by Indrajit Sundaram
Anyone visiting the jolly town of Siliguri, the gateway to the mountain realms of Nepal, Sikkim, Darjeeling, Bhutan and the Northeast hills, would soon be wondering why everything is covered with a thick layer of dust. Well, it’s possibly due to the excessive construction of buildings going on, and now, a 4-lane highway that is miffing drivers of all types due to its insistence on taking over the whole road. So, after a few dusty days downtown, or anywhere else for that matter, one begins to feel a bit skittish, as a friend of mine would say, and starved for natural things, a bit like how a gentle doe (a deer), would feel after it’s had a day or two nibbling at the very green plastic plants in the bylanes of Bidhan Market.
That’s how I feel every now and then, compounded by the fact that I’m still, four years after the Covid, housebound due to various reasons, and not easily able to get out and around, with household chores being the next in line, impatiently fretting over how my work-shift has taken over the day, much like the 4-lane highway has, the road.
Anyway, this treadmill lifestyle ultimately gave rise to the idea of why not go to the Bengal Safari and hang out there on a weekend? Hannah my daughter, who prefers the lights and the crowds herself, surprisingly agreed. So, we planned it, and one fine Saturday, we set out to get a relaxed afternoon at the Bengal Safari, just a 10 minute drive down the road from our house.
‘Wait, you have a safari just down the road from your house??’ one may ask, incredulously.
‘Uh-huh.’ I say, nonchalantly.
‘Wait, where do you live again?’ one may ask, a little panic-stricken, and mind-boggling that one might have missed, all one’s life, that Bengal Safari was the other name for the Serengeti.
‘Siliguri..’ I say, a little testily, in case it wasn’t noticed that I had mentioned it at the beginning of the story.
‘Er…’ one may say, racking the brain to remember high school Geography and Siliguri’s mention in a map of the Serengeti.
Now, before one explodes, let me tell you that Siliguri is in North Bengal, the very tippy-tip part of the chicken-neck of West Bengal state in India, not quite near to the Serengeti in Kenya. There is a forest reserve very close to my house in Siliguri, within which an artificial ‘safari’ has been created by the West Bengal state government in one their more lucid moments. It’s really a large park with lots of food booths, a bird enclosure, a crocodile enclave, a zoo of sorts, nursery, museum, elephant and other sundry rides, and a variety of ‘safaris’ you can go on in little buses, in which you will, almost certainly, see elephants, tigers, lions, deer and other animals, simply because you can’t avoid seeing them, seeing that the safari is designed for you to see them, even if they are normally unseen. Very clever of the West Bengal government, I would say, as the park is very, very popular with the less-discerning public. It’s not very clear how the normally unseen animals feel at being seen, or whether they have become rather less-discerning, what with the company they keep.
Let me also put the record straight that Hannah and I were not going there to bog at outmaneuvered animals on display, but rather, to just sit on various benches and enjoy the greenery, chat and soak in the afternoon sunshine as the days were cold. The cherry on top was that we would get to observe all the less discerning public go about their various activities – an entertaining pastime that Hannah and I often indulge in when we get the chance.
Those distant huts promising a rustic experience lead to very cheesy rides.
The Saturday came, and off we set, eager and agog to start our Bengal Non-Safari. The prices had gone up, we found, however, it was still worth it to pay just 60 cents for entry to just the park, in which we could wander around and find various places to sit and relax. I noticed that most of the rides were still between $1.20 and $3.50, but it was interesting to see that there was a plethora of little food booths now, rather overpriced, accepting just cash, not the ubiquitous UPI payment that has changed the face of India of the last decade. I saw through the clever tax-ploy immediately, but was more disappointed in not being able to move around without needing the filthy lucre in hand if one was a bit peckish.
Anyway, there we were, Hannah and I, slowly wandering along the pathways, noticing changes, additions, new rides- some the epitome of cheesiness and con-art, until we found an unoccupied bench and sat down in a less frequented path, surrounded by trees, with the late afternoon winter sun, teasing our faces. While the crowd was far less impersonal compared to Mumbai, and we were constantly being stared at by various people, we stared right back, until we stopped feeling skittish, started enjoying their variety, and relaxed in the insulated bubble we were able to create for ourselves. It reminded me of what Ian Anderson of Jethro Tull says to the audience with a touch of madness in the eye, before he launches into Minstrel in the Gallery, ‘…the interesting subject of how you’re all out there, sitting down, watching, and we’re standing up here, watching, but none of us know which side we’re on.’
Chilling on our Bengal Non-Safari
Just like in a previous post, Looking for the Pause Button, we were able to find and press it right in the middle of our humble, and crowded, Bengal Non-Safari. It really is a nice park, or parts of it are, and it really is possible to just go there to get away, as long as you don’t let the sound of other people’s wheels drive you crazy. It was green, very green and lovely, the sun was golden and warm, there was the possibility of anonymity on that park bench, and I had good company for a conversation. What more could I want?
People pay through their noses to go on a safari in the Serengeti for the adventure and relaxation, and here we were thoroughly enjoying not being on one, in the Bengal Safari. One more reason to retire to India, where one can be an iconoclast rather more cheaply than elsewhere.