Dashain Aayo
The sky is blue. The sun glows. Thin clouds scatter like kite tails unraveling in the wind. Somewhere, the voice of the weatherman drifts in. Dashain aayo.
The sky is blue. The sun glows. Thin clouds scatter like kite tails unraveling in the wind. Somewhere, the voice of the weatherman drifts in. Dashain aayo.
Darjeeling’s case is not an isolated one. Its problems are visible from Kashmir in the western Himalayas to Sikkim in the eastern Himalayas. From Nepal’s Melamchi to Uttarakhand’s Joshimath, the trend repeats itself across the Himalayas.
In Shimla, hotels collapsed during the 2023 monsoon. In June this year, Gangtok and Sikkim’s Teesta valley, cloudbursts tore apart dams and towns. On the other side of the border in Nepal, flooding of the Melamchi valley, which was compounded by unchecked construction, entombed homes and land in mud and slush. From Manali to Mustang, from Joshimath to Darjeeling, the cycle is the same: weak slopes, flouted laws, muffled voices.
What endures is the silence of the government and the tenacity of the common people.
Zeuxine yonzoneana – The orchid was first discovered on 13th October, 2017 in the Samalbong area of Kalimpong District. A fragile plant 14 cm tall, it bears yellowish-white flowers, and its features have never been documented before. In a rare honour, the orchid now carries Dr. Yonzone’s surname, ensuring that his contribution will remain etched in botanical history.
I often look back at my childhood in the serene hills of Darjeeling and realize how deeply those early years shaped me. It was in those classrooms, surrounded by inspiring teachers, that I first began to dream of a life in education. Two teachers, in particular, left a lifelong mark on me, Ms. Tripti from St. Michael’s School, Darjeeling, and Ms. Renuka from St. Teresa’s HS School, Darjeeling. Their kindness, patience, and belief in me taught me lessons far beyond academics. They showed me the true power of a teacher’s influence, and I carry their spirit with me to this day.
We in the Himalaya, are extremely aware that we have been facing the brunt of these disasters that are the result of global forces like climate crisis as well as development pathways chosen for and by the Himalaya. There is a need for deep introspection and creating development pathways that are mountain centric and sensitive with a long term vision that is not extractive and destructive. In the face of the climate crisis, which is predicted to worsen, there is a commitment needed at the National and International level that supports development paradigms for the Himalaya that promote resilience and wellbeing.
In 1835, through the Deed of Grant, the EIC acquired, “…out of friendship … all the land south of the Great Rungeet River, east of the Balasan River, Kalyail and Little Rungeet Rivers, and west of the Rungus and Mahanadi Rivers”(Mainwaring 1876: viii). Besides, he has elaborated on the ‘push and pull factors’ that led to Darjeeling’s transformation, and the birth of Nepalipan and the emergence of Gorkha.
The secret garden of my childhood still exists, though now hidden beneath wild weeds, silence and ravaged by landslide. The Parsi Cemetery at Singtom Fatak now, is nothing more than a forgotten patch of land but for many who have lived nearby for generations, this place was never just a cemetery. It was a peaceful space filled with flowers, soft light, and quiet rituals. A part of daily life we often passed by, yet never ignored wasn’t always this silent. Once upon a time, this place was more than a burial ground. It was a kind of secret garden, filled with seasonal flowers, where nature and memory lived together in quiet harmony.
I came to Delhi in 1987 piled on with my friend’s elder bro with a aristocrat suitcase in hand, heart full of hope, and face unmistakably stamped with the features that Delhiites and frankly, most of India have their own vocabulary for.
Tibetans continue to foster their unshakable faith in the Dalai Lama and given his advanced age, Tibetans are least concerned due to the barrage of hints from the Dalai Lama himself that he would first live up to 113 years of age and secondly, reincarnate to carry the unfinished task of the Tibetan freedom struggle.
Childhood can’t be weighed in years, but in memory. There are certain things only make sense during childhood—the ridiculous laughter, the skinned knees, and the bizarre pleasure of consuming something so sour it isn’t good for you. For most of us in hills especially Kalimpong, Maldero is the one fruit that embodies all that and more: Maldero a Sour Bite of Sweet Nostalgia. In reality named Mallero, but properly mispronounced by all the children in the community, Maldero was never simply a fruit. It was a feeling and a calling. A sip of liberty smothered in tartness, followed by friendship and a pinch of fear of being caught.