The NEST

Returning home on a fine spring evening I discovered something very unusual suspended by a rope in the balcony. I wanted to pull down the hideous looking thing but decided to put off until the morning. Next day, I walked towards the balcony armed with a broom and a dustpan to do away with the thing when I saw a purple sunbird approaching it with twigs in its mouth.  It was then that I saw through that my balcony was soon to become home to the little bird and maybe its family.

Thereafter, every morning I’d squeeze a few minutes and stand by the balcony to observe the house under construction. It was a delightful process observing how the little thing would carry small twigs, dried leaves and sometimes even plastic to weave them into a sturdy nest. I’d drop by in the evening only to check how far it had been constructed and if it had found inmates yet. However, before the sunbird could move in, it decided to walk out of its nearly complete home and leave it for good. But I decided to not give up on hope and would wait for it every morning at the balcony.

Standing there and watching the forsaken nest of the sunbird I realized how, similar to the nest, this place I have lovingly called home for more than half a decade will soon be left behind…

…It was a rainy day of August 2011 when I moved into the apartment. As I had spent all my life in a joint family and thereafter in a college hostel crammed with three others in a room, having ‘my space’ was sacrosanct, to say the least. I was bubbling with excitement to find a place I’d finally call MINE. Despite the dampness and fungus-laden walls, I fell in love with the place in a second. In the next few months, my Sid (just in case you want to know about my Sid) helped transform the house into a home. Some days I would return to a new sitting arrangement, on others to some DIY art projects by him. We also painted one of the walls and brought home a Swing Chair during Dhanteras that year. And the process only intensified over the years. 

Most people who drop by my place tend to fall in love with it (despite the fact that I am a terrible host who does not even care to offer tea to her guests :) ) No, it is not polished or posh but some say it is the dreamy mood lighting they like, for others, it is the musty aroma the place exudes, some love the therapeutic look of the forest behind that is replete with peacocks, while for a doctor friend, it is the Bengali ethos the place echoes.

For me, it is the cocoon I sequester into and take refuge in every evening, the driving force behind my postprandial avocations, the blank sheet I scribble my thoughts into and paint my dreams on, the inspiration behind my otiosity every Sunday morning, the silent friend who bears testimony to all thick and thins of my life, the mute audience to my bathroom singing and terrible dancing, the sole witness to my eccentricities and idiosyncrasies, the solace when I am low, and above all the companion I can bare my otherwise insulated emotions to without any iota of inhibition or the fear of being judged.  

Having lived alone for a larger part of the time in the last few years, I realize a house is so much more than a couple of walls and ceilings. It is a tapestry of emotion that you weave over the years you live there and one fine day, akin to the sunbird, you leave it behind in pursuit of a new nest.

Although as a traveller, I am supposed to embosom changes, there are a few I get spoony about and I haven’t been able to find a bandage to such emotional wounds. As I inch towards days of leaving my rental palace behind, my heart feels heavy.

I do not know if it is having my 'own space' I’ll miss more or the warm rooms infused with the aroma of incense sticks (yes, in a world of air diffusers, I still swear by incense sticks) I return to every evening, the walls that get a new design painted in fungus after every monsoon or the balcony that survives my art and craft projects time to time. Maybe it’s the struggle I face in bolting the obstinate door that swells after the first few monsoon showers or the terribly heated walls that make summers unbearable that I’ll miss more. I might also miss the pandemonium of my neighbours that keep me awake all night each time they party or standing on the roof and watching the skyline of Bhopal getting devoured in darkness as the sun calls it a day. And of course, there will be occasional reminders of the countless parties we had over the years, the group studies before taking A2, B1 and B2 exams, leafing through book pages while listening to my thumping heartbeat in the dead of the night, and most of all, coming to the comfort of ‘Home’ after every trip.

Someone asked me today, “How would it feel like to leave a place you have spent so many years in?” All I could answer was, “Empty”. And as it happens in life, tomorrow when I empty my space, someone else will occupy it and the mood lightings will conveniently be replaced with bright white lights. But as they say, ‘c’est la vie!’

I’d like to sign off with a few lines I remember from an old advertisement:

Har ghar chup chaap se yeh kehta hai ki andar usmein kaun rehta hai?

Rang kehte hain kiska yeh jahaan hai. Kamron mein kiski kalpana jhalakti hai? 

Kaun chun chunke ise pyaar se sajaata hai? Kaun is makaan mein apna ghar basaata hai…

How I made Maa pay the price of my freedom

“Do you think you’ll be able to survive a day without her?” mocked my grandma when she learnt I was planning to move out of Guwahati to take on the challenges of life and make it big. The question was a legitimate one, for I had never lived without Maa. But there I was, standing behind the grills of the hostel; eyes welled up, while Maa looked on, with a dysphoric countenance. In that one impassive moment, I saw my world busticating.

On the first day of college, my HoD assured Maa that in a few months from then I’d get so caught up with ‘Life in Bhopal’, most appropriately ‘Life of adjusting to bad hostel food and conniving people around’ that I’d hardly get a time to miss her or speak with her. He was true, albeit partially. It has been 9 years since and there hasn’t been a day when I haven't spoken to her once, twice, to occasions when I could not even keep a count.

I have graduated from the University of Life and made it so far with much élan. ‘A room on the roof’, few moments of silence when I reach home from work, a cosy corner for sequestering with a book and a space of my own, away from the din is what I pined for always. Malgré not being destiny’s favourite child, I have lived up to most of them. However, with age, I've realized that every freedom comes at a cost. In this avaricious race of independence, I have left Maa far behind.

It is perhaps the price of this sense of liberation that while I was building a career of which she could boast, I ignored her when she needed me the most. I am not there to coerce her to visit a doctor every time she falls sick, or prepare her lemonade when she retires to bed after a day's hard labour like I did as a kid. I am not there to compliment every time she decks up and preens in front of the mirror or teach her to operate a smartphone when she makes an error. It pains me to realize I am not around to share her pain because I am busy chasing things that are hollow and mundane. I am not there to surprise her with a dinner date or take her out for a movie which stars the actor that's her favourite. I am not around to lend a helping hand when the house help has decided to give work a miss, nor am I there when she's fought with bro and needs to be cheered up with a kiss. I am not around to fold her sari into neat pleat or aimlessly lie on her chest feeling her heartbeat. I am not there to wake her up on her birthday with a sumptuous breakfast and bed-tea or keep her out of the kitchen every Sunday and tell her, "Today you are off duty'. Every time she leaves my place, I feel her sweet smell dangling in the thin air and I realize the choices I made in life were unfair. There is so much I want to do for her every time we meet, but all we end up doing is part with memories bittersweet.

I was a fool to search for this Elysium everywhere, not realizing it can only be found in Maa's affection and care. Sometimes, I feel I've traded too much for success, fame and glory and wish I could rewrite this story. For 2200kms away, all I can do every Mother's Day is miss my BAE.

Bhopal, a melting point of emotions

PC- indiarailinfo.com

 How I survived it, how I fell in love with it

Makhanlal Chaturvedi National University of Journalism. PC-mcu.ac.in

“You should apply for Makhanlal Chaturvedi National University of Journalism in Bhopal, the oldest university of journalism in Asia,” said a cousin, who was also an alumnus. The seeds of desire for the buzzing ‘life in a metro’, with its glitz and glamour, had already been sown, and Bhopal did not fit into the scheme of things.  Little did I know 7 years down the road I would still be sitting in Bhopal and writing this!

It was evident for the parents of someone who was freshly in her 20s and setting a foot in the ‘big-bad-world’ for the first time, to pack a formidable list of advices along with the luggage. From ‘how to tame the hormones that go bonkers at this age’ to ‘how to not tarnish the family’s reputation’ were the lessons imparted by my grandmother before she deemed me prepared for the battlefield. And thus began the journey…

The army of bicycles parked outside the Bhopal Junction was the first thing to catch my fancy, followed by the chain of lakes. For a girl who had lived in almost a parallel universe and seen the world only through filters of North East and West Bengal, Bhopal came by as a shock; culturally , emotionally as well as intellectually. I could not decipher the meaning of ‘Ama Khan’ or why it was ‘pese’, ‘ese’, ‘aando’, ‘jaando’ in this part of the country. I did not know a state could be vegan (until I was made to spend two painful fish-less years in the college hostel). And it was near hysteria to know there existed a world where my undernourished Hindi would be put to test every day.

The first few months were tormenting; especially a hostel life of inconsiderate restrictions and the challenging mess food made it so. However, things eventually gave way. Homesickness got replaced by impish pranks in the hostel, friendship became filial and Bhopal started making more sense. College days became fun and hostel became a way of life.

A life that had only revolved around Guwahati started seeing skerrick of thrill in the narrow alleys of New Market, the picturesque road of VIP and also in the half-an-hour saunter from MCU to 7No.

VIP Road. PC-Adnan Ali

Two years passed in a jiffy and it was time to leave the city behind. However, before that could happen, destiny was all set with perhaps its ‘best laid plan’. During the last few months in the city an encounter happened; unprecedented and unfathomed. A meet with someone turned to many more and a saga unfolded.

Sunrise at Tekri. PC- Shayali Choudhury

Most of my friends who’ve been a part of the narrative of my life over the past few years have always acknowledged its downright semblance to ‘Wake up Sid’;  à la Ayesha Banerjee, I landed in the City of Lakes with the hope of becoming a journalist and eventually met my ‘Sid’. Barring a few exceptions in the script; my life looked like scenes neatly sliced out of the flick. An exciting new job in one of the biggest newspaper brands, a small flat with big glass windows overlooking a forest full of peacocks, and unbridled independence; life was bliss in all aspects. Only that my ‘Sid’ never moved in with me, and the wait to have his mother at my place with cartons of mangoes have been unmet in the last 5 years!

Every time a friend draws parallel between my life to the avant garde and rebellious Ayesha Banerjee, I am reminded of her ‘new girl in the city’. As a big fan of the movie and having watched it a zillion times, it would otherwise be needless to mention how I absolutely love the way she captivated the feeling of Mumbai in her words. I was greatly inspired by the piece and similarly wanted to pay a similar tribute to the amazing city Bhopal that has changed my life in ways more than one in the last few years.

Of course my ‘Sid’ was a paramount reason for making me fall hopelessly in love with the City of Nawabs, but there are reasons more than one.

Bhopal is special; so much so that I could hardly survive the national capital for even a year. Each week off would bring me back to Bhopal and the first thing I’d do after getting off the train is inhale the air that felt so crisp, sense the sounds that felt so familiar to the ears and admire everything that incited a feeling of belonging. And soon I returned to Bhopal, more appropriately was forced by my heart (that I had been denying for a while) to return to the ‘heart of India’. The last couple of months, i.e. since the time I quit my despicable job, I had every reason to move out and join the metropolitan brigade like my school and college mates. Finding a job outside Bhopal looked convenient, however, something held me back. Thanks to this place I love, it taught me to follow my heart. The compelling desire of staying back in Bhopal made me choose struggle over a life of comfort and ease.

A dazzling Bhopal. Pc- Adnan Ali

I have tried to reason out my love for Bhopal on several occasions, and when I sit to ponder upon it, I get a new ground every time. I don’t know if it’s the small apartment or the independence. May it is the ten-minute vigorous walk to the bus-stop every day to reach the office stuffed like chickens in 11 No., or may be the excitement of visiting the Bittan Market ‘haat’ with a jhola every Saturday, bargaining with fish-mongers and having the last word. Sometime it is the happiness of enjoying a good theatre day at Bharat Bhawan, also once a while it’s singing my heart out sitting pillion while my roomie zooms through the city in her modest purple scooty. That sparkling coffee at Starbucks could never match the taste of the leftover chocolate in the glass of cold coffee at Vishnu Chinese ( I like it more than Sagar Gaire) that has been a bone of contention between ‘him’ and me forever. A shoulder to rest upon and a comforting touch while watching the sun kiss the horizon during sunset at Kalisot or admiring it pop up from the skyline with a cup of steaming coffee at Tekri is an alien feeling elsewhere. Making small purchases at the regular craft fair at Gauhar Mahal is equally special as watching the latest animated movie with buddies at Cinepolis. And then there are midnight revelries; from storming to Nadra bus-stand for poha to put midnight hunger pangs to rest, to satiating the cardinal glutton in me by savouring the world’s most delicious tikkas and kebabs outside Moti Masjid.  Bhopal is as much as wandering without purpose on VIP road at the wee hours, as it is shopping at Chowk Bazaar for an extra saving. It is as much the ecstasy of window shopping at DB Mall as much as it is getting drenched in nostalgia while passing by the girls hostel of MCU each time. The sight of Bhopal Junction after a long trip is as welcoming as that of dropping by the friend’s music studio at MP Nagar in the dark and getting a song recorded without any rhyme or reason. Bhopal is watching with amusement the aesthete bongs at TT Nagar Kali Bari getting possessed by the soul of ‘Kobi Guru’ or ‘Bidrohi Kobi’ when ‘Poila Boishak’ or ‘Durga Pujo’ is around as much as it is travelling all the way to Piplani from Shahpura to enjoy ‘Roshogolla’ and ‘cham-cham’ at Gaurav Sweets and the unhygienic Bangali rolls at Babai Roll Centre. Bhopal is special because of the sudden getaway plans to Udaygiri or Raisen Fort, as much as it is being at my ‘Sid’s’ house to devour the extra helping of delicious Bangali meal his mom cooks. It is appreciating folk artistes at Lok Rang every January, as much as it is having the heart in the mouth sitting in a giant's wheel at Bhopal Utsav Mela every year or sitting alone and watching the lamest movie under the sun at Rangmahal, a friend's cinema hall that has also been a lynchpin of elation each time.

Deepotsav at Gauhar Mahal. PC- Shayali Choudhury

Raisen Fort. PC-ibhopal.blogspot.com

A cave at Udaygiri. PC- Shayali Choudhury

Lokrang. PC-Gagan Nayar

Durga Pujo at TT Nagar Kali Bari. PC- Samyamoy Debnath

Tribal Museum. Pc- Suyash Dwivedi

Manav Sangrahalaya. PC- goibibo.com

Still from a play at Bharat Bhawan. This photograph is a special one too. PC- Partha Dutta

Bhopal is special because of visiting friends during Eid as much as it is watching the night-sky getting painted during Diwali. Bhopal is the feeling of happiness seeing a temple and a mosque standing tall next to each other as much as it is the feeling of adrenaline rush spotting youngsters perform wheelies and stoppies or meddling with the mud on their assembled jeeps and Thars. The majestic view of the city with its cascading lakes from Birla Mandir makes Bhopal as much distinctive as being awe-struck by the opulence of Tribal Museum, Manav Sangrahalaya and the illuminated minars of Taj-ul-masajid. It is the excitement of capturing a ‘wild cat’ with mobile camera at Van Vihar, as much as it is enjoying a quiet dinner at the Kerwa Resort or flocking to Bhadbada every time the dam gate opens. Bhopal is the essence of purchasing an intrinsically designed ‘batua’ in Zari Zardozi as much as it is admiring people sitting and enjoying each other’s baloney at Kamla Park. It is equally special because of the ‘limited-yet-organic’ friends I’ve made over the years. Above all, Bhopal is special for its people, the most humble and hospitable lot in the world, especially the one who’s held my hand firm in all these years, making it a chimerical voyage so far.

Patiabazi near Kamla Park. PC- hindustantimes.com

The majestic Taj ul Masajid. PC-T.Khan Fotography

Adrenaline Rush. PC- Team Bhopal Stunt Riders

When I think of it, Bhopal for me is more than a city; it is an everlasting emotion, a volley of feelings that I’ve ensnared over the last seven years. Bhopal is a conscious choice, not a compulsion. It is the urge of unconditionally loving the city I adopted; the city that adopted me.

PS- This is a post-dated piece as technically I completed 7 years in the state capital of the ‘heart of India’ on July 15.

7 ज्ञान from a day at Simhastha

Source- simhasthabooking.com

Ujjain sounded fascinating from the time I read the Oath of Vayuputras. Amish Tripathi’s sensory description of one of the oldest cities of the world made it a must visit and Simhastha, the Maha Kumbh, looked like the ideal reason to be there.

I read it somewhere that a whooping amount of approx Rs 3000 crores was spent in the carnival held from April 22 to May 21. The grandeur of the setup completely justified the amount. From the colossal Greece-style columns adoring the entrance of Ujjain to the spick and span streets, the arrangements for the ‘sadhus’ at the ghats to the huge number of police deployment, the amount invested was pertinent everywhere.

Source-patrika.com

When you live in the state where such a mega event is underway, it is needless to mention that the Maha Kumbh becomes the only fodder for the state media and the national ones to an extent. From the meaning of Simhastha to its purpose (for more details refer to http://www.mptourism.com/pdf-html/simhastha/index-su.html), from the Narmada-Kshipra Sihastha Link Pariyogna to the controversies enveloping the religious gala, the ‘shahi snan’ (royal bath) to ‘vichar mahakumbh’, the appreciable management to the fiasco leading to deaths owing to inclement and erratic weather, there is hardly a thing that did not find substantial space in some corner of the newspapers or a slot on news channels.

It was challenging to write about something that was not yet written or speak about something yet to be spoken. Thus, I thought of adding a personal touch to it as that was the best an apolitical person could do.

A travelogue I once read about things needed to be done once in a lifetime found mention of visiting a Kumbh. It said being at a Kumbh could be an epiphany. I wasn’t a witness to the ‘Vichar Mahakumh’ and life-changing of not, the journey and experience of a day in the ‘land of Kshipra’ did have its share of lessons for me.

Source-The Quint

1. Nirvana comes by taking a dip in holy water rather than helping the poor and needy with alms

While the mass assemblage was busy washing off their sins at the banks of Kshipra, only a few paid heeds to the needy sitting outside the venue, hungry. Of course, taking a dip in the river was a more plausible way of ‘moksh prapti’!

2. Never trust someone else’s source

Unlike my plan of being at the Simhastha during the inauguration, I finally managed to be there on the concluding day after bouts of persuasion here and there. As journalists, we know the importance of ‘a source’. While it is importance in showing confidence in your source, trusting somebody else’s could land you in a soup.

3. Good planning is one that comes with a backup plan

When you want something, it is always judicious to have a backup plan for it. Why bank on plan A alone when there are so many more alphabets?

 4. In life there could be a time when things are beyond your control and you can hardly do anything about it

Well, this has a small story to it. We were a mix-age group of seven; three in their 50s, one in her early 30s while three of us in our 20s. The walk of around 6kms sounded difficult to the elderly and thus it was decided that we would hire a hand-pulled cart that had started operating to manage the crowd deftly. I was vehemently opposed to the idea of being manoeuvred to the Ram Ghat (the main venue) by a middle-aged cart puller who pushed it from the back while a little kid and a youngster pulled it ahead and made way for the vehicle through the humongous traffic. It crushed my heart to see a kid bear the brunt of our cumulative weight, en route to our journey towards ‘nirvana’. However, there was nothing I could do as I did not want to sound obstinate.

A realization dawned upon me that certain things in life can go out of control and there is little you can do about it.

On a lighter note…

5. Growing in a place like Guwahati can come to your rescue in ways more than that you could imagine

All who has seen been a part of Durga Puja in Kolkata and Guwahati, Ambubashi in Kamakhya Temple, managed to walk through the first local at Howrah station or for that matter even survived through a walk in Sadar Bazaar, Old Delhi, just ahead of Diwali can remain unfrazzled  even in the largest conglomeration ever.

Source-plus.google.com

6. You can survive an event even without announcing it on the social media

This isn’t intended at taking a jibe at anyone, but I realised it wasn’t so difficult to survive an event without posting a ‘paap dhoying’ waala selfie or enlightening the world with Facebook check-ins, live and loud from Ujjain.

7. Duniya mein ‘paapiyon’ ki kami nahin hain

It is not only Nawazuddin Siddique in the trailers of Te3N who is in pursuit of absolute redemption. I don’t know if they were in lakhs or in crores, but all that Ujjain saw on the last day of the ‘Shahi Snan’ were people; here, there, everywhere. The large confluence of devotees, that also included myself was a testament to how each one of us is driven by the desire of redemption and can brave even a sweltering summer and unruly crowd to seek it!

 

Source- patrika.com

Joblessness; how it happened

The night was a little less busy than the usual ones. So, I decided to catch up on a cousin in another part of the country over the phone. She was quick to receive in the third ring and we started discussing the turn of events since our last conversation almost 4 months back. This is how it followed:

She- How have you been? Seem to be really engrossed!

Me- Well, yes, you could say so. I am good. How are you doing? What about my niece and nephew?

She- They are doing fine. The younger one’s a monkey ass.  Getting hard to handle. The elder one is at least considerate, I must say. But it’s not so easy to handle kids. It’s the toughest job under the sun.

Me- I understand.

She- No, you won’t. Not unless you have one.

Me- Well, I do have one.

She- Little sis trying to pull up a joke?

Me- I am serious.

She- Are you stoned?

Me- C’mon, you know I am a teetotaller.

She- Could you please elaborate your last statement then? (I could feel her tone getting jumpy this time).

Me- I have often heard this ‘have a kid and you will understand’. Pardon me for sounding profane, but the kind of effort you, my friends or for that matter our parents have put in to bring up their children, I put in the same to my job. Both the projects I’ve worked in so far have been nothing short of a nurturing a baby. Hence, you could vouch by my experience.

She- I think your work is taking a toll on your mental health. I suggest you take a trip to hills and relax your nerves. May be that could help you keep such gibberish at bay.

Me- I am in no need of a break. All I want is to make people, especially the ones who feel I am making the most of my li

fe by choosing singlehood at 28, understand why all of this is not hunky dory, though it might look like. Trust me Didi, putting up alone in a city and managing a job is not really different from rearing a baby, except for the fact that you at least are happy with the latter. I can actually drive in the similarities from my conversation with all my ‘newly-mom’ friends. Let me try to explain.

A says she hasn’t been able to sleep since childbirth. I haven’t been able to sleep since my new job, courtesy the imprudent organisation which has no regards for its employees whatsoever and keeps them occupied with tension of workload even when asleep. B says she hasn’t been able to take a self-indulgent shower or enjoy a peaceful dinner. I forgot the last time I indulged in some ‘Me-Time’.  C says her toddler has ensured nothing in the house remains in place. Everyone thought I was badly inflicted with OCD; but that was before I got a job. Now things lie haywire and I neither have the time nor the interest to set them straight. For D it’s chasing the tiny tot whole day long that drains her energy by the evening. After chasing the stories and deadlines throughout the day, the only thing that makes sense to me when I get back home is the comfort of the bed. E says motherhood is a constant duty, where you need to be on your toes. Putting in efforts to the best of your ability, 7 days a week and always prepared to get a call from the office to drop by anytime, might not sound quite intriguing after all. F says motherhood certainly is the best phase of her life. If only she could still party around or go clubbing. With the baby becoming your priority, every other enjoyment stops making sense. Not that I am a party animal, however, since I started earning enough to pay taxes double the amount I once did, I’ve forgotten to keep a tab on the new clubs and restaurants coming up or the old ones shutting down for good. Lastly, G’s only concern is about losing the baby fat and getting back in shape enough to sneak into that LBD. It was 46 the last time I stood on the weighing machine some four months back. Last week when I impulsively got on one of the roadside ones, I was taken aback to see it stubbornly stop at 50. There’s hardly any time for stretching or bending. Need I say more?

Candidly, as parents you still have a partner to share duties. However, I have to grin and bear with the buttload of responsibilities all by myself. Also, you at least have the satisfaction of seeing your little one grow and people waxing eloquent. Unfortunately, it is only a one-way process here, where  no matter the amount of endeavour you’ve put in, there’s always someone else ready to enjoy your success that he/she has achieved as a fluke.

Do I make sense now?

She- I feel its high time you quit this job. May be then we should talk.

The line snaps… her last sentence haunting... 

                              A journey so enlightening!

The giant clock outside the station showed 8:45PM, which meant my train would leave in next 15 minutes and I had to buckle up. Though my luggage included only a laptop bag and I have a clean tar-free lung, running always makes me breathless.  Panting and gasping for breath, I finally made it to the platform and darted towards the sleeper coach I had a reservation in. I was lucky enough to board the train just 2 minutes before it blew the horn.

Unlike amorous dreams of having a young debonair gentleman as company, I always have the fate of ending up with three categories of people. First, large boisterous families who feel it their birth right to talk at the top of their voice, caring little for fellow passengers, followed by army men who turn into gapeseeds, ogling hungrily throughout the journey.  And the third category is usually reserved for lecherous uncles with mid-life crisis, whose uncomfortable stares make their voyeuristic intentions palpably transparent. My current encounter entails brush with coxcombs of the third category who have absolutely no qualms about betraying their prowess of being complete perverts or their extinct knowledge of general awareness.

I finally made it to the seat and upon placing the luggage dialled the phone number of my ‘worried’ boyfriend who did not want to waste his time, energy or money in purchasing a platform ticket to see me off but was very keen on learning if I had reached safe. Amid an animated conversation of my solo struggle to catch the train over the phone, my eyes caught the attention of three men, perhaps in their late 50s, gawking at me. One of them hinted at his desire of wanting to strike a conversation, which I casually ignored. After making three calls back to back when I finally disconnected and started enjoying the trails of lights of the distant factories my train crossed, one of the three finally came up and asked, “Would you mind exchanging your Upper Berth with my Middle?” I courteously denied citing safety issues and started checking messages on my cell phone. Almost half an hour passed and I could sense their restlessness of learning of my whereabouts. My patience had nearly given way of their stealing glances and I decided to excuse myself to the Upper Berth. My mental calculation was again interrupted by the same man. However, this time his question not only showed keen interest in knowing me but his and his fellow companion’s pathetic general knowledge.

Just as I got up to climb to my seat one of them questioned, “Are you from Nepal?” ( A question I frequently come across in my own country owing to my Mongoloid features) I looked at him for a while and blatantly answered, “No, I am from Bhopal.” Of course this was too trivial an answer to quench their irrepressible hunger of digging out more about me, for reasons I just couldn’t fathom! My fellow companion made it quite clear with his statement followed by another question that he wouldn’t let go off me unless his enquiries were put to rest.  “You don’t look like you are from Bhopal. (Obviously people of Bhopal have big eyes that like ogling; very long nose that they enjoy poking into other’s business and of course a large mouth that cannot stop from asking stupid question. By this standard I surely did not fit the bills. ) Where do you stay in Bhopal?” I had decided to answer one last question and so I replied bluntly, “I am from Assam, living in Bhopal for some time.” With these words I jumped into the berth and snuggled into the warmth of my tiny red blanket.

However, failing to catch sleep in the rowdy milieu, I was compelled to pay an ear to their discussion, one that could send any North Eastern into hysteria. The discussion that unfolded was, “Dekha maine kaha tha Nepal ki nahin hai, Assam ki hai who aur Assam Tripura mein hain,” said one of the three buffoons. Another one was fast enough to correct him impromptu. He showed his brilliant knowledge and said, “Arrey nahin, Assam Tripura mein nahin, Sikkim mein hai. Waha Darjeeling se jaana padta hai aur wahan ke log Manipuri bolte hai!!”

Well, this was my saturation point, I guess. Eavesdropping into the conversation of such ‘enlightened virtuoso’ could be detrimental for my sanity, I decided. So, wasting no more time I plugged the earphones, hibernated into the blanket and dozed off for the night. Thankfully it was an overnight journey and by the time I woke up the train had already made it to the destination, leaving no room for any further discussion! 

The maiden Travelogue

Sandakphu-Gurdum: Coup de Foudre with Eastern Himalaya

Somewhere between the bottom of the climb and the summit is the answer to the mystery why we climb. 

- Greg Child

The Sleeping Buddha

Mountains never warmed me in particular. I could credit this antipathy to my upbringing at a place surrounded by hills on either side or the very fact that I get easily bored of the lack of activities on the mammoth structures. I always considered myself more of a sea person and realized it was the turquoise water and clear azure sky overhead that I enjoyed more than the snow-caps and lush greenery. However, this was a notion I fostered only until I dated the scintillating Eastern Himalayas.

Stretches of dense forest of magnolias, spruce, 600 varieties of orchid, 4 types of bamboos, neat rows of rhododendrons in myriad hues, unpredictable whimsical weather, chilled wind and enveloping all these, the 180 degree panoramic view of the majestic snow-capped range of the Eastern Himalayas with four of the highest peaks of the world- Mt. Everest, Kanchendijunga, Lhotse and Makalu-peering through the wild jungles of soaring pine trees. There is hardly a reason adventure freaks would not like to explore and trek through the Singalila range, summiting at Sandakphu, the highest peak of West Bengal. Sandakphu, a small village parked within the Singalila National Park is located at a height of 3,636 metres. With its wide spectrum of all the peaks of the dazzling Himalayan ranges, this lesser-known trekker’s paradise has started garnering attention of travellers from across the globe, who come here to witness the breath-taking monument carved immaculately by nature. The word Sandakphu is derived etymologically from ‘Sandak’ which means cold and ‘Phu’ which means wind in the Nepali dialect. Apart from its jaw-dropping beauty, the place is equally recognized for its erratic and biting wind straight from the Himalayas that travels at 60-175kmph.

Here's to the gang of 27!

The idea of trekking through the wild was conjured by a group of 8 ‘adventurous’ individuals of which only three of us finally braved it to the end. We started off the five-day track of 57kms on January 3 with a group of 27 young adventure freaks under a nationalised organisation. After a small customary ritual of sending off the trekkers with applaud, we were transferred by jeeps to our first halt, Maanebhajang, for our packed lunch and thereafter sent to Dhotrey, a small village covered with smog, which marked the starting of the arduous journey. Excited and a little nervous, all the trekkers set off on an enthusiastic and energetic mode which was brilliantly turned off within the first couple of hours, courtesy, the unpredictable and inclement weather and baggage of extremely heavy backpacks. A walk of close to 3 hours opened up in a meadow replete in plush greenery. It was there that the first dreamlike sight of the Kanchendijunga, basking in the sunrays, greeted us cordially. However, without having much time to spare complimenting the colossal beauty, we started off for the spot we needed to halt for lunch. Statutory warning to all first time trekkers: the journey post lunch is way more painful.

The jungles of Dhotre

After close to 6 hours of walk stretched across 7kms, we reached our first camp, a small hamlet Tumling, on the Indo-Nepal border. Stay at a Nepali village, receiving text messages from network providers of Nepal, experiencing first camp fire (albeit only symbolic), tiny wooden rooms and scrumptious Nepali cuisines were all that was required. However, the piece de resistance of Tumling remained the enchanting feel of spending a night above the clouds (quite literally) and the awe-inspiring view of the Sleeping Buddha or Sleeping Shiva, the illusionary image created by the entire range of the Eastern Himalayas. One of the countless best things of trekking is, bond with the rest of the world is snapped temporarily while that small coterie of adventurers becomes part of an extended family. Quite obvious, the first day of the camp was the most stirring with everyone getting to know each other through camp fire and over a mouth-watering dinner of rice, dal, potato fry and egg curry.

Sunset at Tumling

After nearly 16hours of rest we set off for the second day’s voyage that required wayfaring through 14 kms. The first break of the second day was at another small hamlet in Nepal called Joubari. The journey henceforth was fairly tough and hazardous as there were chances of slipping on ‘Bhaar Glass’, stones that get covered with transparent layer of ice but are not visible to the eyes. The road meandering through several hills and partially covered with snow led us into a small village called Gairibash that also had a small military set-up. The next 2 hours of journey made us climb one of the toughest terrains of the trek. The rugged hill with uneven stones made the ascend complex and tiring. Following some dedicated struggle our little troop reached the lunch halt for the day, Kainyakata. The packed lunch of Tibetian bread was all that we could pine for. Having crossed a challenging path we expected the journey to be a cakewalk henceforth. However, I would consider the 3km walk from Kainyakata to Kalipokhri the most painstaking. 

Temperature close to 0, sights blocked by the chilling fog and each turn leading to a slew of endless turn made this part of the voyage absolutely irksome. We reached Kalipokhri, the base camp of the second day around 3 in the afternoon after close to 7 hours of trek. Kalipokhri gets its name from a small pond with black water, considered sacred. If given a choice, it is this junction that I would consider the best in the five-day trip. For post dinner we witnessed something that could aptly be described as miss-and-blink odyssey to Paradise! With hardly any streak of light in the atmosphere atop the hill, the zillion of stars overhead seemed at stone’s throw distance from us. Enveloping the dark environ was the thick canopy of stars that covered Kalipokhri like a blanket. It was this overwhelming feeling of being on the top of the world that made us brave -7 degree with élan.

The black lake at Kalipokhri that does not freeze

The fourth day of the trek was a mere 3 km uphill to our summit camp Sandakphu. Sandakphu being clearly visible from Kalipokhri made us assume the distance would be a rather short one to be covered within a couple of hours and for once at least, we were accurate in our presumption. A combination of easy and difficult treks, umpteen shortcuts and undeterred help from fellow trekkers made us accomplish this part of the journey in 3.5 hours. Let me not forget mentioning, the route to this summit camp also made us come across acres of aconide plantation, a tiny red berry used as a potent anti-ageing component but considered greatly toxic. It was almost noon when we reached Sandakphu.

Scaling 3,636 metres

After a serving of hot soup some of us dared to scale the highest point of the place, exact 3,636 metres above sea level. Though a tough climb and descend, the pristine view of the celestial Himalayas floating above the clouds was worth facing the vagaries of nature. The sight witnessed from the peak had rendered all of us laconic. The stay at the summit camp is perhaps the most difficult, especially for people who aren’t used to extreme weather. The temperature recorded -12 degree while that inside the two-storied wooden guest house recorded -6 degree. It was undoubtedly the most trying night of the entire itinerary. However, as the adage goes, the darkest hour of the night comes before day break; the tough night did make way to the most beautiful sun rise of our lives. It was only the dreary bed of clouds at first. Eventually the contours started getting filled resplendently with the seven colours of VIBGYOR and then suddenly an orange ball popped up from under the clouds. It took us sometime to realise it was the callous sun that we often curse. Sun rise at Sandakphu should be on top priority on the bucket list of all adventure freaks.

The Heavenly sunrise at Sandakphu

The journey until now involved extensive uphill climb. However, the fourth day of the journey was all about descending, climbing almost 15 kms downhill. Unarguably this part of the trek programme was very exciting as we passed through dense forests, heard whistles of wind through the copious bamboo growth of different shades and sizes, crossed several water bodies and finally felt less chilly wind on our skin. However, it was a test of our limbs and all of us had turned into momentary Achilles with horribly weak heals by the time we reached our base camp Gurdum. Another worth-mentioning sight of this day’s trek was coming across a forest of burnt trees. The beauty veiled under the eeriness of the burnt trees was very well dichotomised. At Gurdum we were welcomed to a beautiful green wooden house encompassed by towering hills in every direction and a small garden. The accommodation provided here can be considered the best of the five-day journey. Good food in abundance and a decent cold made the stay delightful and pleasant.

When an entire forest catches fire, all that remains is charred trees!

The last day of the programme entailed another downhill climb and wandering through several verdant growths, a dilapidated hanging bridge with a stream flowing underneath and a couple of tiny waterfalls. All these led us to the lunch destination, a place called Sirikhola. This place has a small hotel that can literally be called ‘placed in the lap of nature’. Surrounded by hills and waterfalls, Sirikhola is ideal for people who wish to get away from the cacophony of city life and enjoy a few days in peace and serenity. The small stream facing the hotel gave all the photographers of the group stir their shutterbugs from their slumbers. While it was about clicking the opulence of Mother Nature all the time, this place gave everybody (read female trekkers) the perfect reason to arrest themselves with pouted selfies. 

The vintage hanging bride at Sirikhola

After a halt of an hour or so the final leg of the journey began, a 2.5 hour walk to Rimbick, a small town of West Bengal. We were lucky enough to enter the place on their ‘haat’ day and thus were welcomed into a market teeming with people. Witnessing so many people after almost five days and the articulated discussions between the enthusiastic sellers and not-ready-to-give-up-on-their bargain made the walk through the market utterly intriguing. Sauntering through the busy streets we reached our last accommodation. Although Rimbick is more celebrated for its Dragon cups; China cups with dragons carved on them, often purchased as souvenirs, what we carried along as keepsakes were the mouth-watering flavours of two new edibles we had luckily got to lay our eyes on –Thaifu and Phalet. Thaifu is dumpling of gigantic size served with both chicken and vegetable filling and phalet is like a ‘parantha’ with chicken filling.

'Stream' of consciousness 

The last day of camp fire was thoroughly entertaining with each fellow trekker sharing interesting anecdotes from their lives and previous trekking experiences. It concluded with the valedictory ceremony of handling a certificate and memento to all the trekkers on completion of their journey and the ‘Grand’ dinner. Officially it was also our last day together and so most decided to spend the night gossiping away or bonding over a game of cards.

Early on 8^th January we boarded the cabs for the final ride, winding the lifetime experience of five-days tucked in a corner of the world, away from the world. A small ride of nearly two and half hour brought us back to Darjeeling, the place we had started from, making the trip come a full circle. Following the customary goodbyes and exchanging of numbers we finally parted ways promising to bump into each other’s backpacks somewhere in some distant land!

Getting friendly with the mountains, surviving on limited food and water, picking up the art of staying without a shower for days, ditching all norms of urban living and going wild, experiencing the capricious character of Mother nature, making new friends and living up to the norms of friendship and above all, knitting a cognitive tapestry of the wonderful memories of ‘those five day’; 

Truly, it is only between the climb and summit that we found answer to the mystery of why we climb…