Political leaders in the Darjeeling hills talk with conspiratorial relish about the Qinghai-Lhasa railway that China has recently finished constructing in Tibet, slated to open in July. The hushed tones do not necessarily reveal any immediate fear, as much as they underline a prevalent perception in this place tucked away in India's eastern Himalaya: that far-away forces are at work here, forces that the people understand little, over which they have even less control. Why this fear over the faraway railway? Much of the prevalent paranoia in Darjeeling about issues and events near and far has to do with the waywardness of the ruling satrap, Subash Ghisingh. And also the fact that the authorities – of a country that prides itself on being the world's largest democracy – have declined to conduct major local elections here for over two years.
The plot thickens as hill politics remain outside of most locals' comprehension – a confusion that is only compounded when local politics mesh with matters of culture and religion. During this year's Buddha Jayanti celebrations, for instance, the hill people witnessed the introduction of a 'Living Buddha' from Malaysia. The event was organised by the cultural department of the Darjeeling Gorkha Hill Council (DGHC) after the political leadership declared that the Buddhists of the region – a significant chunk of the population – had thus far been worshipping a "dead Buddha".
Indeed, over the last two decades, political platforms have allowed for the promulgation of many unique theories pertaining to issues of religion, as well as those of science, art and culture. From discussions on the exact date of man's 'advent' on earth, to replacing idols of Durga with rocks, significant ground has been covered in lofty, sometimes bizarre public discourse. Much of this has been recorded on cassette and distributed about the countryside, conveying the words of one voice in particular. Nearly two decades ago, it was that very same recorded voice that had brought people together, to listen with racing pulses about fighting for the freedom and dignity of Indian Nepalis. That voice belonged to an orator par excellence, who grasped the disaffection of his people and fired their imaginations with a desire for a separate state. They took up arms. It was 1986. The man was Subash Ghisingh, president of the Gorkha National Liberation Front (GNLF).
In a strange way, this frontier province has subsequently taken up the character of a 'no-man's land'. In fact, that term was popularised by the GNLF, the area's ruling party, when it spearheaded the movement for a separate state of Gorkhaland from 1986-88 to be carried out of West Bengal. Besides the suspension of elections, in November 2004 a blustering Ghisingh demanded that the hills be merged with Bangladesh. Six years earlier, he raised the question of the region's "territorial integrity" vis-à-vis the Indian Constitution. Due to its sensitive border location, nearby and faraway events in these hills are habitually seen through a lens of larger geo-politics, adding to a peculiar cloak-and-dagger atmosphere.