Wednesday, August 15, 2018

KALAPANI (Part I)

Scattered like a pearl necklace on the ocean floor are the beautiful islands of Andaman and Nicobar. Celebrated worldwide for their sublime beaches and turquoise blue sea. Time seems to stand by as the waves splash out on it's sandy shores. No man who set foot in these islands ever returns the same. One loses a part of self to these bewitching islands. But these waters and it's inhabiting lands were not pristine as ever... Once they played the role of dreaded harrowing dungeon of the British empire. The name itself struck fear in the hearts of millions of Indians. As I recall my childhood memory, once while my Grandpa told of these lands and that transpired here during India's freedom movement shook me so deep that even today the word makes me shiver ... "Kalapani".

Infamous Cellular Jail

Sun was in it's late afternoon phase when our cruise ship harbored at Port Blair. The stories of Kalapani that my Grandpa narrated me during my bedtime lullabies still lingered somewhere in my subconscious mind as me and my wife stepped foot on this iconic island. It was all different from what my childish mind had pictured it to be. The dense forest that I had imagined were now replaced by a modern township. The mud paths and overhanging vines were nowhere to be found among the intricately laid roads. The tall and withered brick-walled jail with dark rooms stood infront of me as a humongous modern day building with two towering minarets guarding the wrought iron gate that had once welcomed the freedom driven brave souls. 


The Entrance of Cellular jail
As we stood by it's gate, an ageing man in his late 50's approached us. Introducing himself as our tour guide, Mr. Singh led us in. His deep set eyes and graying hair gave him a weary look. Don't be mistaken, his spirited words still has the rejuvenating charm of a storyteller whose voice captivated one and all. He walked along side us but I don't know how I couldn't see him in figure...instead he felt like a guardian spirit of those cells that has come to our company. We walked along and his stories followed...

Words that escaped his lips drifted us away into a distant past that slowly played like a monochrome movie... "Welcome to the infamous Cellular Jail or as most people prefer to call it Kalapani." 

"I have been touring people here  for around 26 years now but every time I step into it's courtyard I have a feel of persecution that looms over me. The jail talks to me. My great grandfather was deported here in late 1890's as a punishment for his rebellious actions. After his jail term was over, he was released and he decided not to return to the mainland. I guess he was in love with this place", he chuckled.

His voice reverberated at times but he never lost his narrative skills.

"This way please", he guided us to the vast open courtyard of cellular jail.  The view that unfolded infront of our very eyes was beautiful in it's own sense but the fact that it was witness to the horrific fate of it's inmates sent chills down our spine. To our right was an open gallery with rows of seat overlooking a raised platform with a throne like chair plonking the center stage. Next to it was a grim representation of a human figurine tied to a plank. Whip-lashing the prisoners was a routine, as our guide explained us.

"The prisoners who spent their terms here were cursed souls I would say, Sir. Their days started early at 6 AM. Dragging their battered bodies they were forced to work for 12 long hours a day. Their prime task was to collect coconuts, peal them and extract oil. Every individual had to meet their designate quota of oil by the end of the day or else...", he paused to take a deep breath. Pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket, he whipped some sweat from his forehead.

"It's quite humid today, sir.", He said.
I nodded. Repeating the same action myself.
He laughed and added, "Would you like to wear woolen garments on such a day, that too when you have rashes throughout your body?"
I returned his laugh, "Mr. Singh, why would I love to torture myself!!!".
"Some people do Sir. Some people did." his eye had a straight look now. Laughter vanished.
"If the prisoner couldn't meet the quota of the day, they were strapped to that very plank that you see there. Whip-lashed countless times. And if that was not enough they were made to wear jute clothes for the night. The itchy fibers rubbing across their slashed blood dripping skin. And yet they loved it. Patriotism was not a virtue for them, it was like breath."

Swatantrya Jyot
My heart skipped a beat, the humid air suddenly felt cold in the back of my neck. Respect and pride of being an Indian had a whole different meaning now. 
We paid our silent tribute to our freedom fighters at the the eternal flame of "Swatantrya Jyot", that perpetuates the memory of our brave heart heroes who made the ultimate sacrifice.

The courtyard was lined by two wings of three storeyed building converging at the central bell tower. Each storey had a long row of cells aligned in series facing the courtyard. Sensing our curious gaze our guide continued...

"This Jail was build between 1896 and 1906. Though the first batch of prisoners were brought here after the first revolt in 1957 the "Sepoy Mutiny". The British Empire grew more concerned after the mutiny, they feared that this fire would spread across the country. They found it necessary to shift away the freedom fighters to a distant land, to avoid further conflict. Thus, infamous "Kalapani" was born." 
The Courtyard, Cellular jail

"1200 kilometers of open sea, no land mass around. Escape was a not even a thought. First batch of around 200 freedom fighters arrived in Andamans in 1857. Journey through rough sea and inhuman conditions of transportation took their toll. It is said that, many of them succummed to the torturous treatment. In the years that followed there was continuous inflow of prisoners.The initial prisoners were used to construct the jail complex that you see today. Bricks were brought in from Burma, as the island did not have good soil to manufacture bricks. The prisoners were employed to cut down coconut trees to be used for construction purpose. Their shackles were their curse, sometimes these prevented them from escaping the falling trees and were crushed to death. The ones that died were the lucky ones, the ones that were hurt or crippled were left to die of their injuries. Death came slow ,bringing with it a party of pain."
Pausing a while, he sat down on bench nearby. I handed him some water. Thanking me, he gulped down some water... he took a deep breath. I asked him if he was fine.
Statues representing the Routine works
"I am all fine. Just,the stupid old age, sir", he said.   
A feeling of guilt overshadowed me for bothering him for the tour."Please take some rest Mr. Singh. We will tour around ourselves.", I said.
 He handed over the water bottle back to make saying, "If I stay back here, how will you know what this jail has to say? Who will tell you the truth of our freedom? ... It's not my job, sir. It is my legacy and I will have to carry it on.". For the second time in the day I fell in love with my nation and the extraordinary souls that I share this land with.

Raising a finger to a low roofed long building with wooden windows he said, "That building over there, houses some of the artifacts and figurine that depicts the daily activity of the prisoners and their punishment devices. If you wish you can pay a visit, Sir. I will wait here." 
To my relief, he decided to give his old body some much needed rest. We paid a visit to the place. There were figurines of people working on hand operated oil mills and coconut scrappers. At the end of the hallway were three figures with different types of prison wear, each with shackles and rods bound around. Thoughts of real humans in them was quite disturbing. Slightest movement with all these would have been a painful task, I imagined. The punishment plank in the courtyard was visible from the fishnet wooden windows of the hallway. The screaming figure that was tied to it had inexpressible agony on his face. Slashing whips, sticks on bare bodies and screams that followed were symphony that these walls had been accustomed to. But today it all lay silent. The voices that ran across these premises were lost in time. Stories are all that prevails today.

On our way out, we met our chaperone sitting on the same bench where we had left him a few minutes back. Questions and thoughts were storming our mind.
I spoke up, "This is cruel. This is insane. How can someone do this to another human being!!! How could the Jailer and custodians be so inhuman?"

Mr. Singh was back to his storyteller mode now... "David Barry", he uttered with a glint in his eyes.

To be continued...
  

Tuesday, June 5, 2018

Hymns of the Mountains - Darjeeling Snapshot 2 - The Toy Train



Snapshot 2 - The Toy Train


The valleys around Darjeeling are accustomed to euphonious whistle of the heritage "Toy train".  The ubiquitous symphony of the hills and the machine is the heart beat of Darjeeling. No mortal being can ever venture into these terrains and not experience the charm of the Toy train. Tootling away through the narrow streets and markets of Darjeeling it radiates the gleeful essence of the place and it's people. Toy train is not a sight to behold but to be experienced.  

During 1870's the thoroughfare to Darjeeling from Siliguri was only by the means of "Tonga" service along the craggy cart road ( Presently known as Hill Cart Road).  In 1879, a proposal was put forward by Franklin Prestage, an agent of Eastern Bengal Railway to construct a steam tramway from Siliguri to Darjeeling. It was a strenuous job as the slopes of hills across Teesta river were far too steep for the ascend of the locomotive, the rocky terrain adding loads to it as well. Beyond all expectations, the dream of the tramway materialized on 23 August, 1880 when the first stretch was opened for public service from Siliguri to Kurseong. It was extended up to Darjeeling in the upcoming year with the first ride departing from the source station on 4 July 1881. It was the birth of Himalayan Darjeeling Railway from the womb of the Himalayas. 

In his narration in 1920 Earl of Rolandshay described his journey as

"One steps into a railway carriage which might easily be mistaken for a toy, and the whimsical idea seizes hold of one that one has accidentally stumbled into Lilliput. With a noisy fuss out of all proportion to its size the engine gives a jerk — and starts ... No special mechanical device such as a rack is employed — unless, indeed, one can so describe the squat and stolid hill-man who sits perched over the forward buffers of the engine and scatters sand on the rails when the wheels of the engine lose their grip of the metals and race, with the noise of a giant spring running down when the control has been removed. Sometimes we cross our own track after completing the circuit of a cone, at others we zigzag backwards and forwards; but always we climb at a steady gradient — so steady that if one embarks in a trolley at Ghum, the highest point on the line, the initial push supplies all the energy necessary to carry one to the bottom"

I recall my days in Darjeeling, the high altitude had refreshing feel. Walking through streets I imagined that how beautiful it would be to live among these mountains, how uncomplicated was life here just like the settle voice of hissing cute little blue engine every morning. On the train I did not board but somewhere I felt connected. May be that's the charm of the Toy train, you might be unamused but you cannot deny being connected. Lives here loop around the toy train. For the people of Darjeeling, the Toy train has a persona... they wait for it at stations, they give way for it when it passes through lean market roads, they wave at it as it rambles around the hills. It wakes up and goes to bed with Darjeeling. It is the Toy train.

DISCLAIMER *I do not claim all the pictures in this article. It belongs to the respective owners. This pic is taken by "Chandan Hazra - Runner up of Photography competition 2017"

Wednesday, May 30, 2018

Hymns of the Mountains - Darjeeling Snapshot 1 - The Landscape



Snapshot 1 - The Landscape


"Darjeeling" - The land of thunderbolt as it literally translates to ("Dorje"- thunderbolt / the scepter of Indra and "Ling" - place / land) is a district in the hilly slopes in the north eastern province of the state of West Bengal. This land has long a history, it's roots running down to the age of the Mahabharata. Rulers of diverse clans and nationalities have claimed Darjeeling during eras that's now buried in the dust of  time. Couple of centuries back this land was overtaken by the "Gorkhas" and dwelled as an unpolished jewel in the empire of Nepal and Sikkim. East India company reclaimed it later. During the days of non-independent India, it was also gifted to the Britishers by the Raja of Sikkim to serve as a leisurely refuge for their tired soldiers and officials. The shades of it's past still reflects in the township and it's people. But today as one sits on a terrace gazing into the vast expense of the mountains beyond and hill slopes blanketed with the rich green Tea plantations, it's hard to imagine what this place has gone through. 

Often regarded as the "Queen of the Hills" among the north eastern province, it's naked beauty is one to felt and kissed. Curves of mountains playing away along the horizon of the snow clad peaks. Garmented viridescent escarpments makes for a fairy tale backdrop. The sinuous roads that led to the tiny habitations along the hills' appears like strands of hair exquisitely flowing down its' body. The air feels light as it permeates through the lungs. The ether has customary visits from the clouds now and then. The sun caress gently on the skin as it's dominance ceases at this altitude. One's psyche is enlightened whilst inundated by the ambience. 

One thing is for sure... in these mountains, you will untether your being and embrace an existence of higher order.  

#Darjeeling #Landscape

DISCLAIMER *I do not claim all the pictures in this article. It belongs to the respective owners. This pic is taken by "Surendra Pradhan - Winner of Photography competition 2017"


Sunday, March 25, 2018

Hymns of the Mountains - Darjeeling (Part 3)

The cup of Darjeeling tea still lingers in my senses a nostalgia. It's like a dream I would love to wake up every morning to.  


A Hero's tale


Time in the mountains seem to pass by fast. It was already late afternoon, when we were done with our lunch. During the period when we were cherishing momos and vegetable stew, was accompanied by breath taking tales of the Kargil war. Mr. Siddhart's narration had teleported us to the snow clad dry mountains which played host to one of the gruesome battles in modern Indian history. Echos of ceaseless gunshots reverberated in our ears. He told us how Indian armed forces had to struggle to recapture those posts.

He explained while sipping on his hot chicken soup, " We were a part of the reinforcement troops. We were told that we would be relieved once the backup force arrived. But it did not happen as such..."

His eyes drifting to a distant vision of past time and again, staring blankly through the window into the vast expanse of tea gardens down the hill he continued, "It was almost midday when we reached our assigned point in the hills. Soon after bullets came showering at us from the posts above. We took cover behind rocks. Some of our soldiers were hit but none fatally injured. Time passed by and we couldn't advance even a step that day, the Pakistanis were well prepared. Every single move of ours was answered by volley of bullets. And I lost a few good friends that day." .

Tears pooled up amongst his eyelids. An uncomfortable pause followed...

Gathering his composure he resumed, "One of my dear friend from my regiment, sitting a few feet away tried to climb ahead. He had just stepped out of his cover when a bullet snapped straight through his head. He fell back and rolled down a few feet... dead. There was nothing I could have done. The next 24 hours I sat crouched holding tight onto my gun, staring at the corpse of my friend a few feet away."

Silence prevailed among the four of us for a brief moment.
A few minutes later, our conversation went on uninterrupted... He told us how they fought the war and captured the peak. He also narrated how he had to stay put behind rocks in bone chilling conditions with just one cigarette for three days. And how on recapturing the posts they had to cautiously feed the food they found in the camp to dogs first in order to ensure they were not poisoned. And a lot more stories during the day we spent with him.


Indian Soldiers after recapturing point 5140, Dras sector- 1999 ( Kargil war)

A day with Mr. Siddhart and our respect for the men that defend our motherland grew multi-fold. It's an honor to share the identity of being an Indian with these brave people we call soldiers, our brothers.


 Padmaja Naidu Zoological Park



Every new place I visit, I always have a carving for wildlife of that area or sometimes the zoo of the locality. While planning for this trip I had short listed the Padmaja Naidu Himalayan Zoological Park or commonly known as "Darjeeling Zoo" to the locals. A visit to Darjeeling without a visit to the zoo would have been incomplete. So, after lunch we made some time for the wonderful animals that inhabit here. As a naturalist, I had always worried if our next generation would ever get a chance to see the amazing animals that call this country home as their number is dwindling and some are on the verge of extinction.  Among them were two special creatures that I had always desired to see in the wild... I could find them here now. 

The park was established on 14th August, 1958 in an effort to conserve Himalayan fauna through breeding and conservation programmes. It housed numerous animals that are endemic to the Himalayan terrain. The Sun-bear, Himalayan tahr, Yak, Mountain cat, Peasants, Himalayan wolf, Himalayan Salamander, Tragopan etc to name a few. But the ones that I carved for were the most illusive ghost of the mountains, "Snow Leopard" and the legendary "Red Panda". 

The Red Panda
We took our tickets and went in. The ticket's cost was very minimal. We made our way in eagerly stopping by every enclosure to have a look. I also took the chance to click some picture. A little ahead, uphill towards the left was the Red Panda enclosure. I had to scan across the fencing to find one, because they are kind of lazy and dormant animals who spent a lot of time either munching on foliage or sleeping. I found one on a branch overhead, dozing in and out of it's deep slumber. It's pointed ears, the reddish brown and black furry coat gave it a very cuddly appearance. My heart sank at the thought that there are very few of these beautiful creature left in the wild and might disappear completely from the face of the earth, even before we know of it.

Ahead in the carnivore enclosure area I found the other one... Snow Leopard. The day was overcasted and animals seemed to be lazing around that day. At the corner of the caged paddock on a wooden platform sleeping calmly flickering it's tail was this magnificent creature. My eyes went a little moist as I knew I might not ever be able to see this in the wild. It's body was snow white with speckles of grey all over, a perfect camouflage for the snow covered mountain terrain it inhabits. As if it knew I was staring at him, it opened it's eyes slightly and stared straight back at me... " I know you are eyeing me, even I have an eye on you."  . This moment would have been different if it were in the wild. But that was a wild dream, chasing it would take a lot. But deep in my heart I knew I would without a second thought take that chase anyday...

Darjeeling Zoo spans across 70 acres of land on the hilly slope and houses a diversity of wild animals and we cherished the time spent with them. Once it also housed two Siberian Tigers gifted to Government of India by Soviet statesman Nikita Sergeyevich Khrushchev in 1960, but now they are no more.




Himalayan Mountaineering Institute


At the rear end of the Darjeeling zoo is the Himalayan Institute of Mountaineering. This was founded by Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru (the then Prime minister of independent India) in 1954 in order to promote and encourage mountaineering among the youth. The center of attraction is the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute Museum. It has three wings i.e. the Mountaineering History section, Mount Everest Expedition section and the Panorama of Himalayan Life section. The large hallway leads upstairs to ornately arranged rooms displaying different sculptures, equipments, landscape models and a wide variety of Himalayan and mountaineering artifacts.  Thrills and challenges that the early mount climbers faced reflects in the displays. Their achievements are proudly exhibited through photographs and newspaper headlines.

The hills remained unaware of  clouds floating across the lake of crystal blue sky. And this place among the hills was no exception. The sun playing hide and seek amongst the clouds casted interludes of lights and darkness over the peaks. The air felt cold on our skins when the light faded. Standing in the courtyard of the Mountaineering Institute when I glanced around , I could feel the world go black and white. Time took a pause. My thoughts lost in those stolen moments of the distant past. The moment felt surreal .... and it never ever crossed my path again.


Walking around we came across this engraving on a wall, which had depicted a mountaineer helping his fellow mate to climb a peak. It had a writing to it's left, "May you climb from peak to peak". A slogan that had encouraged many young hearts to conquer these summits and explore these mystic mountains.

After spending some time in it's courtyard, we decided to move on as it was getting dark.




Japanese Temple and Peace Pagoda 


Peace is what accompanies you all along while in these mountains. The people here seemed to have evolved in a manner that reflects the serenity of the place on their calm and jovial countenance. Among all the religions that have flourished in these lands, the one that has left an undying mark is Buddhism. Next that we decided to visit was the Japanese temple and Peace Pagoda located on the outskirts of the township of Darjeeling.


The Jalapahar hill area is just a few minutes drive from the town. It is here on the slopes amongst the tall alpine trees that the Temple and Pagoda are nestled. It's crested locale provides a panoramic view of Darjeeling and the Kanchenjunga mountains. Vehicles were not permitted in it's premises, thus we had leave behind our car down the slope and climb up the narrow road uphill that led to the temple. The two storied white tainted temple was built in 1972, by Fujii Guruji, the founder of Nipponzan Myohoji ( a Buddhist order for world peace). The temple was designed and built as per traditional Japanese style and is also known among the locals as Nipponzan Myohoji Buddhist temple.

Peace Pagoda
100 yards to the left of the temple towers the Peace pagoda 30 meters above the alpine tree line. It was opened in November, 1992 though it's foundation stone was laid back in 1972 by Nichidatsu Fujii. As per Lotus Sutra of Buddhist belief, Peace pagodas are embodiment of Lord Buddha that radiates peace and non-violence. True to their belief a mist of peace and serenity enveloped the eternal lands. Two flight of stairs lead to the Parikrama circle of the Pagoda, which are guarded by two majestic golden concrete lion statues. Ornately carved on the four faces of the pagoda are the four avatars of Buddha. The tranquil expression on golden effigies facing the four direction imparted a feeling of quietude into the hearts of every soul that laid eyes on them. We made the parikrama around the pinnacle of the dome, all the while studying the intricately sculpted artwork on sand stone depicting the events in Buddha's life like "the gift of mango groove by Amrapali to Vaishali" and "the great departure of Siddhart".   By the time our parikrama came to an end, a settle humm from the temple permeated the premises. Drawn by it we walked into the temple.

A monk playing the Ho ko
Following the reverberations, we walked up the stairs of the temple. The central hall on the second floor had two entrance. The rhythmic sounds resonating in the room came from the a large drum, which was played by a monk who complemented the beats with synchronized words that composed the prayers he was offering. We were transfixed for a moment. As if he noticed us standing at the doorway, without breaking his state of trances he gestured to take our place in the prayer hall. Red velvet carpet was spread across the entire wooden floor. On the mat across the prayer retable were spaciously placed small hand held drums along with drum sticks. A dozen of them were arranged neatly. The monk looked at us and smiled as if asking us to join him. We obliged. Taking our respective seats we followed his lead. None of us had ever played a drum but to our surprise within just a few minutes our hands had synchronized with the rhythm of the large prayer drum he was playing called "Ho-ko". Serenity tinkled from every little sound that suffused the space. We molded in. Time passed by and our unaware minds kept flowing with those words into the distant mountains. Charmed, captivated... enlightened.

Finally after a while the prayers came to a tapering halt as words lost voice and strength. But the thrum persisted. As we stood up to leave, the monk called us up to him handed us a few granules of sugar balls and whispered...
"May the peace be always with you. Let Buddha guide your path." 


Saturday, January 20, 2018

Hymns of the Mountains - Darjeeling (Part 2)

The cold air was starting to sting when we left Gangtok. Mr. Amos insisted that we reach Darjeeling before it gets dark but for that we were already late. The road side little drum fireplaces were lighting up now, the streets getting scantier. This part of the world goes early into it's night slumber. It's just wanderer like us, travelers that traverse the distance between towns at night, at rare occasions local residents. Darjeeling lies at a distance of around 98 kms. from Gangtok in the state of West Bengal.


To Darjeeling

There is this thing with some people, a few puffs of nicotine enriched smoke and the warmth keeps them going. Amos was one among them. A few kilometers into our journey he stopped the car for refuel as well his lungs ached for smoke. Some sips of hot tea was that all we could comfort ourselves with. Getting done with our refreshments we drove on. I lay awake at the back seat for a little while, but the tiredness of the day was taking it's toll as my eyelids were falling shut. An envelop of mist was gripping the valley. The dark nightfall blanketing the hills. Slowly my vision got hazier and I fell asleep. With closed eyes, thoughts storm into the vacant space of the curious mind. Pictures of snowfall and unwinding roads on hilly terrains kept dancing in my thoughts. I was drifting away in my dreams when the sudden brake of the vehicle woke me. It was Ashis my friend peeping at me from the front seat. He asked me if we needed some thing to eat. We had stopped in a small village an hour away from the Rangpo bridge which we had crossed while entering into West Bengal border. On the other side of the road was a tiny house where a couple of women were busy stuffing momos in their make shift tea stall. We decide to have some. The village was merely a row of a dozen houses lined on either side of the narrow road. It was already 7:30 PM and we had no time for leisure. So, with no further due Mr. Amos was back on the wheels and we cuddled into our cozy seats. 

It was beyond supper time that we made into the township of Darjeeling. With no google map to guide us, I called up the reception of the hotel that we had booked earlier for our stay. The friendly voice of the receptionist on the phone had a tint of north-east ascent to it. He requested us to wait  near the Mall road. And within minutes an assistant was there to guide us to the hotel. The streets were deserted except for some husky dogs roaming around. Our trolley bags trailing by, we made our way to the hotel. The night was dark and cold... we just checked in and went to bed.


A Misty day


Mesmerizing view of the clouds above and mist below
The next day I woke up to a very cold morning. Slipping out of my cozy warm blanket I walked up to the window. The view that greeted me beyond those curtains was something that got imprinted on my soul forever. The valley below was still wrapped in mist and the sun seemed to be emerging from the golden womb of the clouds. It was like the sky was bathed with molten rays of the nascent sun. And my being floated away into that vastness of ethereal display of mother nature. "Beautiful", had a new meaning for me now. The hilly peaks merged into the sky with the clouds forming the bridge. Looking at this sight brought peace. And I cherished this moment till the clouds faded away into the horizon.

After a quick breakfast we headed out for the day's sight seeing. A few tourists spots had been shortlisted for the day as we had only a couple of days to explore.

Bhanu Bhavan  





Just down the Mall road, near the Chauk bazaar is the polished domed architectural marvel called the "Bhanu Bhavan" or as locals call it "Gorkha Rangamancha". Designed to be an auditorium, it was the cultural and social hub for public functions. Statue of Lady Saraswati adorned the entrance with two mermaids elegantly accompanying her on either side. Towering above the doom was a clock tower with globe and an eagle flying away from it. That day there was some competition being held as we saw some teenage girls making their way into hall with floral costumes. A lively buzzing crowd was assembled as well. As we moved in, the intricately carved wooden interiors were in contrast to the bright white exteriors. The woody brown inside had a homely feeling to it... just like the timbered hallway of the resort we stayed in. There was a lot to see and so we moved on. Next stop, Tenzing rock and Tibetan refugee shelter.



Tenzing rock and Tibetan refugee shelter


Darjeeling offered an awesome weather that day as we drove through the narrow hilly roads of the township. The green lushly landscape of Darjeeling Tea estates lined on the left while the mountain slope ascending to our right. Small houses dotted these slopes with winding fringe footpaths which led to their doorways. Our car made way through tight turns and hairpin loops. On one such turn Mr. Siddhart (Our tour guide and cab driver for Darjeeling) pointed out to a tall rock on the left. It seemed to be jolting out on the very edge of the slope.
On the footsteps of Tenzing Norgay
"Sir, that on the corner is Tenzing rock." informed Mr. Siddhart. He continued, "It is a famous mountain climbing spot. We can make a stop there, if you wish have some try at it.

He then glanced back at my friends Ashis and Sai and smiled. They both weighed a little up on the weighing scale. I winked back at them, "No issues, Mr Siddhart we will give it try. I assume the rocks are strong enough.". A loud mob of laughter from all four of us burst out.

Tenzing Rock is a 50 feet high natural rock formation. It was made famous by Tenzing Norgay, one of first Mount Everest conqueror as he used to practice mountain climbing on this very rock. In his honor this rock was named after. One can easily afford this sort of adventure. They only charged one hundred rupees per person. Local instructors were present to assist us. After a thoughtful moment Ashis and Sai decided not to indulge in the activity. But I couldn't let go of a chance to plant my feet on the rock that made Tenzing an Everest climber. It was my first mountain climbing... besides for all the things in life there is always a first time.      

After the thrilled moment at Tenzing rock our journey continued along the Lebong Cart road. About 30 minutes ride away is the Tibetan Refugee self-help Center. On reaching the place we had to leave the car behind and walk a few meters uphill as there are no direct roads to the center. My initial thoughts of a refugee center was washed away on my first glance. Infact it was a self employed - self sustaining center. 
The counter at the Artifact showroom
The Refugee Center was established by Buddhist Tibetan refugees in 1959. It was initiated with just 4 workers of the community and 10 member development committee with Tenzing Norgay as one of the pioneer members. Spreading across an area of 4 acres on the hill side, it comprised of a complex of small buildings. The complex housed sections of tailoring, knitting, wood work and painting workshops with Tibetan women duly engaged in each section. As we entered the weaving section, an old lady working on a weaving machine nodded at us as if inviting us in. I put down my camera and joined by her side. She just went on with her work, occasionally smiling at me with a glint in her eyes. This is what I have always loved about traveling... you come across strangers with diverse cultures and origin but you still can have a wonderful conversation with just a smile and simple human gestures. People always tend to understand the universal language of facial expressions. Words are not always necessary.

On the extreme left corner of the complex was the showroom displaying the artifacts for sale that were made in the workshops. Two young Tibetan ladies were dealing with the guests and assisting them with purchase. Walls were adorned with Tibetan paintings and hand woven shawls and blankets. Statues and figurines of Buddhist cultures were lined on the shelves behind the counter. The artifacts were far too brightly colored as compared to the snowy white land these workmen came from. Temptation of getting souvenirs was something hard to resist. I gave in to my temptation with a wall hanging.

On our way back we offered our prayers at the Tibetan temple near the Refugee center. It was just the beginning of a new year and we wished for it to be peaceful and prosperous. With turn of prayer wheels "Khor", I silently whispered under my breath "Om mani padme hun" . 





The clouds in the sky had not faded all along the day. From behind the blanket of the overcasted sky the afternoon sun was trying to shine upon the hills. But it's efforts seemed futile. Air felt cold and heavy and our stomachs empty. We decided to have some food before we could carry on. Mr. Siddhart asked us to have a quick lunch as we still had a lot to see. But as events unfolded that day, it was never meant to be a "Quick lunch". 

We were on our way back to main town for lunch while as a matter of casual conversation I enquired a little bit about Mr. Siddhart.

"So, Siddhart ji you live in Darjeeling itself ?", I asked.

"Yes sir. This is my hometown. My house is down this very street on the other side, next to Ghum Monastery.". He continued, "If time permits we will visit my home."

His words were warm carrying a hint of ownness to it. People around this part of the world are simple and humble, their hospitality is beyond words.

"Who all live in your family?", I enquired.
"My mother is old. I lost my father when I was 23. I also have a younger sister but she is already married and lives with us.", he said.

My friend Ashis and Sai were busy cherishing the view of the mountains back seat as we were having this conversation.

Mr. Siddhart took a pause and then spoke. "I retired from Indian Army in 2009 due to my mother's ill health. After that I took to tourism with my own cab.", he said tapping on his steering wheel.

I was enthralled,  "Wow... which rank were you in?"

" I was a member of the alpha company of 13 JAK rifles." He paused briefly again.
" I served my nation along side "the Sher khan" of Indian army in Kargil war... the great Captain Vikram Batra.

His words made us jump out in surprise and we were blankly staring at him now...
A moment before he was just our cab driver and tourist guide, but we now realized that we were sharing seats with a National war hero.

He looked back at us with a tender smile reigning across his calm face... " It's a long story sir, hope you have enough time for it.", he said while he gently glided the car to a stop near a hill side restaurant.

Well, I could feel a journey of lifetime brewing on my cards.

"Darjeeling...  what else will you be offering me"