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GOPALI BANDOPADHYAY

I landed at Bagdogra’s tiny airport early this month, experiencing equal measures of enthusiasm and trepidation. The latter especially because West Bengal Urban Development Minister Ashok Bhattacharya had been discouraging tourists from travelling to Darjeeling to enjoy its cool climes. He had warned that the Gorkha Janmukti Morcha (GJM) would create trouble for tourists.

According to media reports, the locals were very agitated about the state government’s actions and the hill station was seething with unrest - an indefinite strike was looming. I had been warned that a strike would mean trouble. I would be stranded in an inaccessible place; food and water would run out; and there could be violence against Bengalis.

Nonetheless, I was desperate for a break and, chin up, decided Darjeeling was the best bet considering the short distance and char-ming surroundings. So there I was, in a car, speeding towards my destination. If I had been expecting trouble, it turned out to be entirely unfounded. The local people seemed peace-loving and gentle.

Following the typical tourist agenda, I began by visiting the popular sightseeing venues. The first day I saw the Japanese temple and Buddhist pagoda and then the Rock Garden and Ganga Maya. Darjeeling has certainly woken up to its tourism potential. Most of its income is from this sector, with tea coming in at a distant second. In peak season, tourist traffic crosses 20,000 per day.

I wanted to know the what the local people felt about the current unrest and the demand for inclusion in the Sixth Schedule. I spoke to as many people I came in contact with: the car driver, shawl and knickknack sellers at the Mall, people at ticket counters, cooks at the guest house and waiters at restaurants where we ate, including the iconic Keventers and Glenary’s.
When questioned about the troubled scenario, Uma, who runs a food stall at the Rock Garden, said they were completely fed up with the government’s lackadaisical attitude - prices of everyday consumption were very high and the condition of roads was deplorable. “We want change. And we feel Bimal Gurung (GJM chief) is the right person who will bring it in,” she said. Her friend Julie concurred. They made just enough to sustain their families. Their husbands were drivers.

I experienced a sense of déjà vu with every response. Whenever I asked someone about the situation and their expectations and hopes, without exception they all seemed to want separation from Bengal; it spelt freedom and development. Why not Mr Subhash Ghisingh of the Gorkha National Liberation Front, who had been their choice for many years? Why had he been relegated to the background? And why did Mr Gurung seem to be a frontrunner and the only solution to their troubles? Why did they pin their hopes so much on him? I asked Banita, who sells local handicrafts and kohl manufactured from local herbs and roots. She flashed a wide smile and literally dragged me to a weather-beaten shack where a lo-cal photographer waited with costumes, beads and allied paraphernalia for women tourists to wear before being photographed. Banita introduced him with a flourish. “He’s my husband, Gautam. He will answer all your questions,” she said. The stocky man smiled and began: “Gurung is the person, he is our leader. He will help us. We have waited for too long. It’s been 20 years and look at this place. What does the future hold for us? There are too many problems: water scarcity, bad roads, everything is expensive, we can’t take it any more.” Then he said something odd: “Do you want to talk to Gurung? I can arrange it.”

The next day was spent visiting some breathtaking spots where I continued probing the local people. I was touched by their simple and peaceful lifestyle. Not once did I hear a loud voice or an angry protest. They are humble folk and resigned to a hard life in bitterly cold and harsh weather. They always address others with respect and are never rude or antagonistic.

I encountered a few demonstrations; one at the main crossing en route to the Ghoom Monastery and Batasia Loop where a large crowd had gathered and someone was addressing them over a mike. Everyone was listening quietly, and our car passed through without any hassles. Later, we saw schoolchildren from several schools assembled at the main square at the Mall where a stage had been set up while locals and students listened to a person making a speech. It wasn’t deafening, as such events are wont to be in Kolkata. On our last day, as our car was negotiating a descent down a scary incline, we had to stop for a group of women demonstrators who were shouting slogans, but again, it wasn’t raucous. It was a “nari morcha”, said our driver.

Something that struck me was that through the visit, I did not come across a single hospital, government or otherwise. What did the local people depend on for healthcare? Or do they not deserve even this basic right?

On our return journey to Bagdogra we visited Mirik. For a considerable portion of the road we were travelling along the Nepal border. Except for the border post of Pashupati, where police man-ned the crossing, there were long stretches without any demarcation: no fence, wall, or barbed wire. It was significant. Could we have kept our borders so open with Pakistan? Or China? Did this not signify that Darjeeling is unique? That it deserves a different kind of interaction and treatment?