"Oh Jaan, I'm in India!" (3): Que Shimla, Shimla.

"So... you guys are students?" The driver asked, while spinning his sterling making a sharp u-turn and going uphill.

"Erm.. no..." I could hear the slight gasp came from my 3 comrades sitting behind. The road was narrow, and winding and uphill. I was worried too.

"...ermmm .... huh?" the driver got a quick look at me, gave me a 'if not -- then--what?' gesture, reminded me of my incomplete answer to his question.

"Oh.. yeah.. we're not students.." My focus was all on the road we were on, and the 'inappropriate' speed of our van moving at, heading towards a place called 'Yai-Jyui-Yem-See(?)', as per Mr Kavi Khanna's instruction over the phone.

".. so... you guys are doctors then?" The driver looked to me with a very exciting smile.

Doctors?

*********************************************

 I've never met Mr Kavi Khanna. Never until today.

We only had a few formal conversations over emails, and then over the phones when we were getting closer to Shimla, the north destination of our trip in India -- and to tell you the truth, Mr Kavi Khanna doesn't sound friendly at all, and sometimes his thick Indian accent really messed up our discussion about arranging accommodation in Shimla Youth Hostel.

That's why I was still unsure about our accommodation in Shimla, up to the moment when our Toy Train arrived early in the morning.

"Go to Yai-Jyui-Yem-See, someone will meet you there" was his last instruction, and that really sounded like a super-badass kidnapper, instructing how to handle the ransom.

..and I was the helpless father of three, following the instruction faithfully, bearing the great pressure and huge worries quietly, while having my three cheerful kids happily running around, not knowing any approaching danger...

---- "Oo~kei!" -- Our van stopped, hand-break pulled -- "Yai-Jyui-Yem-See." The driver announced.

"This is it?" I asked.

"Yeah, 'Yai-Jyui-Yem-See'," and pointed to the big building complexes at the roadside.

Indira Gandhi Medical College.

I. G. M. C.

*****************************************

We finally checked in Shimla Youth Hostel, a cozy and simple hostel squeezed in between a narrow walkway, raised by a series of staircases.

We were led by Mr Kavi Khanna's staff to our room -- the mysterious Mr Kavi Khanna was still out of sight -- and at the moment we about to unlock the room's door, Coco and Ijoi and I perceived one same sentiments at that same time --

-- finally we'll have a room and a bed to bunk in, ever since the start of our journey..

...and of course, finally we'll have the chance to take our shower, ever since the start of our journey...


*****************************************

Not expecting much from Shimla, we actually planned for a short stay only. In fact, Shimla in our plan was just a pit stop for us to get to Minali -- the ever famous gorgeous northern wonderland of India.

So, checking out the Lakkar Bazaar of Shimla became the only plan we had so far. Still not having our luggage with us, Ijol and I just had to put on whatever clothes that lent by our another 2 comrades of us.

A new T-shirts definitely freshened up our mood and made us feel clean, but while even locals were all wearing thick winter jackets or wool shepherd sweaters, walking on the street of Lakkar Bazaar by just wearing a thin sheet of T-shirt really felt like being naked -- the chill wind, the freezing weather was just piercing every inch of my body.

"I can't even imagine how the weather in Minali will be..." I mumbled, missing my thick winter jacket that left behind in my rag sack. I think there's snow in Minali, and I started to worry.

*****************************************

Out of our surprises, we enjoyed loafing in Shimla so very much.

Shimla is totally different from the India that we encountered before this. Initially we thought it' s because of the weather, or the cleanliness, or the altitude that made the difference, or the friendliness of the locals etc etc, but after checking out the this little town, we finally realized that it's a spirit of Shimla that creates that pleasant ambience of this place. 

I call this spirit: Hope.

Our pre-trip research did not reveal that Shimla is actually a place where medical students come and study, and receive their qualification to become a doctor. Being in Shimla, we could actually feel the intelligence yet humble atmosphere surrounding this highland -- young storekeeper that concentrates on reading a thick text book behind counter, school-kids that flock to their school with happy faces, just beside walkway a young Indian selling her 2nd hand medical text books and attracted crowd of college students as if she's selling the hottest rempah in the market, little bookstores that contains really big titles, little school kid who walks to school while reading, the guards of IGMC and the driver who just expressed their excitement when they thought we were another batch of young doctors checking in to their town.... --- all and all, Shimla shines with hopes: hope for a brighter future, hope for a more promising generations, and hope for a better life.

--- "...and I HOPE that you really can send our luggages to here, PLEASE!!" I hung up, feeling disappointed with Malaysia Airlines. I just called their office and confirmed the address of Shimla Youth Hotel that we checked in, hoping that they would EVENTUALLY send our luggages back to us. But what I got in return, was a 'promise' that says it'll take more than a day to deliver the luggages from New Delhi to Shimla.

More than a day "-- which means tomorrow," I looked at my trip buddies, "..our bags will only reach here, earliest tomorrow."

"Shit." someone cursed, "So how's our plan to Minali tomorrow?"

Sigh.

"Oh Jaan, I'm in India!": (2) Moving north

"... I forgot.

When I thought I had seen what Delhi's all about in my first visit, I forgot that I was still a guest looking at Delhi from the outside -- I would have the craziest adventure and nastiest experience in my trial to dive in Delhi, but I would still have my nights pampered in the highly secured and luxurious 5-star hotel... I was still a guest..

.. but tonight, I'm a backpacker with my sleeping bag ready, but hesitating -- The real scenes of Delhi somehow makes me feel naked, I'm feeling unsecured feeling discomfortable feeling depressed..

...but I'm also feeling real.

...I was still a guest back then.. now I'm a wanderer now, in Delhi, in India.. "

--- 13 Nov 2010... 2114hr. Old Delhi Train Station, Platform #10.

***********************************************

I flipped to the next page of my little notebook, a blank page. I felt like writing something but the chill of the night froze my thought.

It was like 2 a.m., I guessed. The engine was rumbling and Coco was snoring, both were loud enough to keep me awake. The train was moving northward, heading to Kalka our transit station for the Toy Train -- we did not have a route map of this train so someone needed to stay alert on 'when should we get off from this train'.

I flipped back to the last note I wrote before departure, and the scenes we saw on the platform just flashed back -- the homeless family who slept almost at the edge of the platform, the little kid who pooed on the railway and picking up anything and put into his mouth, a mother who was care-less enough to a dog that came and shared their food...

.... and also a bunch of young Indian men that told me that.. erm... "you're beautiful".

*gulp*

**************************************************

5 a.m.. Kalka.

The famous Toy Train was already sitting on the rail waiting for her passenger. Depature time is 5:30am.

Red in color, reminded me of the little toy train that we played in our childhood. I think she might look more gorgeous if she's shinier and less dusty, maybe it's the blue ambient of Kalka's dawn that toned down her reddish pride.

Owh of course we posed. Ijol and I had developed our very own winter-fashion 'sense' by only wearing what we had and using what we brought in the bag that was not left behind by our dearest Malaysia Airlines.

Ijol was wrapping around his neck with my checked kain pelekat and that gave him somehow a laid-back urban look -- in a way, I mean..

I managed to grab Malaysia Airlines' purple blanket and that definitely helped cover me up from the chill in north India -- SO... with that big sheet of greyish-purple and my thermal buff in red colour, PLUS my favourite earthy yellow t-shirt -- I think I looked like a gypsy-beggar, if not a pervert, or an unsuccessful mascot of Malaysia Airlines.

*********************************************

I was writing my journal note when the boys approached me. One of them got very close to me and tried to read what I was writing. I raised my head and smiled to him.

"Where are you from?" he asked.

"Malaysia." I smiled. The conversation kicked-off, his friends started to gather around me, speaking and whispering in their own language.

"Are you writing in Malaysia language? " he pointed at my notes. The background whispers seemed discussing on the same thing.

"No.. erm.. this is Chinese words.." I started to worry. He'll get confused Oh he's already confused.

"...erm... so this is not Malaysia words... and u write Chinese..? " he frowned. I knew it.

"yeah... I know Chinese too --- hey where are you guys going?" I tried to switched topic, the crowd was getting bigger. I felt like I was a celebrity.

"We are students.. going to our college.. " he explained, and mentioned the name of the place that I couldn't recall. The crowd nodded, I think they recognized the place's name hence they interpreted well.

I 'ahh~~' and nodded out of understanding and courtesy. One of his friends was pushed by the others towards the young man I was talking with, and made him whispered to him. Then the young man smiled and did the translation:

"They think you are beautiful."

*gulp gulp* WTH.

***********************************************

Our plan of taking the Toy Train ride moving north before sunrise just paid off! We witnessed the sun light piercing through the forests while traveling in the nostalgic Toy Train. And amazingly, the slow moving train, like 22km/hour, was actually climbing uphill..

...and as the train was actually moving towards another weather zone, the change of vegetations is obviously observed: pine trees, ficus, oak, mapple woods.. The fresh dew of the forest was awakening, but not for Coco.... and ohh.. Amie was looking also at the outcrops of the mountain range, and pouring out loud her geological interpretation of tectonic movement and bla bla bla....

Breakfast was served in the train, and the ride stopped at the picturesque Barog for 30 minutes for food loading, and of course for tourist, pictures loading.

The most enjoyment of the ride was definitely the scenery, the clean fresh and chilling air, the Toy Train itself, and the ride. And after some hiccups and discomforts that happened at the very beginning of our journey, the toy train ride just soothed our edgy nerves -- And I think this was very important for us to recompose the positive anticipations for the trip, as ahead of us, there are still many unknowns..

... ..erm, talking about unknowns, at the time four of us were happily posing sakan in Barog ..our accommodation in Shimla that I supposed to arrange and get it done, was still ..erm... undone...

*gulp gulp gulp*

"Oh Jaan, I'm in India!": (1) The Delhi-cious starter..

13 November 2010, Delhi International Airport, Terminal 3, New Delhi, India.

"So.. u miss India already, huh?" Flipping through my passport, the man over the immigration counter looked at me through the upper half of his bifocals lens.

"Hmm... last trip was a business trip.. " I understood where he came from. I could've said "OH YEAH INDIA IS SO WONDERFUL THAT'S WHY I CAME BACK" but I decided to keep the friendly-joke to myself. Basically, one is not allowed to re-enter this country for his 2nd and 3rd visit within 2 months time; and my situation right there right then in front of the immigration officer was: he was flipping through my passport and looking at the date I last checked out from India, which was about 2 weeks ago.

I really wished he figured out that my visits were valid and legal: first on a business trip visa, this time -- the 2nd one -- on a tourist visa. Both I paid, Jaan.

"Those hand signs.." out of a sudden he put down my passport and lean forward to me, pointing to the giant hand signs popping out of the wall of this magnificent arrival hall, "... are called mudra, and they have different meanings.."

I turned my head up, looked at those mudras. Amie and I were talking about those beautifully sculptured figures before we entered the immigration counter, and obviously this Mr officer noticed that.

"... and this one..." he showed his hand making one of the mudras, "means 'good luck'.. erm.. sort of. " He smiled. And put a stamp on my passport. Passed. He welcome me. I thanked him.

My other 3 comrades -- Amie, Coco & Ijol -- were already waiting for me.

***************************************

The 'Good-luck' mudra did not work on us, at least for this time.

After a long stare on the conveying belt, from the moments it carried many luggages, many hopes, then we happily picked up Amie's red rag sack, till the moment we gratefully picked up Coco's bulky backpack, to the moment where most of the luggages, or hopes, were taken, up to the final moment we saw only belt conveying nothing, but a message:

My rag sacks and also Ijol's, together with the other tens of luggages of the same flight, were left behind purposely by our dearest Malaysia Airlines, due to the cabin-overloaded issue.

"Sir, we apologize on the proo-bhlem, jour luggage will be carried from Malaysia to here via ou next flightt." The officer repeated his script for the n-th time to the n-th unsatisfying guest.

"When will it arrive?" I needed to raise my voice despite of the very noisy and chaotic background.

"Tree in the morr-ning, sir." The local officer has a very thick indian accent, I really needed to listen carefully and tried really hard to not get distracted by his head's movement.

"That's not possible -- I'm leaving New Delhi tonight..." I almost shouted this time.

"Wha dis jour next des-tinay-sion, sir?" Argh, skip that head-shake please.

"Shimla -- -- "

"In that case, jou can fill up this form, and jive us jour contact num-behr and jour addrrress -- we vill send jour luggage to jour place -- " then a form was handed over to me. The officer turned to the next panic guest.

Contact numbers? Address in Shimla? I just hoped that the solution will be as simple as filling up the right details -- but our situation was a little bit complicated here: as MAS officer told us that if the given address is not in New Delhi, then they'll need more days to deliver our luggage, depending on where is the location -- so to Shimla, 2 to 3 days.

Problem was, 2 days or 3 days, Jaan? Cuz if it's 2 days you need, then at Shimla we'll be waiting; or else, I'm going to give you another address, depending on our transport arrangement later on.

I gave up explaining to any of the officers -- obviously they only think that foreigners who travel to India will only stay in their highly-secured stars-rated hotels, with precise hotel address, and won't be wandering around. Sigh.

I looked at Ijol -- being a very chilled-out type of person and always settle with an 'OK' with most situations and demands, he's filling up the form with all the details required.

.. and I saw Amie sitting with the luggages we had so far, sketching, planning, routing out all possibles alternatives -- I believe she's doing what she's best at, she's the master-mind of our trip.

... and Coco -- now where is this buggle!?!!

Sigh.

*******************************************

We decided to stick to our original plan: Delhi - Kalka - Shimla route. The only change in our plan was: Ijol and I will be wearing what we were wearing now, until we meet back our rag sacks.

Travel to Shimla was already one of the highlights of this trip. I'm talking about the Toy Train ride, traveling northward on one of the oldest rails in India that was listed as world heritage by UNESCO.

Got out of the chaotic airport we headed straight to the Old Delhi Train Station. My last visit to this place gave me an impression of pathetic -- poor ticketing system, poor counter service, and one can easily get lost in this ticketing building.

We needed to quickly figure out how the ticketing system work here, but there's a really long queue in front of the one and only information counter, with someone behind the counter shouting at each and every inquirer through a mic. So, with the help of a real loud speaker, from far you can already know someone is being scolded or given instruction in a not-so-friendly way.

Amie and I got into the long queue, joining the rest of the helpless faces -- felt like we were in the queue for a prosecution, scary somehow; Coco and Ijol were browsing around, looking for another solution, maybe the right ticket counter for our Kalka trip, the right signboard for us to follow, or --

-- yup, the right hot chick.

Coco and Ijol had found a really hot, maybe German, young lady who had the perfect solution for us: There's a special ticket office for the foreigners.

"Upstairs." Ijol pointed up, and looked back to his girl, asking confirmation. His girl nodded. Positive. Out of a sudden I thought Ijol was from German too -- oh whatever, bottom line was, the things that happened next, was 5 of us rushed to the office via a very dark stairway and some narrow corridors, and found the golden cave filled with lovely wind flowers, oh and also equipped with air-cond, waiting benches, Japanese with weird traveling gadgets etc etc, and of course --

4 tickets from Old Delhi Train Station to Kalka, depart almost midnight.

I forgot how we left the office, maybe or maybe not after a farewell kiss by Ijol to his German girlfriend.

**********************************

The leftover..

Life has been fantastic and eventful, and it's packed with so much awesomeness to blog about -- but that's the problem. Too much, becomes too heavy to handle, and in the struggle with the time that flow too swift, he got lost and left out from the train.

..hence, he became a leftover.

**************************

...hence, I got married.

..but getting married is never a fair reason to justify a hiatus in blogging, as out there, there are bloggers who managed to blog along the the way from how they finally decided to get married -- to what they did for their wedding preparations -- until how the wedding went eventually -- and then the honeymooning blog-along -- up to the most current marriage life they are having -- and never even paused a month in blogging.

hence I truly accept the accusation of procrastination.

*************************

... He tried to catch up the train .. but you see, blogging is not only about recapping life, it is about expressing oneself's thought to life. Whatever. Point is, he was overwhelmed by all the confusions and excitements and anxiety and deep thoughts about life and about a change of life. Hence making him a failure to express accurately..

Oh yeah, in this phase, he's a leftover waiting for the next train.

*************************

Leftover is not loser.

But it might be a quit-er, like how I used to seriously think of quitting to blog, deleting all my blog posts and gaining my peace of mind -- oh the dilemma is one of the reasons for the hiatus, if that really helps to justify anyway.

************************

Back to his confusions.

So to think of it, the point is 'expressing' and 'sharing' his thought, better still, 'recapping' the life journey -- what if, he'd got someone whom he can express his thoughts to and share his sentiments with? Better still, that someone he got shared a same life journey all these while, hence there's no need of 'recapping' but 'rejuvenating'?

Better-better still, she was the reason of his expressions in his writings all these while, and now she's the co-pilot of his in the new train.

-- Point is, there's no any necessary anymore to make the lengthy blog, when he has met someone he can talk with, all night long, through out his life. No?

*******************

No.

Please, don't quit. She begged.

When I revealed my decision of deleting this blog, my wife stopped me. Up to that moment, I never thought that she was faithfully reading my blog all these while, or rather, in precise, she was faithfully, and patiently waiting for my update of this blog all these while.

Funny -- who said those couples in love never have miscommunication? :) While I'm worried that I've already bored her with my lengthy story when we are together, she's worried about I'll stop expressing myself through my words and writings.

Hence, I'll keep this blog alive, may not be kicking-ass-alively-alive but it will stay here for my thoughts, my sentiments, and my new dose of passion underneath my affection towards words and life.

---- to my wife,

you'll never be my leftover.

love.