The Mountain Kingdom, tryst with food and roads and love

So, its been a while since I wrote. Thats ok.... I have had people spilling out of my ears who have been coaxing me to put my fingers to the paper (which I have done) and my fingers to the key pad ( which I find less intimate). But then the key pad seems to be the way the world will read what you have to say. Almost feels like Jihad!

Talking about Jihad, I had the most extraordinary trip to the North East recently. And I will come to the jihad part too. Soon.

I have been brought up listening to stories about Kurseong and Darjeeling and Gangtok as my mother studied in the first two places and lived in the last. I had always heard about the toy train tracks criss-crossing the road and my mind could only imagine the mountains full of lush green trees and mist and tracks till April of 2010.

My partner is responsible for making the trip to Siliguri possible. I had to go and ask for her hand in marriage not expecting that her folks will give me not only her hand but her legs, torso, eyes, ears etc etc. The whole package....Pleasures of abundance. After being welcomed in Siliguri, with the most awesome mutton curry, friend chicken, dal and bhaat and the much needed sleep after hectic schedules in Delhi, Jaya and I left on our journey.

The route on the way to Kurseong is exactly the way my mind had imagined it to be. The toy train track criss-crossed the road multiple number of times. I was driving so my awareness on the road kept me focused. The turns and the lack of power steering ensured that my shoulders and my arms were being exercised non stop, and pushed around. The journey was bringing tears to my eyes because I was living my mothers childhood. I had often heard her say that those years were the best years of her life. I am not surprised. The mountains are intoxicating and put you in a trance. Sometimes the trance takes you to the point of being off the mountain. We witnessed it twice. Finally we reached Kurseong.

Dow Hill School, where my mother, her sister and their brother studied 50 years back is 5 kms above Kurseong town. A small little place which, in these times, looks too big to be a hill station. What a beautiful school building sprawled at the top of a mountain. And what a huge school. It has been taken over by the West Bengal government and now apparently runs like a babu ghar. But the building stands. What is good is that the school has been awarded a National Heritage status which means no one and I repeat no one can construct anything modern there or bring down the old building. The hostel, is higher than the main block and the stair case is covered kind courtesy the incessant rains. Jaya and I walked to the principals office who wants around, looking for any photographs from 1960 when my mother and her siblings studied there. Unfortunately, we were greeted by a rather cold gentleman who didnt want to be disturbed. But then, we didnt want to disturb anyone. I again had tears in my eyes as I started hallucinating and seeing my mother run around. Run around - she hated to run or walk at that time! She was called Chubby or fatty puff because she was chubby and was a fatty puff. Awww, the visualization is so sweet.

As we were strolling around, we met a lady who taught at the school. She was very excited when I told her the reason why I was there. Upon asking whether any teacher from my mother's time was still around, she told me about Mrs. Pradhan, the physics teacher, the scouts head and the hockey coach ( they are all the same person) who had retired after 40 years in school and opened up her boarding school. I just had to meet her. I called my mother and the dip in her voice was a testimony to the fact that she was also reliving her childhood all over again.... through me.

We met Mrs. Pradhan, after getting lost a couple of times, and she remembered who I was talking about. She is a 75 year old time bomb, full of energy and hovering around the small school, run by her son. She is supposed to have retired but she said that she couldnt sit down and needed to keep moving. I guess her energy is infectious. Everyone was moving in her school. I couldn't see any one seated. :) Meeting Mrs. Pradhan was special because meeting her revived faith in a happy and content life.

Her son is a 30 year old gentlemen who had very strong views on... basically everything.... from Delhi weather to Gorkhaland to West Bengal to food.... almost jihadi in his thinking. A very intelligent person yet gave me the impression that he was in fight with the world. He did invite us to enjoy their hospitality the next time we came.

Afer this special meeting with the Pradhan's came the road again. This time headed for Darjeeling. Just outside Kurseong, we stopped again to satisfy the lust for momos. And what a lust it was. Freshly steamed momos with a chilli sauce but with NO SOUP. I may as well be eating momos in Delhi. But better things awaited.

Darjeeling, like every other hill station, is an over-crowded place. Let me not ramble about the same thing that every traveler does. Lets talk about food. Penang - the restaurant that is recommended in every book and even "Inheretence of Loss", as I was told by Jaya. So we entered this place, a small little place with aromas to throw you off your center and a very pleasing person to serve us. From Pork momos, to double friend pork to a Nepalese Mutton thali to a Chicken Thali to the chutnis to the Fermented Soy soup ( Agghh!) - it was all there. If I remember correctly, neither did Jaya speak nor our friendly driver, Ajay, who kept cribbing about the car ( he thought it was entertaining). I had nothing to contribute too. There was silence...actually not! Our mouths at work made a lot of noise, almost a rhythm. What bliss!

Then we moved to Glenary's to have some English style Darjeeling tea ( what an oxymoron!). Again, I had always heard my mother talk about Glenary's and their cream rolls. So we ordered cream rolls and muffins and devoured them. Actually, only I did. And then we walked. Food had entered my brain by then and the muscles were giving up. Suddenly, the muscles also started moving towards the sounds of music and 2 brilliant voices. As we were walking towards chaurrasta ( the centraal) we saw two singers playing hand made sarangis with a lizard skin on it. Their voices were haunting and we stood there..... plastered to the ground for about 20 minutes. They were obviously playing for money and to present their talent. It seemed almost unfair to pay them but then, i remembered my days in Antwerpen, Belgium when I ran out of cash so I busked playing the didgeridoo and the drums. Earned 400 Euros in a week. We didn't feel like leaving these wonderful voices and strings yet the tourist in me was taking over. I wanted to walk, only another 100 metres to get to chaurrasta ( its cool to say that you walked up the hang out space) and then we turned back. We had to get going. We had to get to Kitam in Sikkim. Wanted to say a good bye to West Bengal. Something had disturbed me immensely. The GL number plates!

As we were driving to Darjeeling, I saw something very familiar, very known, Photos of Che Guevara everywhere along with slogans like " we want our gorkhaland", " we are with India but not with West bengal", We will die for India but will kill in West Bengal". There were photographs on huge banners of the Gorkhaland leaders with their symbol of 2 Khukris crossing each other. Every house had the murals asking, shouting ad even begging for independence yet an underlying anger seemed to penetrate the air. But what was Che Guervara - the Cuban revolutionary a.k.a butcher doing there? Why was there a crude version of the rasta colours all over the place? Everywhere, they were, almost haunting. While we were descending from North Point and headed to Jorthang, which is a beautiful scenic drive with mountains laden with tea, as far as you looked, the slogans and the murals on the wall were there. Did I say the drive was comfortable? It was the worst road possible. It wasn't a road. It was a dirt track with a 65 degree descend. I asked a few people here and there about why Che was on everyone's door and wall and they all t.....o....l......d.... me that he is the Gorkhaland inspiration. Now that is freaky! Obviously, people do not know his whole story... the part where he killed lakhs of his own people. An antichrist like Hitler, he was. If the masses who are a part of the Gorkhaland movement have not been told Che Guevara's true and full story then they may be fighting for a false cause.

This disturbed me and the road wasn't any better. We needed Sikkim, to calm down, to relax, to be at home.

The sun had set early around 5:00 PM and driving down the treacherous dirt track was not getting funny. We needed to get to Kitam where we were spending a night at Reena's who runs a Pottery Studio, overlooking the most extraordinary view of the mountains and where you can hear the Rangeet river. Jorthang was like the promised land with wide roads, which lasted more than 30 seconds. Another 45 minutes and we were in Kitam waiting for our hosts who were also on their way back from Gangtok. Extremely tired and exhausted yet calm and silent, Jaya and I savoured every sip of the brilliant Timi tea offered to us. We were in the middle of nowhere yet there was nothing, that was there, to make you feel alone. The wonderful mountains which were identifiable only by the lights, further off you could see the Darjeeling lights, it was breathtaking. We chatted, had Passion fruit juice and the most lip smacking pork curry and rice. This called for sleep. And then that is exactly what happened.

The next day started with the cock. This gentleman fluttering his feathers was a maddening wake up call. He just kept calling out as if the night had fallen again. And then the landlord of the house released an army of chickens and the cutest chicks out of the pens to let them chill out. Chill out, they did, and fought too. I think two males who were out in the same pen got up on the wrong side of the pen. They got out fighting and kept fighting till I think, one of them got slapped by the other. They took a break and then started again. It was hilarious. We had to keep moving. Reena and her husband had very kindly arranged for me to meet the Administrator of the Ministry of Kaapashitty beelding..... sorry... Capacity Building at Karfector. He was very kind to spend time with us, almost an hour out of which he spoke non stop for 56 minutes. He didn't forget to tell us about Viagra - a worm during the day and a seed by the night. I had never heard of this kind of Viagra. What would you do if you wanted to have sex during the day? Wrap the worm around your nunu? Eeeooowwww, or pop the seed at night? No no.... Why do I need Viagra? Reena kept whispering "its an aphrodisiac" as an answer to the questioning look on my face. Why were we discussing genital attaching worms? I was relieved to know that the seed/worm was powdered to be consumed. I am supposed to be happy about a powdered worm on the nunu? (the same questioning look is back).

But he impressed me with what Sikkim is wanting to do with its poor. The vision is to ERADICATE poverty by 2015. And its not only a thought. They are really working towards it as the government claims. Brain child of the current chief minister, Mr. Chamling, capacity building is a wonderful idea and if the readiness to add skill is based upon the notion of stillness, it can create waves of magic. Some people say that this is the only thing worth mentioning that he has done during his regime. He is from SDF - Sikkim Democratic Front - the ruling party for the last 2 decades. There are SDF flags all over Sikkim, on every turn, in front of every house, a shack pretending to be a house ( actually, I didn't see any shacks). That's scary too. This clique business pisses me off. It always has. I guess it comes from the fact that I have been traveling since birth, kind courtesy the Army. There was never anytime for racial closeness. We moved after every 3 years, sometimes 4. Then a new place, new people, new environment. So coming back to Mr. Chamling, his vision to eradicate poverty is brilliant and it seems to be working and this is what people like him for. There are 19000 unemployed individuals in Sikkim and a large percentage of them are educated till or lesser then Class 8th. For a small state such as Sikkim, 19000 is a very large no. A lesson we need to learn, for sure. Other State governments should borrow this idea and map ,and use it for their own development.

He has done nothing much besides feeding his own family by giving huge contracts to his own family members. Everyone I spoke to said that but also said that at least he is doing stuff for the state. Out of whatever the central government is giving him, people say, he eats 20% and uses 80%. That's better than rest of the state leaders who build huge statues of themselves with horrendous hand bags and elephants and who feed cows with fresh air in the name of fodder. So net net, Chamling is an acceptable leader. Once we were done with the Capacity Building man, and his monologue, we left for Pelling. Another 2-3 hours drive it was. A beautiful one. Jorthang - Simthang - Legship - Pelling.

Just 5 kms short of Pelling, we stopped to see the Rahbdense Palace - the second palace of the king of Sikkim after Yuksem. The walk to the palace is through a stoney path, mostly an incline - a kilometer into the forest from where you can have a breathtaking view of the Kanchenjunga. Except the fact that it was raining and the holy mountain was nowhere to be seen.

I have often wondered what the government would earn if people were penalized for noise pollution. The Bengali fameelees were there in abundance making the maximum noise completely eating into the serenity and the calm of the palace ruins. Talking about eating, they were gluttening away non stop and throwing wrappers all over the place. I picked up 28 packets of chips and chocolates and dumped them at the palace gates on our way back. Where are the Baboo Moshais? I called Devjeet and told him to keep quiet. This was bizarre!

Then we headed to Pelling. Another touristy place with lots of restaurants, none of which offered local food. They offered South Indian, Bengali, North Indian, Mughlai, Italian, Continental and everything but what I wanted to eat. Why the hell would I want to eat Mughlai food in Sikkim? We met a friend of our hosts at Kitam who worked with the tourism department of the government ( everyone works with the government in Sikkim). So when I asked him about his job in the government, he told pointing from his head to toe that he is the government. His job is to make sure that all hotels and the restaurants adhere to the rules and he also guides the tourists and also rescues them when they screw up in their trekking. He is No 2 there, but not less than No 1. He recommended a hotel to us, with a Sikkimese name, with a really bored Bengali Staff - a hotel run by the home minister of the state. He joined us for dinner and we chatted for a while. Jaya chatted most of the time while I was trying to look for the chicken in the chicken curry. She enjoyed the cottage cheese dish which is an acquired taste. We said our good nights and headed straight to bed, Bengali style. It was a strange night full of dreams. 4:00 AM and I couldn't help sitting outside watching what looked like Dawn with the prayer flags fluttering all over; the scene was quite divine. Time to move again... this time to Gangtok!

I was dying to have good momos specially after Penang in Darjeeling. So we stopped at Ravbangla, en route to Gangtok. The momos that came looked awesome and tasted aweful. So disappointing, I was almost ready to fight! The Punjabi warrior in me was revolting. The coating was raw and thick and the meat was raw. Uff! Not happening. We left again with a strange twisting feeling in the stomach hoping to catch food at Taste of Tibet - the place to be in - as we were told by 5 Food Nazis like us.

Once we entered Gangtok, we reach Dikki Garage - owned by Wang Chuk - one of my sensei's ex students of Taekwondo. What a brilliant chap, Wang Chuk is? He marveled at me to get a petite girl like Jaya in my life considering the heavy chap that I am. Wangchuk was National Champion 8 times and a very senior practitioner of Taekwondo. He and I share the same disillusionment of Taekwondo as a sport. And his humor is contagious. We also met Hira Pradhan who went for the Asian Open Games, another talented TKD fighter, yet disillusioned, and now works for the government. I needed to have my car repaired and it was. It had graduated from crawling to driving. Now it was food time again and the sudden rain had churned the stomach further.

So Taste of Tibet, it was. We had heard about it from so many people that it would have been blasphemous not to go there. And did we make a mistake by going there? Mistake would be an understatement. The momos were worse than the ones we ate at Ravbangla, the soup was starchy (laziness due to bad consumeristic attitute is the reason), the Chinese style fried rice had roasted cashews and peanuts; oh, what a disaster! We left the inedible food and walked out. Jaya walked, I tip toed like a Japanese Geisha. My slippers didn't have a grip and the slippery walk path on MG road ensured that I couldn't take proper steps. One step and one slip, one step and one slip. The shoe shop owners looked at me with disgust for demanding size 12. People in India are not allowed to have big feet.

And then we entered Rachna Books owned by Raman Shreshta - one of Jaya's childhood friend from TNA. As soon as we entered, I spotted what was haunting me all over - Che Guevara. And I couldn't help commenting again. Raman is more than a book shop owner. He is like a movement in Gangtok; a movement of art, theater, photography, discussions. Artists visit his shop and forget to leave. Photographers put up their works there. I would imagine he wouldn't be liked too much by the ones who refuse to budge from their ivory towers. An extremely kind and hospitable person, he is. He directed us to his uncle,s guest house, Rhenock Villa, a brilliant property in the Development Area in Gangtok. Beautifully and tastefully done and decorated interiors, it was a quite a pleasure being there after all the traveling. Fever was beginning to set i, a bath was urgently required for the safety of fellow citizens, food was desperately sought although I had given up on the idea of good local food in Gangtok and we had visitors. Jaya,s cousins - Keshav and Kunal dropped by with snacks and Raman joined us later. We spoke about politics, kapashitty beelding, politicans, Che; the works. Sleep time beckoned and we complied after the good byes.

People in Sikkim are so polite and kind and courteous that one has to mind one's P's and Q's while opening up your mouth. Like I bellowed for directions from Jorthang and our driver very politely told me to shut up while he does the needful, the namaskar and the bow is lovely, a proper bend, not a dent. For the boisterous Punjabi, I was quite silenced by my trip to this lovely Kingdom and the next days trip to Rumtek Monastery was going to silence me further.

It did, when we got there. We parked our jalopy at yet another distant relative's place, hopped into Keshav's Bolero with Kunal and another cousin - Mandeep. We went to the old Rumtek Monastery, not the new one with a million tourists. I couldn't stop looking at the murals in the monastery and the sound of the Tibetan bells and the monastery drum being played by a young monk while he recited the sutras was humbling. I sat and meditated along with the monk and then left. If I wouldn't have left the premises, I was convinced, something would have happened to me.... besides hunger. Once we stuffed our faces with Wai Wai, Jaya and I left... back to Siliguri. The road was half a phase better then the North Point to Jorthang road but that is hardly any compensation. We reached Siliguri, drenched in sweat around dinner. And like I just pointed out, we ate and I slept. Fatigue had set in, fever was knocking on the door, love was in the air, folks were in approval, the roads lesser traveled had been kissed; what else do I want?