Kanchenjunga is not available,
the tourists say in these parts. Or rather the Bengalis.
Darjeeling has been a home for people from other places for a long while now. And mostly because of its scenery, location, and, oddly, mild weather.
In comparison with the majority of West Bengal, the weather in Darjeeling is extreme: the days begins cold, then it rains, then the sun, then the wind, then rains again, and hail, and strong wind, then it stops and it’s sunny, and so on.
All this weather happens in about a period of, oh, two hours. Thinking of the endless, blazing sun of Kolkata or even its day-long rains, the irregularity of the weather here is definitely a change.
But for the tourists, it means that Kanchenjunga is often not available, hiding behind an endless army of marching clouds.
When the mountain does make an appearance, everyone notices for the most part.
While it’s true that Binita’s parents ability to get excited about seeing a mountain that they’ve been seeing on and off like a bad ex has clearly waned into almost nothing, with me around they’re able to get excited at least in showing it to someone else. Kanchenjunga has made three appearances in my ten days in Darjeeling.
The monsoon this year has come early. Even though people in the tourist areas are quietly grumbling about the weather, elsewhere in town it’s a good omen. It means water. And water is scarce in Darjeeling.
At a public tap in downtown Darjeeling, rules and guidelines for its use are written all around. And people will carry a dozen liters up and down the hill, spending hours just on transporting water.
When the rains come, the mountains go. And suddenly all around town, people are outsides, crouching and kneading laundry. In just an hour or so after the rains cease, clotheslines are full and kids play cricket in muddy streets, their clothes drying and done carrying water—for a day at least.
