Happy Feet

 

 Happy Feet                                        

Growing up in the hills of Darjeeling is one thing, blessed with parents for whom walking was the one point solution to all celebrations, challenges and problems  is entirely another . Let me talk about the latter. My very earliest childhood memories comprise of walking home after a dinner at my uncle’s place. I must have been four. It was pitch dark and my father had a torch with him ( to this day he carries a torch  – it could be for a brief afternoon walk but there he has it in his jacket pocket!). Uncle fixed  a make- do kerosene torch  locally known as a ‘rako’ to supplement the dying cells. Inhaling the heady sooty fumes ,we trudged up the Kharey Khola slope. Panting and stopping a while to catch a breath we a big family of 7 walked home. The jackals howling in the forest above Goethals Memorial School. I was afraid to look up to the dark skies. Reassured by my fathers’s experience that if you shout and make some noise the bears and jackals would keep to their track, he whistled and mama kept pace in her block heel sandals. “Are you tired? Should I carry you?” asked dad. Mama  quipped, “ We will all walk slowly’  After a brief flat stretch of  Hill Cart Road and an occasional truck trundling in the night , we hit the final climb to St. Mary’s Hill and I am  overjoyed because I feel safe with the familiar  houses with the lone yellow  bulb to light up the balcony and small gardens. Dogs howl and bark at us – keep walking says mama and we do exactly that. Walking through the short cuts and the supposedly haunted bridge where frog croak  all night and  finally ah!  the  sighting of the church steeple. We all bow and make the sign of the cross.I thank Jesus for keeping me safe during the walk home! Home is just a hop, skip and jump from the church. We are home.  Next  morning I see the ‘rako’ orphaned outside. sitting  all cold and black behind the main door. I wonder why we  cannot  have more battery torches when we walk in the dark? For that matter why walk in the dark?

 

I was brought up on a heavy dose of walking through all seasons -  endless walks up through the jungle or down to the banks of Balasun river, walking to school, to town, walking to my beloved aunty’s house, visiting cousins, walking to church, to the grotto and to the graveyard, to collect wild avocados and chestnuts. I walked all the time till the sole of my shoes flattened and  withered and my girly sandals bruised and broke.

 

Of course people walk, more so, in the hills people walk. But we walked a lot. A bit too much for  comfort. A bit too much for people to remark ‘hidnu ramro ta’ all the time.  Our old Willys Jeep and a trusted rental white ambassador with Balu driver driving us here and there is not worth writing about . Walking takes the cake any day!  Sunday  mass  was followed by an unsaid decision to trek to  Deer Park. In the 80’s this little park just above Dow Hill school about 5 kms from home was our favourite haunt so much so that the caretaker Mr. Subba  and his family are now  family friends. After the fun uphill walk which is a breeze for us people with solid calf muscles and strong lungs the pit stop here is interesting with steaming tea and  snacks as we relax and refuel.  It is not  over yet when we  decide to inch towards Chimney and Chaiteypani and walk back . By evening we would  have clocked a good 15 kms and yes we loved it. We gathered fresh vegetables straight from  the villages as we walked passed the familiar faces and terrain.  Occasionally it was  the  walk towards Balasun Valley . This route I disliked as a child because the way back was the whooping  uphill trudge.That was quite a task nevertheless, my pleas fell on deaf ears.

 

It was a Dusshera break during my mid school years. The October days are  pristine ,colourful and festive. But  how would I have known  the longest  and the darkest   October night  if mama and her brothers hadn’t  planned a night trek  to Tiger hill. We were talking a 25 kms walk via the  Military road  that cuts through the jungle. Mom and dad  along with my maternal  uncles, my sister and a few  cousins – we walked all through the night. It was cold and dark and I was tired and scared. On and off they burst crackers to fend the wild animals away. Somewhere in the night  I gobbled two boiled eggs and downed some water. It was twilight at Tiger Hill  bustling with blanket wrapped domestic tourists and faithful old land rovers ferrying them to witness the grandeur of the fiery Mt. Everest and Kanchenjunga at sunrise. All I remember was a queasy feeling  and  mama  saying  ‘ Look , look  the sun looks beautiful’ Looks like I passed out because I woke up to mama putting a sip of hot tea to my lips. Yes I had fainted after the all night walk. I was chided for being a weakling. Post the heist it was  breakfast of steaming dumplings and butter tea served by Tibetan amalas at Jorebunglow followed by a drive home. I did not vow never to walk again!

 

The walks continue - now that I have kids of my own and my parents are proud grandparents passing down the family walking culture. My siblings, nieces and nephews walk the same stretch ever so often with them. Today it is nostalgia and the walks are an extension of our family experiences and memories. I miss home and the Grotto- Calvary- Dow Hill- Deer Park trail .I yearn to  walk those familiar routes. The longing to be  back home and making  those trips like when I was a little girl is insatiable.

 

Telecommunications have come a long way and I am thankful for a little gadget in my hand –.I call my parents and the sweetest voicemail says that the number is out of coverage area. I right away know they must be a pair of  happy feet – walking to better health and happiness in the far off  hills in the cover of green. It’s almost Summertime and the children are looking forward to their trip – to their annual retreat to nature and the great walks with the grandies

Claudia Joshi

Keep Walking