longer and more steadily than I was able to through my window. The driver assured us we would cross it. And, thus there would be a bridge and thus I had planned to make a stop where she would be the closest. OhmyGod, we were on a bridge right over it. It is so fast. Though a little more stable from what I had seen above. Police were at both ends, so masks had to be up.  

After the bridge, we entered South Sikkim.

This is when Teesta became my favourite river. She reminded me of me somehow.

Broad-leaved bushes, shrubs and trees were so different. And non-threatening.

The perennial string of waterfalls kept following us. The drains to streamline the flow of water from waterfalls here are cemented, more continuous than the north or where we were till yesterday. I don't know how nature manages to keep the hills erect, doesn't water erode the feet of these hills? Maybe the seasonality of the waterfalls indeed conserves the hills the right way. I am still quizzed.

But, do the mountains merge with clouds or the clouds have opened their arms and have been waiting for the mountains to come into their embrace? I love to see their romance.

Stopped at the Nepali hotel on way to relieve of motion-sickness. Oh! the continuous chirping of crickets, river streaming below, the fresh air and the smell of nature, while the spider hung carelessly inside its own silver-wooled knitted net, the nature is intricate and beautiful.

We were in the Kitam Bird Sanctuary area.

I don’t know when and why but I got the urge to just roll against the dense, green, velvety layer of shrubs and bushes on the mountain front lining the road we were driving on!

We came across Namthang, another good-looking, layered town. South Sikkim also has significant elevations. It suddenly started smelling afoul, not alcoholic yet fresh.

Another gush of foretelling took over. If the fogs condense into rains, it clears otherwise it goes dark and unclear. Another bout of reminders started pummelling me intentionally, more we went up. It started to remind me about all that I had been keeping at bay. I started to think I should try a little more than to resist these abstract superpowers who wished to control my life.

Oh, the waterfalls which gush from between the gaps in these stones, sometimes along the stairs constructed easing out through the drainlets. Some are elaborate cascades; some are miniatures in size.

We were travelling on a road by NHIDCL, MOR&TH. Rangit power station was seen down on right along the river while the township of Legship passed us by. We had finally entered West Sikkim.

We finally hit the Namchi Bazar via Jorethang main road. The small towns on the mountain have similar characters.

And we landed in Chardham. One would think with such a Hindu religious name one would be pointed to Chardham and the likes of places, but the clueless me was so engrossed in the conventionality and the reinforced shallow belief that Sikkim was a Buddhist place, even ‘Chardham’ eluded its significance. Anyways, like it suggests it entraps in itself the replicas of four Dhams and the twelve Shivalingas strewn across the Indian mainland. The structures of Dhams have similar architecture to the real Dhams. The exterior is nearly modelled based on the true constructions, however, the interior of the dwellings of the Gods had plain paintings across the walls. The ceilings were also colourfully painted however had no resemblance with the designs and colours on the real constructions. And, the Shivalingas were housed in near-similar constructions with very basic eastern architecture, all similar. They told me they are true replicas but every Shivalinga I would visit would have similar plain, eastern architecture. Even the interiors of all these Shivalingas were the same, only the writing on the wall in a plaque would differ of course for they detailed respective Shivalingas. In reality, only the ‘Shivalingas’ were made to replicate the real, actual Shivalingas in different parts of India.

Now, the interesting part of this day was the mystic it was going to create and the first glimpse of that was seen in Chardham.

It was a nice place to roam around. Huge acreage, planned constructions, entrance designed as a museum which opened into a huge open area with different constructions together yet situated in different layers joined together through stairs. It seemed as if every construction could be strewn together like beads in a huge ‘maala’. The mist in the air and the lack of clarity was adding mystery to the place and fun in the spirituality around. The floor was so slippery, we slipped as well many times. There were warnings as well, but who doesn’t fall even when warned.

Beauty does lie in the eyes of the beholder.       

At the centre was the huge Shivji replica of where of course Nandi would stagger the Lord.

Because we could start to look for Nandi, it was visible to us. But, Shivji’s elevated statue magnificent statue kept playing hide-and-seek with us. We could not make out a single bead, not a single lock of hair, any part of coloured loincloth when the statue was hiding while we tried to seek for most of the time there. But, a belief in me had me assured that I was going to have a glimpse of God. Even when we got closest to the statue which in normal days would seem very clear since it was only at hands’ distance we barely made out the enormity of a structure whose shape, the colour design could still not be made out. So, when God did appear once from behind the fog screen for a minute or two, we just stared at the beauty of the replica and how close it was to the ‘true article’. But, before we could revel in the joy, Lord tricked us and disappeared. 

We finally took our shoes from the stand. We met the mating dogs who would scare each other and the tourists, snapped the mating butterflies. Do not overthink, just chance!

We had to skip Samdruptse for it was a little out of the way. And, only if we left at once to visit Ravangla, we could barely reach there on time. Also, we were told the sculpture of Buddha was similar to the one we would see in the skywalk in Pelling. Maybe then the clouds would part a little to make way for us a smooth, nice view of Lord Buddha for once. Also, the fog deterred us, what if it was as unclear at Samdruptse for it was closer to Namchi.

The sun must be shifting every minute on the sundial but we had been deprived of a glimpse of the sun for almost four days now. And, this warmth was amiss for a long time now. And once again I was falling back into the cold, gloom. Every turn on the road in this rain was breaking my heart, taking one beat away from me. How did I get embroiled in so many heartbreaks at the same time? I have a limited number of heartbeats. It was causing a swirl into me masquerading as motion sickness. For a change, I was not feeling any pit in my stomach, but it felt bloated. All my breaths were sucked in there, and the air I was breathing was very thin.

We finally reached Ravangla and I jumped out of the cab. It was dripping little, and foggy. Umbrellas would have been nice. But one umbrella cannot serve three people, so I used my hoodie. It is a pretty good saviour. Wore the half-jacket first time since yesterday. The fog density was increasing with time.

I really don’t understand the concept of these touristy places not using PoS, and online payments, the audacity! They are near sadists. They simply can’t be persuaded. They just look at the tourists and backpackers with disdain if anyone asks for online payments. And, Sikkim was no exception. And, we finally ran out of every penny we had at Ravangla. To the extent, we borrowed 500 bucks from our cabbie who was gracious enough to lend that to us.

Once again, the shenanigan of “What’s the point?” I had to get over it. Why pay 50 bucks where you cannot see anything. One should not face this while travelling. I don’t think I could adjust to this without reflecting any disappointment on my face.

We reached around 3:30 pm.

The flowers, hanging around the lamps inside the entrance was very welcoming. Oh, the flowers! And there were people-slash-tourists inside and even outside visiting Ravangla in the same mist as we were.

So, let’s hop on to an exciting journey we get to be on for the next two hours nearly.

We took to the washroom first. We were alone and I could hear M entering the toilet stall next to mine. Little did I know that she was waiting for me to come out, so she could follow me. Because when I come out, she followed me guided by the noise of the flush and the ‘klan-tch’ of the door latch being opened. I washed and she took me by my hand towards the entrance and then asked me to look at the stall first to the right to the entrance. I couldn’t, I had just washed my face and didn’t have my specs on. So, candidly, I tell her I don’t which was in fact true thanks to my myopic eyes. I rub my specs with M’s top and look at the door once again feeling the hint of scare in her voice. She says “Do you see the footprints? Now?” “Yes. I do.” “And!?” I am confused and completely settled vis my voice. I don’t see anything disturbing that could get me red in my face. A very single-dimensional mind of mine just focusses on the aim I am directed towards and so the inquisitive M had to put in some more effort. So, like a best friend introduces one first time to what the middle finger means, she asks me to take another look at the prints and check if I see the prints turned around as if something was coming down the door”. Even then, that doesn’t unsettle me. “So what? I saw a similar one in Chardham as well”, I answered really calmly. And suddenly I realise it was on the door and how can one be coming down a door? A wooden door that is hinged but locked. And, yeshh, I freaked a little. Yet could not let the slightest shriek out for she was already dizzy.   

There were two kinds of fingerprints. One of the pair of a huge human footprint, very casually coming down. Then there was another set of pawprints, too widespread to be counted as a human footprint. But, the weirdest thing about that was every nail on that pawprint was pointed like one drawn like cats’ and women’s smallest toenails. Triangles were drawn at the tips of each finger. Carefully drawn and that freaked us out. We almost ran out of the washroom to track V. He went in to confirm and we started analysing. Didn’t reach any conclusion, kind of freaked, exacerbated by the cloudiness around us. We decided to let that go barely and move on to enter the main structure. From the washroom, we took a detour and didn’t follow back the path we came in through. This new path was through a tunnel, exciting! It seemed like a tunnel that had not been very actively visited by people, with spider webs hanging. I clicked some nice cool pics. Of course, there was slippery moss on the road obscured by the tunnel. We came out the other way through a paved road lined by short cement boundary walls staggered by tall shrubs, bamboos, etc. They looked like sacred groves, very popular in the mountains. Like I said, the weather, the sudden footprints revelation and then the tunnel, it was already kind of raising our hairs when we were scared by a thump ahead of us. Out of nowhere, a lady jumps out of the grove and this time I shuddered. Just to ease out the panic, I did tell her that she had scared the hell out of me. And, we moved on. I chuckled at M and V, “She’s the ghost”. We were already talking about some stories, the complete package of - the weather, the experiences and the anxiety- was giving off an apparition-y vibe.

We laughed and we moved on. The clarity had reduced to almost zero, where we couldn’t even make out the way to the statue or the monastery. We started to use our auditory skills to trace where the sounds were coming from. The chants were different from those I get to hear in Bodh Gaya. Soothing but different. Like in Bodh Gaya, there were speakers emitting those chants. Just because the whole way was lined by the speakers it made us follow them everywhere. Sometimes in a line, in zigzag fashion but we weren’t sure. Which was the straight line, which was the criss-cross we didn’t know. With time, and when we tried to focus our mind and senses into the whirl of foggy minds, we realised we were in an open area. A place which would be holding light and sound show on normal days. And, this was a circular area in layers lined by the speakers. With the speakers strewn around like that, in a circle, in a straight line we were freaking out a little. So, we got off that and started straight to the lump of huge darkness we could see standing above the horizon to our left.  Something solid clumped together in the fog. Black, indicative of a structure, a building or a by the way of logic. We made it out to be a monastery or museum of sorts, something we were looking for. The statue, the huge statue was still not in eyeshot. Mind you, the statue was just beside the monastery. Now that I have started to write, it makes me wonder how could that be possible, but not a word of what I am writing here has been framed. And, good golly, I am glad I had an experience which seemed a little unreal. We carried on till we could see a dark, tall thing a little right to where we were headed and the more we got closer, we could differentiate where to go.

There was no one to be seen. I think there was one more soul loitering around. We were a little disappointed we couldn’t see the huge statue we were standing just right beside. A sad pout, had I been able to see, was painted over my face. Since last few times, I have realised I have great likeness for architecture if I have a beforehand knowledge or basic understanding. To match the theory with the practice has a joy similar to getting the puzzle pieces fit into the right grooves, and bringing the puzzle to life, dancing. And, this time it was Buddhism I have bits of information about and then it was also a form of Buddhism I only had a few lines to support or have read about. So, I was precarious vis information and with such no-clarity, I couldn’t even decide on the tangibility of the structure. So, there was no puzzle brought to life, only bare pieces scattered around. It was more taxing, with no release of serotonin but energy spent upon to decide if the dragons looked happy or not. The dragons apparently are the source of enlightenment, as V told me. But were they dancing? They looked like they were having devilish smiles. Imagine! The air around us had everything transformed around us. I was mirroring what I felt. When you can’t see ahead, you start reflecting on yourself.

There were three chalices sculpted in front of the sculpture. We could barely get one chalice into our photo frames. That is, the photo of the chalice turned out to look like one taken on a poor resolution camera, low sharpness, less brightness, less contrast, less colour but at least we had something to show for. We tried to be content with it. Even that had grains, imagine the statue and the little monastery-type constructions beneath the seat of the statue. They were complete fuzz.

We started a Pradakshina. I was very curious to look at the dragons. Maybe I would be able to look at them for long enough to make deductions about how they look. But I was pretty sure each dragon on a different side would be different.  I think I found one dragon which seemed playful, happy and looking to enjoy. But who knows what and how they really looked? Towards the back of the statue, the “Drums of Life’ were stuck in rows, ornated. So many rows of these drums crisscross each other in the courtyard. The whole open area was lined with drums. And drums only. It felt a little different because the back area was rammed with drums where the front of the statue just had those chalices for decoration. M and V were bewitched by these drums, and without ado, they ran to the open area like honey bees to nectar. Whereas I almost had a mania to do nothing else before I could look at the four dragons on the four sides so I did. Assuming the Pradakshina had four quarters, I saw the four dragons but completed only three of the quarters. So, I didn’t finish the Pradakshina knowing quite well that I was not finishing it. And, it set in the back of my mind. The rains as usual had been dripping, we had an umbrella but my salvage was my hoodie like before. I think there had been no visitor to the place for a long time. Too many cobwebs were hanging around. Some of them had obscured the writings on the drums. They had hindered the entrance into the tunnel before as well. But, some of these cobwebs were some of the most beautiful pieces of art, shimmering grey, with lights reflecting from behind to shine out the immaculate threads, each visible, hanging individually in layers, like vintage black-metal necklaces. No sight like one we would have imagined before us, yet it didn’t fail to enchant us.We didn’t want to come back, for the drums were lined so beautifully ahead of us. Endlessly. We started moving and ahead we got, we could see these drums lined endless till our sight would go. So, it always seemed like we would find a way ahead. And, we forged on, in hope that we would find a way out even when it was never clear for more than a foot or two at any point in time.The path shaped itself into a narrow bridge with a railing on the other side. Lined with mudras of the Lord. The indulgent use of colour was visible. Green, Blue, Pink, Yellow, etc. There was a long line of these mudras almost as if it was an endless pursuit. Ahh! The architect indeed understands the importance of these Mudras. However, I cannot detail any more upon them because I have no deep understanding of these because the sculpting was not very intricate however so colorful. Also, I couldn’t spend much time staring at each mudra because it was raining, water on my glasses. I love to soak myself in the rains and everything on the mountains is just better somehow. Also, I had not heard of an endless number of mudras in Buddhism from the West. And, I have studied even less number of these Mudras. It is then I realized that these mudra sculptures were repeating. And, a sudden gust of terror dawned upon me. Why were the mudras repeating? Why were they towards the back of the Lord? It just seemed off-kilter. And, the ‘three-fourths of the Pradakshina’ was slowly gearing up from the back to the front of my mind. We, Hindus, don't not finish a complete Pradakshina. I was convinced we were looped in some space-time paradox. We wanted to return but something was keeping us. Possibly a simmering belief which said no, there is a way ahead. It couldn’t just close or be lead us to some netherworld. Or maybe I hoped for some out-of-the-box netherworld that we could come across it. Nothing was visible, the tall statue was lost completely. We hadn’t even come that far to lose it in our hindsight. It started getting darker, probably the sun was tilting towards the horizon. And, that’s when I put my sheer fear in words, “I think we are looped”. But, for some reason, I was not panicking. With the view to comfort others and the fact that the realization could get graver any minute I remarked, “It’s okay. If we can’t find our way out even after sunset, we would just sleep on the ground and chant Hanuman Chalisa. It is every Hindu’s last-minute solace. The place was slippery, with mosses all around. The cemented floors were carpeted with those mosses. I wouldn’t lie I slipped twice or thrice shamelessly mostly because of my slipper. I got rid of it and it certainly didn’t help. We were just moving through trying to find any motherlode of cement mass standing around which could anchor us and guide us in a proper direction. We were barely moving through after the encounter we were trying to make sense of. Out of nowhere, I uttered, “Remember that woman who jumped us? I told you she was a ghost”, and that sent a panic streak across our bodies. It raised the hair on my arms. We started veering towards believing the mystery in the air and the story which was coming to us. I was acting like a gullible and incredulous person. Naïve. A motorcycle, probably a Harley passed us on the right. But neither the motorcycle nor the road was visible to us. The truth was nothing beyond the tree across the railing was visible to us. “Is that a drone?”, the fact that nothing was visible and I was down with the idea that we were looped, I still can’t be sure if I was joking.

Believe it or not, we were betting only on our cabbie who’d be worried about us, that we were stuck inside. There was no soul around us. And, with time passing, we started worrying if the management of the monastery even noticed three of its visitors were no more to be found or were roaming around aimlessly inside the space-time loop that has been found in their very own walls.

And, after being stuck for hours I think, V located the museum or structure like the one we saw on the left of the statue while coming in, on our left. It was the behind of the structure. We moved towards it to confirm its existence. If it was the same structure we thought we saw. Heavens above, that was it! Imagine the level of visibility that was persisting. Without any loss of intensity. When we found one familiar structure, we then started to trace the direction from where we came from. We were still puzzled why we never backtracked. We could have gone the way we came from till we hit the statue area and then we could have tracked our way out. I still think we were looped for some time and we could see nothing but ahead. With time, we got comfortable stuck in the loop. A part of me was telling me that even if we retreated, we wouldn’t find the Buddha Statue.

We finally found those sounds playing off from those floor speakers. But now we were determined not to digress and we found our way from between the sounds reverberating around us. We stuck to the line till we reached the designer topiary. We were excited like this in a long time. I wanted to take the tunnel yet again because maybe it was a little bit longer but it was familiar. But, V insisted to take the one which was going towards the left. It logically would culminate into the entry point given its direction towards the left and then straight above the topiary with a gradual slope. But, since none of us could actually see where it would meet the entrance, we were a little skeptical but still, we pursued it. If there existed Maya, everything which seemed known also had the potential to be metamorphosed into illusion and devilish. We finally made it to the familiar entrance area, the benches, those hanging potted plants, those lanterns hanging from the poles, the Hawa-Hawaiis which in normal days would let tourists ride inside the premises. Yet I had to reiterate it once again, “She was the GHOST!”

We could not find anyone hanging around, loitering. No kids who came in with us who were swinging along the poles, plopping down the floral, geometrical carvings on the boundary walls. But I think there was someone at the ticket counter but I could only wonder even he would have worried about us had we been inside any longer. It felt like the evening was about to fall but it was only about 3:30 p.m. And, our driver nonchalant as ever.

Oh boy, were we excited! Complete adrenaline rush. Walking alone in the compound for hours with the scare of life. But I was proud of how calm we stayed. Mostly because we had each other. We were not alone really. Three people are not alone. Physically especially when scared.

We took deep breaths and found time to get ourselves snapped before the banner of the Monastery. Something to remember the time by.

Now one more thing was left to be cleared. There were too many mysteries stalking us. But more grit is now within us to confront them. V & M decided to get that cleared up. They asked our cabbie to clarify about those huge watermark footprints, pointed nails, which were drawn upside down on the door. ON THE DOOR! The best part was the skeptical response from the cabbie. Almost in disbelief or weary of what he should say truthfully. V was too eager to come up with options and he concurred with “It must have been a yeti!”.  But he tailed off, “It wasn’t inside the monastery, was it?” I knew I must lay this to rest before I let it go to my head.

Later, I did ask V & M if those 5o bucks felt like a worthy expense!

We started for Pelling. There was construction and landslides on the road. We were moving in spirals. The whole way.

We later saw a video of a tourist visiting this place a few months ago and saw how beautiful and serene this never-serene looking place was! I wonder how much we would have missed had we not entered it.

The clouds were flowing below in the valleys to my right. I felt like flying over those clouds, touching them and maybe resting myself on them for a while, in the white, cottony clouds. And in those nightmares where I keep falling down, my fall is broken by those clouds. They can clutch my hands. And I can rest comfortably in clouds - my white, precious, majestic seat. With a wand of sparkling little sunshine. Like a princess, okay, I am not getting carried away any more.

We were moving through one of the riskiest roads. Muddy, on an incline. With hairpin bends at the trickiest locations, including just beyond the inclines where nothing was visible beyond them. The significant height of these inclines in the roads, the rain continuously dripping, and an immediate hairpin ahead of it. The cabbie had to pull himself over to see if there was any road ahead. Thank God! But, he manoeuvred through it deftly.  

Like earlier, water was everywhere. On the roads, by the roads, below the roads.

The river was once again by my side, and the weariness of the day trip taking over any worry of mine, I drifted off to a nice sleep.

We had no reservation in Pelling. The cabbie was to help us with reservation in Pelling and he took us to Blue Pelling. We were hungry and there were limited food options at 8.30 pm. Tired, too much. We had reached a place where the ration is called for in the morning and then people manage with that. So, we had no other option than rotis, aloo ki sabzi, omelette and coffee. The irregular rationing of food amongst us threw me off-balance at once, but then you have to let go of things. Low energy, I felt like yelling, crying. Too many emotions were curdling inside me. The fact that it was not too cold helped. I sat in my lonely balcony which overlooked a narrow road invisible at the time. Trees and vegetation crowded the whole area in front. Only lights other than the twinkling lights of nature came from the multi-storied building to the left. The flicker of light from the floor downstair floor sired a delightful Tyndall effect from the balcony to the window of my room. I wish I could capture that from my camera phone but I didn’t. Even in darkness, I could see things.  I desired little ‘me time’: taking a gander at the sights aimlessly, listening to some music, maybe read a little, and sipping on my water.

I was sitting on the balcony at 9.45pm with no sweater. Everything was hazy, also dark. The haziness was muddled with silhouettes of trees, branches, leaves, concrete road, multistoried property. The lights twinkling along with the layers on the mountains visible at a distance seemed like tiny Christmas lights.

10.16 pm. I was still seated on the balcony. I could see a topiary or I was looking at an illusion because it was completely dark and nothing conclusive could be made out. The topiary in the front was shaped like a dragon, or a chimaera with a rhino as head, or did it look like a wild hog with the head of a wolf with mouth wide open and teeth out. Whose jaws were dropping under the pressure of anger? The topiary stood teetering over a conifer tree itself it seemed. There was no reason but I didn’t want the morning to come and make me realise that they were just one real tree. And everything else my imaginations. By the side, there was a lean tree leaning to its right covering the right end of the hotel property. It reminded me of the tree near the Ganges from near Bhagalpur. My first romantic tryst with words. But, today the moon was missing. The rain had erased everything. Everything just seemed futile suddenly. No one to talk with, no one to bother about my health, none to share my joys little as they are, none to share my sadness with. I don't want to go return. At least, the trees and roads gave me company here. And so did the strangers. I chatted for a while when I recognised another guy was about to fall in love with the character called S. I would be so skeptical had it not happened to me. All strangers to me and each other, independent of each other. Yet similar, unctuous. The only defence is this is how everyone behaves. What terrible life! No originality, no exclusive effort, just the machine of life churning its grooves.

I think loneliness is the only thing that keeps one occupied and confident.  

Day 5

Another morning, the last day of the trip to travel around. Tomorrow we would leave. We got up, had our coffee first. V brought it to my room. I didn't want to go unless I had to. I was enjoying it. Alone.

The mystery was demystified in the morning. There were two trees indeed. The shorter one is behind the tall one.

We left at 11.30am. We had a few places on the list, some waterfalls, riversides, etc. friendlier trees. We were staying in Lower Pelling. And there was food scarcity. And if not told beforehand in the morning, we would get nothing but aloo. They could get mushroom/paneer even for dinner but vegetables seemed like chance hit. They said they could check but a certain look on their faces told me we better made effort to look for paneer/mushroom if we wanted anything other than aloo.

The first stop was Rinmibi Waterfalls. The inception of this fall could not be seen. It was a tall waterfall. I had vowed not to call any waterfall the world’s most waterfall. I had been wrong so many times. Unless of course humans and their interventions have ruined nature such that there are no waterfalls left to see. The falling water slithered under the bridge to the Rinmibi river. The sight was so peaceful. I felt like frolicking from one end of the bridge to another and that’s what I did. I removed the shrug I was wearing and I could feel the natural air smeared with the mist of the waterfall touch me. I wanted each cell and pore of mine to breathe and breathe so that they can survive the coming days with hope till they can breathe once again.

The water fell down the waterfall with huge energy, an energy which was not terrifying but so suave. Which swayed the leaves in a way that they looked like they were dancing under the hypnotic power of the energy flowing.

This time it was river Rinmibi who was to walk by me.

The other waterfall on the list was closed because some people around were found positive.

We then moved to Kanchenjunga falls. A fall with no inception. Although inception cannot actually be determined from down below, now I realise.

We moved to curve around those mountain slopes through dreary cuts and bends with rain drizzling the whole time. Suddenly, the windows started rolling up. It was a bit awkward.

It was not pouring heavily that it would affect the cab if some drops got in. The cabbie had seemed particularly careful about maintaining his vehicle. Maybe I thought what if water was to fall off from the top and in an instant, it started pattering on the roof of the car. It was exhilarating and scary. There were two waterfalls. When the ride got stuck for a jiff under the second waterfall, it petrified me for a sec. What if it breaks the car before the rescue is able to come? We would jump out but the cabbie would be distressed. So many thoughts in that split of seconds.

We crossed the thrilling waterfalls on the road. We turned right on a bridge to Kanchenjunga falls. On the left was the fall where the torrid flow of water was raucous enough to startle me and on the right, under the bridge, was the same water which was now sobered up and transformed in nature. From tumultous to urbane. Roaring to cackling. The contrast which was the Kanchenjunga falls was completely opposed in nature to the Rinmibi falls as well. Where Rinmibi was placid and placated, Kanchenjunga was aggressive, angry, young, abrasive. And, that’s why Kanchenjunga was unsettling things inside me. Yet, there was something that was pushing me to face up against what it was trying to throw at me. Unwaveringly, chest up. Determined.

Another waterfall was situated to the right of the Kanchenjunga falls, the water from which conjoined the falling water from the Kanchenjunga Falls and they both merged together only to slide under the bridge. I am sure the water would find its way into the river. This other fall was a few stairs up, hiding confidently under the shadow of the stair, not visible unless travelled along the stairs. It was apparently a small one with a gradual gradient. I didn’t want to slip along the moss-covered stairs to see a waterfall that may not have attracted me while I was already spellbound by the thunderous Kanchenjunga Falls.

But, while I was facing up against the fall, my back was completely soaked.

Mostly from the Kanchenjunga falls and little from Rinmibi. I tried to capture her aggressiveness in my snaps. It’s a travesty people don't realise one captures nature, not just people.

We then moved towards Orange garden. Riverside. It was a ride down to the riverside. Nice flowers, shrubs ornated, decorated along the stairs down till we reached the river. We were advised to not get too close. Nice guys down by the river were selling Maggie and wine. The wines were bottled in slim glass bottles. The bottles were stacked together, like a rainbow that had been bottled. They looked like Breezer but that comparison offended the sellers.

It was so serene down there. There is nothing like water around me.  

I was enjoying how the water was making a ‘gup-gup’ guttural noise when excess was being pushed into a nook. Like when a fish gulps something. We got those wines – Orange, Pineapple, Rhododendron, ….. We bought one of Orange, Pineapple, Rhododendron.

We started feeling hungry. We had momos, no, the best-yet momos in the little shanty up on the road on the entrance. The tastiest yet, finally. It even had soyabean oil with the filling something I would despise in the first thought. The tastiest chutney - Paneer chutney. Who knew Paneer was the sine qua non for a chutney. I even asked for the recipe, which I haven’t tried yet. Immersed in eating we heard the heart-wrenching story of the guard whose wife eloped with a constable while the couple was working in Delhi and so he came back. He asked what I did and with the description, I gave him the best he could make out was an office job with mike. 

Then was the last stop. The Skywalk. Slippery. Yet again. Risky, glassy. We entered and there were other people around. We posed, and snapped on the skywalk. The skywalk is only an appendage to the structure. The primary of the art and architecture is the tall statue of Buddha. Huge. To get to the statue, we had to cross the whole area, around hundred steps, and then take stairs up to the statue. When we started moving towards the statue, the mosses spread on the stone slabs were making us slip. We had to stomp down and press our feet and grab onto the ground. The near hundred steps, one at a time and time-lapse between, were frightening enough. So, the formidable number of stairs rising in front of us to the statue, wrapped in mosses, started deterring us. A group was coming down led by a woman guide who advised us against going up. She made a few points that sounded tempting like we won’t be able to see anything or nothing was visible. They had barely moved around, took only a few steps under the guise of Pradakshina and she concluded that it was not a bargain enough against the slipperiness. It was the same as the previous day. The status was not at all visible from the grounds. M gave up and sat behind on a guard’s chair where we left our slippers and shoes. The lady had convinced us mostly. But something made us go against it. Possibly the experience from yesterday. And we decided to troll through at least some stairs and if things felt alright, maybe we would actually get there. Each stair up I wanted to retreat. But amazingly, we pushed on. And that was fantastic. We were so jealous of folks who were coming down towards us on their way down confidently in gumboots. We slipped. We waited, we put one foot at a time, straining the foot every time. We somehow made it to the top and it was the same as yesterday. It barely looked like a structure when we were at a few arms’ lengths. We couldn’t even make out the colour of the sculpture. We thought the sculpture looked red which was black in reality. My idea of the face of Buddha was like a photo of a Chinese Emperor I had seen once in my textbook. Later when I saw the photo of the Lord online, he seemed so serene and different from what I had imagined. My imagination took a serious toll on this trip.

The weather was getting darker by the minute. And, V was explaining to me the significance of dragons yet again. How they are the symbols of Moksha and how tantric-ism was taking over in the region before Buddhism came here and how the amalgamation took place. It took us quite a long to get up. This time we had vowed to finish our Pradakshina, we didn’t want the reiteration from yesterday. That’s when I received a call from our cabbie telling us we need to take a different gate to exit because they are closing the monastery. Imagine! This time it couldn’t scare us. We had seen through worse and we had accepted this new challenge, which we knew was not as formidable as from yesterday. We chuckled. This confidence was brimming because this time we knew there was at least one person, our cabbie, who was aware of our whereabouts. And, his existence and his phone call were enough to keep us from getting sucked in the illusion of another space-time loop. We started down. Took our time. Finally, we were in the intermediate area between the stairs and where we left M. And, we couldn’t see her till we were standing at her head. She informed us that a guard came to her to ask her and us to leave for it was time. It was only 3 pm. We were lost once again. We couldn’t find Gate One but this time I was determined. And, yes, there was an exit through the drains and we were out near our cab. So, yeah, experience does lessen the sting. Or fear in this case. We were so shocked to see the irresponsible behaviour of management in not one, but two places. The defence put up later by the cabbie was they close it by 7 pm on normal days, but since there are not many around, they close it by 5.

We, mostly M & V, then moved towards Dentam road for the Melting point restaurant to taste Danny Gonzapa’s beer. I have to admit I was completely uninterested and tired. But it was very near to where we were staying. Google set us off on meanderings, snaky roads. But the restaurant owner seemed famous and with help from locals we reached the restaurant only to find it closed due to low footfalls in the season. We got up and I went to sleep at once. Sipped in, and dozed off slowly while reading. I woke up with soft music humming in my mind. It seemed like someone was playing something and singing as well on the floor above us. But the way I was snug in my comforter, and the way sleep loomed over my head, I slept some more but the music was still not out of my mind. I opened my balcony and the sound got too clear and louder. There were at least two people, one playing the guitar and the other singing. Oh, it felt like my moment and I rushed to the floor above me. I saw a bunch of people gathered. Felt a little shy but the desire to join in, have fun, to rejoice was way too overwhelming. They were a bunch of college mates from Bengal on a trip – they had guitarist, singer, pianist. All humming, strumming. I asked to join then retreated. They seemed professional and I get scared of professionals. I chimed in with the group and it was awesome. I finally got what I had wanted. A truly blank moment. No voice, nothing, complete blackout, not even the cranky ZZZzzzzZZzzzzzz sound like one from the broken tv. I couldn’t eat. 

We started off at 6.30am to catch our train/flights at 4pm, 5pm respectively. It was only a four-hour ride but we took enough leeway to accommodate the delays due to the landslides which were real-time possibilities. And, thank God, for the extra time on our hands. We were caught in the landslide longer than we would have expected and finally ended up in Bagdogra after 3 pm even when we had to rush our cabbie to get there. Teesta was there once again flowing by my side. The landslide debacle was so prolonged we had to give in to the idea of getting through the yellow mud of the landslide, dragging our suitcases and walking through it on foot otherwise we would have lost our shoes to the landslide as well along with our time. We were to take a cab which was taking tourists to our side of the landslide and the tourists in that cab would exchange with us and then the planners from both sides would negotiate their ride. We were told we would have to disembark in Swift Desire, in this case. We were barely agreeing to the idea because we had suitcases which needed a big cab. But, we had no time to be the choosers, did we! I was particularly panicked because my train was to leave one hour before the flight.

But, with effort and constant bickering, after 1 pm around, vehicles started crawling. But from the other side only. Only after half an hour, our side of the traffic started to crawl. Half a kilometre we would have travelled and we stopped to change. One would think why would we change cars if we had crossed through the landslide spot. But we were changing and nothing we could do. With yellings and the time-crunch, we changed into a Swift. Not even Desire with one of our suitcases’ stick hanging out over the backseat. First Nandan, and now the planner. It was a plan all along and we were kept in shadows. Some day it was! We could reach the Melli checkpoint (the new way out of Sikkim this time) only after 1 pm. The cabbie was nice, understood our concern about how we were being cheated and how we didn’t have a lot of time.

We finally entered West Bengal, without any dramatic entrance and only a smooth segue. We got through the Zevoke forest offering a Bengal safari. Nothing else was on our minds except to reach on time to be able to catch our modes of transportation to take us back to our old lives. I wonder if one sees the irony in this! Then came Salgura Bazar, then Siliguri.

There is something about identifying the plains from mountains without opening eyes or any of the sense organs. Because the remaining active sense organs are going to be sullied by the pollution of the region and yeah, there they were, the polluted black smokes. The trucks were emitting black clouds with impunity.

We crossed Mahananda in Siliguri.

The Asian Highway, the connectivity tool, is already a pollution miscreant into the green, used-to-be-pure northeast.

But, finally, I am on my train, still not ready to get back. Forced to like many of us. But, while I look out it feels good to see differently-abled friendly structures like parking structures in Bagdogra, toilets in Naxalbari town. Oh, Naxalbari brings a singe in the heart like it did on my way to Bagdogra. A sense of familiarity with stories, or the energy I have associated with the reminiscence of the moments I read those stories about.