Rasoi: Tonglu: Wheels on the Holy Road: Second Post

The rain at Rohini had washed the streets clear, over which the motorcycle hurtled and droned, sweeping and turning as its sides almost grazed the tarmac. I was riding in a valley, on the Rohini road to Darjeeling and watched with apprehension as darker, heavy clouds slipped into the valley from the top of the hill sides. Fresh sprouts of green leaves, terraced cultivation on the hill slopes, undulating tea gardens, blooming mustard fields and rain swept roads belied the fact that it was autumn. But as the cycle climbed higher up the slopes, I realized that the bed of clouds had settled in the valleys below and up here one could even see glimpses of the sun.

Rest House at Ton

You see, travelling in a motorcycle is different from a car. There’s openness as opposed to containment. And that means you can actually touch, experience and see things more closely in a motorcycle. That draft of cold air hitting the face or those gloved hands getting frozen is the real thing which you can’t prevent. You are a part of the environment and your reactions are partially or completely dictated by it; unlike a car where you are always confined to a compartment.

Kanchenjunga Range from Tonglu

Tea Plucking in Progress

At Kurseong, where the road merged into the Hill Cart road, the railway track appeared and continued alongside the path; at times it crisscrossed, reminding me of the tram tracks of Calcutta. Swelling traffic and jams after Sonada, more prominently after Ghoom, meant that we were entering town. And it wasn’t long before I reached the hotel. After a refreshing cup of tea and shower at the hotel, I went out for a long walk to the Chowrasta, with majority of the evening being spent at Joey’s Pub. It was followed by dinner at Glenary’s.

The DHR at Ghoom

The next day remained thoroughly cloudy again and was spent on a visit to Tiger Hill, Batasia Loop and a walk on the mall and buying some souvenirs for the folks back home. Went off to Joey’s Pub yet again and that was when the thought of a motor ride along the Sandakphu route spurred.

Darjeeling was highly touristy. Shops and modern outlets have found their way everywhere. And whereas the town was always throbbing with energy, its soul had apparently gone missing. And out of all observations, the scores of tourists and rows of vehicles that thronged the streets of Darjeeling stood out. Well, that was apart from the choking smoke of the vehicles and houses that looked to be heaped upon each other. But, Darjeeling was nostalgia. An addiction. Darjeeling, much like Calcutta, even after its multitude of shortcomings, grows on you over time. Like the moment, when the sun broke through the clouds on a hill dotted with coloured roof houses. Or the undulating tea gardens a little further away. Or a patch of pines on a hill top, where you could go for a picnic. And how can I escape without mentioning the fragrant tea, poached eggs, sausages and toasts in the balcony of Keventer’s or Chicken Sizzlers at legendary Glenary’s. Some of its Victorian era buildings or the still reminiscent “faux” colonialism stood out even after 68 years of Independence.

As I went off to sleep that day, it was only good thoughts of Darjeeling that I had with me.