Lapsi or Titaura, anyone?

People familiar with Kalimpong and thereabouts may be familiar with "Lapsi". If you're wondering still, then may be if I said, "the red tamarind-type thing which is a little sour, a little sweet and a little spicy", that could ring a bell or two? This is not to be confused with the commonplace red tamarind sold around Delhi and up north. Lapsi is Nepalese in origin and is commonly found in various forms around the North East.

I first had a taste of this addictive, finger-licking-good whatchamacallit way back in school. A friend of mine would bring little packets of the stuff for us to savour. I remained blissfully unaware of the actual name, ignorantly supposing it to be the common tamarind.

However, I recently found myself trawling the bazaars of Kalimpong looking for the "red tamarind thing", determined not to disappoint a friend back home who had specifically asked for it. I located hoards of it in a small shop run by a crotchety-looking woman, who grunted when I asked her if this was "imli". I take it she meant to say, "Whatever, stupid tourist."

Later, I found that this is actually called Lapsi (pronounced "Lopsy"), which is really a fruit grown in Nepal. The fruit is then used to make various condiments like the sour-sweet-spicy sticky stuff ("Titaura"), pickles, chutneys and whatnot. The plain dried/boiled fruit is sold as well, which looks sort of like an apricot, but tastes and feels like a jujebe of sorts.

More Googling turned up that the stuff is exported from Nepal to the west. I laughed when I discovered that each tiny packet retails for something like $9 on the net, when I picked it up for Rs 5 in Kalimpong! Let's take a moment and gloat.

Really gloat.

Gloat like there's no tomorrow.

Oh, and this goes out to the gossip trawlers (you know who you are): if you're wondering why I've been savouring sour-sweet weird things, no, there isn't one in the oven! I've always loved sour-sweet things. Now go discuss all that, while I sit back and enjoy my Titaura. And if you're wondering whether I might give you some, the (plagiarized) tag line on the packet says "A gift for someone you love", so.....

The Giant Momo

If you're wondering what to have for lunch today, consider this: Thaifu.

I discovered this while frantically looking for a restaurant in Kalimpong that served lunch at 2:30 in the afternoon. Apparently, everybody eats at exactly noon and then looks amused when famished strangers show up asking for lunch at 2.30 pm.

Having been denied nourishment at Cloud 9 and The Park Hotel - both restaurants that I'd recommended in Kalimpong earlier - Ducky and I spotted a Chinese/NE cuisine restaurant tucked away in the basement of a ramshackle building. The restaurant, whose name escapes me now, was quite clean and nicely done up, a stark contrast to the dinghy surroundings.

The friendly waiter, sporting tattoos and a million piercings, probably noticed the disappointment writ large on my face when he said there were no non-veg momos available. He then recommended I try "Thaifu", which wasn't on the menu, but which, he assured us, was very much like a big momo and would taste good too.

He couldn't have been more right. The giant momo on my plate, served with the delectable red dallae chilli sauce, was delicious. The inside was stuffed with mince fried with spicy green chillies, coriander, peas and a little cabbage. Ducky sorely regretted the fact that he'd balked at experimenting with a new dish as yours truly wolfed down the Thaifu in delight.

Five stars for fabulous food and pleasant service, little nameless restaurant in Kalimpong!

Dirt on Darjeeling

I have very little to say about Darjeeling, and even the little that I do have to say about it is hardly flattering. Touted as the “Queen of Hills”, Darjeeling really is about as attractive as the present Queen of England. You would do yourself and the filthy, crowded hill station a huge favor if you choose to give it a miss!

The Himalayan Zoological Park here (for me it’s all about the four-leggeds, huh?) houses quite a number of animals and boasts of a successful snow leopard breeding program. The snow leopards here have far too much attitude – or so I say because I am rather peeved after I narrowly missed being peed on by one audacious kitty.

If museums and stuffed dead beings in glass cabinets are your things, then a visit to the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute is in order. This has a huge amount of information on the history of high altitude climbs and is the place where Tenzing Norgay was laid to rest.

The Japanese temple and Peace Pagoda are also places of some note and relatively uncrowded. Tourists are too busy gawking at the tea-field covered slopes, snapping pictures of a hazy Kanchenzonga, or haggling at the curio shops in the market and getting ripped off.

Chunnu Summer Falls (yes, that is the name, I fool you not) and the Rock Garden also offer some good photo ops. We were fortunate enough to have my enthusiastic cousin along who more than willingly draped herself in the traditional Nepali garb being rented at the place and posed brilliantly, even braving our hysterical laughter and mockery.

Batasia Loop is a Gorkha war memorial, which has a good view of the Himalayas. The Himalayan railway track loops around the garden, giving the place its name.

The drive to Kalimpong from Darjeeling was quite pretty – lush green coniferous trees dotted with colorful flowers and fluttering Buddhist prayer flags. Kalimpong is a street shopper’s haven. At this time of year, the markets have an array of jackets, jumpers and sweaters to choose from. The pavement vendors also offer a lot of “Abibas” and “Roobok” gear—so much for brand consciousness.

If you’re looking to set up a house with dainty crockery and bone china, this place is a steal! I almost bought out the first store we entered – tea sets, little bone china bowls with prints of the Chinese zodiac and geishas, delicate paddling porcelain tortoises – all at significantly lower rates than places like Gangtok.

Two words for Darjeeling: “Pooh pooh!” All right, if I sounded too harsh, then here’s something in its defense – buy the oranges, they are divine! There is plenty of the famous Darjeeling tea to be bought too, but overall, this tourist hotspot barely even qualifies as Sikkim’s poorest and ugliest cousin thrice removed. As for Kalimpong, shop till you drop, but it is best if you know someone local who can function as a guide.

Gourmands in Gorkhaland

Having heard a lot about the place, we visited what appears to be the one decent pub in Darjeeling – Glenneries. The place was about as lively as a morgue. The waiter brought us our bill at 9:15 p.m. unasked and shuffled around making it quite clear that they’d really like to call it a day and soon.

A pleasant surprise was a recommendation by a friendly salesman at the Nathmulls tea shop, where we’d gone to pick up the famous Darjeeling tea. He suggested we try this tiny, unimpressive looking restaurant called Kunga for good Tibetan food. The waitress laid a pen and stack of paper in front of us. It took us a while to figure out that there would be no “order taken” – customers have to write down what they want and that slip of paper is then handed over to the chef. The food was delicious and value for money – our servings of fried momos and thupka were enough to satisfy a medium-sized hungry lion.

At Kalimpong, we lunched at The Park – a short but rather steep and winding drive away from the main market area. We quite enjoyed the food and ambience – the hotel seems more like an old plantation bungalow with a charming compound than a commercial establishment. A snoop around the attached souvenir shop yielded an interesting engraved silver ashtray for Smoky Joe.

Silly-guri

That night we dined in Siliguri at Hotel Ranjit. The place was filled with big Marvadi families with dozens of spoiled, wailing kids. Ducky and I settled down to enjoy some beer, tandoori chicken and fish tikkas. However, it was not to be. The fish was a letdown and I got a few disapproving looks from the women around. Virtuous women do not guzzle beer around these parts apparently. Not that I really gave a rat's arse. One kid came and stared at me (the sinner) with her kohl-filled eyes until I began toying with the idea of issuing her some kind of threat of bodily harm. Fortunately (for her), she lost interest and wandered off to hammer a table with a pepper shaker. I was entertaining all sorts of images of permanently destroying the little wretch, when even nature decided it had tolerated more than enough. The child simply toppled over and whammed her mouth against the table. I had to restrain myself from standing up and applauding. Her bleeding mouth and loud wails finally caught the attention of her so-far unconcerned mother. We decided this was a good time to vamoose from the place. Please note: My maternal instincts have obviously not kicked in even now.

Bargains at Bagdogra

We disembarked at NJP and proceeded to Siliguri, where we were to spend the night at the Army guesthouse. From Siliguri, we made a quick trip to Bagdogra to shop for warm clothes and take a look at the market there. I picked up a nice warm hooded jacket for Rs 350 and a thick, soft polo-neck sweater for Rs 100! For someone used to expensive Bangalore, this was quite a jaw-dropping shopping expedition. We also picked up 36-movies-in-one DVDs for Rs 50. I now possess a single DVD with almost all of Johnny Depp's blockbusters! I feel quite ashamed for having rejoiced in Bangalore when I ferreted out a place that sold single-movie DVDs for Rs 60 or even 4-in-one Bollywood DVDs for Rs 40!

Time Pass

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 Ducky 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.