For me, being Hindu was never about rigid codes or centralized doctrines. Dara Mandir became a shared identity, a Darjeelingey or “Gorkha” way of being that embraced diversity and coexistence. I’ve met practicing Christians in Chowrasta who hold Dara Mandir in reverence, not out of religious obligation but out of respect for its place in our collective memory.
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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.