Pocket-book Collections: Mini NE-India Sojourn
At the end of 2021, between 18th and 24th December, I went on a trip to North-East India with my family. It was our first trip post-lockdown and perhaps, my longest ever. As my memories of the trip lose their vividness with time, I thought to pen down my experiences in an attempt at immortalization.
I landed in Guwahati, Assam on the morning of the 19th. The airport was a far cry from other airports in metropolitan cities that I have visited in that it was quiet and sparsely crowded. I booked a taxi to transport me to the IIT Guwahati campus, where I was to reside for the first two days. On my 45-minute journey between the airport and the campus, I learned quite a fair bit about the city (or at least the outskirts). Different parts of a city come alive at different times of the day. The part that I drove past was definitely not an abode for the regular early-riser. Most of the streets were bare of human presence. There were few vehicles on the road and even fewer pedestrians. What surprised me was the severe lack of big buildings. Residential buildings were interspersed with large spaces of barren land.
On our way, we crossed a bridge over the Brahmaputra. For the lack of a more appropriate phrase, allow me to say, it was crazy. I was unable to actually see the waters of the river amidst a heavy fog that had settled over the surface. The bridge went on forever, or so it felt. The river is large, and unimaginably so. That was definitely the highlight of my first tryst with Guwahati.
One of the entrance gates to IIT Guwahati opens directly in front of the railway line. That’s where I registered my visit and checked in at the Guest House a few blocks away. The campus is huge and dotted with several lakes. I was happy to see the thriving greenery everywhere I looked. One of the football grounds was nearby, the lights around it aglow even in the middle of the night. It would take me forever to visit every single corner of the campus so I decided to not be greedy and walk around only as much as I can.
I spent most of my first day trying to recover my sleep since I had travelled all night long. In the evening, we hailed a taxi ride through the city — learning too late that the impending road construction would hamper peak-time travel. We went to the Guwahati Passenger Ropeway, that crosses the Brahmaputra river from one bank to another. As a matter of fact, I am not scared of heights but big things throw me off-balance. And the Brahmaputra, so close, so full of water, was a bit intimidating. I was stressed about getting into the rope-car for a very long time because of an enormously slow and lengthy line of visitors. When we finally got our chance, I made sure to clutch at the pole nearest to the door — simultaneously catering to my curiosity and fear. The view was breathtaking, sunset arriving perfectly in time albeit behind a curtain of dark clouds.
We got down at the other end and waited for our ride back. We sat at a tea stall outside the ropeway association campus. The locals were really friendly to us, allowing us to continue using their chairs even though it was time for them to pack up. Unsurprisingly, it became pitch-dark at 5 pm, signalling end of another day of usual business for the vendors. And so we ended our first day amidst the hustle-bustle of small-town Guwahati, fully-aware that all of our days had to start early since it would get dark by early evening too.
We vacated the Guest House on the early morning of the following day, starting our mini North East-India sojourn across Assam and Meghalaya. We had breakfast at a Punjabi Dhaba — big wholesome parathas and bowls of curd. At the border of Meghalaya, we were checked for our vaccination certificates and registration on their tourism app. I found the whole thing pretty neat. While travel restrictions have eased, some places worse off than the others, I continued to take my precautions. Mask up, beanie pulled down on my ears, two sweaters clutching tightly at my shivering frame, and my lovingly-packed outfit disappearing behind layers and layers of warm clothing — this is how I began my journey into Meghalaya.
Our first stop was at Umiam Lake. We arrived at opening time and had the entire tourist spot to ourselves for a peaceful couple of minutes. Umiam Lake is set in the middle of a gently-sloping valley, surrounded by lush hills. In the wee hours of the morning, the cold was sharp against my skin and the beauty of the lake glorious to my eyes. We also experienced a nice theatric speedboat ride, the captain of the little boat pulling off easy stunts for his first customers of the day.
Next we stopped at Elephant Falls, a 200-step journey down a rocky pathway. The falls were lacking, but only because we stopped by at the wrong time of the year. Still, I was curious to see if Meghalaya would live up to its name — abode of the clouds. Flashback to 10th grade geography and I knew my basics, it was known to rain throughout the year in Meghalaya, home to Asia’s wettest places Cherrapunji and Mawsynram. Mostly I just wanted a respite from the cold, having undermined how freezing it would get. I think this is also where we somehow managed to skip lunch, heading straight to Shillong before it got dark.
I got a bit of a shut-eye in the car stuck in long lanes of slow-moving traffic on the single-lane roads leading up to Shillong. In Shillong, we stopped at Ward’s Lake. Stepping out into the early evening, the cold and hunger caught up with us. We spent some time looking at pretty flowers surrounding the lake and the lively reflections of big clouds on its surface.
Ward’s Lake is situated near the central market of Shillong, known as Police Bazar. We circled around the Lake from the outside and walked downtown. In retrospect, I really enjoyed this bit. Walking alongside pedestrians was good, it was immersive almost. I looked at high-school students getting onto buses, nuclear families entering city churches, men and women having somewhere to go, having something to do. And us, famished tourists in the middle of somewhere-goers, something-doers. Peak of tourism, I think.
At Police Bazar, we spent some time contemplating where to eat, a hustling bakery becoming our talking shop. I shopped for a good down jacket, not wanting constant shivering to be any more of a hurdle. We walked back to our car and got lost somewhere on our way (bless a bunch of locals who helped us find our way back). We spent the night at a government guest house up a winding road, overlooking the dreamy city lights of Shillong. The air progressively got colder and I was glad for my shopping expedition. We slept tight, excited for the adventures to come.
On our third day, we left for Cherrapunjee. On our way, we stopped at a Tea Garden Facility first. It was enormous and beauteaful. Our next stop was at Dympep Falls. The trek down was hard and borderline dangerous. But the mountains towering all around us made the view worth it. Nearly 1000 words into this article, I must mention that mountains are my favorite thing in the world. I was thoroughly enjoying the physical activity after days of being cooped up at home. Most importantly (and lovingly), I was elated to see my longtime friends, mountains and trees:)
As it turned out, there would be no shortage of friendly mountains thereon. Onwards and upwards through treacherous mountainside roads plunging into valleys, we made our way to Rainbow Falls first, and Mawsmai Caves second. At Rainbow Falls, we ate a novel snack — spiced-pineapple. There wasn’t much water to see, but the light caught enough to produce a sweet little rainbow for us. The caves, on the other hand, were truly amazing, igniting my father’s need to educate. He’s a geologist and a professor and a connoisseur of anything that contains some form of rock. Just so you know, this is the point where he jumps into this conversation, explaining exactly what rock it is we’re looking at.
A few kilometers from Mawsmai Caves, we stopped at a viewing point where one could get a glimpse of Bangladesh. At Cherrapunjee, we are very close to the border of the two countries, and this was one of our first encounters with the other country.
We had lunch at Orange Roots Restaurant, which was as busy as it could get, doused in Christmas cheer. The food was great and as far as we could see, the place only employed female staff. That was pretty much the end of Day 3 for us as we made our way to Mawlynnong, where we were to rest for the night. The journey to Mawlynnong was very frustrating due to some kind of rock-blasting going on all along the way for construction. We caught a beautiful sunset and then settled into the car, only registering the passing of every small town (Lyngkyrdem, Pinursla et al.), taking note of the miles to go before we sleep.
We had booked a home stay (Ha Lad Home stay) for the night in Nohwet Village, walking distance from Mawlynnong. It took us a while to find the home stay, Google Maps proving insufficient in these near-makeshift towns hidden deep within forested mountains. The home stay was quirky, to say the least. It was owned by some lady who was away in Kolkata, and managed by this young dude who kept profusely apologising for every inconvenience, stating we were practically his first customers at what was practically his first job. From the roof of the homestay, we could see a hoard of lights not so far away. We were told those lights were from a Bangladeshi region. There was a power cut for most of the night, but the manager did all he could to make our stay comfortable. Tired from the doings of the day, we slept well.
On Day 4, we visited the Living Roots Bridge which was five minutes from our home stay. Meghalaya is known for its efforts at nature preservation. The Living Roots Bridge is another such site, home to large trees interlaced with rocks and sand and roots of other trees to give rise to sturdy and ancient bridges. We took a quick look around, snapping a few photographs on big rocks making way for small streams.
We vacated the home-stay and said goodbye to our now-experienced manager. He brought us piping hot tea in a flask and helped double-check the rooms for any leftover items. He was apologetic until the end, and a hug from my father finally coaxed him out of his misery.
We visited Mawlynnong next, Asia’s cleanest village. It was so wonderful to take a walk through the squeaky clean streets of the small village. Little children were running around, some burdened with backpacks; it was a regular morning for the residents of Mawlynnong. I suppose they had gotten used to the intrusive tourism by then, their houses and backyards touted as tourist sites thanks to their own efforts at maintenance. We strayed away from private properties as much as possible, stopping only at a breakfast-special place that looked like it was still being built. Here’s how it went — we waited nearly 20 minutes for three Maggis which never came. They were still setting up shop for the day and everything was chaos. Boiling milk spilled over and we lost hopes for the arrival of tea. We cancelled our orders and the owner was honest-to-God relieved.
So, for the second time during our trip, we set out for our next destination miles away on an empty stomach. We were on our way to Dawki, a town lining the Umngot river that runs between India and Bangladesh. This place is extremely famous as the boating place where one can see their reflection right underneath themselves (what people don’t know is that it’s true only on good days). Our way to Dawki was a highway outlining the India-Bangladesh border. We could see the electric wire-lines separating the two countries. The irony of man-made borders was glaring to me, because grass grew on both sides of the fence, and birds flew on both sides too. It was just us humans that happened to identify differently based on which side of the fence we found ourselves on.
At Dawki, we bought our boating tickets and got into a long boat for our hour-long boat ride. The boat ride really allowed me a moment of peace from all the happenings of the last few days, months even. The river was wide and clean and we could see long fishies under the surface. Our boatman (I’m sorry I cannot recollect his name) rowed slow but careful. He stopped sometimes to get our photographs. At the far end of the hustle-bustle, he allowed us to get down on the other bank for a little bit. Here, it was even quieter. The rocks were all sorts of white and blue, and the mountains around us impossibly green. We could see small towns nestled in that greenery and the view took my breath away. We found our boatman’s mother’s shop, where we bought cup Maggies and ate in silence. Perhaps that was one of the highlights of this trip, slurping steaming noodles from a plastic cup as the cold settled beside us companionably.
At the boating site, people from India and Bangladesh intermingled freely as a couple of Border Security Force guards kept a close watch. Overall, any sense of country borders was shattered. And perhaps this is how it should be — physical dimensions reinforcing our humanity more than any map lines can.
After our boat ride we went to Shnongpdeng, another boating side tucked a little more in the interior of this side of the border. It was fairly quieter here, but we didn’t linger too long as we had to make our way back to Guwahati the same night. History repeated itself as we got stuck in long, winding, frustrating traffic lines throughout our return journey. It rained (!) on our way and that was definitely a cherry on the top. We had to skip lunch due to lack of a proper restaurant and slippery roads that made it difficult to stop and eat at stalls. We reached Guwahati late and camped at the Guest House for our last night in Assam.
We spent our last morning of the trip taking our time to pack our things. The itinerary for the day consisted of taking a look around local Guwahati and visiting the famous Kamakhya temple. The latter proved to be an adventure of its own, since we had to VIP-Pass our way through the extremely long lines for darshan. The scenes within the temple were bizarre and I was very happy to take my blessings and bid adieu to the goddess at lightning-speed. We also spent some time in the local markets, shopping for the famous Assamese Saree. After spending a relatively warm and dusty afternoon in the browns and grays of Guwahati, we made our way to the airport.
At the airport, I took my chance to note things worthy of special memory compartments. And funnily enough, most of what I remembered fondly had to do with people I met on the way. Little girls who shared my haircut (their bangs were most definitely cuter), locals who went out of their way to be kind to us, rickshaw and cab drivers who made us laugh, bakery owners who were grateful for customers in the middle of a rainstorm, and many more. It wasn’t important to know their names or be formally introduced to them, just a simple act of kindness was enough memory.
My decision to go on this trip was impromptu. I was in the middle of burdensome work deadlines and personal career pursuits when I decided I could really use some fresh air far away from my laptop and overflowing To-Do list. In retrospect, I am really thankful for the experience that came out of this beautiful journey. I have a habit of putting little things into my pocket, trampled flowers and strange leaves picked off of concrete roads, beauty observed and remembered when one could simply choose not to. I think this trip and what came out of it would go into my pocket as well, only if it would fit. And with words spared for a 5-day travel adventure, I can now fit the enormity of my happiness somewhere on the internet, leaving some to go into my pocket.
Putting a leaf back into the collection, I’ll keep my pocket-book safe and accounted for. So until next time ciao!
