A Story and A Moral.

What is it that you look for in a journey? What is it that you seek when you are out there in a place way away from your comfort zone? Why some travels become so close to our hearts that it become as niches for us to return and ruminate than some others? I believe, what changes when you board a train with a ticket and a backpack is that you start to embrace uncertainty, ditching the comfort of habits. The curiosity to know what the universe will converse to you if your system gets turned to an open one, rather than one closed, is what drives many of us to embark in that journey.

Some of your trips will gift you with magnificent landscapes that will decorate walls of your rooms and Instagram. Some will make you connected with people you have never known with invisible strings. Some travels will serve as wells of infinite wisdom. No journey is futile. But there are some journeys that turns into adventures,in which nothing goes according to the plan, in which you will come to understand what all this universe contains and how small we are. The list you made of the places to visit might not get checked, but such journeys will change you so that you will learn to accept the insane randomness and respectful enormity of the world and its contents.

We were fourteen. There was a piece of paper in my wallet with all the places to visit with a roughly drawn map labelled with the distance between them and the time that may take. There were bookings for a hotel to stay, tour packages that will take us places, numbers that might come handy. As it was a budget trip with a lot of people, some planning as expected has been put into it. It was only natural to expect a calm and well ordered trip, one place after the other in the preferred order(as numbered in the paper in my wallet). You know where this is going, right? The papers torn into strands as thin as threads floated down into the Teesta river, dancing with the fresh wind which had the coldness of glaciers of Kanchenjunga with it.

We were to get to Lachen from Gangtok according to the 'plan'. It was decided that we stay there for one day and then take off to Lachung for another day's stay and go visit the magnificent, breath-takingly beautiful Gurudongmar Lake, half-frozen at that time of winter in the next morning. You can assume how excited a bunch of travel-bugged, spoiled, young college friends as us can get by this. We were. You are waiting for the story. Okay. Here it goes.

A taxi along with a driver has been arranged as per the North Sikkim package we booked. It was all going well. The travel playlist was playing in the Scorpio's bass boosted speakers. There were 'Wahs' and 'Oohs' with changing landscapes. The problems started after one hour. By this time, our driver, a little too young and frank and rash, had took more than five stops and were gone into some small stalls taking a few minutes every time. It was easier to ignore as we were excited. Hours passed by and altitude kept on increasing. We were not even halfway to Lachen when it was twilight and we had our worries. The road to Lachen which is carved in the mountains is one of the most dangerous roads in India and is difficult to drive through even in broad daylight. It surprised us that even though we left Gangtok at noon and the journey to Lachen was said to take 6-7 hours from there, we were not even halfway there at 6 pm.

Our driver was getting more and more reckless and after his many little stops at shady stalls, a slight stench of booze was leaking from him. Things took a dramatic turn as you are waiting for, when we took our break for having a well-belated lunch. The place and its people will always be close to my heart. It is of the name Zero. All of North Sikkim has wonderful names as their people and culture. While we were grabbing lunch from the restaurant Zero, our driver who was parking the car, reversed into a trash can by a shop. A fight between the shopkeeper and the driver. That guy who every locality has(well-build, energetic, cheery, in-control and popular (hero?)) rushes to the scene. The scared driver returns to the car. Hero comes to us and asks: "Are you people insane? He is f***ing drunk. How are you planning to reach Lachen with that reckless bast**d, that even at night?"

The travel indie movie which we were starring changed instantly into a thriller one. Villagers as beautiful as the snow of Tsomgo Lake came towards us in concern and consoled the frightened fourteen. They had stories of ten lost lives that went into the never returning abyss of mist above Teesta falling from the mountain road in a similar kind of night. Now I want to say to you a feature of genuinely good people. They will not say, or suggest as many do. They will act on what they think is best for you.Yeah,as your mother. They called the police station at Mangan(Yeah, I know. Such beautiful names that should be tattooed on the chest), which is 9 kilometers away from Zero and the most efficient of the policemen I have ever seen were in the scene within twenty minutes.

There were some slaps. Some quick questions. Some shaking by grasping the collars of an unbuttoned shirt. And we were all in a van that took us into the Mangan police station along with the driver. Now the police station. Will you all believe me if I said it has a view far better from its courtyard than many hill-station hotels? The mighty ranges of Kanchenjunga and her shy cute neighbors shining in the misty light of a hidden half moon is the scene that welcomed us. We spent half of the night in the station varenda playing caroms and petting the police dog, Julie, till our tour operator as summoned by the police arrived from Gangtok. A compromisation deal was offered by which we were to stay at a hotel in Rang Rang(2 kilometers from Zero) and would be taken to Lachen the next day with a new driver. It was all okay. The plan was resurfacing again. The station SI had some wild stories from his college days to share, which were not really bedtime stories but which we listened with happy hearts anyway. And by 2 am, we were in Rang Rang, kilometers away from where we were supposed to be. But I believe we were happier under the cozy blankets at hotel Rang Rang, which had the slight aroma that came from the cargo boxes that arrived with my father from Sharjah, than we might had been if we made it to Lachen.

The next morning was magical. Everything that happens in our life has a purpose. Or an effect. The sunrise view from Rang Rang was the nature's compensation to us for it's wild workings. I somehow manages to fall in love with all the rivers that has its root up in mountains. That's why I love Teesta. That's why I love Baspa. And of course, Parvati. This magical morning with the sunrays slowly blessing the beings on the layers of mountains, bringing Noor to the shadows and slowly stretching the sacred region of light all the way to the depths of Teesta, was one of my best mornings. Next time, You are in a hill station, try waking up in the early morning before sun, and sit at a comfortable place looking over the mighty snow covered peaks. When the light comes, close your eyes for 5-10 minutes. Take deep breaths. Fill yourself with gratitude. Slowly, open your eyes. I am not gonna tell, how you are going to feel, or how you are going to see the scene you have already seen as something completely knew. It's an exercise. Try it.(Oh! I am even giving out home tasks! But, seriously, do try.)

The tour operator or his vehicle didn't arrive until evening that day. We waited and waited with calls made intermittently and were tired by then. We were running out of time and patience and were in no condition to trust the operator anymore. So we spoke to the police again and canceled the package with full refund and got the operator to send us back to Gangtok.

So, that's the story. I rushed I know, as our driver did, but the translation between words spoken and words written is a difficult one and it kills the emotions a little. If you were sitting across me, I would have told the story better. I would not have skipped anything. But it's okay. The purpose of this article is not the story, but what is in the story, which is yours to grasp.

There are some times that nothing goes as you want it. No plan works. There are struggles. One after the other. But know this: Those are the days which makes the best wine with age. Of all of my travels, If I was to tell a story in front of a random audience, I would choose this apparently failed Sikkim trip. Because, it has stories. Adventurous. Singular. Interesting. And what makes a good memory than these factors. What makes a good trip than the one in which nothing goes according to the plan?