Dinash, my host in Pelling, insisted I go to the hot springs. I wanted to go to a monastery or tour Yuksom, the ancient capital of Sikkim, or eat at a really good restaurant. But, no. Dinash was all about the hot springs. (Men are the same everywhere.)
In this part of the world men and women enjoy the hot springs separately, but the men get to watch the women. Whatever. I brought along a bathing suit, but there was nowhere to change. So Dinash decided we should go behind some rocks and he’d hold up my sweater to cover me.
I was dubious. “Close your eyes?” I suggested.
“Yes, yes, ma’am. Of course.” Then, a few seconds later. “That’s a very beautiful tattoo, ma’am.”
The sulphur hot springs are pooled in a turquoise-colored river that is fed directly from Kanchenjunga. Anything connected to Kanchenjunga is considered sacred; therefore visiting the hot springs is a sacred act.
It was a mob scene at the springs. Young women, old women, ancient women, children, all crowded together drizzling water over their bodies, resting their heads back on the rocks, eyes closed. But almost everyone who had her eyes open was watching me.
I could feel like a freak, a Westerner in Northern India, off-season, alone. Everywhere I go, people gawk. Some snap my photo. Some ask someone else to snap my photo with them in it. I think I might know what Ling-Ling the Panda feels like.
When I visited Tiger Hill with Reiko, a Japanese tourist, she commented on how popular I was. If the sole reason for my popularity is my blonde hair, which isn’t even natural, then that’s a huge bummer. I’m choosing to think, instead, I exude a mysterious and exotic aura.
Come to think of it, it may be the curls, which are natural, and not the color at all. Several women approach me daily for hairstyle advice.
At the springs the children kept gifting me rocks from the sacred river. One little girl who is seven years old and whose mom died when she was a baby, tied a lavender-colored string around my neck.
I hung out with four of the girls for about 40 minutes. They all want to be air hostesses when they grow up. So they can see the world. Kids after my own heart.
Driving back from the hot springs, Dinash asked me when I will get married.
“December 6th,” I said.
“Your husband,” Dinash said. “Is a very lucky man.”
Good for people to know.