On the Way to Sikkim:
a Colorful Encounter

chillibreeze writer

As a newly married army wife, I found myself on an adventurous trip to my husband’s post at Sikkim. Hubby dear and I boarded a Spicejet plane from Bangalore to Kolkata. I mumbled at having been allotted an aisle and middle seat. Luckily, a very rotund lady waddled up and told us to take her window seat and plonked herself into the aisle seat. The rest of the flight proved quite uneventful save my having to curb my spouse's ill-concealed amusement at the rotund lady's continuous eating habit. I don't think either of us would have survived had she decided to bean us one each on the head for his comments.

Toward the middle of the turbulence-ridden flight, a woman fainted while walking along the aisle. A call for any medical practitioner onboard yielded no results – whatever happened to the millions of doctors this country supposedly has? Not even a quack onboard? Strange. I suppose Bangalore-Kolkata flights carry only software techies or Satyajit Ray-wannabes.

From Kolkata airport, we took a cab to the railway station. All cabs there are the good old (albeit beat-up) Ambassadors. However, my initial nostalgic glee quickly turned to a feeling that I was too young to die. This was a cab from hell, a cabbie with a death wish. As he swerved around other equally homicidal vehicles and suicidal pedestrians at breakneck speed, I distracted myself by taking in the shabby, filthy streets, loud people, and quaint trams and smoke-belching buses. I realized with horror that the city's smoky air turns you into chimneysweep of sorts. After freshening up at the Army rest house at the station, we boarded the Kamrup Express for New Jalpaiguri (NJP).

Our fellow passengers included an Army Colonel, who couldn't understand why I would voluntarily give up a place where "oxygen is free" and head to the oxygen-scarce boonies of Sikkim. On my first day at the acclimatization camp, coping with strange symptoms of Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS), I must admit I thought he had a valid point! Our fellow passengers also included a belching old man and his gold-bedecked wife wielding the proverbial five-tier tiffin carrier. Almost needless to say, Gaseous Clay and Aunty Gold kept me amused for quite a while. However, they paled in comparison to the singularly most amusing character I have ever encountered on a journey – the "Time Pass" man. The written word can do very little justice to this enterprising seller of peanuts and other fried condiments. I wish I had captured his unique style on video.

The diminutive fellow with large mischievous eyes and a cheeky smile arrived at our compartment with a host of his homemade fried goodies. "T-T-Time p-p-passsss", he called out in a sing-song fashion. He then proceeded to dole out little samples of his condiments with an interesting story for each. "Whatever is loose will become tight after you have this", he told my man with a wink and a sly smile, before proffering some fried mixture. "Hello, half-young man!" he called to the grey and balding Gaseous Clay and offered him a sample.

As we tasted each thing, he'd croon "t-t-time p-p-pass" before fishing out another sample. "For bachelors and those who have nobody to love", he announced with aplomb and revealed a packet of fried peanuts. He had us all completely amused, fascinated, and more than willing to buy his goodies with his unique charm. He had us stuffed to the gills with just his samples and I was more than willing to forfeit dinner at this point. Nonetheless, he wouldn't stop plying us with more samples. "T-t-time?" he said and cocked a brow at me. "P-p-pass" I squeaked back in what sounded like a very poor imitation. "P-p-passss", he replied, nodding his approval with a smile and refilled my eager open palm with another crunchy delicious mixture.

Needless to say, he did booming business and was a hit with passengers of every gender, age, and creed. He will remain etched in my memory as the best salesman ever. The poor fellow will no doubt be disappointed to hear that a thieving rat at a guest house in Siliguri ravaged the t-t-time p-p-pass we bought from him. B-b-blasted v-v-vermin.

 

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