To Scotland & Back

I am yet to go and see the sights of Scotland, but evidently atleast one Englishman who had, came down to Shillong and fell in love with its low verdant hills, the ever-present mist and the picturesque lakes. And he must have been the one to coin Shillong with the much-beloved moniker - “the Scotland of the East”.

Shillong the state capital of Meghalaya (“Abode of the Clouds”) is perched at an altitude of 1,520 meters (4,990 feet) above sea level. Shillong was a tiny village till 1864, when it was accorded the status of the new civil station of the Khasi and Jaintia hills. During the colonial period, it was an integral part of the erstwhile British provincial states of Eastern Bengal and Assam and served as the capital even after independence. Shillong thus became Assam's capital in 1874 and remained so for a century

With Shillong being the capital even in the British heydays, it remained the epicenter of administrative affairs, followed naturally by trade and commerce ties. Officers put up residence in Shillong, their families soon followed uphill cos after all, the ‘Scotland of the East’ with its salubrious climate, was and still is a comfortable address. Schools came up, shops opened and Shillong became a city.

With the creation of the new state of Meghalaya in 1972, Shillong ceased to be Assam’s capital. Thereafter, there was a reverse influx of Assamese families from Shillong. In Guwahati, it is easy to come across people who used to work and live in Shillong, grown men and women who recall wistfully, the wonderful times when as schoolchildren in Shillong, they would roam in Police Bazaar, go trekking in the hills all around, slurp steaming hot soup in roadside stalls around Bara Bazaar and go off to the Polo Grounds to watch the archery competitions and place their bets. The Shillong of yesteryears can still be seen in their memory-laden eyes, and it makes for a very pretty sight. 

A newspaper article last month about the beauty of monsoon in Shillong and the accompanying inflow of tourists that it invariably brings, prompted a family visit in the 3^rd week of June. Shillong is 104 km from Guwahati but for all the difference between the sweltering heat of Guwahati and the coolness of Shillong, you might think that the two places are in two different continents. It is presumptuous to assume that any beauty, even the beauty of a place is meant for consumption of the soul cos beauty and natural beauty at that, should not be cumbersomely burdened with a ‘purpose of being’. But for whatever it is worth, I drank in through my senses, the sights, smell, tastes and sounds of most that Shillong offers.

We put up at Umiam Lake (or Barapani) near Shillong; nestled among all the pines, with the turquoise waters of the lake in the background. For an all-too-brief period on that 1^st day, the lights went out and we spent some blissful moments in candle-light, with the crickets singing in the forests beyond and a starry sky above. A ritualistic visit to Shillong for most includes a trip to Cherrapunji village, now called Sohra, which our school GK books never tired of reminding, was ‘the wettest place on earth’. The sobriquet now belongs to Mausynram (another village nearby). The trip to Cherrapunji often comes accompanied with spray-like rain, which if you playfully poke your face out of the car and heavenwards, drenches it with cool, invigorating minuscule beads of water. In this journey again, more often than not, you will drive through cottony wisps of cloud which descend suddenly upon the road, just like long-lost friends. Of course, with all the driving rain and clouds, you might or not get to see the majestic waterfalls that dot the panoramic landscape, and fall out like so many petulant rivulets from high plateaus into the deep ravines below.

To end on a light note, with all the inherent attractions of falls, peaks and lakes, Shillong also holds enough charms to entice the shopaholics in the form of ‘Police Bazaar (called ‘PB’ by the locals) and Bara Bazaar. Stalls laden with goodies with grim-faced proprietors in the front apt to quote any price which catches their fancy, hard haggling with vehement remonstrations delivered with hand gestures and shame-faced expressions and the joy afterwards of carrying home the fruits of a hard-fought battle in a cheap blue/ green/ pink/ what-have-you plastic packet – all these appeal to the deal-sniffing instincts of my mother and brother.

We trudged onwards through many stalls, finally coming onto ‘Grand Tibet Market’ near Bara Bazaar.  With my brother scanning the goods from one stall to another, mother and myself stopped at one stall to catch our breath.

It was then, that I saw the black tee with a silhouetted Slash (from GnR) with his favourite Gibson Les Paul guitar. Well, one thing led to another and I learned a thing about myself – that I was not so different from my mother and brother, after all. So, I ended up buying 2 tees and a pair of jeans from that one stall. On the jeans front, the pleasant-faced lady proprietor shows me pairs in slim fit, narrow fit, ‘crotch-gripping’ fit with the usual line, “Brother, this here is the latest fashion.” She felt a little let-down when I asked for a straight fit pair which I normally wear, and began rummaging around the bottom shelves, obviously stocked much below the ‘latest fashion’ stuff and came up with exactly 7 pairs of my specification. She looks up and smiles wanly at me, asking me if I would like to try them on.

I glanced quickly over the pairs, realizing one thing I’d missed; so I tell her, “Didi, my waist is 34” and most of these are too small.” Poor didi’s eyes rolled up and in a voice mixed in equal measure with irritation and reproach, she says, “Brother, 34” is too big. You should slim down.” To be fair to didi, I am hardly representative of the local populace of Shillong. The people here are lithe, wiry, slender and of average height. Didi’s looks and words have the effect of making me feel like a outsized giant with a waist liable to attract litigations and summons issued in public interest. To add insult to injury, I am now left with precisely 2 pairs to choose. So, I gulp down my wounded pride and choose.

Afterwards, I found myself thinking of an act by stand-up comic Russell Peters (bit reproduced here) about a similar situation he says he faced in China. This is mirth about girth!!

Great Greta Greatest

“GRETA GARBO!” – The name itself sounds enigmatic, reminiscent of half-hidden, half-tangible visions of wonderment. If the silver screen be the oracle of all that is sparkling and lucent, then Greta Garbo indeed, is one of the greatest goddesses in its pantheon.

With eyes closed

It was just the day before i.e., 12^th July around 1 in the afternoon that my friend Kaushik (also read about him here), calls me and says that I have got to go somewhere with him. I ask, ‘Where?’ and he tells me this.

Tiny & Kaushik

Earlier in the day, post-breakfast, Kaushik hears the piteous meows of a cat outside the house and so, moving out to the verandah, sees a tiny kitten huddled out in the lane in front. Mixed with the kitty’s cries are the loud caws of a few crows. Kaushik sees the crows swooping down on the kitty and trying to peck it; the mother was nowhere to be seen. My friend goes out and retrieves the defenceless kitty and brings it home. The kitty was so tiny, almost like a mouse, with a mottled brown coat and shivering and crying continuously. It was so small – its eyes had not even opened and it could not have been more than 3 days old. Everything about this kitty was tiny; the legs, the tail, its ears and it could not even open its tiny mouth properly. Kaushik tried putting it in front of a saucer of milk but it could not feed itself.

Just over a couple of months earlier, Kaushik and his mom had taken care of a litter of abandoned stray kittens for a short period. The kitties were older and had been able to feed themselves with the food and water offered to them in plates and saucers. So Kaushik thought that handing over to an animal shelter where they would have better facilities for raising young animals, was a good idea. He searched online and found the details of 2 shelters operating in the city. He called the first number but it was of no use; the person on the phone stated that they looked only after dogs. He called up ‘People For Animals’ next and they said that they could help out if the kitty could be brought to their shelter. Kaushik noted down the address and then he called me.

It was pouring outside and another couple of hours later, we set out for the shelter. The first time I saw the kitty, I am amazed. I had never seen such a tiny kitten before. I pick it up gingerly; over its eyes are 2 small patches of pinkness, it feels almost weightless in my palm. Another hour later and we were there. The people at the shelter took the kitty, saying that it would have to be fed through a bottle, wrapped it in rags and put it inside a small empty carton.

It was then that I glanced around the place. PFA maintains this animal shelter through the donations and services of benevolent animal lovers and concerned citizens, and like-minded organisations. The facility is a shelter for abandoned, injured and rescued animals. It is a largish plot with a single-storey building in the middle, with a couple of shed attached at the back, possibly for storing feed. Just beside the entrance gate, there are a few pens, and one rickety structure which looks like a coop. A couple of covered cow-sheds with the ubiquitous feeding troughs in the middle completed the picture. The shelter was a regular menagerie and moving around, I told myself that this is what Orwell’s ‘Animal Farm’ would have looked like. 

Animal Farm

A few indolent dogs were stretched on the cool floor of the shelter and catching their forty winks in the manner that only dogs can pull off. 5 – 6 kittens were playing around, scurrying around corners, very inquisitive about our presence, rubbing themselves against us. One huge sheep was surveying us with the air of a very wary proprietor, attempting to size us up. This inquisition was not in the least, affected by his constant attempts to get at some old newspapers lying on a shelf and convert them into lunch. The other animals tied up or kept in enclosures were on the whole, lot less enthusiastic about goings-on.

There was a kitten much like the one that we had brought along except that it was older and therefore larger, and with a large discoloured and obviously recovering wound just above its right eye. One of the keepers picked up the kitty and showed us the marks left by 28 stitches on its belly, when it was hit by a vehicle on the road. We also saw a purebred puppy alone and shivering inside its cage. It was very small (maybe a month old) and its hair was coming off its skin and all the time that we were there, it was closely curled up in the foetal position. We were told that it was suffering from a nervous illness and could not move about without falling over; all its motor skills were affected. Its owner had probably decided that he had no use for such a puppy, and left it at the shelter.

The one which does not leave my mind was a very old dog with wrinkly brown skin, and very sad, liquid eyes. On closer inspection, we found that it was suffering from cataract in both eyes. When it walked, its side swayed and it moved very laboriously; nevertheless it came near me. I wanted to pet it but something about its appearance put me off. Its face had such a human emotion when it was looking at us that it unsettled me. Much later as we were coming back in the car, I realized what that emotion was. That look on the old dog’s face was that of resignation, and this epiphany was the saddest moment of my day.

I feel it deeply now that every once in a while, we should close in our senses and let the heart take over. All of life’s actions cannot be and should not be taken with eyes wide open.

(You can know more about People For Animals here . )