If the world didn't owe some of its best teas to the foothills of the eastern Himalayas, my little holiday in Chalsa would not have been what it was. And I'm not merely referring to the pot of Darjeeling tea - the variety to which adding milk or sugar is short of blasphemy - that routinely began my day at Sinclairs Retreat in the Dooars. While they (I mean the pots of tea) were excellent, they are available for a price in Kolkata, too. But the trip that lasted three gorgeous days separated by two gloriously silent nights of total bliss could not have been replicated in my city.
Before you start thinking that my vocabulary consists entirely of superlatives, let me tell you that a pontificating journo on the wrong side of thirty is one of the most jaded individuals to ever walk the earth. And she's not likely to be moved by a freebie holiday, of all things.
But that's exactly what she was; at least this once. For all her misplaced bravado and world-weary ways, she was mighty impressed by Dooars, its prattling, full-bodied rivers like Teesta, Mahananda, Torsha, Jaldhaka and Kalchini on their playful course and its teeming wildlife sanctuaries, a trip to one of which routinely proves rewarding to tourists. But it is the fascinating verdure of the tea gardens that defines the Dooars, stretching from the capricious Teesta on the West to river Sankosh on the East. Between the two lies the breath-taking valley of Jalpaiguri district.
The treat begins early; as our train makes its serpentine way towards Malbazar Junction on a lazy May morning. The tea bushes, like elaborate, carefully careless updos at Page 3 parties, stand sleepily as women work amongst them, picking the fresh, bright green 'two leaves and a bud' that are dried and processed for the golden brew the world has learnt to jumpstart its sluggish metabolism with. My well-informed photographer colleague - an inhabitant of the region for four years who has appointed himself as my friend and guide for the tour, thankfully leaving me to philosophise for myself - introduces me to the cornfields that attract elephants. Pythons, we are to be told later, often slither through the tea bushes.
At the station, a Maruti van waits to take us to the resort. We zip through some more tea gardens to arrive at Chalsa Hilltop which houses Sinclairs Retreat Dooars that nestles in 20 acres of landscaped garden. Our car glides to a stop before the reception. We are ushered into our cottages - spacious, well-appointed ones that overlook bursts of green on all sides.
We decide to drive to Gorumara National Park that afternoon. But before that, we are ravenously hungry and decide on catching an early lunch. The restaurant, like any of your regular multi-cuisine eateries has everything you might ask for. In addition to vegetable Manchurian and garlic chicken of all fine dining and hole-in-the-wall Chinese joints, there is the usual north Indian fare and Bengali staples with varieties of machher jhol thrown in too. I am relieved to see that I need not break the Spartan triple-S regimen I have put myself on - stews, soups and salads - and am delighted to find that both the stews and clear soups are perfectly decent.
While we have lunch, it suddenly clouds over and before we can say 'sun' it begins to rain. After half an hour of continuous downpour, just when we are thinking of postponing our trip to Gorumara, it becomes clear again. As the gold-lined clouds begin to play peek-a-boo with the mighty potentate of the sky, we hop into the car once again.
At Gorumara, we are acquainted with our guide - taking one is mandatory, we are told - whose familiarity with the national park is unassailable considering his father was a tourist guide in the same region before him. We enter the forest and approach Jatraprasad Watch Tower, the first of our stops. We make our way through teak, simul, siris and sal trees, while intrepid peacocks and Brahmany ducks offer us plenty of photo opportunities.
We hop to Chukchuki Tower and the Chandrachur Tower too later on, determined to catch sight of as many animals as we can. Now, I don't know about you but I feel that there's something unexpected about sighting a wild animal in its natural habitat, even when I have ventured into the middle of the forest to do just that. My very urban sensibility makes me feel hugely blessed when an animal deems it fit to come into my line of vision. And the thought that it might be a one-horned rhinoceros, an elephant, a leopard, a deer, a python and/or a Malayan giant squirrel has me jumping with expectation. When we sight a couple of gaurs (Indian bisons) from our first watchtower, we are thrilled to bits. However, there aren't any more animals for us on this trip.
Now another more adventurous person might have decided to spend the night at the Gorumara Forest Resthouse to continue on the wildlife trail, but me, I am fond of my little breaks. So I decide to bid wilderness adieu for the day and come back to the resort.
It's 7 pm now and we're in the mood for a swim. The pool is relatively empty and I swim for over an hour, a luxury I can rarely allow myself in Kolkata, letting the cool water caress my exhausted body. The health club is right next door to the pool and I make an appointment for a body massage the following morning. After dinner - again a low-carb, low-fat affair for me - and a walk back to the room, I'm ready to flop.
It is wondrously quiet the next morning but for chirping birds and snatches of children's voices from the swimming pool. Chalsa Hilltop seems to be a place where one can rest in peace without death as a pre-condition. Basking in the early morning sunlight, I arrive at the health club punctually at 7 pm for my massage. An hour of being rubbed, chafed, polished, patted and slapped in turns with lots of rose and lavender oil leaves me feeling loose-limbed and raring for action. And hungry, too.
We have a relaxed breakfast (not before I have tried the herbal drink of the day, an innocuous - looking emerald green concoction of juices including those of basak and methi in a tiny glass that contorts my face and elcits a "serves you right" from my colleague) and start from Samsing, which is at a height of 600m. The wild orchids overhanging the verandahs of quaint little houses propped up by poles announce that we are in Darjeeling district. The expansive sweep of orange orchards and cardamom plantations on either side make the winding drive up the slopes a memorable one.
If I had brought my trekking gear I would have loved to make a short trip to Mouchuki, the entry point to Neora Valley National Park. But the lazybones that I am, I am happy with Suntalekhola, a small babbling stream in the lap of the mountains. A frail footbridge that shakes violently as soon as you climb on it adds to Samsing's unspoilt beauty.
On the way back, we see a curious thing. Drying tea leaves, left there apparently to be ground to powder by the wheels of vehicles, provide an interesting photo opportunity to my colleague. We stop to speak to locals to find out more. "Many tea gardens have closed down. We're now reduced to producing tea locally and selling it for Rs.35 (or thereabouts) a kilo," explains a man eager to impress the "journalists from Kolkata". We are hit by the reality of the newspaper reports about labour unrest in the tea gardens and the politicization of the issue. A sobering thought comes to us: All's not well even in paradise.
Back at the retreat, we decide to take a walk across the sprawling property that heaves with exotic vegetable life. Medicinal shrubs, flavouring herbs, unusual vegetables and aromatic plants are the horticulturist's thrust areas. While some make it to the table in salads and other dishes (cherry tomatoes, broccoli and red cabbage among them), others like Malabar nut, basak and sevia are grown so that they can be served as juice for their therapeutic properties. I find the information regarding nature's healing powers on the walls of the health club truly ameliorating and take mental notes.
I had fixed an appointment for a shirodhara massage at the spa and arrive right on time. Mystifying bottles marked 'Karpuradi Tailam' 'Lavender Oil' etc. wait in a corner rack of the stark room. Radhika, the masseur, has filled up a pot with oil which is to be tilted slightly to direct a thick rope of oil on my tired brow as I lie blindfolded on a wooden table. Meanwhile, Radhika massages me with an array of oil that she assures me are suited to my dull skin. I take a sauna bath afterwards and am then directed to the shower. After an hour in the bath - most of it spent in trying to rid my mane of the oil that had bathed it for 45 minutes - I am able to launder some of the shine off my forehead. Though I spend the next three days in getting the rest of the oil out of my hair, I feel royally pampered after shirodhara and promise to repeat the experience whenever I can. It is relaxing and sleep-inducing, too.
Hydrotherapy scares me, Colon irrigation, I am assured, cleans up the intestines in a way nothing else can. But me, I prefer to leave my innards to their own devices. Not having ever let me down, I thought it would be unfair to subject them to the indignity of exposing them to sanitized water. I am told that the treatment is popular. I am inclined to believe the amiable doctor at the health club. To each his own, as I often hear myself repeating.
I cannot force myself to have a hip bath either. I inspect the round tub that is meant to hold my posterior while the rest of me sticks out of it and I know that this is not for me.
I opt for a mud bath instead. Radhika folds me up, hair and all, in cool mud - salubrious soil from the bank of the Teesta. I am told - that smells good. She sets me out in the sun (literally) to dry (There is a small enclosure close to the health club for the purpose). It's a sunny day and it takes me 45 minutes to dry. Then she directs a jet of water at me. A shower and shampoo later, I'm squeaky clean. My skin feels soft and supple though the petal analogy still doesn't work with me (got to do with my age, I guess).
While you may have chosen to go white water rafting on Teesta with its rapids - the course is labeled Grade IV on the international scale - I decide to relax for the rest of my stay, lazing about in the pool and the rooms. Just smell the smells and walk the walks. A short trip to Mukti, another of the burbling rivulets that barely cover the large boulders on its bed, is my only outing.
On my way back to Siliguri, I bid a heavy-hearted good-bye to the picturesque tea gardens I have fallen in love with. At 'Hong Kong Market' in Siliguri, where I have come to pick up large umbrellas that I know I shall never need, amidst stalls spilling over with sneakers, garments, caps, umbrellas, flip flops, plastic table linen, bras, panties and candles, I re-discover the smells and sounds of the city.
But I know that I have left one part of me irrevocably behind in those tea gardens in Dooars. And since my return, every time I have sipped from a cup of tea, I have thought of the little bushes where they were born. |
