Back to the Blue - Darjeeling, India

After 3 months of longing and never really adjusting to the sweltering heat of Indonesia, Malaysia and Burma, I have finally returned to the velvety, cool emerald hills of India. I knew, I had to go back to the Himalayas. So, the choice has naturally lay between Sikkim/Darjeeling and Ladak/Kashmir. Some friendly Kashmiris I met in Burma suggested that it would be snowing soon in their home – especially, if I desired to be in places higher up, like Leh. So, I busted out of Burma 1 week before my visa expired [a first on this journey – and it is a fair indication of how badly and I wanted to get out of the military state and into the ancient vibes of the Himalayas], I flew from Yangon to Kolkata and without much ado caught a sleeper train to NJP. From there, many a jeep was willing to make the 3 hour ascent to the tea land of Darjeeling.

Normally, I found out, there is also a beautiful train ride on the famed Darjeeling-Himalayan Railway – one of the most stunning rail journeys in the world, meandering through the clouds, creating impossible loops and reverses along the way. 

However, and here's a glimpse of serendipity, it turned out that the night I jumped on that sleeper train, there was an after-shock earthquake – a follow-up to the 7.0 shaking a week ago – in the northern part of Sikkim., and I thought with relief that because of my Indian visa taking 5 days instead of one, I was spared the experience [if it wouldn't be for the delay, I would probably already be in Sikkim – possibly, the epicenter of the calamity]. So, the rail was not functional due to land-slides. Monsoons were still bearing down, which didn't help in the aftermath of the shake-up. So, I took a jeep up and got to watch the hair-raising railroad from the side – the jeep road and the track hug the hills together more or less.

It felt amazing to leave behind the sweltering heat of Kolkata and the past 3 months and be enveloped in the crystal coolness of the clouds that the road was penetrating. Though, that day between landing in Kolkata and waiting for the train, I didn't care about the heat – I was just happy to wander the fragrant and sometimes pungent, colourful, curvy streets of India. 

I had 8 hours or so to wander them, and I happily got lost in narrow labyrinth full of ornately decaying walls the colours of “Edward-Scissorhands” village, humble flower garland-makers, giant woks steaming with golden oil floating blushing fresh samosas, graceful sari-clad women making way for the giant baskets on their heads, bicycle wheels fashioned into knife-sharpeners.....

I reflected just how different that West-Bengal city was from the grid-squeezed Delhi. Highly non-linear, unpredictable, old, alive. Everyone minding his business, yet subtly, humanly connected – like a thousand-headed Hydra alive before me. Once again, the inginuity [that, probably, is instigated by scarcity] of the Indian people had me marvelling – a tought that kept occurring to me was “wow, you are doing that with that? How curious....” So many things are recycled in clever ways – like some tires being used to rotate a belt propelling a Ferris wheel forth, big knitting needles weaving a thread through the flowers, creating garlands for ceremonies, old CDs glued to tire flaps as reflectors.....And the humble contendedness, with which many perform the simple and often repetitive tasks that ultimately serve the whole, is like icing on the cake – dharma and karma seem to be so profoundly embraced here.

Our jeep has broken down about half-way, and the driver tried to fix it for nearly 3 hours, alas, unsuccesfully. So, finally I was given a lift by some generous farmers. Right off the truck, a couple of gentlemen offered to show me some guesthouses. It turned out that with that I was given an unexpected tour of Darjeeling. I quickly realized that the biggest factor in selecting lodging here is dryness – graces of the monsoons. That virtually every place I saw [and smelled] had some mold – regardless of the price. Finally, my self-appointed guides have led me to the top of the hill, where there were some rooms that smelled less than the rest. The neat part was that the place had a balcony facing the Kangchengzonga – that is, if she chose to show her face through the clouds. And she did! Just as I walked in, the clouds parted, and the sunset-lit great mountain has revealed a glimpse of herself, as though to say “hello.” A few minutes later, the gray shroud closed for a few days.

After a few days, the monsoons began to recede. I awoke ridiculously early and went up to the roof at the sunrise. It was the first day the Kangchengzonga massiff could be visible. As I looked up, I saw a couple of pale faces on a roof above mine and asked them how they got there. It turned out that the roof belonged to the friendliest hotel in town – Aliment....together with a great wooden library that easily rivaled with the town's Oxford Bookstore, an ultra-friendly and caring Nepali family running it, a delicious restaurant, a stunning-view roof [arguably, the view from here is better than the over-crowded Tiger-Hill], and, best of all – DRY rooms! Of course, I moved there quickly.

As I settled into the cozy space, it occurred to me that this would be a good place to take a break. It dawned on me then how exhausting the hot-country detour has been – and how badly I just needed to be with the mountains. Many days I'd come up to the roof at sunrise, and find the caring owner of Aliment feeding some pigeons. He would gently shoo away any guests hunting for them with a camera too closely, saying that “these guys don't speak English – they are pretty shy.” Their tourmaline irridescent necks would light up in the first rays of sun, with the great snow caps standing witness in the background catching the remainder of the rays.

 Their wings would flap, as the peaceful mantras would start-up from a temple in the distance, the pigeon's purring weaving into the sound canvas of the waking town below, prepared to celebrate the 8 day Durga Festival [Durga: the Mother-Goddess that symbolizes the Dynamic Feminine]. Profound gratitude would descend then – for finding this place, for those magical moments.

As almost 2D indigo hills would be parsed by whispy clouds in the distance, it came to me that the first time around, I came to “flirt” with the Himalayas, indulging a childhood dream. This time I came back to “marry” them. Of all the places, these mountains is where I ought to be. In a way, the 3 months of “exile” helped to make that clear. For once, the lungs could really breathe.