Tonglu: Wheels on the Holy Road - Intro

The Sherpa, walking along the long, narrow ridge, was finally returning home from the long expedition on the mountain that had left him tired and weary. His shoulders were drooping, legs had grown weak and his steps fell wayward. He felt that he had reached Neverland and there was no way he could return home. After a turn through the last lights on the valley, he saw the first sight of the hamlet where he belonged. Someone was lighting up a lantern on their verandah, others were offering evening prayers. That very sight, created in him a strong disturbance. His heart skipped a beat in excitement; it was throbbing with joy. The warmth of home was all he had desired then. But then a thick wave of mist rolled over the ridge hiding everything from view excepting the silhouette of the Sherpa who marched along. And out of the mist, suddenly appeared a short, hairy man, a Bon Manchi, who walked at a rapid pace almost chasing the Sherpa. The mist grew thick and what transpired thereafter couldn’t be seen .But when the veil lifted, neither the Sherpa nor the Bon Manchi could be seen.

Compelled by some factors (read budgetary constraints) and spurred by several Darjeeling travelogues on an unusually dark and misty autumn, I decided on a motorcycle ride to Darjeeling to relive the place where I had last visited as a kid (one that I hardly remember).The two days in Darjeeling had left me high and dry, more so due to my preferences for places that are calm and tranquil, located in the middle of nowhere. Places, such as these, haven’t yet been exposed to the cannibalization. It is as if they are still left in the old ages and where the clock hadn’t turned forwards for a long, long time. These are the places of innocence and they serve their purpose well for city dwellers. So, while seated on the high stool at the bar of Joey’s Pub on the last evening in Darjeeling a though spurred – to spend a day in such a place.  And the next day, I rode off solo to Tonglu on my motorcycle. And what an experience it was. It beat the Darjeeling hangover! So much has been debated on the road - its gradient, its overwhelming boulders, its gigantic switchbacks – that I couldn’t find a newer adjective to it. So I decided to name it “The Holy road of Hell”.

Erupting Fall Colours