A town called Moreh - somewhere on the Burma border and how the hell did Tamilians end up here (part 1)

Here is the link to my previous blog entry
http://thecluelessrider.blogspot.in/2014/04/manipur.html

I am more of a night person. Its cooler, quieter and activities which may be described as immoral in the daytime seem more acceptable once its dark. Even if the immoral activities that I long for elude me, I still like to walk around in a new place at night time. The good people are all asleep and the wicked ones carry on with their activities in the cover of darkness. There is always a fear, a fear that there is something dangerous lurking around the corner waiting to pounce on you. Shady bars, groups of men couched together talking in hushed tones, in languages you don't understand when you pass by them in dingy street corners, specially in places where you clearly stand out as an outsider is one hell of a high few drugs can match upto. For all the beauty Manipur is blessed with - the security situation prevalent in the state really screws it up for everyone. Imphal - the capital city shuts down by 5:30 to 6 pm and after that one has nothing to do except for sitting in hotel rooms and wait for the sun to come up the next morning. I am not very particular about following the rules laid out and I do bend them once in a while to suit myself. But one look at the menacing looks of the Manipuri policemen carrying sophisticated weaponry and I know this is not really the place where I would be bending rules for frivolous purposes. The only silver lining in this mess is that the hotel waiter can get you alcohol from the black market to your room. Even though Manipur is a dry state, alcohol is very easily available and even the black market prices for alcohol seem reasonable (in fact cheaper) if you are used to buying alcohol in say a Mumbai or a Bangalore.

So everything was according to plan. Roamed around in the city the next morning. Went to Loktak lake some 40 odd Kms away on the morning after that. Came back to Imphal before lunch time. Headed to a cyber cafe to check out routes and other stuff to my next destination Silchar. But somewhere deep down I did not have enough of Manipur. Every traveler I believe is a journalist at some deep level and Manipur is one hell of a place to get a good story. I was still looking for my story here. I started researching about Manipur sitting in that internet cafe and I stumbled upon this town called Moreh. 'Moreh is a small town some 100 odd Kms away from Imphal on the Burma border' is the first thing I read from one of the articles I stumbled upon and by the time I finished reading more articles about Moreh I was sold.

Firstly I came to know that one could take their private vehicles to Tamu - the first town on the Burmese side of the border some 8 Kms inside without any documentation formalities. The third foreign country my bike would enter - leave apart everything else, this prospect itself was enough to get me going to Moreh. Then there is this Tamil Sangam in Moreh. There are some 400 odd Tamil families residing in Moreh and how they ended up in Moreh is a very interesting story. I will elaborate this story in my next blog post. Also the more I read about Moreh, I came to know that insurgent groups over there in the border areas control the allegedly flourishing drug trade across the borders. This town also claims to be more cosmopolitan than the rest of Manipur as Burmese alcohol is openly sold in the shops over there and the shops don't close till 8 or 9 in the evening. Considering the rest of Manipur closes by around 6 this was pretty interesting to note. Some articles also mentioned that there is a burgeoning sex trade in Moreh with women coming from Burma offering their services. Don't get me wrong. I was not keen on availing these services but somewhere the dark side of things intrigue me.

Drugs, sex and alcohol. One I indulge in regularly, one occasionally and one hardly. In no particular order mind you. I'll just leave it to your imagination. Sitting in that unimpressive cyber cafe I was already imagining myself sitting in a bar in Moreh, with hot women dancing around the table and people snorting cocaine on the other table. Somewhere I also imagined loud gunshots outside the bar where armed men on horses are fighting each other. Yes I was still wearing my cowboy hat and finishing off my beer when that hot waitress comes seductively with the bill. I tip her handsomely and leave for my hotel room. Something broke this lovely dream I was having sitting in that internet cafe but I was convinced that this is the place where I will get my story.

After all the best stories always involve drugs, sex and alcohol. The prospect of gunshots (which is very real in Manipur) would only spice up the whole story. So I did head up to Moreh the next day. I did get my story and boy what a story. Its probably one of the best stories I'll ever  have in my life. One I will irritate my grandchildren with. I'll come up with that story in my next post but I can tell you one thing

"The best stories do not involve drugs, sex or alcohol. The best stories are created when people are kind to one another"

About Me:

A 7 month motorcycle ride that took me to every state in India, parts of Nepal and Bhutan and one town in Burma. These blog entries are inspired by this trip. Stories about people I met, stories about places I saw. Things that intrigued me, things that amused me. They say traveling changes you, they say traveling inspires you and they say a lot of other stuff. I don't know. I think a gun on the head is a better way to change people. I just hope that my travel stories entertain you

Right now I am in the process of writing a book based on this trip and figuring out the difference between a writer's block and procrastination.

You can find more information on my Facebook page and Instagram account

Manipur

Hindsight is a wonderful thing. It allows you to describe an event with a lot more clarity in your thoughts. When I think back of my trip almost all of the time Manipur is the first thing that comes to mind. There are certain points in a trip like this that has a great impact on you. Manipur was one such place.

Manipur is an incredibly beautiful place. Hills on the sides, a vast central plain in the valley where Imphal is located with lush green paddy fields on both sides of the roads - its a delight riding a motorcycle there. Sadly this is not what is newsworthy in Manipur. Manipur is home to a large number of insurgent groups around 25 to 30 in an area of 22,327 sq Kms and is probably one among the most militarized zones in the world. Much more sadly even this fact rarely makes the news in the mainstream Indian media.

Manipur is primarily inhabited by the Meities, Kukis and Nagas. From each of them, a set of insurgent groups have sprouted up with aspirations ranging from a separate state to independence. What all of them have in common is that they have taken up guns to fulfill these aspirations. Meitie groups fight for an independent country, Naga groups fight for a greater Nagaland state ie to merge Naga dominated areas in Manipur with the Nagaland state, Kuki groups fight for a separate state for the Kukis. Although on a lighter note, I do like the idea of a separate state for Kukis as it will be called Kukiland. Who wouldn't like such a name. Anyway apart from these insurgent groups, just to spice up things for the people of the state there is also a commando unit of the Manipur police - very notorious for ruthlessly putting out any sort of opposition. The kinds who would prefer encounters over arrests. Then you have Indian Reserve Battalions (IRB) and the Assam Rifles who sometimes assist the Manipuri police in anti insurgency operations.

The political situation in Manipur is quite a complex one and one should never try to simplify such complex situations by assigning heroes to one side and villains on the other. Heroes invariably end up on your side while the villains are always on the other side. Everyone has their selfish interests and maintaining the status quo probably suits them. If you talk to people they will tell you that the insurgents extort money and the policemen do the same. The security situation ensures there is lesser accountability which makes the politicians task of siphoning money much easier. The AFSPA (Armed Forces Special Powers Act) adds to the woes. I am not a security expert to suggest that it should be repealed but when a woman (Irom Sharmila) has been on a peaceful hunger strike from Nov 2000 the country should take notice. Repealing it may or may not be feasible but I am sure a lot could be done to make the act more humane and the security forces more accountable for the violations they commit under this Act.

A person holding a gun looks appealing only when you trust them completely. It does not matter if they are wearing a uniform or they are part of an insurgent group. The police commandos who move around in Imphal have such menacing looks - it scared the hell out of me. I ensured that I never prolonged eye contact with them. In Army checkposts I am more comfortable. A father who has served in the Army helps. The other civilians present - the local Manipuris are dealt with a lot of arrogance almost bordering hostility in these checkposts. Perceptions matter. The forces stationed in Manipur could undergo some lessons on people skills. Otherwise it runs the risk of looking exactly like what some people will term it as - an occupying force out to colonize the state.

Manipur and more generally the north east is greatly ignored by the country. If I give out an India outline map to 15 year old kids with state boundaries outlined, I don think more than 20% of the people (I am being optimistic) will be able to place it correctly. Sadly the numbers are unlikely to change even when these kids turn 30. I was very skeptical of entering Manipur because of the security situation prevalent and was also advised against it. I am glad that I did not heed the advise and spent a good 6 days there. If there is a point in the bike trip where I can safely say that the trip changed me it is in Manipur. There are 3 stories that happened to me in a span of four days that completely humbled me. These are not stories of violence or hatred, these are stories of extreme kindness. The first story is in the border town of Moreh where I was short of cash and where there were no ATM's around - I was given food, shelter and a sum of Rs 1000 on my return. The second story is about when I got stranded in a small village called Barak and it got dark - I was given shelter free of cost by a woman who had a small shop there. The third story is that of truck drivers who helped me transport my bike free of cost to the next town when my bike broke down a few kilometers after Barak village the next morning.

I'll detail out the stories in my next entries. For now I just hope peace prevails in these areas

About Me:

A 7 month motorcycle ride that took me to every state in India, parts of Nepal and Bhutan and one town in Burma. These blog entries are inspired by this trip. Stories about people I met, stories about places I saw. Things that intrigued me, things that amused me. They say traveling changes you, they say traveling inspires you and they say a lot of other stuff. I don't know. I think a gun on the head is a better way to change people. I just hope that my travel stories entertain you

Right now I am in the process of writing a book based on this trip and figuring out the difference between a writer's block and procrastination.

You can find more information on my Facebook page and Instagram account

When kindness puts you in a spot and Ishant Sharma helps you justify your actions

The northeast is one of the most beautiful parts of India which is pretty much untouched on the tourism calendar of most Indians. Misinformation about the social and political conflicts in the region doesn't help matters. It is such a pity because people from these parts of the country are right there at the top of my most favorite people in this country list. Women are respected, men are soft spoken and everyone is very courteous. Just the way I like a society to be. I have so many feel good stories from these parts and it has been overwhelming. But there are times when the kindness bestowed by people puts you in a really tight spot. This is one such story.

The ride from Jorhat in Assam to Kohima in Nagaland is one which is etched in my memory. In between I had to stop at Dimapur and get inner line permits for Nagaland. Nagaland due to a lot of millitant groups active in the state (although there is a ceasefire in place for a long time now and it might be in probability one of the most peaceful states in India for a tourist at least) there are a lot of police checkposts. Nagaland policeman and Naga people in general are probably amongst the sweetest in the whole of the northeast. It is a very big deal as most people in all northeastern states are very sweet. I was stopped at the border gate at the Dimapur and the policeman asked me for a lot of Id proofs and I had to fill in some details in a register. He questioned me for some time too. But all the while he had a smile and said "I am very sorry Sir. It is just that we have to go through these procedures and its for your own safety. Do not feel bad" quite a few times in between the questioning. Now being the son of an Army officer definitely has its advantages. In a lot of police interactions I have felt that I have been accorded the courtesy because of the respect or sometimes fear the Army generates in a lot of policemen. Had my Dad not been in the Army then maybe I might not have been accorded the same courtesy. But with Nagaland policemen it was different. Not just this particular checkpost but even others where I did not have the need to mention that my Dad is an ex Army officer because it never came up, I was accorded the same courtesy and respect.

Now the best part about the conversations with Naga people - policemen and otherwise is that they are never intrusive. They speak very politely. A man on a motorcycle filled with luggage definitely intrigues a lot of people and they come up and talk to you starting with a smile. They ask you a question and they listen without ever interrupting you. They have the perfect sense and timing on how long to prolong a conversation if the other guy is in a hurry or something. At the end they always say "Have a safe journey Sir" and smile. Although once or twice the thought did cross my mind that the smile was sarcastic and there has never been a safe journey in Nagaland. Well its nothing to worry. Its more to do with my sense of humour (or the lack of it) which makes me think in these ways. Riding in Nagaland has always been pleasant.

Oh just in case I forget to mention one fruit vendor some 70 Kms before reaching Kohima gave me two pineapple slices free of cost when I had stopped there thinking he might have some fruit juice. He did not have any juices but then free sweet pineapple slices are a good replacement. So anyway I reached Kohima and was looking around for a hotel room. The one hotel room I checked did not have water in the bathrooms so I came back to where I parked my bike and was contemplating my next moves. I was planning to stay in Kohima for 2 to 3 days and I was looking for a comfortable room in Kohima. Since I was on a budget in this trip, what I generally do is stay in filthy rooms for a while - even the kinds where you only use the toilets in the morning before you check out so that your room won't stink when you are inside and then treat myself to a comfortable room preferably with running hot water for a day or two. Kohima, I reached in a time when i was looking for a comfortable room. While I was contemplating there came two men - one from Manipur and the other his junior from Kerala - both working in the BSNL office in Kohima. You might say I am being pompous but if I try to be humble here I would be lying. I can safely say that the man from Manipur was really really impressed by my bike ride story.

First he insisted that he buys me pakodas and chai from a nearby shop. Insisted is a mild word I use because I am nice and I have my limitations in vocabulary when describing a situation wherein the only way to end the interaction was to give in to his demands. That particular shop was closed and I thought I had an escape but then he insisted that we go to another shop. The man seemed to be a connoisseur of tea and pakodas  since he did not go to the next available shop for tea and pakoda but instead took me along to a shop some 400 meters away. The tea and pakodas were fine but I don't think it was worth the effort of walking another 400 meters. Well there might be something that he knows that I don't and I am not complaining about it. So then over those lovely pakodas and tea I asked him if he could suggest some hotels around in a decent budget. He said that hotels around this area would be expensive and then he was suddenly struck with an idea and he insisted that I stay in the BSNL guest house which he was in a position to arrange for me. I thought about the pros and cons of it. The pros being getting a comfortable room free of cost or in a very reasonable amount - free of cost most likely which in turn would enable me to consume more quantities of alcohol (very likely). The cons being I don't know - maybe an off chance he asks for sexual favours for all the help (quite unlikely). Add to the fact that the man is not someone who takes No for an answer that easily, I decided to take up that offer.

So I took my bike in the BSNL complex. Before getting to the guest house he made me meet his superiors in the office and the man was telling my story to every person he came across and also mentioning the fact that I look like Ishant Sharma - the Indian cricketer (that was quite uncalled for Sir). Then he took me to the guest house. I was kind of confused when I saw it from the outside. It did not seem like the grand palace as I had imagined it to be but then I still hoped to be blown away by the luxurious interiors. Then he opened the door and yes I was blown away. Shocked and surprised might be a better way to describe it. One look in the room and I knew I would only sleep here if there was a war going on outside or if there is a possibility of me getting laid with a woman who is right up there on the looks department. He looked at me and asked if it was ok. I was tempted to tell him as to what was exactly going through my mind but then I did not have the heart to tell him that. I just said it is perfect and resigned to my fate. I somehow managed to sleep in the room that night and early the next morning I decided that I would leave that room and check into some nice hotel for the next two days. I knew it would be difficult to convince him and till the time I was in Kohima, he would try and find me some other place to crash in if I was not finding this place to my liking.

The next morning while I packed up my stuff and waited for that guy to come and see me off I was in a dilemma. Should I just make an excuse and leave or should I be honest and upfront about my plans to him. He came, again mentioned to everyone who cared to listen about my story and about how I looked like Ishant Sharma (Why does he keep doing that ? ). I looked at him and thought if only he asked for sexual favours things would have been so much more easier. Still I mustered up enough courage and did the manly thing. I lied through my teeth and bid him goodbye. I told him that I was heading to Imphal today and said my goodbyes. I even went to the Nagaland heritage village just on the outskirts of the Kohima city in full riding gear and strapped with luggage. I entered the World War 2 museum located there in my riding gear. Not that I mind it that much but then I would never have imagined myself entering a museum in riding gear. I came back to Kohima in the afternoon. Found a hotel room which suited my budget and comfort and took that hot water bath in the shower I was just pining for all the while hoping against hope that I don't come across him again till the time I was in Kohima.

To that man from Manipur in Kohima - Sir if you happen to come across this blog, I am really sorry. I wanted that hot water bath real bad. I might have exaggerated a bit (not really. I am just trying to be polite) describing the state of the guest house and maybe if it was some other day I might have gladly stayed in that guest house. But all said and done that thing you do about comparing me with Ishant Sharma on looks is not amusing at all :)

About Me:

A 7 month motorcycle ride that took me to every state in India, parts of Nepal and Bhutan and one town in Burma. These blog entries are inspired by this trip. Stories about people I met, stories about places I saw. Things that intrigued me, things that amused me. They say traveling changes you, they say traveling inspires you and they say a lot of other stuff. I don't know. I think a gun on the head is a better way to change people. I just hope that my travel stories entertain you

Right now I am in the process of writing a book based on this trip and figuring out the difference between a writer's block and procrastination.

You can find more information on my Facebook page and Instagram account

Four Boats And A Beer

The Brahmaputra divides the whole state of Assam in a nearly perfect half creating along its path a very fertile valley on both sides of the river. Lush green paddy fields, the Kaziranga national park, the tea gardens in Dibrugarh - Assam has a lot to offer to the tourist visiting there. Unlike me, a lot of tourists do not have the luxury of time while traveling in Assam. I had the luxury of time but still Assam is one place where I can look back and say "Been there and NOT done any of that".

Not that I had anything against Assam. I actually wanted to spend a lot of time there. Its just that Assam happened to be the wrong place at the wrong time. I had reached Guwahati after spending some 10 odd days in Bhutan. Trust me Bhutan tends to linger in your mind for some time. The fact that Assam is more of plains rather than hills doesn't help matters. When you are riding in the mountains for a long time and suddenly you reach the plains, the heat and the crowd in the plains get to you. You want to head back to the hills as soon as possible.  I thought I'll pay a visit to the Kaziranga national park before I head to Tawang in the Arunachal hills but then I am not really fond of animals. I do like them when they are cooked and if I can help save a tiger or two, I would gladly do it but then I don't like visiting them in their homes and I prefer that they too return the favour. So I skipped the urge (if we can call it that) to visit Kaziranga and headed to Tawang. After that I reached Itanagar, serviced my motorcycle in a shop that had just opened that day. My motorcycle had the distinction of being the first ever bike being serviced by that mechanic in his independent shop that he had opened along with two others. Well he did an average job but I was searching for a bike servicing center in that area and I just happened to ask him for directions and his enthusiasm won me over and I ended up getting it serviced from him. But I don't hold it against him. I really think his enthusiasm will make him a respectable mechanic one day.

So Majauli was my only chance to undo all the wrong and give Assam the chance it deserves. Majauli is the large fresh water island on the Brahmaputra river. Claims vary from being the largest fresh water island in the world to the 24th largest fresh water island in the world. It is home to the Mising tribe of people and it has its own unique traditions. The fact that it is an island would mean there would be boats to carry the motorcycle to the place and that is just an icing on the cake. There is something very romantic about loading your motorcycle on a boat and I was very excited about it. So I started off early morning from Itanagar and reached Khaboli ghat crossing North Lakhimpur and a drunk cop who just stopped me unawares at 9 in the morning somewhere on the way, looking to make a few bucks of me. Tactfully (which involves pretending like an Army officer on leave and giving him a contemptuous look) I avoided paying him anything and reached Khaboli ghat. The boat to take me to the other side was due in an hour and I decided to eat something in one of the huts nearby. While I was eating my poori sabji, I noticed men in a group all smiles drinking something. You don't need the IQ of an Einstein to understand that it is quite likely an alcoholic beverage. I was curious to check how it tasted and asked for a small sip and they gladly obliged.

Rice beer is one of the best things invented by man after the wheel . Since I had to drive I resisted the temptation to have more. But those guys egged me on and somewhere I have noticed that I have a big heart when there is alcohol on offer. I got one whole glass for myself, drank with them and by then it was time for my boat. I bid them goodbye and embarked on the boat. 

It was some 25 minute ride to the other side and I came to know from other passengers that I needed to cross two more islands to reach Majauli. Two more boats on the slight rice beer buzz would be just heavenly. I reach the other side, ride on the kutcha roads for some 15 min take the next 5 min boat. Then another kutcha road ride for about 10 min and another 5 min boat ride and finally I am in Majauli. I look for hotel rooms within my budget - they are filthy. I really wanted to stay a night there. If not for anything else maybe just for the rice beer. But with a heavy heart I went to the Majauli boat Jetty and caught the last boat to Jorhat - a 1.5 hour boat ride on the majestic Brahmaputra river, to head to Nagaland the next day. Check out the link below for the photographs of that day.

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.151801335026996.1073741867.101961743344289&type=3

Well Assam its not you its me. You are beautiful and your people were very nice to me. I am just a jerk. I never kept my promises and it was just one night stands with you. Please forgive me. One day I'll come back and we will take it to the next level.

Oh by the way please do not drink and drive. Unless of course it is rice beer and there happens to be four boats in the story.

About Me:

A 7 month motorcycle ride that took me to every state in India, parts of Nepal and Bhutan and one town in Burma. These blog entries are inspired by this trip. Stories about people I met, stories about places I saw. Things that intrigued me, things that amused me. They say traveling changes you, they say traveling inspires you and they say a lot of other stuff. I don't know. I think a gun on the head is a better way to change people. I just hope that my travel stories entertain you

Right now I am in the process of writing a book based on this trip and figuring out the difference between a writer's block and procrastination.

You can find more information on my Facebook page and Instagram account

The Indian Army - lest we forget

The Army - there is something about this profession that turns on every man. You are trained to kill, you fire guns at will and no matter where you are, most people in the country respect you. Also the amount of alcohol available for consumption at cheaper prices certainly does not hurt. Alright you can't really fire guns at will, I just wrote it because it rhymed but the point is there is so much pride and honour attached to the profession that if you have some or the other connection to the Army you try to associate yourself to it. Well I have it pretty easy - My father was an Officer in the Indian Army.

As an Army kid I have been raised in different parts of the country and as is the norm with Army kids I also used to arrogantly flaunt it around. A lot of Army kids have difficulty coming to terms with the fact that it is their parents and not them who are special and worthy of all the respect showered. Different people take different amounts of time but gradually every Army kid does get over it. Growing up in various Army cantonments with Army men all around, every Army kid has fancied himself to be an Army officer at least once in his life and even though he might have come to terms with his civilian life - the sight of the olive green rekindles in him with a thought of what could have been.

That is why the ride from Guwahati to Tawang was special. As a young officer my father was stationed in these parts in the late 1970's, early 1980's. Basically he was my age when he was there. Although grudgingly I must admit a lot more fit and a very lot more good looking. All throughout the ride whenever I see an Army installation or an Army officer pass me by, I would start imagining my Dad passing by these roads. (Although the black and white thing that happens when people do that in movies never happened. Maybe you need to look like a movie star too). In the evenings when I talked to him on the phone he'll keep telling me about how the roads were pathetic and how the place was very beautiful and I would tell him the roads have improved now. Now they are just bad but the place is as beautiful as ever. So I can just imagine how things would have been during the 1962 war.

Well for your benefit I'll try to give you an idea of the present condition of the roads. There's a place called Sappar and a place called Senge some 20 odd Kms from Sappar on the way to Tawang after you cross Bomdilla. There is a 5 - 6 odd Km stretch where roads are not yet constructed and the road is all slushy. Even in the slushy road there are 4 or 5 stretches about 100 or 200 odd metres long where your whole tyre sinks in the mud. When that happens you have no other option other than to accelerate and your bike starts swaying here and there but then you can't stop because if you do you just might get stuck. Going uphill is still ok cause no matter how much you accelerate you still move at a slow speed. Its when after you visit Tawang and you have to come back the same road that these stretches just scare the living daylights out of you. Its like white water rafting. Your bike starts moving like a raft in a rapid and you hardly have any control over your bike and the fact that you did not fall from the bike has nothing to do with your biking skills. Its just plain luck. The only thing I was trying to ensure was that the bike is on the side of the cliff and not on the side of the valley. After every such stretch I would stop my bike, smoke a cigarette to calm myself (Mom in case you are reading this - this line is just a creative liberty I take), pray to God that keep me single for the rest of my life if you want, but just make me cross these stretches safely. The moment I crossed the last stretch I was so elated that I stopped my bike, sat on the ground on the side of the road for some 10 minutes, looked in the sky and said "You know the thing about keeping me single the rest of my life was just a figure of speech. Do not take it very seriously".

Now imagine the year 1962. There is a war going on in these areas and the Chinese have captured a lot of territory. The Indian troops fighting are four days away from the nearest road. That means supplies are to be air dropped because mules have their limitations. Fuel (basically kerosene for cooking and all) is dropped in cylindrical drums and food items are airdropped via parachutes to the troops fighting over there. The terrain is hilly so a lot of these drums roll over to the Chinese side and depending on the wind, a lot of the food supplies also reach the Chinese side. For all you know if we had just poisoned the food supplies maybe a lot more Chinese casualties could have been inflicted. To make matters more interesting Chinese troops are fighting with AK - 47's and our troops fight with .303 guns wearing cotton uniforms in extreme cold conditions. Yet brave men fought valiantly and many laid down their lives to capture back these areas so that I could travel these parts 50 years later and act all cool about it. Suddenly the quotes inscribed in a lot of war memorials "When you go home, Tell them of us and say, For your tomorrow, we gave our today" start making a lot of sense.

It isn't about the patriotism. Patriotism is an overrated term that everyone from your politician to your cricketer, to your movie star, to just about anyone uses to win an argument in their favour. More than patriotism the Indian Army is about the professionalism. I love to quote this incident about Field Marshal Sam Manekshaw to anyone who cares to listen. At the time of partition the British Indian Army was split into the Indian Army and the Pakistan Army. Soldiers had a choice to either be in the Indian Army or be a part of the Pakistani Army. Sam Bahadur (as he is more lovingly known) chose to be in the Indian Army. Although technically a Field Marshal never retires but years later after he had finished active service, a journalist asked him what would have it been like had he joined the Pakistani Army. He just had his trademark witty retort "then I guess Pakistan would have won the 71 war". Not undermining his wit one bit, I also like to believe that this particular statement reeks of professionalism too. This is the kind of professionalism that sets the Army apart from a lot of other organizations in the country. Perhaps more than patriotism, what this country really needs is professionalism.

So if possible do travel to these far flung parts of the country. Most of them are such beautiful places that will just blow you away. Talk to someone who has been in the forces for quite some time, if you don't believe me. And if you happen to be traveling to Tawang do stop at the Jaswantgarh war memorial. Read the stories of the 62 battle over there. Come out and on the opposite side of the road the Army has a stall which provides free tea to all who pass by. Have a cup of tea and spare a thought for the soldiers. Not just the ones who were involved in this battle but for every man and woman who guard your borders. When you think of them never sympathize with them. Its the utmost disrespect you can ever show to a soldier. Reserve your sympathies for mediocre men because soldiers deserve better.

They are always meant to be saluted.

About Me:

A 7 month motorcycle ride that took me to every state in India, parts of Nepal and Bhutan and one town in Burma. These blog entries are inspired by this trip. Stories about people I met, stories about places I saw. Things that intrigued me, things that amused me. They say traveling changes you, they say traveling inspires you and they say a lot of other stuff. I don't know. I think a gun on the head is a better way to change people. I just hope that my travel stories entertain you

Right now I am in the process of writing a book based on this trip and figuring out the difference between a writer's block and procrastination.

You can find more information on my Facebook page and Instagram account

Barless in Jaigaon, Speechless in Bhutan

Bhutan is a mythical place. The stories you hear of Bhutan will always intrigue and excite you. You are full of expectations and you look forward to visit Bhutan. Bhutan conducts itself in sharp contrast to what the rest of the world considers normal or rather practical. Gross National Happiness instead of Gross Domestic product, preserving the forest cover instead of rapid industrialization and the reluctance to embrace globalization at a fast pace is very opposite to the conventional wisdom prevalent in most parts of the world. Critics and there are quite a few, might argue that it is Utopian dream - a bubble waiting to burst and burst out pretty loud. Well I am no expert. Maybe its just a Utopian dream and the bubble is set to burst. I just wanted to make sure I have visited Bhutan before the bubble bursts.

Walking an unconventional path often tends to create idiosyncrasies of their own. Bhutan is no different. There is so much confusion regarding entry formalities in Bhutan for tourists that no matter how much you research you are still bound to be a little confused when you reach the border town. In case you are Indian things are a lot easier but still a bit confusing. I have penned down my experiences in a blog at that time. I'll paste the link to that blog entry at the end of this post. I hope it would be of help to any Indian tourist who plans to enter Bhutan by road.

This entry however is the story of the evening when I was in Jaigaon. Jaigaon is the border town in West Bengal wherein you enter Bhutan through Phuntshooling. Jaigaon is like any typical Indian small town - chaotic, loud and unorganized. Being Indian I am used to all this and if I don't have to drive in these conditions I sometimes like it too. Where it is unlike a lot of other small towns is the fact that there is a very unimpressive gate just near the marketplace and on the other side of the gate is a different country. I reached Jaigaon in the evening and even in the fading lights I could make out that the other side was cleaner and more orderly. Anyway I found a hotel room some 200 metres from the border gate and checked in there for the night.

Like I mentioned there is a lot of confusion about entry formalities in Bhutan specially if you are a single traveler. I had read up on the internet that single tourists are not allowed entry and that sort of thing and I had pretty much prepared myself with the fact that I might not be allowed to enter Bhutan. Also as soon as I checked into the hotel, the reception guy who also acted as a tourist guide told me with a lot of conviction citing his years of experience as a tourist guide in these parts that single tourists will not be allowed into Bhutan. I anyway told him that since I had come this far I might as well try for it the next morning. He was supportive but it was the kind of support you tend to give to a losing cause just to keep you happy for some more time. I realized it and went to my room and I knew there was a problem. I really wanted to travel Bhutan and I realized I might have to do it some other time or if luck favoured me some motorcycle groups might end up here and I can tag along with them. I was trying to find solutions sitting and thinking about the problem in hand and after a while I realized the best way to deal with these problems is the most obvious one - go out get drunk and deal with the problem at the time when it is supposed to be dealt with. So I went out looking for a bar in that small town of Jaigaon to drown my sorrows in alcohol.

So I exited my hotel and took a right on the market road and walked a good 800 metres. Then I walked a little more. Then I walked back to my hotel and started walking in the other direction. I couldn't walk for more than 500 meters in that direction because of a fencing erected between the Indian and the Bhutanese borders. It was very surprising that I couldn't spot a single bar or a liquor shop all this while. I have slept the night in a lot of small towns during the course of my trip and I know for a fact that there is an alcohol shop in a 1 Km radius 90% of the times unless there is a religious significance to the city. Jaigaon is no significant city - religious or otherwise. Its only claim to fame is being the border town and even then most people will be impressed by Phuntshooling - the town on the Bhutanese side of the border. I was perplexed and thought of going back to my room but then I thought I'll just ask a shopkeeper for directions to the bar.

Thank God for that. He told me that there are no bars in Jaigaon and if you want to drink you need to cross over to the Bhutanese side some 100 metres away where you will find lots n lots of bars. Apparently Indians can cross over Phuntshooling town without any documentation. They just have to cross back to the Indian side by 9:30 pm IST (10:00 pm BST) before the border gates close. I crossed over, found a modest bar and suddenly understood the reason why Jaigaon is barless. Special Courier Whisky a very decent Bhutanese Scotch (I found it better than Blenders pride) was available for Rs 35 for a large peg. I had three different types of meat, one plate of fish and three large pegs of Special courier whisky and when I asked for the bill it turned out to be 325 Rupees. I was speechless. I decided even if I had to sleep with the immigration authorities in Bhutan I will do that but I'll make sure that I enter Bhutan.

Oh by the way just out of context a lot of people specially after watching the movie 'Lunchbox' tend to believe that 1 Indian Rupees equals to 5 Nu (Bhutanese currency). It is not the case. The Indian and Bhutanese currencies are of equal value.

Anyway the next day I did get an entry to Bhutan and NO I did not have to sleep with anyone. As it turns out the hotel reception guys conviction was misplaced and I traveled the entire breadth of Bhutan on my motorcycle. The landscape is something that will render you speechless. I remember riding through Eastern Bhutan and stopping every 10 to 15 min to click pictures and sometimes just to soak in the atmosphere. There is definitely something about Bhutan - I kid you not. The people, the places - its not something you will easily forget. Maybe its the Utopian dream they are trying to live. Maybe its impractical in the long run, so make sure you visit before the bubble bursts and Bhutan becomes just like the rest of us. But do pray and hope that the bubble never bursts.

About Me:

A 7 month motorcycle ride that took me to every state in India, parts of Nepal and Bhutan and one town in Burma. These blog entries are inspired by this trip. Stories about people I met, stories about places I saw. Things that intrigued me, things that amused me. They say traveling changes you, they say traveling inspires you and they say a lot of other stuff. I don't know. I think a gun on the head is a better way to change people. I just hope that my travel stories entertain you

Right now I am in the process of writing a book based on this trip and figuring out the difference between a writer's block and procrastination.

You can find more information on my Facebook page and Instagram account

P.S
This is my blog entry I had penned down about entering Bhutan. This is for Indian tourists only. Hope it is of some help in case someone plans a road trip to Bhutan.
http://thecluelessrider.blogspot.in/2013/08/guidelines-for-indian-tourists-entering.html

Of Football matches, Political agitations and being the only tourist in town

The football match between the Pelling school team and a visiting school team from a neighbouring village at the Pelling village football ground does not really look in the favour of the home team. They are trailing 1 - 0 in the second half and the whole crowd in this ground is hoping for an equalizer. Why am I watching a local school level football match ? I'll get to that later but the point is when you are in a small touristy village like Pelling and you are an outsider you can't really go unnoticed and to make it worse I happened to be there in a time when I was the only tourist in the whole village. Well there is a foul called by the referee and the home team just got a free kick from some 30 metres from the goal.

Pelling is a beautiful village some 80 Kms from Gangtok. Tourists flock this place for a beautiful view of the Kanchenjunga. The hotel rooms are generally packed and as one would expect that finding hotel rooms which offer a brilliant view are slightly heavy on your pocket. But if you plan it out smartly like the way I did you might get a good deal. I reach this place in the first week of August 2013 and I manage to get a spacious room with a king size bed with huge windows that overlook the kanchenjunga peak, very clean bathrooms with hot water etc etc all for a paltry sum of Rs 500 a night. All of this was achieved because the month of August being the rainy one over here and the month with a somewhat permanent cloud cover it is not exactly the tourist season. So rooms get very cheap. Well there is always one odd thing that you can ignore. I stayed there for three nights and not even once could I view the Kanchenjunga peaks.

Still being the only tourist in a village has its own charm. Since this village does receive its fair bit of tourists, a tourist wandering around is not probably an unfamiliar sight but then everyone looks in amusement thinking "What is this moron doing here at this time of the year" and chuckle. Fortunately people in these parts are sweet enough not to think it out loud. Other perks include that the only restaurant open in the village at night time (which closes by 8:30 pm) send their waiters to the hotel room (which is a good 500 meters away from the restaurant) to check if I am having dinner before they decide to close the place down. Most importantly though, a school level football match also kind of gets you excited.

Coming back to the football match and why the hell was I there ? Most unpredictable situations in this country can be blamed on the political climate prevalent and this one is no different. Had it not been for a political agitation in a neighbouring state, I might have in all likelihood missed this football match. A wonderful one I must add in hindsight and hence I am willing to take part of the blame.When I had started from Gangtok towards Pelling the fuel in my tank was on the lower side and skipped the intelligent advise of people I met in Gangtok to fill up the tank in Gangtok before heading to Pelling. Long story short when I reached Pelling in the evening, the fuel was on reserve. Now Pelling does not have a petrol pump in the village but ration shops sell petrol in bottles at a slightly higher price. So all was good or so I thought. The next morning I realized petrol was not reaching these parts of Sikkim because of the Gorkhaland agitations in the Darjeeling hills nearby and locals around convinced me that there is no fuel trucks reaching these parts and nowhere in a 40 Km radius is it likely to get any fuel. So that upsets all my plans of riding around to nearby places and monastries and come back to the room by evening. So when you sitting there laughing at yourself at being stuck in a village where you can't even view the Kanchenjunga peaks, someone somewhere mentions a football match that is about to start at the village ground and your eyes light up. I think why not. I just might be the lucky charm that this school football team of the Pelling village needs to decimate the visiting team. So I am here and there is this guy who is about to take the free kick which the whole crowd is hoping to be the equalizer.

At this point let me just mention I was taking still pictures in between the game from the sidelines. (https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.145712808969182.1073741857.101961743344289&type=3#!/media/set/?set=a.145712808969182.1073741857.101961743344289&type=3) Not that I am too much into high school level football but I just thought when I am very easily the odd one out in the crowd I might as well do some attention seeking stunts. I initially thought I might try my hand (or rather feet) at a bicycle kick or something like that but I generally resist the temptation to perform such stunts in the month of August and the seven months preceding and the four months succeeding August in the calendar. So I chose to take pictures instead. But there was something about this free kick. I just thought I'll take a video of this particular free kick as somewhere I believed this would be the equalizer. And it was. Here is the proof

I had imagined that the grateful villagers will come running up to me to celebrate the goal and there would be talks about constructing a monument in my honour in this particular village. Nothing of that sort happened and I was crestfallen that the villagers never acknowledged my contribution to the equalizer. I really believe I had a part and had I not captured that free kick in video the equalizer would have never been there. I guess it just serves them right that they ultimately lost in the penalty shootouts.

Oh by the way the next morning I did take a jeep taxi to the town 12 Kms away and got some Rs 450 worth of petrol from a petrol pump which was sufficient to make me reach the next petrol pump on the way to my next destination. Well it was a little difficult to procure the petrol - I'll give you that but it just was not impossible to procure as everyone in Pelling made me to believe. I guess I am not the only one who exaggerates for effect :)

About Me:

A 7 month motorcycle ride that took me to every state in India, parts of Nepal and Bhutan and one town in Burma. These blog entries are inspired by this trip. Stories about people I met, stories about places I saw. Things that intrigued me, things that amused me. They say traveling changes you, they say traveling inspires you and they say a lot of other stuff. I don't know. I think a gun on the head is a better way to change people. I just hope that my travel stories entertain you

Right now I am in the process of writing a book based on this trip and figuring out the difference between a writer's block and procrastination.

You can find more information on my Facebook page and Instagram account