Happy New Year!

Dear Friends,

Happy New Year!

Sunrise in Himalayas

This Christmas season I was in Himalayas, near Mt. Kanchenjunga- the 3rd tallest mountain on earth.

In case you don’t know, Mt. Kanchenjunga  is the only mountain where you are not allowed to summit it as its a holy mountain and is still worshipped by the locals. In fact, the king of Sikkim (before it was annexured) got very angry with the Government of India after an Indian mountaineer, with Sikkim’s official permission,  climbed the mountain. Indian prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru wrote to him saying that Indians deeply respect the sentiments and in fact, as per the Sikkim Government’s own records,  the mountaineer stopped 5 feet below the peak. A furious King replied  to Nehru “I know that he stopped 5 feet below the peak but he was a tall man of 6 feet and, therefore, he was 1 feet above the peak and that was a sheer neglect and insult of our faith and feelings”. Its only after much persuasion and cajoling that any other Indian was allowed to climb it. But noone has ever summited it.

Just few hundred meteres short of Mt. Everest, Mt. Kanchenjunga, perhaps, is the most elegant visual delight.  And if you are lucky you can see the divine light. I did.

In india there is a strong belief that you can’t visit holy places like Vaishnao Devi, Tirupati, Shirdi and many others unless the diety doesn’t call you. You can’t visit Vaishnao Devi until Mata calls you. And once she calls you you can’t stop. I always ridiculed this belief amongst many others. I still don’t know if its true but I know one thing for sure that if you love mountains and if the mountains love you, they call you. I am not talking about manicured mountains of Alps. I am talking about Himalayas. The rustic, uncivcilized, dangerous, unexplored mountains. Mountains where no two steps are similar. The mountains that surprise you at every step. The mountains which make you humble with every breath you take.  The treks here have no signs, no indication of ‘easy, modest, hard’. The rivers are wild. There is no help, no emergency, no rescue. There are mountains with its tress, wild, flaura and fauna, you and the sky. And there is God. You can’t just get up and go there. Mountains have to call you. I got my calling in quick succession. First the mountains of Himachal and now Sikkim. I am back, humbler. Rejuvinated. refreshed. A city machine that’s me is now fully overhauled, serviced and repaired. Ready to beat the speed of a metropol. The man made mountains of junk, chaos and crowd.

I was staying in a heavenly place called Glenburn Tea Estate. Its one of the most ‘must-see’ places. Mostly visited by Britishers who want a first hand experience of how their ancestors enjoyed ruling and ruining this great country. A boutique bunglow/resort which has reinstated and recreated the colonial lifestyle which is rare to find even in England. The bunglow is called Burra Bunglow. Burra as in Bada Sahab’s bunglow. I have read a lot about British Raj and the luxurious lifestyle that they enjoyed amongst hundreds of slaves (read Indian poor). I have also seen many movies which tried to recreate the reality of those times. Every Indian has an idea how they lived in luxury. But you have to visit this place to realize that, actually, we have no idea. Its hostess Nina ensures that you live like a Royalty and feel like a Burra Sahib. I strongly recommend this place to every adventurous, spirited tourist. The location, service, staff, food and tranquility can surprise even the most travelled tourist. At $400 its expensive but the experience you come back with is invaluable.

Obviously, Burra saheb used to be a British fellow with 1000’s of Indian slaves at his service. Its only after visiting the place I realized that there are so many odd jobs in our daily life. And so many odd jobs that do not exist. Then there are jobs within jobs eg; shoe shining has sub task of organizing shoe laces. So, one slave for shoe shining another for shoe laces. Burra saheb had a dozen, couple or at least one slave to do each job. Tea? One slave. Coffee? Another slave. Water? Another. Bathtub filling, hat-hanging,  shoe cleaning ….. you name it and there was one slave standing to do the needful. Burra saheb usually, after his 4 course breakfast rode his horse to make a round of the Tea Estate. fired some, cane some,kicked some and slept with some (most of the labour are women)and came back to a ready bath for his high tea with cakes, cookies and saviours. All freshly baked.

Times have changed now. Darjeeling district, the tea capital of the world which boasted of its exquisite tea, sprawling tea gardens and, of course, first toy train has it all, but lost its charm. The mall is crowded like Karol Bagh, delhi. The toy train doesn’t have toilets, seats are coming out. Tea Gardens are gradually shutting down and there are no Burra Sahebs. Roads are pathetic, development zero. Its populace, primarily Gurkhas have no jobs and their children no education. No wonder they are demanding Gurkhaland. Actually, its not even a demand anymore. They have decided they are Gurkhaland.

Every shop, every building, every nook and corner has Gurkhaland sign. Every  banners and name plates have Gurkhaland plastered on it. The government chose to ignore them. When they confronted, the Government chose to buffer the problem. Frustrated and disgustedwith this attitude, they decided to use Gandhi’s way of protest. First, they started a non-violent movement. Nothing happened. Then they started non-cooperation. Nothing happened. Then they decided themselves that they are a state and painted every wall, shop and any visible diaplay as Gurkhaland. All addresses changed to Gurkhaland. Officcially, no Gurkhaland exists in India. But don’t be surprised if you post a letter to Gurkhaland and it arrives there. Notice the sign on the shops. Do you read Gurkhaland? Yes, that’s the new address. They have their own police (volunteers), its own uniform. Unfortunately, noone knows or cares about out in rest of India.

The area is mostly on strike. Highways are shut down between 10-5pm, schools, colleges, all establishments shut down but noone cares. I won’t be surprised if soon this movement becomes violent and then termed as naxalite movement. I will be surprised if that doesn’t happen.

I am back in Bombay. Its new year and I am dropping my son to school. Its early morning. Foggy. Bit chilly. Swanky cars are passing by with cheering kids ready to start a new semester in their schools, driven by their happy, proud parents. Bombay, after a long party, is back to work. While Everyone is wishing everyone, some people are still sleeping. My son opens his window and screams ‘ Happy New Year’. I wonder who is he wishing. He is wishing some strangers who are sleeping. Who are indifferent to our celebrations. You can go to hell, they do not care. Exactly like my Government.

I am posting the photo of these indifferent, uncaring, ignorant strangers on the morning of 2010.

The Morning of 2010

If you have forgotten to wish someone, do it now!

Yours truly, forever

VA

This entry was posted on Tuesday, January 12th, 2010 at 7:45 pm and is filed under Pop Philosophy, Travel. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.