Nagaland Beckons

I don’t remember entering Nagaland, as I was fast asleep when the bus entered Dimapur bus station. My friend woke me up and told me we had reached, and I woke up groggy and stiff, as you would expect after a night-long bus journey. Dimapur looked and felt just like any other small town tucked away in the North-East. It has a fly-over though and that reminded me of the fact that I was still some distance away from the hills.

Bodo was my companion for the journey and also a self-appointed guide to this beautiful state and I, was in an uncomfortable position as the unwilling tourist, who is trying to hide the fact that he is in town for the first time. All my confidence disappeared when everyone around were fluently conversing in Nagamese, and I knew that if I were to utter the little Nagamese that I knew, well let’s just leave the rest to your gory imaginations.

Thanks Bodo, for finally deciding to come along; a whole half-hour before the bus was scheduled to leave Shillong.

Dimapur was pretty humid I must say, and kinda hot. So after a while of getting used to the stickiness of the air I had a nice cold water bath while our wonderful host, Mayang made a nice welcoming breakfast for us.

Day One was spent just hanging around and meeting up and chatting with some old friends. Then it was decided that we were to visit Kohima the next day. That night I discovered one more thing about Nagaland. For a “Dry State”, the booze was much cheaper than many other places, Bangalore (where I currently reside) included. Maybe it was Dimapur’s close proximity to Assam, but it still came along as a nice surprise.

The evening was spent on the terrace, me fidgeting with my mom’s camera as Mayang, Bodo and Blender’s Pride warmed up in the dusky light with the Patkai range in the back-drop like thick edges of a curtain that comprised the grey Dimapur sky. As we carried on our re-union, I felt at peace and comfortable and far away from all the troubles and responsibilities that awaited me a thousand miles away. It started raining that night while we were polishing off our duties, and that even helped the evening become more memorable; the night sky, the rain drops, good company and the prospect of seeing another new place the next day.

The next day Bodo and I were joined by another friend, cute and bubbly Ageno, as we embarked on our journey to Kohima. We boarded an Alto at the taxi-stand outside the railway station, and I felt relieved as the scenery started to change from the dusty and crowded town-center to a more pacifying green of the more spacey Dimapur suburbs. Bodo was in a very excited mood as there were some old buddies waiting for him and slapped on his face was a smile reminiscent of Jack Nicholson’s joker, Ageno was on her way to deliver some special leaves/decorations for an Angami function the next day and I was once again looking like the “excited tourist”, clicking wildly at anything that fancied my attention as the car slowly curved up the road to Kohima.

The journey captivated me as I looked around at the hills, beautifully done in a mosaic of bamboo green and bamboo brown and the dark clouds that beckoned us as we approached the capital. The rain drops started to appear again and the clouds started draping themselves around the hills once more. As we approached the “diamond necklace”, that’s how my friend described Kohima at night, there was one last hiccup: landslide. Now I felt that I was truly in the groove with the rains and the mud and cheerful men digging away and trying to help the vehicles get through, even though I saw no reason for them to be so happy about it. By accepting the landslide as an integral part of my journey I exorcised that “tourist” ghost in me and felt more of a genuine traveler.

We entered the bustling center of Kohima and hopped off, invigorated and looking forward to a rain-drenched day in this beautiful misty town spread like a serpent over the high ridges that made up this terrain. We met our friends, Bodo’s classmates who made me feel at home straight-away. After a quick bite at Big Bite, our group of six hopped into a Sumo, courtesy Jo, and I had no clue whatsoever of where I was being taken.

The pouring rain was not going to deter me though, and even the potholes of Kohima were not going to shake my enthusiasm as we thundered along and landed up in Dimori Cove, with the surrounding scenery guarded by thick mist. I was happy though as I saw a lot of the surrounding range on our way there and regretted that I will have to wait much longer before I really explore this part of the world. We went to Naga Heritage village, and surprisingly I wasn’t the only one who was seeing the place for the first time. This is where the famed Hornbill festival is held, and that is on my To-Do list before I croak.

Kohima for me went in a blur and sadly I was unable to see the cemetery as it had already closed down when we reached there. But that only gives me another reason to come back. We had to leave back for Dimapur that night itself, and after a sweet farewell in the rain, Bodo and I quietly reclined on our seats as our cab plunged back towards the plains in that dusky grey light, that just one day back seemed so uplifting. I felt the melancholy in Bodo as his Jack Nicholson smile slowly metamorphosized into a long Adrian Brody face. The night ended in a nice dinner cooked by Mayang and we had the usual beers and drinks and chit-chat with our good friends.

Day Three was the hurried last day, and involved a small detour into Hong Kong Market, where I got myself a couple of t-shirts ,a belt and a DVD of sappy Korean movies. I also got my mom an umbrella, although she didn’t seem too thrilled when she saw it. It turned to be one of those summer umbrellas, not exactly made for Shillong monsoons. We also met another of Bodo’s friends and then it was time to go.

Final farewells and final pictures were taken as Mayang promised me he would land up in Bangalore very soon, and Bodo and I trudged along mentally preparing ourselves for a long journey back home.

Three days I was there but being my observational self I saw a lot in this little period of time. I’m not trying to put down a detailed analysis of Nagaland or trying to be the next expert on this place, but from my own perspective, this was a satisfying journey as I got a personal insight to a place I’ve always been curious about.

The scars of conflict are visible in Nagaland, with its large presence of non-civilian forces, and also the effects of this sixty year civil war on the people of this land was shown in the small conversations I had with my friends. But Nagaland is one of those places for which you require to throw away your pre-conceived notions and journalistic point-of-views to truly understand.

The bottom-line is, I’m going back to Nagaland and this time it will not be some 3-day trailer but rather a nice blockbuster trip of this diverse and beautiful place; and maybe a longer article about the icy enclaves of Dzouku or a lazy Sunday afternoon in Mokokchung.

So watch out and Cheers!