Shout Out #35
Trip Start
Jun 05, 2006
1
38
41
Trip End
Ongoing
Gangtok,
Sikkim,
India
Friday, May 30, 2008
Mayuko, Andreas, and I spent a few days in Kalimpong mostly meeting up for lunches or dinners. As in Darjeeling, the weather was consistently overcast with sporadic showers. Perfect for late mornings and long lunches and dinners.
"Did you hear the people shouting for Prashant last night", Andreas asked the next day at lunch.
"Oh yeah that's right...they woke me up. I forgot about it until just now. What's prashant anyway?"
"You don't know about Prashant? Didn't you see the posters all over Darjeeling?"
"No. Which posters?"
"There were posters of his face everywhere. He's on Indian Idol."
"What!? There's an Indian Idol show?"
"Yeah. He's from West Bengal so everyone [in the area] is excited for him. I think he's the son of a police officer too."
I later looked him up on the internet. Prashant was a favorite on the show. He's of Nepalese descent and grew up in Darjeeling. He became a police officer after his father- also a police officer- died in an accident.
Mayuko was going to Bhutan to get a taste of a country that takes Gross Domestic Happiness (GDH) into its measure of success. Andreas and I were going north into Sikkim. Had it not been the end of my trip I would've spent the money to visit Bhutan. Instead, I spent several days relaxing in Gangtok, the capital of Sikkim. The fact that Mayuko was planning a trip to the United States made it easier to say goodbye.
The main road into Gangtok passes by a stream of raw sewage cascading down a small rock face, flowing underneath the road, and continuing downhill past a few multi-story housing structures with white laundry blowing in the fumes. A concrete billboard built right in front of 'Poo Falls' almost hides the feature behind an advertisement for the Gangtok Ropeway with a public service message to "Keep Sikkim Clean and Green".
The days in Gangtok revolved around yoga, buying fruit at the market, and relaxing in cafes. With every transaction I enjoyed the way vendors handed me change with their left hand touching their right. I always thought of grocery clerks in the United States and the endlessly meaningless 'Have a nice day's' said monotonously. The unspoken gesture of touching the right hand made it an offering. It humanized business transactions.
In the cafes and restaurants Andreas and I had some good talks and we came across some interesting people. One morning we stopped at a little kitchen for some veg momo chili after the market fruit run. An Iranian man having breakfast alone struck up conversation. He lived outside Iran most of his life and had a great perspective on life and his home country. He'd been living in Germany for several years working in nanotechnology. Earlier in his life he'd worked on ships as a way of seeing the world. 1968 was the first year he stopped in India. "Ninety percent of the people were hungry then. Now there's food for everyone. Each time I come back the country has progressed since my last visit."
I've been interested in seeing the Middle East for a few years. The layers of history are so deep in that part of the world. His take on the situation in Iran added to that desire. Maybe it's something of a forbidden fruit for me.
"The government is the five percent of the people willing to blow themselves up over something in the Koran. The people stay quiet when the government uses force. I don't even know why women have to wear the burqa but they are fined if they don't."
"Would you ever go back?"
"I have family and friends there. I visit but the Mullah doesn't like me [his type of person]. I wouldn't be able to get work and I'd have to stay quiet. I couldn't say what I feel."
He mentioned the fact that various groups in Iran are backed by other countries and I asked about the conflict between groups within the same religion. "We're all human beings. Killing is senseless, regardless of religious differences. There's an ancient Persian leader who once rescued Jewish people."
"I've heard Iran is beautiful. Some friends in California showed me some great photos of their home city. I'd love to see it someday."
"Don't go now. It's not safe for you."
Andreas and I found a good lounging restaurant on the outskirts of town. Our walk to the spot took us past the market, through several stretches of storefronts, by plenty of guesthouses, near some pirated movie theatres, and right by Poo Falls. The movie theatres were little rooms with bench seats and a little screen where people young and old played hooky to watch a midday flick. Poo Falls was Poo Falls. On one trip we came across a man walking for national integration. He traveled from Kolkata to Sikkim (over 700 kilometers) on foot and planned to cross India. He unfolded a banner advertising his cause and spoke of being interviewed by a TV station. His shirt and hat also bore the Walk for National Integration logo. The message of his campaign was pretty simple- we are all one. "I depend on you, you depend on me. If I don't serve humanity I am not a man."
I stopped to pee in the bushes on the way to the Tibetology Center. Once finished I looked down and saw a leach slinky-ing across the top of my shoe. I quickly batted it away, sending it cartwheeling through the air. A couple feet away it caught a rock and stopped instantly in place, unbelievably latching on from mid-flight. The action was nearly the equivalent of a baseball holding on to a swinging bat. I was awed and motivated to remain leach-free.
The Tibetology center had some cool displays related to Tibetan Buddhism. Twelve thangkas (banners), each over two meters long, depicted the twelve phases of Buddhahood. Other fabrics showed the history of the Panchen Lama in his various incarnations. Glass cases held smaller items, the human skull cup being the most peculiar. A library full of Tibetan books and documents occupied an upper floor and a room on the roof had a photography exhibit of a family dynasty in Sikkim. It showed a closely linked relationship between Tibet and Sikkim where sons and daughters of leading families often married. The center piqued my curiosity. I wanted to know more about Buddhism, especially the tangible, human approach associated with Tibetan Buddhism. Why do Buddhist countries in Southeast Asia condone eating meat and why do Tibetans refrain from killing anything but have human skull cups for their rituals?
Prashant was big in Gangtok too. The posters were on display around town (though some were now being vandalized with mustaches and eye stabbings) and a group of police officers were getting signatures on a large banner. I tried to send an SMS vote for Prashant with my cell phone but voting had already closed. Signing the billboard was the next best option.
Jhoom Barabar Jhoom was fresh out of Bollywood. If only for the fact that it featured Amitabh Bachchan (The Big B), Andreas and I decided to check it out. The theatre was suspiciously lacking in security and ushers so we decided to sneak in three bags of snacks and a video camera (pirated copies now selling for 100 R if you know who to ask). A few of the ten or fifteen attendees cheered when The Big B kicked it off with a musical number in the train station. It was a Bollywood version of the standard Hollywood chick flick, the one difference being the singing and dancing between each of the formula's variables. Song - Intro - Song - 'Boy Meets Girl' - Song - 'Getting To Know One Another' - Song - 'Something Special Is Happening' - Song - 'Someone's A Big Jerk' - Song - 'Romantic Pursuit (With Highly Unorthodox Methods)' - Song - 'Something Special Is Really, Truly Happening' - Song - 'Marriage'. In a foreign language it was the perfect story because I didn't need to understand any dialogue in order to keep up with the plot.
A bus took us from Gangtok to New Jaipalguri. Ten minutes out of town a huge fallen tree blocked traffic in both directions. Not knowing why we were delayed I decided to have a look-see. It took awhile to walk past the line of traffic to the source. A group of men worked hard sawing branches and moving huge limbs off to the side. At first it looked like we'd be delayed for hours. I then saw that they were close to moving the biggest obstruction far enough to clear a lane. I jumped in to help but didn't have to do much. The path was clear in a matter of minutes. After two chai breaks I made it back to the bus just as the wheels started rolling.
The overnight train from New Jaipalguri dropped us off in Kolkata at 6 AM the following morning. For my last night in India I treated myself to a single room with air conditioning. Being Sunday the city woke up a little later than it had on my last visit. It took a little more effort to get my morning fruit and chai before meeting up with Andreas again.
A large crowd of homeless people gathered on Sudder Street for the free Sunday breakfast served at one of the churches. Andreas was carrying a water bottle and a little boy asked to take it for recycling. In an effort to not be wasteful he wanted to keep the bottle so he could refill it. Water was his only vice for the day. Inspired by Gandhi's autobiography, Andreas was fasting. He was going one step beyond the basic diet of fruit and nuts from the previous day.
We decided to walk north along the Maidan. Ultimately we made our way into the BBD Bagh and Lal Dighi area, a part of town mostly comprised of streets lined by government buildings, banks, and corporate offices. Millennium Park is a linear series of park spaces on the banks of the Hooglie River near BBD Bagh. We entered the gates just as the heat was starting to build. Andreas was getting thirsty and needed to fill his water bottle. Finding water wasn't easy. He asked food venders and park employees but nobody understood what he was asking or what he wanted to achieve. Thinking of the lemon-mint drinks in Rishikesh and how the guy got his water from a constantly flowing outdoor shower, I suggested he use a public water tap. "It's the same water they use in restaurants." It wasn't the same. As he went to fill his bottle a man told him it was for hand washing not drinking. He then suggested Andreas buy a bottle of Bisleri. Andreas didn't buy another bottle and ultimately threw away the one he wanted to re-use. There's something brutally honest about sitting in a riverside park during a fast and not being able to freely drink water. Something was going to have to give.
We passed many construction sites in the BBD Bagh area. Government employees were doing hard labor on a Sunday. Many of the buildings were under construction and several segments of road were being worked on. A team of men cleaning out the storm sewers waved us over and invited us to take photos. Kolkata had flooded between my two visits and a guy was in the sewers shoveling silt and debris out of the pipes. He dumped it in a bucket and the men pulled up the bucket with a rope. Because of the heat I can't say who had the hardest task, the guy with the shovel in the dark pipe or the men in the sun pulling up the buckets and taking pictures with foreign tourists.
A little closer to the Maidan a man near a building under construction asked me where I was from. While we spoke a friend of his working on the building threw a clay chai cup at my feet and asked if I wanted chai. Puzzled, I pulled broken pieces of the cup out of my sandal and studied his mannerisms. He showed no other signs of aggression and didn't look mad at all. He was even friendly about asking me if I wanted chai. "No Chai for me."
The heat was in full force when we got back to the Sudder Street area. I was hungry and I think Andreas was thirsting for my hunger. He needed me to eat in a restaurant so he could drink some water. A woman laughed as we entered a nice air-conditioned restaurant with a delicious unlimited thali. Andreas wore a tank top and a knitted skullcap and I was wearing a sweaty t-shirt and shorts. We were not beautiful.
I licked plate after plate of food off my fingers while Andreas kept the waiter busy with his water glass. He was the same waiter who had served me in a prior visit. He was the waiter who liked to talk politics. An election was coming in six months and he was hoping for a new Prime Minister. "We have had same Prime Minister for thirty-five years. Many corrupt elections."
"How often do you have elections for Prime Minister."
"Each five years we are voting. Always the same Prime Minister."
The rains came while we were eating and drinking. It poured then drizzled the rest of the day. I loved the rain even though it didn't cool down the temperatures. It still felt refreshing and my clothes were already drenched in sweat. Leaving the air-conditioned restaurant was like going into a humid furnace. I bought some magazines and music from a bookstore in the bazaar. When I stepped outside again a woman was trying to get some money from Andreas. Seeing me, she turned and showed me the scabs covering her baby's body. Andreas wanted to take the girl to a doctor, a bookstore employee wanted the lady to leave, and I just wanted to be left alone. I didn't like the way the woman used her daughter as a marketing gimmick and I was getting bitchy with Andreas. We'd been in close quarters longer than I enjoy. I was not good about sharing my space after leaving Australian hostels behind. Even with people who are cute and sweet and flower scented, I needed to get alone time every day. I split while Andreas sought a doctor.
The fancy dinner spots were all busy. McDonalds had the red rope lines outside the door and KFC was packed. Even the restaurants worth trying were busy. It was a Sunday night dinner rush. We ultimately landed at a classy joint called On Track. Simulated train whistles occasionally zoomed through the sound system and they put on a birthday number for someone at a nearby table. The whole arrangement earned some big points for ambience.
The waiter took my order and asked where I was from.
"I'm from the United States."
"Oh, you are American! I am Uncle Sam."
My bitchiness subsided that night and I was able to appreciate Andreas much more. He always had great travel stories and he told me about learning to make didgeridoos in the Australian wilderness. His backpack was minimal...at least half the size of mine. His didg was the one big item he carried. Train stations were the perfect place for him to play. It was a good day to pass time and people always stopped and watched with curiosity. Before parting ways he gave me his Gandhi book even though he hadn't yet finished it. It was the perfect parting gift.
At 5:30 in the morning I took a taxi to the airport to catch a plane to Dubai. I called Krishna to say goodbye and to thank him for being an inspiration. I also called my dad to say I was going to be in the U.S. in a few days. It was miraculously Father's Day.
