You know, you live in a place for about 5 years and it finally and surprisingly grows on you. I know most people assume that I live in Gangtok since I blog from Sikkim. Nope. Gangtok is about an hour further up north from the place I live in, which is called Singtam. When I first joined work and saw, yes with my own two eyes, this… this dump of a place, the only thought I had was – how the hell do people live in a place like this???
The main market was infested with taxis and the temperature was soooo hot that I nearly melted. Gangtok, on the other hand has a divine climate that makes the entire place centrally air conditioned, as my dad used to say. Singtam, on the other hand was filled with vehicles passing through, villagers in their sunday best come out to do their weekly shopping, alleys filled with a peculiar stench that just wouldnt quit, with – ugh – little eating shacks right next to all the dirt.
Whose number only preceded by uncountable number of booze shops, (to one of which some of us would be loyal customers for life) Maybe the worst piece of news I’d heard about this place was that it was a haven for crimes. Burglary, murder, take your pick. I had made up my mind then and there that I would commute from Gangtok rather than stay in such a place.
Stay, that I did. Made a lot of new friends and neighbours. Visited the police station on a regular basis. Once the institute bus had a major accident with a biker chap and since I was on the bus at that time, I was the witness by default. Another time, a burglary occurred at my new apartment although the theft was recovered the next day itself. So yes, I made a lot of friends at the police station. Psychologically, it made me feel more secure.
Til date, I dont know a lot of people in town. The ones who know me as Rinchen mam, from XYZ Institute give me warm smiles which probably translates into – please pass my son/daughter/nephew/relative, good lady. I smile back at them and find it amusing that this is such a small place where everyone knows everyone else.
Two people who meet me in the market and dont let me leave are – my former sweeper, safaikarmachari as they’re called these days. Rawat bhaiya goes on and on relegating stories about bhabhi, mine – not his. I always know the next words coming out of his mouth will be – please give her some work in your office.
The other guy’s the parking ticket collector. Previously I used to dodge such people in the hope of saving 5 bucks but when I found out that he’s my former maid’s brother, I offer him a little cash once in a while. He always wants me to go to his home and meet his sister and her little kid. Oh and he also doesnt give me a parking ticket anymore. Which is nice.
Then there’s my regular shopkeeper who’s always happy to see me. He probably sees dollar signs where I’m standing because he says things like – please come in, madam, come in. Please take anything you want. Its your own shop. His shop’s name is Fruit Shop. So is the next door’s and the remaining shops after that. I’ve never seen a sign board outside declaring the actual name. Strange.
I’ve also gotten used to the temperature by now. It doesnt seem so bad now and I have begun to hate Gangtok’s bitter wintry cold. Somehow Singtam feels more home to me than my actual home of Gangtok. Its not as advanced as the capital city but its a place where everyone knows my name. Thats reason enough for me. I’ve come to love the place I once could not stand. Stranger things have happened.
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