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Published: December 28th 2009
Darjeeling Mail
Travellingin styleNext stop, the overnight train to the hills. Reliving the school journey my mother used to make to escape the heat of Kolkata, even further up by toy train to Kurseong. School memories should be stronger; memories become the reality, but would today’s reality live up to the sweetened past? Like condensed milk drunk from the can the cloying memories trickled down my mother’s throat.
Wayside, now a Heritage Property in Kurseong, fondly remembered, glimpsed through the mist, of tears or cloud, came into view as we trundled down the steep drive and swept around to the front door. My mother was overawed as she climbed the stairs into the living room. Large rooms opened off this but without the warm welcome of the caretaker’s family we would have been shivering. Airy and cool in the summer, they become cold and damp in winter. Heavy covers were outside freshening up in the morning sun, releasing a smell of naphthalene, thrown over the summerhouse railings and the lichen covered stone walls tracing the history of the house. The present day caretaker’s father, Balbadhur, looked very similar to the mali my mother remembers, Nepali dress and hat, small and smiling. His wife,
Kurseong
Arrival in the middle of a march for recognition Devi, younger than both Graeme and I, reflected a careworn existence from her lined face. Our driver, caretaker, tour guide and general helpmeet, Soubash, raced around with the keys, opening linen cupboards and turning on the lights to dispel the gloom. Dazed, my mother was wandering, tears in her eyes, she had really returned. A phone call from the solicitous Mr Gupta urged us to purchase enough food to last through the upcoming four day strike of which we had been ignorant. The acknowledgement of Gorkhaland as its own state was once again becoming prevalent. We were informed by the Chettris that the struggle has been going on for 102 years and the chances of a positive outcome because of a few general strikes and 21 people from each community on a hunger strike was remote. But one must be involved; the West Bengal government are reaping the income from the hills but are being rather parsimonious in dealing out the cash to help the local communities. Mingi, our caretaker’s beautiful Sherpa wife, works for the local municipality and is very cognizant of all the current goings on.
But we digress - we are now looking at Wayside nearly eighty
Wayside
Mummy sitting remembering years ago. My mother has sat on the sofa in front of the bay window washed in weak winter sunlight, a watercolour in the present. Old furniture, no longer there, calls out to her and she wanders through the other bedrooms searching for her Ayah’s quarters. They may now be bathrooms as each spacious bedroom has an adjoining bathroom complete with geyser promising hot water to defrost the icicles which are rapidly forming. Soubash looks for heaters and fortunately one of them works. A welcoming cup of tea is brought, Darjeeling of course, and we roam the winter garden, sadly shortened by the sale of part of the property to the West Bengali government for a mushroom farm which is of course not operational. Children below us play cricket on the dusty ground under the rusting factory roof. Steep stone stairs lead down from a wrought iron gate, possibly there in my mother’s time, to a small vegetable garden, the other stone stairs now behind a wire fence.
The caretaker’s daughter and cousin, Sneha and Neha, raced around the rosebeds piled high with manure heaps, much the same as my mother and the gardener’s children must have done. She remembers
Wayside
Not much different from photos we have of nearly eighty years ago! walking along the top of a steep wall with her mother saying ‘Premmie, come down, you’ll fall.’ We inspected the walls and decided the double one at the rear of the garden would have been the culprit. A very steep drop but wide enough for little fearless footsteps. Having left the book of old Wayside photos with the Guptas in Delhi we were desperate to merge the images and sent an SOS to Winnie to see if she could upload them in a photo album on Facebook.
The exterior of the house remains very similar to the original. The main entrance is not used being a storeroom for outside furniture, which we were lucky enough to use once, and Mingi’s burgeoning women’s group’s silkscreens. Some of the wooden trim has been replaced by metal the maintenance of which we were assured was on Mr Gupta’s agenda when he comes to stay. An addition of a kitchen at the far end meant that the old kitchens had been turned into the caretaker’s cottage, well, a haunt for the grandfather who seemed to roam the house at will and sometimes slept in the huge front living room when the whim so took
him. Was this to escape his wife to whom he seemed to have very little to say? A lifetime of words had passed by and their exchange was minimal.
Indian mattresses seem to be fairly thin and particularly firm or should I say hard. Uncomfortable sleeping made Mummy decamp to the living room sofa, not the one the caretaker slept on and she was all tucked up with just her little ears peeping out, rugged with Nepali blankets and heavy quilts. The rest of the nights were good, no aches and pains, and minimised her nightly Justine disturbances which threatened a beautiful friendship. Justine, the patient granddaughter with a short fuse, organising the Grandma, sorting out the medicine, money and tickets. Reminding her of what had been said, who had said what and when and where we were and what we had seen. Justine, who admits to having some of her father’s temper, Justine who seamlessly slips from the engaging and charming to the quick and snappy. What a mercurial child she is!
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Kewong
non-member comment
Good to know
Its good to know that you were back in the hills with memories and moments taht have lasted in your heart forerver.. By the way I forgot to introdue myself, I'm Kewong Yonzon born and bought up in Kurseyoung(Curse-Young) as thay say now... I always wanted to make a change to the world I was bron in (I still do).. I did various things worked with my friends to give the people of Kuresong what they deserve in a tender age... Me and my friends worked nard to organize musical programs for all the students, despite objection from the Government...We collected a small amount as the tickets were just for RS20 and planned to donate it to an institution, ew had future plans ps doing various other things as well.. We were working hard to reopen HelpAgeIndia. As they say life has its own ways, and that came true..All of us had to follow our own goals, so to say forced to go on.. The Agitation, Unemployment, the Justice,Opprtunities seemed so few... I was forced to work in Calcutta in a BPO and I am still doing the same.. I went back home in 2009 but everything had changed, those cheerful people for whom we had though to make a differance had all gone grown in power, changed with new thoughts and ambitions which I wonder will ever cone true???? I would reauest you to help a cause to make a differne... Lets work to restore what has been lost..Im planning to go back home, despite the fact that I will be unemployed... I want to make a differance I dont know how.. I am not pre-planning things this time as they din't work out the last time... So do prey for me and my endeavours.. And if you would like to make a differance as well, please feel free to mail me at feelfreelike_kewong@yahoo.com. Ending my commment so to say request for this time.. And its good to know again that Kurseong holds a special place globally.. I will atleast start of with planting White Orchids.. What willl you do????/