Sikkim - A Journey without Destination

Too tempting a place

Among all other places on earth, Lonely Planet named this place as "must visit" in 2014. The place was , anyway, in my radar for the last couple of months. And it is near to my native. You may call these excuses, you may call these "the call of the wild". Whatever it is, the very thought of visiting Sikkim around New Year

time was exciting. My wife dropped off from the tour during the planning phase, citing excessive cold. At 14000 feet above sea level in Ganathang Valley of Sikkim, temperature has a free fall. Sandipan, my old college friend and companion for the trip, and I found it the hard way on the night we spent at Ganathang Valley.

30th December, 2013. Monday

Getting On

After a hearty lunch at Calcutta's famed "Peter Cat" and a movie at the "New Empire", I bid goodbye to wife and daughter, who would spend some more time at my in-laws place. I jumped in the taxi and was at the Sealdah station by 9 PM. I packed two packets of chicken biriyani from "Alishan". Sandipan had already reached the station. Sandipan, my dear friend, from my engineering days. Now, a professor in Nano Electronics in the University of Alberta, Canada. Always reserved, quiet and introvert. When I heard that he was coming to Calcutta during the winters, I asked him whether he would be willing to join me to the Himalayas. He almost immediately agreed. And so, on the night of 30th December, we were waiting at the Sealdah station for the Darjeeling Mail.

31st December, 2013. Tuesday

On the way to Sillery Gaon

We got off at the NJP (New Jalpaiguri) railway station at around 8 AM. The train was late due to fog.. In no time we were comfortably seated in a SUV and zooming towards Sillery Gaon. Sillery Gaon is a hamlet in West Bengal. There are hardly 50 families in that village. The village has gained popularity in recent years,

thanks to the magnificent view of the Kanchenjungha peak from the hamlet. On the way, we stopped by at Pedong to grab a late breakfast. A perfect blend of  typical Sikkimese hot momos (dimsum) with a cup of aromatic Darjeeling tea were waiting for us. It was the last day of the year. There were picnics at some places. Just opposite to where we were having breakfast, army men played cricket as sound boxes blared Bollywood songs. From Pedong it took us another hour or so to reach Sillery Gaon.

The beautiful hamlet called Sillery Gaon

Beautiful little hamlet, carefully crafted on the mountain side. It is the type of mountainous villages that you read in fairy tales. There was no sound of cars or traffic. You see people doing their bit of activities, getting along with their daily life. Sometimes a mother calls for her son or the wife shouts for her husband. This place seemed so much detached from the hustle and bustle of the outside world. I could hear my breath, my heart

beat. There was peace and serenity around. Add to that vast stretches of green pine trees and the vast clear blue sky above. We checked in to our lodge. There were not many people in the lodge. It was already 2 PM. We went to the dinning room and were served steamed rice, hot daal and egg curry. The tap water was freezing cold. From the dinning table we could see the majestic Kanchenjungha was turning yellowish, the first sign of the day coming to an end. And since it was the last day of year, so, in a way, those rays of the sun on the peak of Kanchenjungha were the last rays of the sun for the year. Quite a distant below from our lodge was a flat area, where children played cricket. Sometimes we could hear them. No sooner would the sound get lost among the mountains. The cold breeze that blew through the leaves made that hissing sound.  Sandipan and I took a stroll around our lodge. There was just one main road, and that too not a proper one. We followed that, not knowing where it will lead us to. Quite like our college days, wherein we got admission to the college, the course and had no clue where it will take us and where lies the destination!

Sun sets on the fairy-tale hamlet

Kanchenjungha peak turned crimson. The sight of the changing colours of the Kanchenjungha is inexplicable.
The silence of the woods added to the effect. It seemed there is no one between me and the moment. You forget the world that is beyond the moment. You want the time to freeze and yet you want the time to move on so that you can see the changing colours. As the yellow turns orange and then red you realise that the

errie silence and the darkness is soon going to engulf you. In this part of the Himalayas, where you are almost cut-off from the rest of the world, the darkness brings with it some sort of unknown fear or, perhaps, fear of the unknown. In the quiet hamlet, evenings are quieter. I looked above. The countless twinkling stars and the crescent silver moon seemed nearer to me. In Bangalore I hardly take a note of them. Being close to nature soothes you, calms you. When the whole world outside was rejoicing the new year eve with bottles of champagne and wine, I cherished the sound of silence, the light in the darkness...I cherished the moment of solitude and loneliness, added to that was the bone-chilling cold. It was truly a  cold and lonely night.
Somewhere deep down, I felt afraid that night. We are so used to the bright halogen lights, the honking of the automobiles, the sight of concrete jungles, that their absence make us feel out of place and uncomfortable.

1st January, 2014., Wednesday

Kanchenjungha on fire!

The morning of first January started with a wake up call from Sandipan. I had under-estimated the chillness of Sillery Gaon the previous night. Suddenly at mid night I woke up, shivering.I tried to ignore the cold, but what a futile effort that was! Ultimately I had to dive into my luggage again and scramble out some more woolen clothes, put them on....and all when I was half asleep. Sandipan called me to look at the

Kanchenjungha. I saw the same spectacle from Tiger Hills, Darjeeling, about a year back. And yet this sight is tempting to resist. Most of the tourism in North Bengal and Sikkim is centred around the Kanchenjungha peak. During childhood, I wondered what was so special about the peak. Now I now why the people there worship the peak and consider her Goddess. The sight was divine, out of the world. Sights that are almost impossible to put into words.

Through the clouds, towards the Gnathang Valley

Taking a bath in that cold winter morning was both a challenge and a nightmare. The bathroom singer in me was at his career best! Then we jumped into our SUV and were driving towards the Gnathang Valley. On the way we made the permit at Rangoli. Again momos and tea at Rangoli. Within hours we found ourselves in Zuluk and then driving along the famed Silk Route. When we stopped for a break in Zuluk, the driver

pointed up towards the mountain range behind and said "Gnathang Valley is up there...behind these mountains and above the clouds". The zig-zag road from Zuluk towards Gnathang Valley had a number of hair-pin bends. Only an expert driver can negotiate them with ease. We found ourselves driving through the clouds and no sooner we were above the clouds. The sight of the clouds below us is common when we are inside an airplane. But its not always that you are inside a car or even walking on

the road and yet the clouds are below you. We were 13000 feet above the sea level. Gnathang valley is located in the middle of nowhere, in a cold desert. This part is one of the least explored places in Sikkim, nay India. So, it is no wonder only a handful of lodges operate here. We had booked the historical "Dafter Bungalow", which was the tax collecting office when the Silk Route was in operation.
We reached there around lunch time. The dining hall had capacity of about 10 people. It was a kitchen-cum-dining hall or shall we say, an open kitchen adjacent to the dining hall. Sandipan and I were of the same opinion that the dishes in this part of the world tasted way better, although they had same vegetables that we use at home and minimum spice. Was it that the vegetables were really very fresh or is it the hunger pangs? An answer that is debatable.
Post lunch we were out for a short walk in the valley. The room was cold and we decided we get into the room only when we had no other option and that is when night would befall. The walk around the valley was lazy. Because of my asthma history I was specially careful not to overexert myself. I did not want to be a victim of AMS (Acute Mountaineering Syndrome). Local kids and youths were playing cricket on the flat

area. The backdrop had the brown mountains, peppered with snow. We kept our cameras busy. As the sun

slowly tilt, the temperature plunged. By six, it was pitch dark. A bone-chilling wind howled through the creeks of the window of our room. With each hour of the passing night, we kept on adding layers of warm clothes. The cold was irresistible. Sandipan, who has been living in Canada for the last few years, too acknowledged. As we gulped water our throats almost froze. There was a fireplace in the room. But again for my asthma problem, we decided not to go with it. The water pipes had frozen. That night was adventurous, to say the least. We did not know how much more will the temperature dip. My phone gave up. It was unable to restart. When I plugged in the charger, it gave a warning blink with a red thermometer. This is the first time I had seen any such indications in any phone. The whole night our sleep was disturbed quite a few number of times. Sometimes in acute thirst, sometimes in severe chillness. Dead silence prevailed in the valley, to be broken by the howling of the wind that pierced through the window creek. I have been carrying a portable heater all along. It was a big joke to even switch it on. It seemed like an effort to heat a tub of water using a single candle.

2nd January, 2014. Thursday

The darkest hour is before the dawn

This was one sentence Sandipan and I uttered quite frequently during our last few daunting engineering days. That day in Sikkim we once again realised the essence of those words.
The long and chilling night culminated to a beautiful morning. From our room we could see the change of colour of the snow on the mountain sides. The sky was crystal clear. It was such a perfect sunny winter morning. We were ready and raring to take on the next leg of our journey, which , I had presumed, would be the best part of the journey. People generally reach Gangtok, the capital and most famous city of Sikkim
from NJP railway station. From there they go to Changu Lake. Our destination for that day was Gangtok but from the direction of Changu Lake. However, I was more excited to visit the Kupup Lake, followed by the Tukla Valley and then our approach to Changu Lake. After breakfast we waited for our car to come. Our driver's house is in the Zuluk village, which is at a lower altitude and 30 km from Gnathang Valley. We had passed by that village the previous evening. We got a bit impatient waiting for him for about an hour. The hotel manager, through which we hired the car, informed that keeping the car at Gnathang Valley was difficult and expensive. The engine needed to be switched on all night, otherwise it would not start the following morning. It is for this reason that the car was parked in Zuluk overnight.

The prestine Kupup Lake and pictureseque Tukla Valley

Kupup Lake is one of the least explored lakes and so it has held on to its charm. Within an hour of starting from our lodge we reached the Baba Mandir. Standing in front of the Baba Mandir, I looked at the distant blue mountains and the white clouds. The altitude was really high. The air was cleaner and thinner. Some

army men had gathered to seek blessings of the Almighty. Our car started again. After some time it stopped by the roadside and the driver pointed towards the beautiful Kupup Lake below. Among the brown mountains like a mirror the lake lay. In olden days ladies would have beautifully decorated , primarily oval-shaped, handheld mirrors, with fine work on the edges of the mirror. Kupup Lake with its shape and the mountains on all sides reminded me of that. With a thin film of ice over it, the placid lake was reflecting not only the blue sky and the gigantic mountains, but also my inner thoughts of
my helplessness in front of this supremely gorgous and gigantic Nature.

As our car drove towards the Tukla Valley, there was snow on one side of the mountain wall while some lay scattered on the road. The first few spells of snow had left their marks. The area expected heavy snowfall in the coming days. I have been breathing Kanchejungha for the last few days and seen it from different angles and different places, ranging from Darjeeling to Rishyop to Silliery Gaon and the innumerable stopovers and view points along the road. But the view I got of the Kanchenjungha range from the Tukla Valley is the best that one can possibly get. Suddenly our car took a turn and behold! The entire Kanchenjungha range lay before our eyes. Speechless, I scrambled for words.

My camera captured the visual sight of the moment. Sadly, unlike the photos, I cannot freeze my emotions and my heartbeat in time. They are lost forever somewhere far away in the Tukla Valley.

Finally, towards the Changu Lake and Gangtok

Through some remote areas and dangerous roads, our car found its way to the famous Changu Lake. On the way we found boards put up by the Government of India "You are under Chinese Observation". We saw the

Chinese bunkers and Chinese soldiers patrolling their territories. The activities of the diligent Indian soldiers was quite visible on the roads. Army trucks and army personnel were perhaps the only vehicles and men we met on the way. We passed by the Nahula (Pass), where India shares her border with the neighbouring
country, Tibet. Changu Lake from one point in the road looked gorgous. I could see the clouds were still below the lake. It looked like a turquoise from a distance.
Changu Lake was hustling and bustling with activities. It was around 40 km from Gangtok. So, any tourist of Gangtok makes it a point to visit the lake. Locals pleaded with the tourists for yak ride. After spending an hour around the lake, we were off to Gangtok. On the way we stopped for some photo shoots, where the murmuring brook emerged from the snow-peppered mountain walls and pine trees

and then found its way through pebbles and boulders. The condition of the road was quite horrible. To add to that was the cloud that reduced the visibility to a few metres. At some point it started drizzling. Our lives lay in the hands of our trusted driver and the Almighty. A wrong turn or a skid would have been fatal, no doubt.

Reaching Gangtok

I had visited Gangtok with parents and 20 years back. I could not relate to that Gangtok to the one I found in January, 2014. We roamed in the MG Road of Gangtok. I was pleasantly surprised to find that its look and feel was similar to any European cities. After many days we were able to stay outdoors hours after sunset. I thought the temperature was moderate. That night again the bone-chilling cold came back to haunt us. Though it was not as severe as the one in Gnathang Valley. But we should not have under-estimated it, anyway.

3rd January. Friday.

All's well that ends well

Morning was foggy. Any chance of catching a glimpse of the Kanchenjungha one last time in that trip was shattered. The fog continued till around 11. We bought a couple of packets of tea, fresh from the gardens of Darjeeling and some souvenirs. Sandipan  spent a lot of time selecting some wall paintings. We knocked on different shops to get the exact one that he had in his mind. Around 12, we hopped into our car and back to the NJP railway station. The Teesta that had been with us in the initial few hours of our journey on day one,

reunited with us. We had lunch on a roadside dhaba. It was just beside the river Teesta. most of the people were so hungry and engrossed in their food that they hardly found time to appreciate the location of the eat-out. Or may be, they were in a hurry to either reach the mountains or the railway station. Often the thought of destination pre-occupies our mind so much that we fail to take notice of the journey.
This Sikkim trip did not have any destination, in particular. It was more about the journey. The journey that started at crowded Sealdah station on the night of 30th December. It was about the journey that we took through the tall trees of the Dooars to the thinly-populated Sillery Gaon. And waking up on the New Year morning to catch the out-of-the-world sight of the Kanchenjungha, which seemed to be on fire. Then through the zig-zag roads of the historic Silk Roue, off to Zuluk and the cold desert of the Gnathang Valley. Not to forget the night at Gnathang Valley, one of the coldest night we have ever spent. Waking up to a bright and clear day, zooming past the turquoise lakes,  the snow-peppered mountain walls, the murmuring brooks, the pine trees, the bumpy roads and the Kanchenjungha range. It was a journey where emotions varied from sheer joy to fear to elation to lonliness.
When I sit in my drawing and flip over the 500-odd photos that we took during those days, I still cant say what was the destination for this journey. Should a journey have a destination? Or is the name "destination" coined by mankind to give it a sense of ending, when , as a matter of fact, there is no ending at all to any journey? Like the spiralling mountain roads the thoughts gets lost unanswered.

Afterthoughts

Sandipan called me the other day. I asked him about the paintings he bought and how they look in his room. "They seem out-of-place here", he said. "Somehow I felt it was the best painting I could have got for my room, but here, I find that it doesn't fit".
"But that was so befitting! The old chinese man smoking the cigar was gorgeous", I replied.
"You are right. But you know what, Amitava, that painting looked so different in that setting. I wish I could show you how it is like a square peg in a round hole here!"
I realised how almost all our emotions and thoughts are guided and influenced by the world around us. And if those worlds are as poles apart as Nature and materialistic world, then we are in for a shock. I am quite sure the "inner Sandipan", which was aroused due to the proximity of Nature, chose the painting. When back in Canada and amidst the concrete jungles the "inner Sandipan" went into hibernation. His materialistic surroundings transformed him and he failed to appreciate the choice that his "inner self" took. He was at crossroads with his "inner self". That is why the paintings seemed so out of place when taken from Sikkim to Canada. The same way a small piece of rock from the Gnathang Valley or a plant from the Sillery Gaon would have been a misfit to my Bangalore environment.
But the thoughts of our Sikkim trip and the photos of the lakes and mountains have never tarnished, they haven't lost their fragrance. In fact they will grow with us and their memories will bring us smile and joy every single time we reminiscence them. When you are close to Nature you get a healing touch, which leaves permanent impressions on you. Carrying a painting or a piece of stone has more to do with carrying something materialistic, something you can hold and touch and feel with your senses, not the one who touches your mind and soul.  The materialistic objects bring joys which are temporary. A good electronic gadget, for example, tinkles the sensory organs. It does not touch the soul. It does not soothe the mind. The tinkling is short-lived. The healing touch is the divine touch. The healing touch cures the mind, body and soul. And once you get a taste of it, you yearn for more. Then the materialistic joys seem so meaningless. The nearer you are to Nature, the further we are from the materialistic world. In other words, the more addicted you are to the material world, the further you become from Nature and ,consequently, you are alienated from your own inner self.
Looking back, was it a mere coincidence that my phone, the epitome of today's communication to the outside world, gave up when I was closest to Nature at Gnathang Valley? Whatever may be the answer, that had definitely helped me plunge and soak myself more in the raw nature, enjoying every moment of it, without any disturbance from the "outside world". Ironically, in  the quest to communicate more with the outside world, we are hardly communicating with the vast world that is inside us.