As soon as the train arrived in Siliguri, we unloaded the motorbike and headed to Darjeeling.

Darjeeling is the resort the British chose to escape the scorching Gangetic plains during the colonial period, at about 40 miles from Siliguri and 7,000 feet of altitude.

The winding road disputes the slopes with the “toy train,” a well-deserved name given its size.

The sudden drop in temperature brought an unforeseen problem: I didn’t have enough clothes (someone stole them on the train, as I told in the earlier post), and my friend didn’t have much to share. We stopped to put more clothes on, and my batch consisted of merely a pair of socks and a sweater. When the sun set, the cold was almost unbearable.

I closed my eyes, relaxed and entered a state where my body was leaning effortlessly with each curve. The cold, though intense, ceased to cause me suffering.

After countless turns we reached Darjeeling.

At the sight of the first pension, we urgently dismounted the motorbike and went inside to ask for a room with hot shower—which turned out to be a couple of buckets of steaming water, enough to regain the vital signs.

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