GENERATIONS OF STRUGGLE

I was returning to my ancestral house almost after five years. This giant old bungalow holds so many sweet memories of my childhood and much more of my mother’s. This house has seen my mother as a new born baby, as an innocent little child, as a young girl and now, as a full grown woman, a mother. There’s this thing about old houses. They have many secrets buried in their abandoned corners, roofs and walls. They have so much to reveal, so much to tell you about a history that has long been forgotten or even unknown to many.

I was nostalgically going through every room of this ancient British architectural cottage. The most fascinating part of house is my grandfather’s room. I don’t remember being very close to him as I was still a young child when he passed away. But still, it is after his death what I knew from others about him and how I feel about him now makes me closer to him. He was in the Indian Army. His portrait which now hangs on the wall of his dusty room shows a well-groomed disciplined man with warm, generous eyes. My mother told me that she was always his little princess. An old cupboard with dusty, weathered files occupied one corner of his room. I leisurely flipped the pages of those old files and sneaked my hands further into the cupboard to see if there was any old photographs but instead, an old envelop between those files caught my attention. It was a letter my mother had written to my grandfather when she was probably a young girl. She had often told me about writing letters to him as he was mostly away from home serving the country. The letter read,

Dearest Appa,

                      We didn’t have school even today. The strike doesn’t seem to end. Roads are blocked, shops, schools, offices all closed. It’s been more than a month now. Mother serves us lesser meals now. She says that if the strike doesn’t end, then we might not have anything at all to eat. I’m tired of hiding inside the house. There’s so much of violence outside. Anyone who’s found on the streets is shot by the CRP or by the opposition party. These days mother makes Vatsal wear my frocks and hat so that he looks like my little sister as they say, boys are the main targets of the CRP’s and the oppositions. I look at his dress and tease him all day.

                     Last night, something very terrible happened! Mother had put us to bed and switched off the lights by six but I wasn’t getting sleep. I was peeping out at the stars from my closed window (mother never lets us open the window these days). After staring for hours at the wide sky and the deserted street beneath, I suddenly saw our neighbour Buddha uncle’s elder son running like a mad person on the road. After him, were three tall, hefty men in uniforms. The boy ran into his house but the three men entered there also. After that, I could hear some banging and shrill loud cries and then, two shots of fire gun followed by a deep silence.... By the time, mother had woken up and tightly enveloped Vatsal and me in her bosom. I had never seen such fear in mother’s eyes before.

                                 Today morning, I heard some people outside say that the boy was shot last night and his sister, raped and murdered. Appa, I’ve never heard of such horrifying things before! Is the world coming to an end? Is this the price we all have to pay for Gorkhaland? I don’t know when this letter will reach you for the post office is also closed but please, please come back ! We need you... I m scared.    You are out defending the country but there’s no one to defend us here!  Please come back soon. We miss you...

                                                 Always your little princess,

                                                                        Prasiksha

I figured out that this letter was written during the 1986 agitation for Gorkhaland. Her experience helps me relate it to the recent agitation for Gorkhaland. There’s almost a difference of two generations between the two agitation but still, the demand is the same, the outcome still the same. Then, the agitation was headed by the then ruling party Gorkha National Liberation Front (GNLF) and now, it is by the present ruling party Gorkha Jan Mukti Morcha (GJMM). More than 1200 people sacrificed their lives for this common in the agitation of 1986. The demand and the movement eventually fell victim to an agreement that resulted in Darjeeling Gorkha Hill Council (DGHC) in 1988. Subhas Ghising, the head of the then ruling party (GNLF) agreed to “drop” the demand for a homeland. After sacrificing everything people felt stabbed in the back by their own leaders who sold away their demand, their homeland. All these years the Central government and West Bengal Government had disappointed the hills but now there was someone within to disappoint the highlanders. The DGHC administered the Darjeeling hills for 23 years with some autonomy but no great development took place.

By 2008, a new party Gorkha Jan Mukti Morcha (GJMM) headed by Bimal Gurung entered Darjeeling politics with the demand for Gorkhaland again. But this time the agitation was on the Gandhian principles of non-violence. Nevertheless, people still died, suffered for a dream that seems like a forlorn quest. In the end all that we received as a consolation prize was the Gorkha Territorial administration (GTA). In others words, it’s more or less a synonym for DGHC which was the result of the 1986 agitation. A bitter history is being repeated again. Our forefathers witnessed and fought for our homeland, my parents witnessed and fought for it too and now, it’s me. I just pray our coming generations do not face disappointment like us. Gorkhaland is a demand that has been raised for more than a hundred years with no response from the Government. But still, we shall keep on fighting for our homeland, our mother.

THE NEED FOR GORKHALAND

The demand for a separate state of Gorkhaland dates back to 1907 when the leaders of the Hill People of India submitted a memorandum to the British Government demanding a separate administrative set up on grounds of a distinctive history, language, culture, tradition, way of life, mindset and of course residence in a completely different topography with different climatic conditions.

A separate state has been the political aspiration of the Gorkhas for more than 100 years. Rather, this is the oldest demand for a separate state under the Indian Union. However, demands of a separate state in other parts of India are of recent origin and are not as a solution to the problem of ‘Identity Crisis’.

The Indian Gorkhas face an ‘Identity Crisis’ inspite of being Indian citizens and having contributed to the security ( in the police, para military and the armed forces of the country) and development of the country. In case of the Gorkhas the ‘Identity Crisis’ is a very serious issue. The most glaring example of the ‘foreigners’ label is the one put forth by Shri Morarji Desai, former Prime Minister of India, who called the Indian Gorkhas demanding inclusion of the Nepali language in the 8th schedule of the Indian constitution, as being Nepalese citizens.
Grant of a separate state of Gorkhaland within the Indian Union would  not only remove the identity crisis faced by the Gorkhas living in Darjeeling district and neighbouring areas, but also do the same for the Gorkhas living in other parts of India including The Quest for Identity in
Assam, the North-Eastern states, Uttaranchal, Himachal Pradesh and Uttar Pradesh.

The West Bengal government has not been able to realise that what ails Darjeeling Hills today has spread over half of Bengal. Bengal is the only state today where people are demanding for the formation of 3 separate states. The West Bengal Government believes that the demand for ‘Gorkhaland’ is a racist demand and against the Constitution. If that is really the case, then why is there existing states like Punjab, Gujarat, Assam, Tamil Nadu and West Bengal itself? If the name Gorkhaland seems like a racist demand meant only for Gorkhas , doesn’t that suggest that state with the name Punjab is only meant for Punjabis, Gujarat only meant for Gujaratis, Tamil Nadu only  for Tamils and West Bengal only for Bengalis?! But if there are people of different communities scattered all over the country then  how can one term the demand for Gorkhaland as a racist demand? Gorkhaland is not just the demand of the Gorkhas. It is a collective demand of the people living in Darjeeling and Dooars. These people come from different communities yet, their demand is the same because, the formation of Gorkhaland will not just solve the identity crisis of the Gorkhas  but at the same time shall show unprecedented development in the hills, lead to good economy and stabilized political conditions. It’s time that the Central and the West Bengal Government realise the seriousness and importance of this demand which they have ridiculed at for more than a hundred years.

To the Land of the Thunderbolt – DARJEELING

Sitting under the fan in this boiling room of hot summer night, as I think of home, a wave of soothing breeze rises from my soul encircling my entire being raising my spirits high, and I feel pure. I dreamily close my eyes and an imagery appears before me. Those curvy rough roads amidst the meandering ‘Teesta’ beckons me, to a land of paradise where natures purest form resides. I feel like escaping from this city’s hustle bustle and the din of maddening crowd to the place whose name itself is enchanting.

                 

Once, the summer capital of the British Indian Empire , Darjeeling got its name from the two Tibetan words ‘Dorje’  meaning the thunderbolt (originally the scepter of  Indra ) and ‘’Ling’  meaning land.

So Darjeeling literally means ‘the land of the thunderbolt.’ The name of ‘Darjeeling’ itself emanates unsurpassable beauty, serenity,  pleasant weather and lovely people. In strenuous days when men struggle the sweltering heat of the plains, the very mention of Darjeeling recalls the memories of a visitor’s last stay in the ‘Queen of hills.’ This is why Darjeeling is one of the most delightful destination for tourists who wish to escape from the tiring monotonous reality into a realm of harmony and mystical beauty.

Geographically, Darjeeling is located where the plains meet the hills with ‘Mt. Kanchenjunga’  spreading its sun kissed glory over the entire district. This ‘Queen of hills’ is an integration of the terai areas of Siliguri, the hilly towns of Kalimpong, Kurseong and the headquarters Darjeeling which together stands as the Darjeeling District. Darjeeling before 1815, was a part of the British Sikkim (now, a state under the Indian Union). Nepal won it by conquest from the Sikkimese. But after 1815 with the treaty of Sugauli, Darjeeling was regained into British Indian Empire and because of its aesthetic beauty and favourable climatic conditions, Darjeeling was made the summer capital of the Britishers. In 1841, Chinese tea seeds from the Kumaon region of China was secretly brought to Darjeeling by the Britishers to experiment it on the slopes of this region. When the climatic conditions and topography of Darjeeling favoured tea cultivation, Darjeeling became the first region in India to have tea cultivation which belong to the authentic Chinese variety. Till date, Darjeeling manufactures the orthodox method of tea manufacture and contributes a large sum to the Indian Economy.

Recognized as a World Heritage Site by the UNESCO, the little Toy Train takes one on a roller coaster ride back to the innocent days of childhood. When I think of home, I can hear the whistle from that little engine echoing in the valleys, I can almost see those wild orchids painted on the hills that seem to kiss the horizon. Those intricately designed colourful butterflies dancing over the valleys, those mystical flags of sacred monasteries fluttering in the wind and the cold, earthy smell of evergreen woods which seem to intoxicate my senses. I see those farmers sweating their labour on the terraced fields, those women plucking tea leaves with so much care, those young boys clinging to an old guitar with dreams of becoming a rock star( but never get a platform ) and those unfortunate children bare footedly playing on the mud, laughing away with the happiness that innocent childhood brings. These kids do not have the best toys, the best clothes or even proper schooling! Yet their joy is envious. Our people don’t get proper amenities. Ours is a region which has always been neglected by the government, a place where national mass media hardly reaches. A natural resource abundant region which is exploited by the government leaving the inhabitants with almost nothing. Poor infrastructure and medical facilities, disturbed Political conditions, bad economy, technological backwardness, government negligence, lack of institutes for higher education and unemployment are also some of the characteristics of our region. But still, we fight our every day battle with a smile on our face and our heads high! Our tomorrow is uncertain. The political parties and the government gamble with our lives. Nevertheless, we live, we laugh…..because we ‘hope’. We ‘believe’ that we will win over it. We are those orphans whom Mother Nature has adopted in her lap, Darjeeling. She never fails to provide our basic needs. We run with the wind, sing with the birds, laugh away our sorrows and take life as a struggle to stay happy and firm against difficulties and pain. We keep on fighting even if we don’t  win , but never surrender! This is why there is no other place like ‘Darjeeling.’ 

                                    The one land that all men desire to see,

                                   And having seen once by even a glimpse

                                Would  not give that glimpse for the shows

                               Of the rest of the world combined"

                       - Mark Twain 

                               (when he visited Darjeeling)     

                                                      Photo courtesy- Bishal Khambu Rai

Identity Crisis

The task for creating a blog was drawing near and yet I had not come up with any idea. I was bleakly staring at the blank page of my notebook which was desperately waiting for a trail of ink that would end its blankness. But like the page itself, my head also felt blank. Just then, my new roommate asked me which place I belonged to and what language I speak at home. Too much occupied by the trouble of creating a blog, I simply said I'm from Darjeeling and I speak Nepali. The moment I uttered the word "Nepali "she concluded, "Oh, you're actually from Nepal.” This was not something that I'd been through for the first time and so as usual I patiently explained how I am also an Indian like her. After that, I went back to where I was (futile effort of coming up with a blog).But then, I reflected on the identity crisis that Nepali speaking Gorkhas of India face. I remembered a funny incident from my childhood when I had gone for a vacation to Maharasthra (Pune). It was a dusky evening and I was playing in the nearby park of our guest house. There was a lady seated on one of the benches watching her child play on the grass. I went and sat beside her. She turned to me and asked from which place I was (as my non-Indian features usually makes people wonder which place I belong to).I said that I was from Darjeeling. The response that I got after that was hilariously unforgettable. "Oh, that is in China, right?"I shook my head."Then it must surely be in Japan."She made that statement with such confidence that even I was puzzled for a while about my "identity."I had to go back to my mother and confirm.

         Since my father is in the Indian Army, I've had the privilege of travelling almost every state of India, and so facing "Identity crisis" and explaining my nationality to every possible person has become as normal as breathing though it does get annoying or even humiliating sometimes. So, presently when my new roommate also forwarded that same age old question about my nationality, an idea clicked on my mind. Finally the blank pages of my notebook received its share of ink. All I needed now was to type it on my blog and hence, my blog is finally created to give a voice to the struggles of the Nepali speaking Gorkhas who despite being Indian citizens are always facing identity crisis and are termed as foreigners in their own country, who despite having their native land (That is Gorkhaland-a demand for a state within the Indian union) cannot claim it as their own. Gorkhas belong to the warrior’s race. They’ve significantly contributed to India’s security forces and many, sacrificed their lives. Yet we are still labelled as “Guards(Bahadur)” and even “prostitutes!” Just because we have slit eyes and Nepali as our mother tongue doesn’t mean that we are foreigners, guards or sluts! It’s as ignorant as saying all Muslims are terrorists! I do not intend to cause harm to any person, community or country through this blog. All I aim to do is raise a serious issue that has been neglected and suppressed for many decades.