Climbing up the Mountains

We took a taxi for Gangtok. From Darjeeling , that is. The portly gentleman with an impressive belly manning the open-air taxi counter looked at me with disdain through slits where there should have been eyes.

Kya chahiye? [What do you want?] His tone was banal, as well as nasal, a combination that can kill many. Disinterest ruled the air.

Gungtok jaana hai. [We have to go to Gangtok.] The air around me was one of apprehension.

He sized me from head to toe. Or, was it the other way round? He displayed impatience, as if I had made a terrible mistake somewhere. As if going to Gangtok was something horribly foolish.

He continued, with exasperation. Kitne? [How many?]

Paanch. [Five]

Chhey sau panchaas. [Six hundred fifty]

Chhey sau chalega? [Will six hundred do?]I strode out of timidity, with nothing more than a meagre entreaty.

Chalega in India has different connotations everywhere, but here the word conveyed a distinctly correct meaning with a distinctly correct usage. Only thing that went astray was that instead of the currency, it was the pot-bellied gentleman that preferred to walk.

Walk he did, with dainty steps and swinging hips that would have put any cat-walking model to shame. Without any intimation of the intention.

I waited for ten hours. He came back after ten minutes.

Paanch ticket Gungtok ka chahiye. I had come down to begging.

Chhey sau panchaas.

I gave him. He scribbled something on a yellow piece of paper and handed to me. That was my ticket, my passport to Gangtok, to freedom from the oppression.

The taxi, a broad jeep imitating the burliness of the counter-wala, came half an hour late, already half filled and just as eager to make a move. The five of us squeezed ourselves in the pithy spaces, five at different seats, not together but separated, but thanking the almighty that all were in the same vehicle, not in different taxis flying to different directions.

In the hills, anything is possible, they say. Or don’t they! However, I believed so.

If the earlier acquaintance was derisive, the next one was distinctly laconic. With an expression as dour as a dead dog, the driver tried desperately but in vain to dampen the exquisite natural beauty that pervaded the entire region.

The road to Gangtok is downhill first, then uphill. As the taxi meandered through the circuitous road that took it to the valley below, we were treated to some pleasing vegetation. But it got hot as we descended, slowly and surely reminding of the days when they would be back: the heat, the sun…

We got the first sight of Teesta when we reached the valley below. What a magnificent sight! This turbulent Himalayan river gurgled along its path, a mighty roar that rivers of the plains are incapable of. Tiny boards on the shores proclaimed river rafting possibilities but we didn’t come across anybody attempting it. And as we progressed towards Gangtok, the river simply refused to leave us, providing us company for a long time, even much after our entry into Sikkim.

• **

It is the month of May; temperatures are exceeding 40˚C, it is hot in the plains, rendered hotter by the visual presentations on state-of-the-art televisions that grab you and stay put in your hearts through what they term as the Weather Report or something more fanciful. Even if you are in cool climes, television with its idiocies never forsakes you. Why on earth would anybody enjoying the hills care about what is happening down below!

But that is tourism, my dear. If you stay at a hotel, there better be the idiot box, and the cable. Hotels may not have nice bathrooms, nice beds, nice bed-sheets but there is no comprising on the TV.

If you don’t get a hotel, the entire sky is one big TV (and you are yourself). But who wants that!

• **

Gangtok is big, and gave us a full impression of being a capital city with a population exceeding four hundred thousand. It is full of houses, evident from a distance as we entered, all visible on the slopes and at different altitudes. It has a huge influx of tourists, especially in the summer, coming from all parts of the country to savour the mountains. Even though the city offers its own travel options, but some of the locales around at short distances are breathtaking.

The city has around 800-900 hotels. Some of them are good, but it needs a fair amount of scouting, patience and luck to get something worth the money. Local drivers are helpful. A good hotel can make a hell of a difference in how we get to appreciate the charm of the city.

Though Gangtok is enjoyable by itself, it would be foolish to ignore the other tourism prospects. For sheer delight of indulging in a serene sojourn among snow clad mountains, nothing can beat Yumthang. The packages which are on offer provide a two day/ one night journey to and fro Gangtok. Yumthang is in North Sikkim though it is much colder; it provides the immense satisfaction of holidaying underneath the huge, white mountains. Pelling is another spot which offers great views of Mt. Kanchenjunga at close range. A visit to Pelling also provides the tourist an option to return back directly to NJP on the way back home.

Then there is Changu Lake, which we chose. A day’s trip that was nearer our hearts. Besides, the popularity of this spot is so great that few who visit Gangtok ever miss this. We started early morning, when the sun was out and from down below, snow covered mountains were just visible. Changu Lake, or Tsomgo Lake (the official name) is just 38 kms from Gangtok but such is the torturous winding road that leads to it that it takes many hours.

The journey was pleasant, but as the jeep negotiated the narrow road with the ravines down below us, our hearts sought to pop out. But the expert jeep driver, for whom this was but a daily fare, took everything in his stride without much ado. Midway, there was a waterfall which endowed us with a pleasant sight. And, as the ascent got steeper, we got to see the snow.

At first the snow looked just like some stray formation of rocks, in different shapes and sizes. Our initial tryst with the most coveted sighting could hardly be more dramatic. The driver, sensing our ignorance to such mundane matters took everything into his own hand, apart from the steering wheel.

Yeh baraf hai. [This is snow] The nasal rendition in a tongue, which then sounded quite foreign, brought things into perspective.

He smiled a deep knowing smile that could only come from vast experience.

Slowly and surely, we reached Changu Lake. The driver made a brief stop, and we were hardly in the know of the tricks he had in his sleeves. The moment we halted, a young girl started cavorting, offering us all she had gloves, coats, socks, shoes The weather had gone somewhat bad; there was no sun, clouds lurked perilously, snow glistened in spite of all that, but we could not quite fathom the need for the cheap paraphernalia. Surely this wasn’t another scam. Marketing ops at 12ooo ft!

Babuji, gadi aagey jaygi. Aagey aur barf hai. Maja aayega.! Jaldi jaiyey, mausam kharab ho raha hai. [Sirs, the vehicle will go further. There is snow. You will enjoy. Go fast, the weather is worsening.]

We took them - the shoes, gloves, warm coats and attempted to register at the Cartoon Network.

The lake had already started to glimmer in fantastic hues but a full grasp of that had to wait. We were destined for something further ahead. As we ascended the steep road that goes to Baba Mandir, we were treated to some extraordinary views of snow. We played in, and with, the snow, soaking in full measure a picture that had till then been just that. As we sought to play out our little roles in this tiny heaven, we all realised that what we were just experiencing would be staying with us for a long time to come.

The road to Baba Mandir was nothing short of a marvel. As it touched 14000 ft, we were reminded that we had reached almost half the height of the mighty Mt. Everest. Now think of that! We also crossed the gate of the famous Nathula Pass, indicating that we were quite near to China. As we proceeded, it became dark and gloomy, and the road that much treacherous. We had come from such a distant place with a solitarily important purpose of getting some memorable glimpses of snow; here there was nothing but snow. By the time we reached the temple in the name of a soldier, Baba Harbhajan Singh, the weather had softened out and the entire area acquired a heavenly shade that was simply unmatchable.

The trip back to Changu Lake was remarkable too. The impression that had gained ground in some of our minds that we had seen everything and there wasn’t much left was pleasantly shattered by that romance called snowfall. The snow flakes gently hit the vehicles windscreen, and the views of the slowly cascading glaciers transcended us to paradise.

Tsomgo Lake belongs to a different world and one has to see to believe. In the local dialect, it means Source of the Lake. Against the backdrop of snow clad mountains, the lake is placid, glistens with the radiance it obtains from those mountains and sways tenderly with the wind. Big it is, extending itself to all the length it can garner, and providing a magnificent view from the heights.

At 12400 ft, this was a tad too difficult to take in. But it was true. The docile yaks at the spot provided company, rides and photographic opportunities for posterity. Shops with local handicrafts and the likes lined to entice tourists to lighten their pockets. We each had a steaming plate of chowmein, delighted by the fact that the word Chinese had come to acquire quite a true meaning here. The place was small, but clean. There are no hotels in Changu, and one has to necessarily return back to Gangtok after a brief visit.

The next day we had a local sight seeing tour. A sweet little exercise to familiarise ourselves with the city and remind us that there is something to it. Credit must be given to the fact that the city is well maintained, neat and clean, and pleasing to the eyes. Efforts to make the entire place a non-plastic zone too are commendable. Some of the points are worth visiting.

When it is time to depart, we try something different. We go to the general bus stand, stand in a queue and get tickets. Taxis to Kalimpong are few and far between and we have to wait for some while.