It was in the year 1988, in May, at the peak of summer in Hyderabad, that a visit to Sikkim, Darjeeling and Kalimpong via Siliguri and Bagdogra, after a flight to Calcutta, remains nostalgic even today. Glimpses of that journey remain captured in the mind as though etched there eternally.
The Himalayan ranges are a different experience altogether. I have travelled all along the Swiss Alps too, but perhaps, as an Indian deep inside, the reverence for these snowy mountains remains as strong as the personification of Shiva himself.
Surrounded by snowy mountains, you are bound to remain embedded in thoughts of humility. You realise that you are not even a speck before the might of the Himalayas. “Kada Himalay bula raha hai” — virtually, it is a calling, and you are summoned!
The eighteen- or nineteen-year-old driver, provided with subsidised Maruti cars, literally drove on those rough, mountainous ghat roads with ease, as though playing marbles. He would stop for a while in between if a landslide took place. He would not even speak; he behaved normally, as though it were just another day-to-day affair.
The tiny car would manoeuvre around the roads, with some stretches barely repairable and repairs going on at other places. Swiftly, the car would go, crossing all these obstacles.
Slowly, as you looked down, you could see the Teesta River flowing below, appearing like moving emerald, crystal-clear water.
The river forms part of the border between Tibet and Sikkim. All through the Himalayan belt, what is it that one comes across? Mighty snow peaks, valleys with flowing river waters, orchids growing along the sides and, in between, man-made ghat roads.
Ninety-nine per cent is an overwhelming, predominant Nature Reserve, with just one per cent of human habitat juggling around!
“You are NOTHING.”
With wide-open eyes, I looked at the Kanchenjunga peak shining golden in the bright sunlight. The room I occupied in the guest house opened to a beautiful morning view of Kanchenjunga, with a few BSF personnel monitoring the road repairs.
The Siliguri/New Jalpaiguri railway station appeared like a bottleneck, with a few markets around it, marking the last stretch of intense human activity.
Thereafter, as you enter the high, snowy hills, you have no option except to surrender yourself to their marvellous peaks.
