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    A excerpt from the Penguin Book of Indian Journeys edited by Dom Moraes

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    A excerpt from the Penguin Book of Indian Journeys edited by Dom Moraes

    Copyright:

    © All Rights Reserved
    Download as PDF or read online from Scribd
    Flag for inappropriate content
    83 views8 pages

    Hill Station: Darjeeling, 1970 - Jan Morris

    Uploaded by

    sdas123
    A excerpt from the Penguin Book of Indian Journeys edited by Dom Moraes

    Copyright:

    © All Rights Reserved
    Download as PDF or read online from Scribd
    Flag for inappropriate content
    of 8
    to mein London, while recovering from the ordeal i describes, 1 accompanied Brace Charwin, who was taying with me in Delhi tthe time, on the blackly comic trip to Pantnaga that he writes tof here. Theseold friends of mine are dead, but they will remain alive though thei work, and like the other authorsin his book, tbe Viegils oa those who may traverse the subcontinent in the yeas to come, with words and adventures i thee minds. DOM MoRaES JAN MORRIS HILL STATION: DARJEELING, 1970 T have mixed feelings about the Indian bill stations, some of which (Ootacamund for instance) are altogether too neo: British for my tase. The marvellous setting of Darjeeling, though, the most spectacular of them all, easily puts bictory in its proper place Darjeeling, the most celebrated of the Indian hl station, all smallnes. 1 is small physically, of course—hard even 0 find ‘upon the map of India, so tucked away sit ike a trinket on the northern fontiers. Buti is sil smaller figuratively. Ke the ‘most deliberately diminutive town Tknow, a hough ti always ‘tying to make itself less substantial stil, One cosss vast scorched plains to reach it from Caleta, over colosaly ‘winding river, through a landscape that has no end but athe Foot ofthe hills Dajeling sends a toy tain to meet you~ gay lide blue-painted trundle of a train, which takes you indefatigably puffing nd chugging up through the forests and the tea-gardens ro the town ‘ Lite people gree you at the op Lite ponies canter about lle eet Hlnceds and thowsds of ery He cin BEE eee ee ee [ioe moans ict autor f he a Brame logy ean ‘Comm so Pass Tangle wos 8 Was, Vs Ono Manta Spin Cod, Hong Rang at pny ees fobs trv he el Lt Lt rom Hav ie fe ose ene in 1985) VFL Son acelin. 3970 om Among th Ci,» Eaton fhe rt fer evel sy wien oe i ial Sour ura wo 2 JAN Monet ‘tumble all about you, The town is perched upon a narrow ridge, about 7,000 fet up, with deep gorges falling away on either side, and when Larcived there forthe firs time I found it switled all around by cloud. It felt curiously private and self contained—like a childish fancy, I thought, a folly, a town magically reduced in scale and shut off from the world by vapour: but then, as toa crash of drums ina coup de thédtre, a ‘np momentarily appeared inthe ever shifting clouds, and there standing tremendously in the background, their snows flushed pik with sunlight, atended by range upon range of foothills and serenely surveying the expanse of the world, stood the divine mass ofthe Himalayan mountains 1 saw Daricelng’s point, and cut myself down to size Some vistors never se the snow peaks at all for they are often invisible for days at a time. Anyway there is no need to go on about them. Iris enough to say that to see Kanchenjunga and is pers from Darjeeting inthe coo! of the morning, is one of the ‘nobles experiences of travel. Its a kind of vision. Ie has moved eneraions of pilgrims to mysticism, and even more to overwriting, Yerit is moc the spectacle ofthe Himalayas tha sets the style of Darjeeling. lis simply their presence. The town lives in the knowledge of chem, and so acknowledges another scale of things. Its litleness is not inferiority complex, but slf- awarenes, and it gives the community a particular intensity and vivacty. Darjeeing i ui in layers, neatly along its ridge like anexhibtion tose, from the posh hotels and the villas at the top to the jumbled bazaar quarter atthe bottom: and all the way dove tis dense ered mass of building life incessantly buzzes, ‘hums and fins. Drjelng’ energies seem to burn the brighter for their smallness and noe a commer of the town is still, oF ‘empry, or dll visa place of astonishing cheerfulness, Everybody seems t0 HILL STATION: DARJEELING, 1970 3 be feeling simply splendid. Pechape they all ae, for the iri ‘magnificently brillan, the heat i seldom too hoe and the cold not often icy. The nineteenth-century Welshman who fist put Darjeeling on the map sawt from the start asa sanatorium, and the Rajas of Sikkim kindly handed it over to the British Governor-General of India "Yor the purpose of enabling the servants of his government suffering from sickness to aval themselves ofits advantages’. Today Dariesing’s high spirits never seem to flag, The children never stop playing, th youths never end theie horseplay, the tourists never tire of clattering hilariously about the town on heed ponies. The cicadas sing all day long inthe gardens, and over and again from dow the hill come the hoots and pulls of the little trains (which prefer to travel gregatiously, and come meri up feom Siliguti wo of theee a atime). “To the stranger it all seems intenser, more concentated than real life, and especially after dark, when the branes are aglow in the alleys of the bazaac, and the horel lights comfortably shine above. Then half Darecling turns out fora stroll at Chaurasta, a triangular piazza half-way along the ridge, and on my own fits evening in Darjeling I wene and sat on 2 bench there, and watched the town goby. Beyond the square the dge fell away abruptly into the night, and there wer only the dark foothills out there, and a suggestion ofthe snow-speak, and the stars that now and then appeared in unnatucal brilliance through the sifting clouds ‘To and fro against this celestial backdrop the people of Darjeeling loitered,stolled and gossiped like Spaniards on their evening promenade, or more exotic Venetians at St Mark’ ‘There were tall flashing girl in saris and noses. Thre were brown gnomeslike men in fur caps. There were slant-eyed children of astonishing beauty, and boys with wild eager faces like Gengis Khan. There were monks, and priests, and soldiers and grand Indian gentlemen in tweeds, and giggly Indian gilsin Cotton party frocks. There were mountain porters hastening ‘ JAN MORRIS buck fom work, carrying eucksacks and tent-poles. There were ancient men with plated pigails. There were two hippies, and a nun, and four French tourists, and me watching it all, as in hallucination, from a corner bench beside the bandstand. Ik-was ike a microcosm of the world, assembled up there from the plains and mountains, ushered into that little square, reduced oaneater and more manageable size, and given double shots of adeenain ‘What is your country? a man peremptorily demanded, as we met face to face and unavoidably on a narrow hill track, and ‘when told him Wales, tothe west of England, he asked further: “Isita high pass to ge there?” Unimaginably high are the passes, indescribably remote the alles, from which in the century since Captain Lloyd founded Darjeeling the population of the town has found its way to the ridge. This i a frontier settlement. Some of those snow peaks ae in India proper, some in Sikkim and Bhutan, some in the ‘Kingdom of Nepal, some inthe People’s Republic of Tibet. The town stands on the edge of mysteries, and its people have migrated from many parts ofthe eastern Himalayas, and from the plans below. The old sanatorium of the memsahibs is far ‘more nowadays: not merely a celebrated resort, but an important bazaar, a cette of local government and a kind of ehnic demonstration ‘No smal town inthe world can show so many kinds, and types, and manners of people. The little Lepchas, the original inhabitants ofthe eegion, at seldom more than five feet high, but immensely strong. and agile. The Sherpas from eastern "Nepal, the high-aitude porters of Everest and Kanchenjunga, ‘move with an inexorable striding impetus, as though they can’t stop. The Tibetans often look immensely sophisticated, tend almost, ready for any Chelsea discotheque with their flared pants and impeccable complexions. The Gurkhas look soldiers HILL STATION: DARJEELING, 1970 5 through and through, always marching, even off parade, with hhead high and chest out. One sees few sleepy of dullad faces among these Mongoloid peoples of the north all seem ceminently capable—straight square-set people, who look as though, deposited in a Brooklyn back-lley or one of the emoter villages of the southern Urals, they would instantly find theie feet. But they are only one element in the Darjeeling melange. ‘There are many other kinds of Nepalese, for instance— Gurungs, Magars, Tamangs, Newars. There ae refugees from Tiber proper, and Indian Army soldiers from the Punjab and Rajasthan. Here comes a slim dark girl in blue pyjamas, who might be Annamese, or peshaps Malay. Here are four Rajput officers of the garrison, with their thin black Sandhurst moustaches and their suede boots. The Hindu holy man beside the lane is smeared mysteriously with yellow oche. The Bengali family being hoisted on to its ponies sal uileless anticipation, proud young father holding the baby (who wears a pink peaked cap with yellow velvet ribbons), mother in gold and red sari assiduously combing the already immaculate har of small boy apparently dressed for an exceptionally extravagant wedding. ‘The eyes that peer at you between bushy beard and bundled turban are, of course, the eyes of a Sikh; the shy porcelain smile from the lady atthe next table isa smile from the pal tees and sands of Madras. In the autumn they have races at Darjeeling, and then one may see this demographic jumble at its most cheerful. The racecourse is endearingly claimed to be the smallest in the world: at the end ofa race the competitors run breakneck ofthe course into the approach road, an unnerving experience for newcomers. The meetings aré not very formal. Young men play football in the middle of the track. Between races the horses raze casually on grassy spaces round about. A dribble of racegoers stumbles down the mountain track from the town above, carrying umbrellas and race cards, and a steam of jeps ‘ JAN MORRIS back fom work, carving rucksacks and tent-poles. There were ancient men with pated pigtails. There were two hippies, and a run, and four French tourists, and me watching it all, as in hallocination, from a corner bench beside the bandstand, Ie was ikea microcosm of the world, assembled up there foom the plans and mountains, ushered into that litle square, reed to neater and more manageable siz, and given double shors of adrenalin ‘What is your country?" a man peremptorily demanded, as we imet face to face and unavoidably on a narrow hill track, and ‘when told him Wales, tothe west of England, he asked further: Ista high pass to get there?” ‘Unimaginably high ae the passes, indescribably remote the valleys, rom which inthe century since Captain Lloyd founded Darjeeling the population of the town has found its way to the ridge. This is fontier settlement. Some of those snow peaks are in India proper, some in Sikkim and Bhutan, some in the Kingdom of Nepal, some in the People's Republic of Tibet. The town stands on the edge of mysteries, and its people have migrated from many pars of the eastern Himalayas, and from the plains below. The old sanatorium of the memsahibs is far more nowadays: not merely a celebrated resort, but an important bazaar, centre of local government and a kind of ci demonstration. No small rown in the world can show so many kinds, and ‘ypes, and manners of people. The little Lepchas, the original inhabitants of the region, ace seldom more than five feet high, bur immensely strong and agile. The Sherpas from eastern "Nepal, the high-altitude porters of Everest and Kanchenjunga, nexorable string impetus, as though they can’t stop. The Tibetans often look immensely sophisticated, trendy almost, ready for any Chelsea discotheque with their flared pants and impeccable complexions. The Gurkhas look soldiers move with through and through, always marching, even off parade, with hhead high and chest out. One sees few slepy or dullard faces among these Mongoloid peoples of the north: all seem eminently capable—straight square-et people, who look a5 though, deposited in a Brooklyn back-alley or one of the ‘emoter villages ofthe southern Urals, they would instantly find their feet. But they are only one element in the Darjeeling mélange ‘There are many other kinds of Nepalese, for instance— Gurungs, Magars, Tamangs, Newars. Thece are refuges fom ‘Tibet proper, and Indian Army soldiers from the Punjab and Rajasthan. Here comes a slim dark girl in blue pyjamas, who right be Annamese, or perhaps Malay. Here are four Rajput officers of the garrison, with their thin black Sandhuest moustaches and their suede boots. The Hindu holy man beside the lane is smeared mysteriously with yellow ochre. The Bengal family being hoisted on to its ponies is all guileless anticipation, proud young father holding the baby (who wears a pink peaked cap with yellow velvet ribbons), mother in gold and red sari assiduously combing the already immaculate hair of a small boy apparently dressed for an exceptionally extravagant wedding. ‘The eyes that peer at you between bushy beard and bundled turban are, of course, the eyes of a Sikh; the shy porcelain smile from the lady at the next table isa smile from the palm trees and sands of Madras. In the autumn they have races at Darjeeling, and then one ‘may see this demographic jumble at its most cheerful. The racecourse is endearingly claimed to be the smallest in the ‘world: at the end ofa race the competitors run breakneck ofthe course into the approach road, an unnerving experience for newcomers. The meetings aré not very formal. Young men play football in the middle of the track. Between races the horses graze casually on grassy spaces round about. A dribble of racegoets stumbles down the mountain track from the town, above, carrying umbrellas and race cards, and a stream of jeeps ‘ JAN MORRIS and cat tans blasts its way along the moor-road. Stil he rational procedures are honoured. The races are ‘un by the Gymkhana Club of Darjeeling, and in the official stand the Stewards and Judges, mostly Army officers, sit in well elegance with immensely superior ladies. Sometimes the senor steward takes stroll about che enclosure, moving with the lordly beneolence common to racing bigwigs from Longshamps to Kentucky Downs, The rae eard is printed with very refinement of the recegoer' argon and the rules are, of couse, severe (Trainers and Jockeys are hereby notified that Riowous Behaviour, Irermperance, or other Improper Conduct, although noe occuring on the Race Course, will be taken cognizance of by the Stewards). It would take an iconoclast indeed, to dey the decrees ofthe Drieling Gymkhana Club, But all around that grandstand, swarming about the bookies at ther tle wooden stands pienicking up the grassy slopes behing, hagling with the eles of nuts or the purveyors of ilies ithe ifinite variety of Darjeeling, impervious to regulation. Such a conglomeration of bone structures hfesyes, tastes, gestures! Such a eacophony of voices, deep, cracked, sngsong or belle! Such a marvellous fugue of story performed therein he intersections of history, religion, foc ambivion that have brought this por-poursi of the human indo place its bes on the fourth race! The bell sings; the lap drops hurtling around the track in blows of das come thee o four black Tibetan ponies, eidden at desperate sped and with savage concentration by fierce litle high-hecked jockeys—brilanely livered in scaeets and yellows, visors low over thei eyes—rocketing around that ‘mii ack, athe crowd ies tip-toe with excitement, until they shootout fight, with cheers laughter and catealls, behind the grandstand and of the course Iriss though the scouts of Ata have passed trough, The stranger may feel a certain sense of shock, but the stewards do not seem disconcerted. ‘Jolly good ILL STATION: DARJEELING, 1970 , show they say 0 each other, “Hel ofa good eace, what?" For the most dogmatic progressive will aot deny to litle Darielingatugof nostalgia Iris harmless. leis only a fragrance ‘ofealir times Vitorian Bougue stil lingering up here along the ridge. Darieeling is largely built in that gabled sem-chalet style so dear to Victorian plasure-seekers, and imposed upon its gallmaufry of peoples. is a decocous, poke-bonne, tearand-biscults style. Nobody in their senses would wish it otherwise. It is an essential pare of Darieeing’s minuscule riystique, and used to suggest tome a musical-box town, where prety litle melodies would tinkle in the sunshine, while clockwork figures in topshats and bustles jerkily proceeded along the Mall. The very names of the place carry this old tevocation—the Esplanade, Happy Valley, Step Aside: and the ‘main road tothe plains is sill Known in Darjeeling asthe Cat Road. Some ofthe hotels are deliciously Victorian. The porridge at the Windamere [sic] Hotel i, { am told by unimpeachable authorities, unsurpassed in Scotland, while the ea a the Mount Everest is tea, my dear, just like we aed to have it Shopping in Darjeeling, 100, i agreeably old-school. Patiently attentive ae the assistants, instantly to hand is the chae for memsahi, and ‘one almost expects t0 find, winging it actoss the Kashmiri shawls and the Tibetan prayerwheels, one of those wite pulley change receptaces one used to sein provincial English deapers* long ago. ‘Most of Dariceling’spleasuee (except the illicit joys ofthe bazaar quarter would perfectly satisfy our grandparents. There ithe classic pleasure, for instance, which Iabstemiously denied myself, of geting up at thee in the moring to see the sunrise and the cp of Everest from Tiger Hill Thee are the pleasures of Excursions o Places of Increst, lke Ghoom Rock or Kaventer’s Dairy arm, There are the pleasures of identifying wildflowers (owns yan Gane re erence Ae Tae ee ie Sends ak ma Seer eed Thay aan ier is miniature golf, and when T was there enn ted yt pop 8 a Sie plane of walking In most of Dajlng sn eer ee Coane case uae Solis on lena eee ncaa ‘em os ate beak te ae {hs of koaside—nowhere lke Dring for blowing the ‘cobwebs away! ree ‘ ales isbce te U 4 Usp our grandparens would have loved ity and Sam Rests seanbook sence canbe 10 the ‘anes tor, dtny moving. On Jalapahar Fil tthe ‘retool ry emonmen sacs Whose ground, arson churehand shops forthe Sop ea, ling through this camp, enjoying is ses inokae mY aexhtie—potished bras, repimental 2a eb tt bls, he clamp of ammunition boots ‘ended tt Moutaches—when an unexpected ‘edn had gund behing With aso inca tory wal the Gurkha pipe band broke dy akg it f4 Highland lament, I stopped dead it eons of py nd teats came to my eyes: for what i epc POH I though, had sted to tbat 8 260 and how strange and sweet al MILL STATION: DARJEELING, 1970 ’ lonely it sounded in these hills ofthe Indian frontier! ‘Can Thelp you? inquved a passer-by seeing me standing there "You are not ill Nor il, assured the hill. Only susceptible! mas moved on up Every morning before breakfast | used to walk up Observatory Fill. This wooded hump, rising directly above the Chaurasta is holy tothe Buddhists, who have a shrine upon its summit, All along the steep and winding path tothe top mendicants insite the contributions of the pious—grave holy men who bow like archbishops, jolly old crones, coveys of chitpy inquisitive childzen. Two grinning stone lions guard the enteance to the holy compound, the trees are hung all over with white prayer flags, and mysteriously from the recesses of the shrine one may hear the ineessant murmur of prayers and tinkling of bell. ‘There are always people up there, Some ace praying, some meditating, some reading sacred serpts, and one I met each day used to stand al alone among the bushes looking towards Tibet nd writing ina lange black notebook. If the weather is clear there is a glorious view of Kanchenjunga and its pees, and while they were cooking my «exgsin the hotel down below Lused to ston the gras alone and ‘marvel at the immunity of Darjeeling. Ic has, it seemed to me, escaped. It knows ts own dimension, andis satisfied. Though its ‘name is famous everywhere, stilt remains a small town ofthe Himalayan foothills, very close tothe sol and the temple, There is material squalor enough, but seldom I think despair sil ess ‘degradation. The loads may be crippling, but sill the porters find the energy tosmile. The children and the chickens may bein and out ofthe kitchen, bu the mothers never seem to get cross. The girls laugh as they laboriously chop firewood in the thickets, and the bundles of hay piled upon the backs of the labourers are speckled allover with flowers of pink and blu. Tt is as though by an unconscious exertion of values we JAN MORRIS Daring ha sclected what it wants from the world below, and ‘ejected al he rest, And such isthe inner variety ofthe place, so lavishareits colours, so remote isiteven now from the pressures ofthe industrialized society, that within its own limits it can alford to be tolerant. There is nothing censorious about the place. One may look, behave, dres, believe more or less 28 one pleases. During my stay in Darjeeling I often saw a young American dressed in the habit of a Buddhist monk. He was studying a nearby seminary, I 898 told, and wore the brown cloak, the sandals and the haie-bun as to the manner born, Nobody appeared the last surprised by this anomalous figure, and even is father, who was paying him a visit from the States, seemed enttely at home with the phenomenon. ‘’'m going to

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