𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗧𝘂𝗿𝗯𝘂𝗹𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗧𝗲𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗮, 𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗺𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗼𝗼𝗻 𝗱𝗿𝗶𝘇𝘇𝗹𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗴𝘂𝘀𝘁𝘆 𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗱, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗺𝘆 𝘀𝗼𝗹𝗶𝘁𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀.

The burbling of Teesta during monsoon  was like a continuous jingle of life to a nomad like me in Sikkim. I have always loved to saunter along with the needling drops of continuous drizzle through the rain soaked serpentine, lonely mountaineous track on the way to Gangtok with the dangling clouds touching my nose, unfurling the petrichor of rain, and the gusty wind smacking my face to make me feel about my extant in this beautiful journey of life. And the devastating and outrageous  flow of Teesta like a sinuous hissing cobra travelling through the ravines beneath the ghostly mountains was like the only melody to a lonely soul, trying to discover his own self while lost on his way.

And then the dusk fell rapidly as it always does in the hills. At one moment it was daylight. And then very quickly, there was a quick veil of darkness wrapping the nearby villages and the mountain peaks with the signs of evening lights blinking atop the far away hills like the shining ornaments and jewelleries kept in a jewellery box and the flickering lights far away were perhaps signifying the narrow lifelines or hopes to the struggling mankind in remote nature.

The trip would end with the famished bites into the mouthwatering steamed momos along with refreshing sips of Sikkim Tea. I would return home, after a rain drenched walk of eight Kilometres piercing through the dark edges of the hills with dripping rain water rolling into my nostrils with the zing of pungent smell of clouds and rain.

It’s time to say “ Good evening and good night Sikkim “.