Skip to main content

Sunrise in the Shower




In the summer of 2010, my wife and I decided to celebrate the fifteen years of our life together by going on a trip.  We chose Gangtok and Darjeeling as our destination.  “So mutually opposed places,” my wife would say later, “one is like a cheerful sunrise and the other like a gloomy sunset.”

Maggie with the tigers in Darjeeling museum
Her metaphor for Darjeeling could not have been more apt.  Whoever we met there looked quite sullen though a few of them pretended to smile.  The Gorkhaland movement had eaten into their hearts like a corrosive cancer.  I imagine the place must be in much worse condition today in spite of the change in government.  It will be still worse in a few years from now when the BJP will take charge in Bengal and impose its dictatorship on the agitating Gorkhas.

We reached Darjeeling in a gloomy evening after an unforgettable journey from Gangtok and checked into a hotel which was eager to sell us the next morning’s sunrise.  The people of Darjeeling were eager to sell whatever they could to the tourists since their economy had been thrown into a shambles by the decades-long agitation.  We bought the sunrise immediately because we were only used to sunsets in tourist places earlier.  A sunrise in the mountains would be a change.  Moreover, we didn’t miss to wish any of the charms of Darjeeling.

We were woken up at 3.30 in the next morning.  It had started drizzling much before that.  I was torn between the desire to lie down and listen to the music of the drizzle enjoying the cosiness beneath the blanket and the urge to make it to the Tiger Hill where a sunrise awaited us in the gentle shower.  “How can there be a sunrise in this weather?”  I asked the reception using the intercom. 

“Your car will be ready at 4” was the answer.  We had paid the advance for the car and would lose that amount if we didn’t use the service.  That’s what the answer meant.  Most answers in Darjeeling were similarly terse and pregnant with meanings.

We decided to have a look at the drizzle-washed Tiger Hill. As I gratefully accepted a huge umbrella offered by the hotel’s reception I thought Maggie (my wife) and I would be the only fools going to watch sunrise in such a sombre weather.  We were consoled soon.  There were at least thirty cars waiting outside for tourists from different hotels.  All the cars moved in a line through the narrow streets towards the Tiger Hill soon. 

The hills stood drenched in the gentle showers that came through a misty sky.  There was no sunrise.  Not even a ray of sunlight. 

Darjeeling didn’t give us joyful memories.  Its sunrise in the shower was quite symbolic of what the state had to offer in spite of the natural beauty that longed to emerge above the discontent within its people’s hearts. 

Maggie and I would love to visit Gangtok again but not Darjeeling.  We don’t admire sunrises in showers.  And there is no hope of the Gorkhas getting any better deal in the near future.  India is moving towards harsher times.

My 2010 posts on these visits:

3.     The Gift of Kupup
5.     A Train Journey

Comments

  1. Beautifully written. The sunrise in the shower is quite metaphoric in itself. Again, we are facing the same issues with Bodoland.

    I have nothing to say regarding what is wrong and right in such cases. I have not suffered their sufferings to make a judgment on division of lands and creation of borders. Arundhati has given me a different perspective this time.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Glad to know that Ms Roy is affecting your perspective. Assam has suffered much because of problems similar to what has been happening in Darjeeling. Since I lived in the Northeast for 15 years I'm very much aware of what happened there and I won't be able to blame those who raised the banners of divisiveness. I'm afraid the way things are going on in India today, there will be more such demands coming in the imminent future.

      Delete
  2. The current scenario of Darjeeling makes me so sad. I don't know what will happen if BJP takes charge in Bengal. Even the thought of it scares me :\

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I know your new novel is set in the 'Gorkhaland'. You will naturally be concerned about the place and the people. BJP will suppress the agitation brutally.

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Pranita a perverted genius

Bulldozer begins its work at Sawan Pranita was a perverted genius. She had Machiavelli’s brain, Octavian’s relentlessness, and Levin’s intellectual calibre. She could have worked wonders if she wanted. She could have created a beautiful world around her. She had the potential. Yet she chose to be a ruthless exterminator. She came to Sawan Public School just to kill it. A religious cult called Radha Soami Satsang Beas [RSSB] had taken over the school from its owner who had never visited the school for over 20 years. This owner, a prominent entrepreneur with a gargantuan ego, had come to the conclusion that the morality of the school’s staff was deviating from the wavelengths determined by him. Moreover, his one foot was inching towards the grave. I was also told that there were some domestic noises which were grating against his patriarchal sensibilities. One holy solution for all these was to hand over the school and its enormous campus (nearly 20 acres of land on the outskirts

Machiavelli the Reverend

Let us go today , you and I, through certain miasmic streets. Nothing will be quite clear along our way because this journey is through some delusions and illusions. You will meet people wearing holy robes and talking about morality and virtues. Some of them will claim to be god’s men and some will make taller claims. Some of them are just amorphous. Invisible. But omnipotent. You can feel their power around you. On you. Oppressing you. Stifling you. Reverend Machiavelli is one such oppressive power. You will meet Franz Kafka somewhere along the way. Joseph K’s ghost will pass by. Remember Joseph K who was arrested one fine morning for a crime that nobody knew anything about? Neither Joseph nor the men who arrest him know why Joseph K is arrested. The power that keeps Joseph K under arrest is invisible. He cannot get answers to his valid questions from the visible agents of that power. He cannot explain himself to that power. Finally, he is taken to a quarry outside the town wher

Queen of Religion

She looked like Queen Victoria in the latter’s youth but with a snow-white head. She was slim, fair and graceful. She always smiled but the smile had no life. Someone on the campus described it as a “plastic smile.” She was charming by physical appearance. Soon all of us on the Sawan school campus would realise how deceptive appearances were. Queen took over the administration of Sawan school on behalf of her religious cult RSSB [Radha Soami Satsang Beas]. A lot was said about RSSB in the previous post. Its godman Gurinder Singh Dhillon is now 70 years old. I don’t know whether age has mellowed his lust for land and wealth. Even at the age of 64, he was embroiled in a financial scam that led to the fall of two colossal business enterprises, Fortis Healthcare and Religare finance. That was just a couple of years after he had succeeded in making Sawan school vanish without a trace from Delhi which he did for the sake of adding the school’s twenty-odd acres of land to his existing hun

Levin the good shepherd

AI-generated image The lost sheep and its redeemer form a pet motif in Christianity. Jesus portrayed himself as a good shepherd many times. He said that the good shepherd will leave his 99 sheep in order to bring the lost sheep back to the fold. When he finds the lost sheep, the shepherd is happier about that one sheep than about the 99, Jesus claimed. He was speaking metaphorically. The lost sheep is the sinner in Jesus’ parable. Sin is a departure from the ‘right’ way. Angels raise a toast in heaven whenever a sinner returns to the ‘right’ path [Luke 15:10]. A lot of Catholic priests I know carry some sort of a Redeemer complex in their souls. They love the sinner so much that they cannot rest until they make the angels of God run for their cups of joy. I have also been fortunate to have one such priest-friend whom I shall call Levin in this post. He has befriended me right from the year 1976 when I was a blundering adolescent and he was just one year older than me. He possesse

Nakulan the Outcast

Nakulan was one of the many tenants of Hevendrea . A professor in the botany department of the North Eastern Hill University, he was a very lovable person. Some sense of inferiority complex that came from his caste status made him scoff the very idea of his lovability. He lived with his wife and three children in one of Heavendrea’s many cottages. When he wanted to have a drink, he would walk over to my hut. We sipped our whiskies and discussed Shillong’s intriguing politics or something of the sort while my cassette player crooned gently in the background. Nakulan was more than ten years my senior by age. He taught a subject which had never aroused my interest at any stage of my life. It made no difference to me whether a leaf was pinnately compound or palmately compound. You don’t need to know about anther and stigma in order to understand a flower. My friend Levin would have ascribed my lack of interest in Nakulan’s subject to my egomania. I always thought that Nakulan lived