Kalimpong calls

Kalimpong is one of those places that remains in your mind’s eye long after you’ve left it behind. We were tired of those ‘popular holiday destinations’ where one invariable meets people from the same neighbourhood- where bapi occupies the opposite hotel room, and you bump into all the kakus and kakimas you thought you’d left behind. So we decided to head away from Kalimpong’s core and occupy a place called Morgan House.

Ivy covered, with French windows, entering into Mogan House was like entering into another world altogether. Built by a wealthy Jute merchant for his wife, the house had greyed with age, its wood covered with a veil of creepers. The drawing room’s French windows opened onto a terrace garden- the first broad step conventionally picture perfect with cane chairs on a carpet of green, vibrant canna and bougainvillea dotting the thick hedge. It looks like one of those embossed silk pictures that people frame for their drawing rooms.

But, it was when I stepped out off the quaint picture that I discovered the ‘secret garden’…moss covered steps led into a fragrant wilderness of Azaleas, the flower laden bushes so tall that one could get lost in them. It was here that I learnt a scented secret- the fresh, moist fragrance of Azaleas is so delicate that one can only smell it early in the morning; it seems to evaporate as soon as the sun becomes stronger. So I would make it a point to enter ‘my’ garden as soon as I woke up, and inhale lungfuls of air moist with dew- one of my strongest memories of the place is still an olfactory one.

If you want to spend time with yourself, head for Kalimpong. Enter Morgan House’s second lawn, covered with tiny wild buds (you do feel bad about your posterior squashing them) and sitting under a tree so over laden with white flowers that it droops like the weeping willow, get ready to listen to the sound of silence. With the mountains in front, robed in blue haze, and nobody around, the place is a perfect cocoon- you can actually cut off connections with the madding world.

One of the reasons why the mountains make for great getaways is that there’s a small surprise waiting for you at every turn- tiny mauve flowers peeping out of crevices in the hill side or the sun streaming down on a wooden outhouse covered with yellow flowers, such that you can see the veins of each translucent petal. A little kingfisher on a telephone line- bobbing its rear at you before flying away…a flash of blue and then it’s gone. Most of all- butterflies, I’d forgotten what they looked like and there they were, flitting around taking their own presence for granted.

I tasted the best cup of tea I’ve ever while at Morgan House- they beat Darjeeling at brewing Darjeeling tea. Picture this- a large old fashioned dining room with two walls of glass, and outside you can see…nothing. The clouds have touched down, you’re told by the caretaker as he serves you piping hot aloo ka paratha and tea. Speak of a ‘getaway’ and this is the picture that comes to my mind- deliciously warm inside, with a white candy-floss blanket enveloping you.

Sight-seeing? Horticulture, Buddhist temples, scenic beauty, scenic beauty and more scenic beauty. If you’re a nature lover- feast your eyes. I stored the images in my minds eye as greedily as the camel stores food in its hump. And sure enough, I’ve been starved for greenery ever since. We visited every horticultural garden and nursery there was in the place. The giant blue cacti had my eyeballs popping out of their sockets. Towering above 6 footers, they made people of my humble height seem like Tom Thumbs and Thumbeinas. What had the popped out eyeballs rolling was the price of these giants- 3 and a half to four lakhs each for the smaller ones!

Off to an orchid nursery after that, where each hothouse, apart from its heady fragrance was splashed with myriad colours. It’s here that the actual meaning of ‘exotic beauty’ begins to dawn on a person. The work on the whole is a veritable family business, with the women folk sitting with tub fulls of orchid bulbs, the men folk tending the flowers, and tomato cheeked, semi-clothed children sunning themselves near their mothers.

Ever seen flowers that look like the hands of a Bharatnatyam dancer? They’re Birds of Paradise and are the stuff dreams are made of. The Birds of Paradise nursery was a most interesting one- not least so because of the presence of a toilet, which accounted the disappearing of members of our group from time to time. But by far the best nursery I visited was memorable not so much for the plants grown in it, but because of the sheer beauty of its view. It was in a lady’s garden, and bang in the middle of the lawn the green houses ended to reveal two garden benches, and a tiny cane table set against the backdrop of a panoramic view of the mountains. It was one of those moments when you forget to breathe.

We rode to the place on horseback- my chattering teeth providing ample background music- though a veil of fog which parted at every step to reveal a wee bit more of what we were entering into and closed over the path we had left behind. And suddenly, hanging above me, I would find clumps of fluffy pink flowers, peeping through the veil. I wasn’t supposed to touch them tough- flowers of ill omen, they were used for witch craft said my mounted guide. And suddenly, a window opened into the life of the hills- I got a peep into a world in which beauty could supposedly be mangled into evil. I didn’t protest too much though- with only a horse for support and this man guiding it, I thought it best not to voice my doubts about this ‘fact’.

Buddhist temples are a must-see in Kalimpong. So off we trudged to a hill top temple, huffing and puffing up the steep climb. But if any climb’s worth it, this was the one. Rolling my palm against the prayer wheels to set them spinning, I climbed down the hillside to watch a thousand prayer flags fluttering in the breeze. The sanctum sanctorum of the temple though is cordoned off with walls of glass. Sticking my nose against the glass, I looked into a bubble of silence- a gargantuan idol of the Buddha stared peacefully ahead while a thousand lighted lamps burned at his feet…the peace was almost tangible.

Don’t forget to visit the Graham’s Homes while in the hill station. Its church is a splendid structure, on one side of which your senses get assailed with the heady smell of roses in full bloom. Enter the other side and you’ll have the distinct feeling of having shut the door on one olfactory sensation and opened the door to another- the smell of pine just pervades the air, almost a living presence in the place.

What Kalimpong leaves you with is a series of images, not all of them visual. There’s the smell of Azaleas, the steam coming out of an aloo paratha when one breaks it, the orchestra of silence and touch of fog…moist, you can feel the air you breathe. When you descend down the mountain side, you have the youthful Teesta gurgling and running right beside you, a liquid aquamarine blue. It was the chance to live a dream.