The Foothill Footage: Part 1
How to define a journey, especially a pleasant sojourn in the hills, if it gets its kick-start with chaos! It was a luggage mix-up which otherwise could have ruined the glee of the entire trip. This interesting incident was quite new to an avid traveler like me. It was highly embarrassing, something I had never experienced earlier.
The plane landed at Bagdogra on time. But confusion arose as we stood beside the conveyor belt to pick up our luggage. I had bought an Aristocrat suitcase just prior to that journey and had put a new lock on it. The suitcase was vermillion red, which I personally liked, and I was rest assured that it would stand out among the others. Anyway, the suitcase arrived and, after identifying it by the lock, I pulled it out and kept it aside. Now I waited for the next and last one.
In the meantime, a tall and not very young man, perhaps approaching forty, came—not to me but to my suitcase—and began throwing suspicious glances at it. I felt rather puzzled and could not fathom the intention of that well-dressed man. But I controlled myself and concentrated on my second luggage. It came, and I started proceeding toward the gate when he blocked my way.
“This suitcase is mine,” he said humbly.
I felt disgusted. The behavior of that person had already annoyed me, and now that terse statement made me furious. But I checked myself and said,“How can you claim that? It is mine, I know, and you see, the lock is also the one which I put on it.”
Also Read: The Mysterious Case of The Goddess Jeans: Part 1
My suppressed anger, which I am sure he might have apprehended from my look, made him a bit more confused as well as embarrassed, but obviously not disheartened. He went somewhere but returned within a minute and again blocked my way.
Frustrated, I stared at him without saying a word. Yet he, still stubborn in his attitude, said very humbly,
“This suitcase is mine. If you allow me, I can prove it to you. I have kept a medicine strip in the upper chain. I can show it.”
Saying this, he opened the upper chain slightly, and out popped a strip of tablets to my utter surprise. I was at my wit’s end and could not say a word. An identical new suitcase with a similar new lock! Nonplussed and dejected, I was not in a position to utter anything. I silently handed him the suitcase and stood intrigued for perhaps a minute. But quickly I regained myself and ran to the moving belt to bring back my original one.
I collected it but still felt suspicious, remembering the recent fiasco which had shaken my confidence. I recalled that I had kept my home slippers wrapped in a packet inside the top chain. So this time, without moving, I opened that chain and slipped my fingers into it, just like that fellow had done, to check whether the packet was there or not. To my great relief, it was there. I sighed deeply, relieved that this time I was carrying my own suitcase and not someone else’s.
Also Read: The Mysterious Case of The Goddess Jeans: Part 2
Stepping out through the corridor of Bagdogra Airport rather absent-mindedly, only one thought kept echoing in my mind—not to feel reassured all the time. Anything may happen to you while you are on a journey; one should remain alert always.
As we came out, a second confusion replaced the previous one completely. The driver of our pre-booked car, who was supposed to be there with a placard carrying my husband’s name, was nowhere to be seen. Thus began puzzle number two. Somehow I managed to get his name and number from our travel agent and tried calling him.
He received the call, but the cacophony of cars and people around was so loud that the uncertainty continued. In spite of repeated calls and forceful efforts, we could not make any headway with our elusive driver. Meanwhile, we came out through the main gate of the airport enclosure. Still, the calls continued, and I desperately tried to help him identify us through the colors of our dresses, since we were complete strangers to him. It seemed he was less bothered about picking us up and more interested in saving parking fees by keeping his car in a cheaper parking zone.
Anyway, the humming confusion finally ended as we spotted each other. After giving us a friendly nod, he collected our luggage and proceeded with us in a relaxed manner. It was indeed a great relief.
Also Read: The Mysterious Case of The Goddess Jeans: Part 3
The journey finally started, and the car headed toward our first destination. The driver was a young fellow and was very much addicted to Gutka, which I observed from the back seat. Before starting the drive, he stuffed five or six pouches of Gutka into his mouth and, perhaps for that reason, drove quite rashly. The Gutka-taking continued throughout the journey, and whenever he got a chance, he popped another pouch into his mouth. I think that supplied him with even more energy to drive faster. Every time he did so, I noticed it silently from behind.
The land around us was mostly flat, and we were traveling through the foothills of the Himalayas. We crossed villages, fields, and stretches of jungle. The driver informed us that the Teesta Barrage was approaching. Its presence was already indicated by a canal connected to the barrage that accompanied us for quite some distance.
Finally, we left the main road and entered a narrow, poorly maintained road passing through a hutment-filled village area. After some time, the car emerged into an open space surrounded entirely by tea gardens. In the middle stood a solitary chateau-like bungalow and nothing else. Our car passed through its gate and came to a halt.
Soon the barrage appeared, and the driver stopped the car. He urged us to take a tea break, but we declined. It was already late, evening was approaching rapidly, and we were eager to reach our destination. But I could sense that our refusal upset him slightly. The reason became clear soon enough.
After a few kilometers, he suddenly stopped the car beside a small roadside shop and rushed to buy something. I was certain it was Gutka—and I was absolutely right. He returned to his seat, gobbled a few more pouches, and then pressed the accelerator with renewed vigor, hastening toward our destination with his characteristic rash driving.
Finally, we left the main road and entered a narrow, poorly maintained road passing through a hutment-filled village area. After some time, the car emerged into an open space surrounded entirely by tea gardens. In the middle stood a solitary chateau-like bungalow and nothing else. Our car passed through its gate and came to a halt.
We had arrived at Cha-Bari.
To be continued..
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Doctorate from Calcutta University. Authored 26 books, two in English and the rest in Bengali, mainly on travelogue, Ramakrishna Vivekananda literature, popular science and miscellaneous topics. Wrote several articles both in English and Bengali. Also delivered invited lectures.
