Monthly Archives: September 2011

Community, Colour And Conflict

2 Replies

Situated less than thirty kilometres from Gangtok, Rumtek is the largest monastery in Sikkim.

Rumtek glories in brilliant colour, inside and out.

________________

________________

But it is also the site of sectarian contention.

A situation serious enough to warrant armed guards, who politely but thoroughly examined our passports and paperwork.
Sadly, Tibetan Buddhists are not immune to the violence and community-shattering controversies which beset all religions.
________________ 

Pictures taken at Rumtek Tibetan Buddhist Monastery, Sikkim.

The Contradictions Of Handicraft

Leave a reply

________________

From spiritual sightseeing to ethnic ersatz:
Sanjeez moved us on to the grandly titled “Directorate of Handicraft & Handloom”,
an institute dedicated to preserving local crafts.

We passed through quiet and spacious classrooms, 

where students sat at their work in almost total silence.

There was no sign of any teachers.
And like our visit to the Tibetan monastery, this experience felt rather unreal.

We had been charged a small admission fee and I began to wonder if the institute’s main purpose was to be included on the itinerary of every tourist who passed through Gangtok.

The students seemed almost like mime performers,
trapped in their cultural tableau vivant.

________________

Pictures taken at the Directorate of Handicraft and Handloom, Gangtok.

The Look Out

1 Reply

________________

Our first morning in Gangtok found us viewing the Do Drul Chorten, a Tibetan Buddhist monastery
The monks, looking out on their world, appeared to be just as curious as we were.

The community mainly consists of young men in their teens and twenties: some are mere “schoolboys”.

Many are Tibetan refugees.
They were polite but seemed largely indifferent to the presence of pilgrims and tourists.
Instead they appeared determinedly focused on the middle-distance, staring out onto whatever was happening around them.

My assumptions were challenged.
I had expected the monks to be sitting in silent meditation, chanting prayers or reading sacred texts.
But their time seemed largely unstructured.
Although silent, the very strong sense of communication between them was almost palpable.
 It was like stepping into a boy’s boarding school during a moment of high drama.

Initially I wondered if the young monks felt like exhibits in an exotic zoo. Perhaps their “look out” was a defence against the constant scrutiny of outsiders and their cameras.
But I saw exactly the same phenomenon in all the monasteries we visited. 
Whether it’s a search for distraction, their game of interaction, or part of training in mindfulness, I cannot tell.
________________

The monastery is not an enclosed order.
And although I could not understand what was happening, this community’s strange, unsettling atmosphere had some sort of magnetic attraction.
It defied expectation and explanation.
In my mind, the monks remain inscrutable,
silent,
content,
waiting and watching from their window on the world.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Pictures taken at the Do Drul Chorten, Tibetan Buddhist Monastery and Institute of Education.

The Road To Gangtok

4 Replies

________________

Our suitcases appeared promptly on Bagdogra’s luggage carousel and within minutes we emerged from the airport terminal.

Once more our arrival was made easy.
A member of the tour company was waiting to welcome and garland us with traditional white Tibetan scarves,
the symbol of pure hope and intentions.
The courier briefly reviewed our itinerary and needs. We exchanged 24 hour contact numbers and he urged us to call in the event of any problem. They would be making contact with us every day to check that all was well.
An extremely young porter had been tailing us, keen to push the luggage trolley. Our guide finally smiled his agreement and gave him a few rupees

 Sanjeez, our new driver, was ready.

 Unlike Ravinder’s urban saloon, Sanjeez was in charge of a very hefty, all-terrain Toyota.
It seemed there would be mountain vistas after-all..

________________ 

First the city clutter was left behind.
We then drove through countless miles of a very green but very flat terrain,
the landscape of tea plantations on an almost industrial scale.
But this scenery began to change.

Though it remained green and fertile, we were climbing.

The road looped its way up increasingly steep hills.
Every valley funnelled its own fast-moving river,
and was littered with massive boulders.

Where access was easy, men gathered stones and sand from the riverbed to be used for home and road construction:
the latter a never-ending process in a region subject to frequent landslides.

Intermittent queues punctuated our progress along the road.
They marked the sites of recently fallen rocks or trees.
Road transport would need patience and skill.
________________ 

Finally we reached Sikkim.
India classifies this state as a restricted area.
Because of unresolved border disputes with China, anyone entering or leaving requires papers.
Robin had brought his Indian passport.
I proffered my “Letters of Transit”:
a crumpled and fading British passport; an Indian lifelong visa; and proof of my status as an “Overseas Citizen of India”.
It felt, just a little, like a scene from Casablanca.


Extra passport photos and copies of my documentation were also required, but we had been pre-warned and were prepared.
______________

With our papers checked and my passport stamped, we continued a relentless ascent for another hour or more until the first stop on our itinerary was finally reached.
Our journey would follow a very small part of the ancient silk route.
The next three nights were to be spent in Gangtok, state capital of Sikkim.

Sanjeez sounded the horn of his Toyota and a team of young staff swooped down to collect our bags.
In a matter of seconds we, and the luggage, were assembled at reception, being welcomed to the first of our hotels in the clouds.
________________  

Pictures taken in North Bengal and Sikkim.

North By North-East

5 Replies

________________

Until I visited India, my concept of its geography was flawed.
 I imagined it sat like an inverted triangle, pointing down into the Indian Ocean.

This is not the case.
India is shaped like a diamond whose top has met with mishap:
Perhaps a telling metaphor for Partition; Britain’s farewell gift to the subcontinent.

The triangle I envisioned was the southern half of India.


A northern landmass of almost equal size sits above that, its apex still pushing inexorably up into Asia, giving rise to the Himalayas.

Because of this geography, to reach north-east India from Delhi, we would be travelling south-west:
over 1,000 km south-west,
to Sikkim.
________________

The state of Sikkim lacks its own airport so we flew from Delhi to Bagdogra, North Bengal.
We travelled with Kingfisher - surely the only airline owned by a brewery.
Rather disappointingly, they did not serve beer.
But it was a comfortable flight, made even more pleasant by a cabin crew of charming air-hostesses

Wary of cold weather, I had come well prepared not only for alpine vistas but also for a cooler climate.
As we stepped onto the tarmac I scanned the landscape, waiting to be awed by my first glimpse of the mighty Himalayas.
There was nothing.
Not even a small hill.
The surrounding countryside appeared utterly flat, and the temperature positively tropical.

But there was no time to ponder such matters.
Our bags should soon emerge on the luggage carousels and, hopefully, a new driver would be waiting to greet us..
________________

Photograph taken on-board the Kingfisher Airbus. Map of India taken from the web.

Turning Back To Delhi

10 Replies

________________

Agra is not a beautiful city.
It is disfigured by poverty and dust.
Were it not for the Taj Mahal, Agra Fort, and the nearby Fatehpur Sikri, few tourists would call.

And so, despite the amazing wonders of the Taj, we returned to the capital.

Delhi is different.

It hosts the seat of national government, innumerable Moghul wonders, British curiosities, more than two thousand years of history, and a lively cultural scene.

Ravinder negotiated the hazards of our return from Agra with skill and patience.
We were initially under siege by heavy rain.
Then, each time we stopped at major junctions, by teams of aggressive child-beggars, who thumped vigorously on the car, demanding our attention.
This “professional begging” is always disturbing. It’s something I have never seen in Kerala.

But with Ravinder to carefully shepherd us, we finally reached Delhi.


The sun had not yet set and there was still time to explore the Qutb Minar complex before returning to our hotel.

________________

________________

The following morning we met with Ravinder for the final time.
Having said our goodbyes, he left us at Delhi’s Indira Gandhi International airport.

Our next stop, the Himalayas.
________________ 

All pictures were taken in Delhi.

Taj Redux?

8 Replies

Our driver, Ravinder, had looked after us brilliantly in Delhi.

Today he was to take us to Agra, home of the Taj Mahal.
It was a five-hour journey through busy traffic, variable roads and worsening weather.
________________

During my first visit to India, the Taj Mahal was high on our must see list.
My family fulfilled this “tryst with destiny”.
I did not.
Though tantalisingly close to the Taj, I spent the allocated day completely unable to leave my hotel bathroom. 

________________

On this, my second visit, I watched what I was eating with greater care and, as we arrived in Agra, my bowels remained pleasingly quiescent.

But the same could not be said for the weather.
Unseasonal monsoon rains were falling so heavily that the long-awaited tour was still unattainable.
Again I spent my Taj-time in an hotel bedroom,

One step closer to the Taj Mahal, I reflected, than a bathroom. 

The guide hired by Ravinder suggested we delay our scheduled early morning return to Delhi. We would all meet up again at 6:00 in the morning.
If it was dry, we might take our tour before breakfast, when the climate was cool and the site less crowded.

We awoke to some mist
But no rain.
________________

 

The sheer size, perfect symmetry and breathtaking beauty of this monument to love and loss are staggering.

________________

________________

The Taj Mahal’s impact is almost overwhelming.

 Its drama touches people in different ways.

________________

But the experience remains unforgettable.

________________

All photographs taken on this tour of the Taj Mahal.

It’s the fort that counts..

8 Replies

________________

I had visited Delhi once before,
In January 2006, when I travelled to India for the first time.

That holiday was not my idea: I was more than a little averse to the plan.
But my sister was determined that she and her husband would go
And just as determined that I should accompany them.

It was an experience which changed my life.
But that is another story..

My earlier visit to Delhi coincided with Republic Day and the Red Fort had been closed to the public.

This time security was still prioritised:

But in a more relaxed fashion.
________________ 

Meanwhile Robin, my kind travel-buddy and helper, experienced and enjoyed Delhi and its Red Fort for the very first time.
________________

All pictures taken at the Red Fort, Delhi.

Due North

2 Replies

________________

My journey to north India had its roots in staffing issues.
Kerala’s biggest festival was approaching and I had promised Anu, my resident house-boy, he could celebrate it at home with his family.

 Shaji & Dalila, the loyal husband & wife team who have catered and cared for me since I bought this house some years ago, would still be here from 8:30 in the morning until 5 pm.
But a relatively large house has certain drawbacks.
The idea of serving my own evening meals, making my own early-morning tea and generally rattling around alone every evening for the twelve hours of darkness, had limited appeal.

Taking my cue from “Slumdog Millionaire” I phoned a friend, and asked if he would like to take a holiday.

We decide to head north.
Our travels would begin in Delhi,
over two thousand kilometres north of Kerala,
capital to the Mogul Empire, the British Raj and modern India.

The first day of September kept Das, my driver, busy.
He delivered Anu to the railway station, then Robin and I to Cochin airport.
The Indigo Airlines flight to Delhi landed punctually at 10pm.
But I am not a night person.
The relief at spotting my name on a placard was considerable. 

Ravinder, our driver, was waiting beside the Arrivals gate.

He would guide and shepherd us for the first five days of our travels.

The hotel was not far from the airport.
In less than an hour I was in bed, asleep and dreaming..


________________

Picture of Indigo Airlines ramp taken during our travels.