A for...contd.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!"
Was what was going through my brain as I witnessed that Pan Parag chewing, girlfriend worshipping thing that resembled my senior 'negotiate' (as he had so elegantly put it) with an increasingly-agitated man who had claimed to be a local 'teski' driver and who apparently knew a route to our destination.

At the risk of being subjected to another hug, I decided to step into the fray when my senior (let's just call him 'A' for...you know what) decided it was high time that he blamed the people of the state we were in for our current predicament!

"Ki maan dibo?" I asked in broken Assamese. The man softened, not from hearing his mother tongue being mercilessly slaughtered by a total stranger but from hearing the 'magic word'.

I had asked him how much money he was asking for. The man studied me from head to toe, scratched his head and stated his quote.

"Are you kidding me!!!??!!!" yelled out A. "That's mid-day robbery!!!!" he exclaimed.

"Daylight..." I muttered, refraining from punching the daylights out of him. Now don't get me wrong. I am pretty tolerant by nature. But if you had been subjected to the tantrums of a 25 year old man for the better part of an hour, I'm sure you too would have been looking for a sizeable brick in your vicinity.

After another five minutes of bickering, it was decided that the teski driver would take us to the nearest telephone booth where we would establish contact with our destination (which was a tea estate, if you hadn't guessed already) and accordingly chalk out our 'plan of action'.

I had decided that MY 'plan of action' on reaching the nearest telephone with an active STD facility would be to call my incredibly paranoid mother, who I'm sure had by then made calls to the airport, the airline, my manager and the local morgue.

Now you must remember that this was before the wonders of cellular telecommunication had reached the interiors of Assam. In fact a fully-functioning STD booth was often revered as a place of awe and wonder in some parts of the state.

Luckily enough we were able to call home. That took us another half an hour though. Not because of the bad connectivity. The network was just fine. However, A had decided to give his girlfriend (whom I had decided to call 'Her Fabulousness') a call before calling home. ("Well after all..home is where the heart is" he'd stated)

I had decided to wait outside the booth while A made the call. Not surprisingly enough, I was soon joined by the proprietor of the booth and a few other locals who had decided to enjoy a siesta in the shade of the booth before A had walked in.

As soon as A walked out with a rather vulgar look of contentment on his face, I stepped in, this time to call up the estate. Once I had satisfied myself that the receiver was sanitised enough, I punched in the wierd looking number my manager had handed me.

A sleepy voice on the other end said "Doria Sa Bagisa.." In a conversation that consisted of Bengali, Hindi, Assamese and what I later suspected to be Zulu, I was able to gather that somehow our client had been given to understand that we were arriving by a much later flight and hence the missing board with our names on it. In fact 'Manjer Saab' himself was on his way to receive us, what with the 'bandh' and all.

I told the gentleman on the other side, who had turned out to the estate's 'Bada Babu' that we were not waiting any longer and would be reaching the estate ourselves. He sounded reluctant but agreed.

Heading outside, I saw A standing outside with a rather Dev Anand-esque expression on his face, holding an unlit menthol cigarette between his fingers. Grinning at me, he handed me the cigarette and said "Dhara de na.." ("Light it for me please").

Taking up smoking as a habit is something I am not proud of. However, the fact that I have managed to quit does make a strong boast. This narrative relates to a time when I was battling my inner demons to give up the notorious 'cancer-stick'. Hence, the very sight of one did bring about a certain 'longing' within me...

What I WAS unprepared for was the sight that faced me. A grown man holding a menthol stick (the type which I rather insensitively refer to as 'nunu cigs') , unable to puff on it on account of lacking the knowledge of lighting a cigarette!!!

Finally we were on our way!!! Our driver, who seemed to have relaxed a bit now, was busy negotiating the many turns and potholes and cows strewn across our path, while we were busy keeping the stale airplane food from coming out.

We had been on the road (or lack of it) for at least two hours. That nasty thing of a 'bad feeling' had started to creep up again. I was positive that the last turn we took looked familiar, too familiar in fact!

Leaning forward I asked the driver if he was sure that we were headed in the right direction. Looking at me through the rear-view mirror, he gave a sheepish grin and said "I guess..."

He what!!!

The car sickness having sapped my energy to even voice my anger, I slumped back in my seat...looked at A, who was deep in slumber with the same vulgar look of contentment he had on his face when he had walked out of the telephone booth; looked at the driver, imagining for a moment how he would look being roasted alive on a spit and then muttered, "Just take us to the nearest telephone booth".

Another forty-five minutes later, we reached a shack which stocked apart from a telephone, biscuits and mineral water!! It appeared that we were headed in the right direction, but were on the wrong road (although 'jungle trail' would be a better term).

The kind lady in the shack drew our driver a map, the latter vigorously nodding his head every time a new turn or landmark was drawn on the scrap of paper.

We were on the road again, but this time armed with a map and with adequate supplies, the three of us shared this feeling of hope that a few minutes ago had never shown signs of re-appearing.

It had taken us four hours to reach the estate and it had been more than five since we had landed in Jorhat. Reaching the manager's bungalow, we collapsed in the guest room (not even caring that there was just the one 'master bed').

Countless apologies and several cups of tea and sandwiches later, we stepped out into the setting sun. For the first time that day, we weren't pre-occupied enough to take in our surroundings.

So this was Assam. A lush green platform of tea bushes lay before us, bordered in the distance with hills topped with grey clouds. It was almost dusk and the fireflies were coming out, lighting up the horizon. It was picture-perfect. And neither of us had brought a camera!

We had had an eventful start to our trip. One which would last two weeks taking us to various corners of the state and which would be as eventful as the first day.

This was the start of my relationship with Assam. More trips would take place over the span of two years giving rise to innumerable experiences. Ranging from leopard attacks to crossing rivers in jeeps, each of these would be fondly stored away in some part of my memory, to be recounted to any unfortunate soul who would be unwary enough to ask me about my last trip (which would always be Assam!!).

So don't say I didn't warn you.... :)