Quick Jaunt! Garpanchakot

 The rain at 80 kmph is a smear on the windshield. And when the rain is gone, the remaining droplets on the windshield drift up and away and scatter in formation and disappear. Sometimes we pass through blue skies and some sunshine, only to be replaced by more dark, ominous clouds pregnant with rain that blisters onto the car again. And this happens in sequence. Seated in the car are Rajdeep, Arnab and me and we are going to Garpanchakot. Its monsoon and the fields of Bengal have been coated rich and thick with cultivation, rivers have surged to menacing levels and towns have been flooded with copious amounts of rain.

Several days have passed after we had returned back to the city since that trip ended, but certain things stood out and kept on harping back.

That morning excursion in the scant rain when we had uncovered a new, hidden, rain soaked Bengal. Rain that was scattered on the windshield. Rain that held onto the flowers, leaves, grasses and left behind a soaked earth. And the wet, narrow, winding, metaled forest roads in the periphery of the Panchet hill, on which we traveled for miles without seeing another oncoming vehicle. And sometimes lost our way. This was the Bengal of paddy fields, bullock carts, climbing creepers, grazing goats , country chicken and farmers armed with a sickle checking on their harvests over which loomed the mist filled hillocks. Rural, organic and simple – where everything basked in the green of the freshest hue - tender leaves that were born the previous night, flower buds that bloomed into flowers and butterflies that feasted on the nectar.
Being men, we had the fewest of qualms and were very low on expectations. A shelter to stay, some food to eat and clean linen to wear was all that we wanted. But the blissful sleep, long walks, rainy drives, old remembrances,  the tea and bakery biscuits from the road side shacks, hot Puri-Tarkari, fiery pakodas dusted with spices, fine long grained rice, dal, alu bhaja and the tender goat meat curry, warm lyangchas that melted in the mouth had a heartwarming effect on us.

Had this journey been a decade back, then it would have been one of untrained wilderness. But now that we had “grown”, things had mellowed down and it was subtly different. You always needn’t smile, to show that you are happy. It is more a matter of the mind.

As the miles grew shorter from the city, the flavor of the Butter Chicken from the Dhaba lingered on as did the taste of the monsoon and green fields. But all of them got lost in the maze of thick and merging traffic, potholed roads, street lights and motor cars – and that left behind a scowl in the face and a desire in the mind for the next journey.