Leaving Darjeeling, the car takes a turn from the road to siliguri. With mist still swirling on the road glimpses of kanchenjungha are few and far between. Sipping hot coffee from a thermos the mind goes back 10 years, 10 long years, to that morning on tiger hill. My question, her tears and then the misery when she wouldn’t answer my question, when she returned the ring I had slipped on to her fingers. The sense of betrayal for her was strong and even as she was heartbroken so was I when she didn’t say yes, when she asked for a little more time. 10 long years I sighed, as the car hurtled towards peshok, a gloomy hamlet on the road. Spying a small eatery I tried to remember of this was the one. Asking the driver to break for breakfast I went into the small wooden house and yes it had not changed. The same lady with 10 years of crow’s feet round her eyes was serving piping hot tea or chiah as they called along with veg momos. The view from the tiny window was as breathtaking as it was when I had seen it with her. She hadn’t said yes, but she hadn’t said no either. An early morning drive from Darjeeling just like today after a night spent holding tight in spite of respective disappointments but we were still together over momos and chiah.
As the driver cleaned his car from the sparkling water of the stream of clear sparkling water gushing down the face of the hill, we had taken a small stroll that day, fingers twined trying to hold and rebuild our bond together. Walking few minutes we turned a small bend and there before us through the break in the hills and the cloud bank peeked lady kanchenjungha, resolute and splendorous in her white serenity. 10 long years back, it was still a day of hope for it was day with my sweet my Mishti. But today I was alone, with my memories my sole companion reminders of my failings, reminders of how I had let it slip through my fingers. Even as I walked towards the bend hoping for a break in the clouds I knew in my heart it wasn’t to be, kanchenjungha would not favour me today as she had 10 years back. Scanning the cloud bank for the entire time the car was being cleaned I waited and hoped but to no avail.
As Arijit Singh belted out in the car, the rolling tea gardens merged from one to another, green everywhere, we went down the steep roads cut through the breast of the hill. As we passed lamatta village, the Buddhist prayer flags flying in the stiff breeze set the pine forest ablaze with its contrasting mix of white blue saffron against the serene backdrop of green interspersed by the mist-the ever present mist. From 7407 feet at ghum when we took a left toward peshoke we were hurtling towards 700 feet near teesta bazaar. The sharp turns, the scary drops on the side and the mist seemed same, only tere liye from veer zara had been replaced by hum tere bin of aashiqui 2, and instead of the warmt of her beside me there was an empty seat.
As the car emerged from the tea garden and peshoke view point I just couldn’t help myself but stop the car again. As I slowly climbed the stairs to that magnificent view I could almost feel her hands in mine. As I looked down I could almost hear the sharp draw of breath in amazement. The sharp stiffening of her fists in mine as her eyes widened to take in the magnificent site of the mighty rangit hurtling down n the lazy teesta. The different colors of water as the two mighty rivers merged and made love were startling that day as it was today. That is when you probably let go. That is probably when you put back your hope. 10 years on I remember it just as if it’s happening before me now. The slow spread of your brilliant smile that touches your eyes, as you turned to me, that tentative melting into my arms. As Teesta and Rangit melted in each others arms I saw hope glowing in the eyes of my Mishti as she ,elted in mine.
BY SOUMYASHREE CHATTERJEE
