Tag: travel

The Pine Forest

Sometimes you need to get lost to find yourself. That’s how I felt walking through the pine forest in Kodaikkanal.

It’s a wonder why people don’t recommend it as a tourist attraction. Because it should be. Anyone who’d like to explore the depths of trees without worrying about meeting a bear should visit this forest.

There too many tourists pointing cameras at random angles. Because there wasn’t much novelty in every turn. Nevertheless, it’s a beautiful place for photographs.

When you’re standing there surrounded by perfect imperfection, you can’t help but drop your jaw at nature’s wonder. Yes, they’re just trees. But they are more than that.

The smell of the pines, the barks standing so tall and uniform — it was so inviting. They emit a kind of glow that spreads throughout your body and warms you from within. And trust me, it was chilly, and we needed that.

And if you listen close enough, you’d hear the trees calling out, as if they wanted to you go in deeper and deeper.

And it wasn’t a walk in the park either, the forest lay on top of a mountain and going in deeper would mean walking down the hill. It wasn’t scary though. On the contrary, I enjoyed it.

The roots of pines look like they’re engraved in a canvas of hard brown soil. It’s so beautiful, it feels almost artificial. You can’t help but smile at the sight of it. And you’d do a lot of that in the forest too. The trees are not too dense, and the dim light that seeps through them creates a perfect atmosphere for reminiscing.

Watching the trees, just being, defying gravity, ignoring all the world — yet making it a better place — it’s surprising that no one wants to just stand there and look.

A Road Trip in the Mountains

I peeked through the window at the winding hairpins they called a road. We didn’t get a moment of rest. Every second of the journey felt like treading on a giant sand paper. It was bumpy, curvy, and clammy — yet it was the best trip I had had in a long time.

curves

Everything about the road was dangerous. And that only made it more exciting. At least for us inside the car. Visibility was a thing of the plains, not the mountains. The mist — or fog, I never know the difference — hung in front of us, obscuring our path for hours together.

Our driver wasn’t keen on headlights. He’d realised they were useless anyway, and decided, instead, to rely on his instincts, hoping no vehicles would come at us from the opposite direction. Despite it being a national roadway, with over thousands of vehicles passing by every day, the road isn’t safe for two vehicles at the same time.

haripin

Just as I had made peace with myself that the ride wouldn’t kill us, we made a swerve so sharp that I bumped into my neighbour, almost pushing her off her seat. Grinning and wishing we hadn’t made each other too awkward, we both turned to look outside.

On the right I saw cliffs steeping all the way down to the oblivion. When I hugged the glass to get a better glance, I saw turquoise splashes of unspoilt water, flowing through rocks as shaven as a bald man.

On my left rose the biggest mountain I had ever seen. It felt more like a massive rock spotted with natural beauty chasms. I hadn’t expected mountains so huge, so dented, and so beautiful — all at the same time.

Looking down from the airplane, I had seen an expanse of parched land, bearing more sand than I could capture in one photo. But as I passed through the same mountains in a much smaller vehicle, they seemed as alive as the giant beanstalk itself. With tiny people, in their efforts to conquer everything they chance upon, picking their way through the solidity.

men at work

Throughout the day, they seemed at work, reconstructing, drilling, and planning. They went about unperturbed by the endless stream of vehicles. It was just another day for them. Countless passers by, random people getting sick, people staring, provoking, feeding the monkeys, and some others hoping to become the next great photographer.

We didn’t seem to bother the natives at all. But nature was less forgiving. From woollen gloves that betrayed me, and mountains that loomed so high that they made me trivial, to the trees that swayed their disapproving heads as I pulled a sweater over my head.

Nevertheless, it all was worth it.

The Rope Car Ride

“Oh, rope car. Would’ve been a great experience, huh?”

When I heard we’d be riding on a rope car, my imagination went wild. For about five seconds, every thriller and every adventure movie I had ever sat through flashed in front of my eyes. I thought of heroes hanging on a rope so weak that it would give away at any moment. And that image disappeared to be replaced with famous love scenes set in a fancy snow-capped mountain with the heroine banging her fists against the car’s glass while her evil father’s hunch men tortured her lover down below. I could even see her tears freezing in the icy cold.

ropeway

So when they told us to get on board, I shivered a little. From uncontrollable thrill. But as we approached the car, I saw that it showed no signs whatsoever of having carried a distressed Juliet pining for her Romeo. Why, it was just a hallow red box with glass panes for windows!

We climbed in and the guard locked the door shut. I looked around, it wasn’t what you’d call an average car. It was more like a small railway compartment. Only a little cleaner. Otherwise, it had similar flooring, the unmistakable “No Smoking” sign, and the — all-too-familiar — congestion.

They allowed about 20 people into one car. We all had some standing space and had to make some more to reach out for groupfies. I turned my focus to what mattered more: The experience of riding a rope car.

The noise gave it away. We were about to soar.

The me within me — the one who isn’t embarrassed to squeal in excitement or applaud in enthusiasm when in public — stood on the tip of her toes. This was bound to be a treat.

My friends had been shifting about talking in such excited tones that we didn’t realise when the car began moving. When we did, however, it was like someone had grabbed my treat away. We felt close to nothing. We were so-called soaring slower than my slowest walking pace.

But, I stuck to my corner, hoping to look down at the beautiful world below. I felt like the all-seeing, as if I couldn’t even miss that little girl in her school uniform being mean to a squirrel.

But I couldn’t see all.

rope car

All I could see was asbestos roofings and garbage strewn all over the land. It wasn’t worth standing by the window. There were no flowers and no lush greenery. The movies had misguided me. Again.

It was painful to look at the harsh reality of that corner of the city. It was all the more difficult to digest the sight because I know Gangtok is a tourist destination.

up above

But it is a city like any other. And where there are people, there’s bound to be a face you don’t see in brochures. Because that’s inevitable. People being people isn’t a pretty sight.

Having replayed that entire day in my mind, I turned to my father, and his question.

His eyes had lit up in awe. He looked thrilled at the idea of skirting through the sky, defying all known laws of gravity and Earth-binding responsibilities.

I looked into those ageing, black holes and replied, “Hell, yes!”

They’re People Too

When I walked into the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute and museum in Darjeeling, I didn’t know what I was hoping to see. In hindsight, it seemed obvious that they’d display the tools, the gear, and even the remains of some of the Himalayan creatures.

HMI

But it wasn’t so obvious then, and it was all the more disappointing when they had a clear sign prohibiting all forms of photography. We walked through dozens of glass boxes that rose to the ceiling, encasing mementos from mountaineers who had conquered Himalayas. From little chisels, stoves, and crockery, to even the tents they slept in during their expeditions. They were all in there. And for a moment, I couldn’t grasp the magnitude of what I faced.

The Himalayas wasn’t just something we heard about in the media anymore. It wasn’t just the highest mountain range, with a cold index that no one should underestimate. Standing there, looking at the plate a mountaineer had eaten out of when he was camping in the Himalayas made me realise how big the whole thing was. From being a natural phenomenon that mankind could never conquer, to watching photographs, and clay sculptures of the mountain itself, of the climbers picking their way through the snow caps — it all became too real too soon.

I marvelled at the fact that people just like you an I have managed such a huge feat. They weren’t some weirdos or a mysterious elite. They could have been as ordinary as our noisy neighbours. And yet, somehow, extraordinary. Looking at their possessions, I wondered, that particular mountaineer must’ve have liked his tea like I did mine: A mugful.

And that realisation brought me closer to humans than anything else had ever done.

The Gandhi Zone

I didn’t realise for a long time how much we, as an Indian community, use Gandhi’s name on everything. It’s become so common that from being a credibility-booster, it’s become a marketing ploy. Like some low ball technique we use to get our way in the world. Or as an excuse to take pride in our stupidities.

“In the land of Gandhi!” they say. Or proclaim, in fact. In the land of Gandhi, we did this, and that, and all other things we didn’t do.

Which is fine with me, except that we’ve exhausted the name now. In futile attempts to show how much we adore the man, we even named streets after him. And in more cases than one, M.G.Road is a city’s official shopping zone.

There was one in Darjeeling too.

MGRoad 1

It’s amazing how the name “Mahatma Gandhi Road” is a shoppers’ stop when the man himself advocated ultimate simplicity. Guess it’s just another of our inherent paradoxes.

As I walked along M.G.Road, I saw all the things Gandhi stood against, while he himself stood next to a fountain, as erect as a guard.

Watching him watch the tourists, I remembered studying in an old school book that he preached simple attire. Whereas in M.G.Road, people ogled at woollen sweaters, silken scarves, and sleeveless dresses studded with little stones that mirrored the chandeliers.

There were bakeries stuffed with all things self-raising, and salty, buttery goodness. And sweet shops showcasing the pride of West Bengal. While stacks of shops sold home-made foods, there were cafes and snack stalls too. Some places sold tea, some coffee, and some places just disgraced the emotions of tea and coffee.

MGRoad 2

And of course, countless liquor stores luring in the fancy folk who preferred things stronger than a simple cuppa. Oh, and tobacco too.

In the middle of all these, stood Gandhi’s figure, deep in observation. Not that he could do anything, of course.

And then — the flowers. So may flowers. So many colours, so many shades, so many tiny petals bearing tiny leftover droplets from the rain of just moments before.

MGRoad 3

It was a magnificent sight. Even for me who hated shopping in every sense of the traditional word. I loved walking through that street. And the best part of it all: The street is always closed to vehicles from late in the day to later on in the evening. That made it all the more welcoming. With the rain adding a dash of chilliness to the cold breeze, the smell of someone’s strong cigar wafting through the air, the steaming cup of tea in my hands, and the bunch of friends ready to laugh at a good joke — what more could I have asked for?