Life is much easier back home. The cold snow-laden breeze in winters at the Mall Road near Chowrasta in Darjeeling is incomparable. I was used to small things…a small group of friends…a small wallet with limited money. Life was not difficult. Ten hot momos would just cost Rs 10. That’s the small picture. As a normal human being though, I used to feel that things were not that great back home. Unemployment, substance abuse, political instability, was creeping into the society.
A fresh cup of tea from the tea stall nearby, laid back, stretching over the wooden benches of Chowrasta watching the “lama” feed the pigeons, and I am least bothered about anything else in life. I am just so engrossed in that very Moment; I could see how nature and man go hand in hand. A small boy rushes dribbling his football and gets entangled and falls, unknown onlookers rush to his rescue. I sip my tea and think we have it in our blood; the urge to help someone is always there within us, whatever our social standing is. The boy is rescued yet he has no time to acknowledge that and he is just too engrossed in his next attempt to kick the ball and rushes off again to collect it himself.
I grew up the hard way, and I knew that was necessary. My dreams were never smaller though my hopes would run out sometimes. As a teenager, I felt I was just born to live this moment. You fall in love with almost every girl who looks beautiful; your heart smiles but you feel as if your vocal chords are ripped when you have to confront her. Not a single word and she walks past…gone. You feel as if all the dreams are shattered, hopes have vanished, and life has suddenly come to an end. Just until you get a glimpse of another beautiful face…innocent eyes, tiny steps, glowing skin, bundles of silky hair falling over her shoulder, trendy clothes, leather bags, shiny boots that pass by you…now life has a new destination and you are all smiles. That’s puppy love and it happens almost every day.
I walk down the Orient road, crossing the unmarked Glenarys restaurant. I finally reach the most important place here in town, the Bata Showroom, this has been the landmark for almost a decade. Every other person who needs to meet anyone, this has to be the place.
I sometimes think how volatile we are to change. Change is good but we were content with what we had.
Here, at the Bata Showroom, we find people of all ages standing and rushing though the news paper, some carelessly smoking; they are all waiting for someone, while some wait for minutes, some for hours and some forever. Mostly the centre of debate and discussion there is politics; an unknown random person would never mind joining an ongoing conversation to prove his point. That’s nothing new it happens almost everyday. A good forty five minutes walk and you can pretty much circle the city limits once.
Curly long hair, torn jeans, T-shirts with prints of famous metal bands, its synonymous to Darjeeling. Music rules here. Bands like “Mantra”, “Reincarnation” have made it big in an international level. Mostly the inclination is towards rock and metal genres. May be this hill station has more bands than any metro city- I bet that. Though this place never lacks on talent and creativity but it has somehow remained vastly unnoticed. A classmate of mine who is a lead guitarist for a famous band now says - “there is no thought process put forward to promote the bands and provide them with required exposure and platform, whatever we have achieved, we have done it with our own effort.” With time youngsters have started perusing music as careers by attaining degrees in various forms. Even the local folk singers have done a fair job in preserving the authentic and traditional folk music.
With alpine mountains and steep terrain, Darjeeling is verily the most opted travel gateway for tourists. Affordable hotels, cheap street food-amazingly tasty though, free advice and fairly good accented English are readily available. This adds on to make a traveler’s life much easier. Yet sometimes the loud music in the sharing taxi can be annoying. The taxi driver considers himself no less than a jet fighter pilot, and you need to portray that kind of respect to him, he seems to be uncannily impressed by his own attitude-no offence here.
In spite of all the ups and downs, it is my home town, and to it will remain precious to me. No place anywhere on earth will ever come close to what it means to me simply because this place is tied to the golden years of my childhood. It carries in its very air, sweet memories of my childhood, the love of my old man, the inspiration of my elders, the fragrance of the wet earth that has just been drenched in the first monsoon rain, the innocence of the people…their love for the motherland. In my heart, Darjeeling days remain unscratched.
