by Hrishav Chongder
Am I really allowed to refer to a place as “My” even though I was unaware of most of its whereabouts for 18 years of my existence? Now that can be common for some of you out there but not for a person who was born in Kolkata.
My journey into the hills of North Bengal started in 2019 when I went on my first ever trip to Darjeeling with a bunch of friends. From being a normal tourist on the streets of Darjeeling, to now being well versed with the culture, language and the people of the place to an extend where it really does feel like my second home, it really has been a long and a beautiful relationship with this extraordinary place.
Grow Green
My Darjeeling is not confined to Glenary’s, Keventers, Das Studio and the Oxford Book store. I also don’t know how it feels to ride the famous toy train. I have no idea what it is to go on a seven-point sightseeing in a big car with an all-day driver. I know these things exist and to most of the people who visit the place, this is where Darjeeling begins and ends for them, but things are quite different at my end.
After 3 years and multiple visits to this pretty little place for work and leisure, I have discovered a shade of Darjeeling that many might not know. Many might just look through the beauty and might often never ever get an opportunity to experience that character of the town. I feel pity for all of them.
A joyous family gathering on the occasion of Tibetan New Year
Darjeelingay, as the people of Darjeeling like to call themselves, are humble, hospitable, friendly and extremely emotional and affectionate people. I am probably still far from calling myself one but a Darjeelingay will always have a special place in my heart no matter where I meet one.
The most special part about my Darjeeling, are the people. Those who treat me as family once they realise I speak their language and love their food and culture more than they themselves sometimes do. Its them who hadn’t made me feel like I’m away from my family while I was, for months and months altogether.
Darjeeling to me is the Nepali songs that me and my friends listen to while driving through pine forests and beautiful valleys. Darjeeling to me is the conversations and discussions my friends have in the cafes, around bonfires and inside the kitchen on a chilly night. It’s the little dances that we break into around the bonfire after getting tipsy. My Darjeeling is also hidden somewhere in that small shop in mud bound roads and narrow streets where you get the best veg and non veg momos in the whole world. My Darjeeling is defined by the lip smacking Nepali food made by my friends’ parents which no one in the world can replicate.
My Darjeeling is functioning on the shoulders of hundreds of nameless, faceless, unsung soldiers whose each and every day is nothing short of a long and tedious war against nature for mere survival. They are the ones carrying heavy loads on their back through steep stairs and roads just so the hotels and restaurants can get their timely supplies. They are the throng of drivers who look into your eyes hoping for you to be a tourist who would hire them for a ride. They are also the sarangi players below Keventers who play beautiful tunes in hope of a little money.
One can always find one or two musicians playing beautiful notes on a Sarangi just beneath Kaventer's
My Darjeeling is beautified with the smiles on the faces of little children who grow up while learning to extract moments of laughter and joy amidst the hardships they face on a daily basis. Last but not the least, my Darjeeling is decorated by the playful Kanchenjunga who at times flaunts her might in all glory and at times hides behind the clouds and mist like a shy and beautiful bride.
Today’s Darjeeling is gradually getting strangled in endless mismanaged wires overhead and scattered litter on the streets. My Darjeeling might often not be so pleasant and aesthetic on the face of it but will most certainly be an amazingly beautiful experience, once you’ve lived through it.
Darjeeling Clock Tower
What makes my Darjeeling special are the intimate experiences I’ve had interacting with the people here which will always remain unaffected by the larger demographic changes in the area.
I’ve always heard that it’s never the place but the people who make it special. In Darjeeling, it’s from the aunty who serves you steamy momos with a smile every morning to that fluffy dog in Chowrasta who endlessly wags his tail for a few scratches, all of which is however incomplete without the cold breeze which purifies your soul every time you breathe it in.
My friends from Darjeeling used to always complain of how homesick they felt while staying in Kolkata and other cities. After spending all this time there and realising what they meant, I cannot help myself but go back to those hills for any frivolous opportunity I get. Does that make me a Darjeelingay then? Maybe not. But I will forever very audaciously refer to that beautiful place as “My very own Darjeeling.”
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