[Red Liner]

Looking down into the valley of Pakke Kessang. The soil is rich and the weather conducive to farming.

Towards the horizon as far as the eyes can see are lofty mountains forming an impassable wall. I have been allowed crossing to find myself in an endless carpet of paddy fields. In the midst is a quiet village, awakening to another day. The ever reducing fringes are marked by the green foliage of tropical rain forest. The sky is dyed in hues of blues, all cascading into one another like the ocean.

I catch myself wishing I was an artist.

Only I was painting this panorama in the canvas of my mind. A fresco of imaginary watercolors come to light from the inner silence. For a brief moment in time, I become one with what I see.

Two sisters sit by their shop selling freshly harvested spinach amongst other vegetables grown on their fields.

[Red Liner]

“Could you please move aside?”

My day dreaming ends abruptly. A group of men shuffle together at the very spot of my contemplation for pictures. One of them shoves his phone into my hand to photograph them. Before I am done, another phone is shoved into my hands. And then another. This goes on for more than a few minutes until everyone’s phone has the exact same photograph.

“We are teachers on a day trip together. It’s Sunday and our only day off” offers George as a way of introduction in a thick southern accent.

“Where are you from?” I question. Tall and dark skinned, every single one of them has a bushy moustache. Definitely not local. I know people of north eastern ethnicity struggle with facial hair.

“We are from Kerala but I have been teaching here since the seventies.” George answers.

I am at a loss for words. Kerala is over 4000 kilometres away to the southern tip of the country. The climate, the people, the food, the culture, nothing is even remotely similar to Arunachal.

“Yes, I get that look whenever I talk about myself, which I rarely do” he laughs. “Arunachal used to be very different back then. There were hardly any roads at all. Even making a phone call home was a couple of days trek away to find a working telephone line. Everything had to be planned days in advance. Now things are easier. There is a lot of development work going on.”

“What made you come here back then? Surely it had to be something of significance?” I ask.

I met these teachers almost by chance while traveling from Seppa through Pakke Kessang. All of them are from Kerala, their physical attributes being distinctly unique from the mongoloid features of the locals who inhabit this part of India.

“It was. I felt a deep calling to come away to a part of India that needed me. I could have quite easily taken a comfortable job closer home. But that never interested me. The people here were very poor and had never seen the world outside their villages. As a teacher, it was an opportunity for me to make a real difference in their lives” he says.

I watch as they drive away. Money, ambition and status, these are the foundations on which our society functions. And it has not touched this man. Here is someone who has chosen to lead life on a very different moral compass.

Money, ambition and status, these are the foundations on which our society functions.

I see more stop by and take pictures. The point where I am standing starts to get busy. This is Pakke Kessang, a district that used to be a part of East Kameng. Three tribes call Pakke Kessang home, the Nyishi who are the most numerous, followed by the Galo and Puroiks. I am told they are all of similar origin but have distinct culture and beliefs.

Down the road is a marker erected to commemorate the founding of Pakke Kessang in 2018. Embossed in golden print I read these fine words worthy of Gandhi or Martin Luther King Jr.

Together we shall make a model district where rule of law, discipline, equality, brotherhood, peace, social harmony, progress and prosperity shall be our guiding principle.

[Red Liner]

The route winds through Leporiang and Sagalee, two small settlements just beyond the Pakke Kessang valley on the road due east. A few kilometers after Sagalee sits a lone petrol station where I stop to refuel. It looks fairly new.

“Are there places to stop for lunch ahead?” I ask the attendant.
“No, there is nothing ahead. You will have to head back to Sagalee town.” he answers disinterestedly.

I was in no mood to turn back and so I press on until a roughly cut bamboo cabin appears on my right. I find it difficult to make out if this cabin is home or restaurant. I notice that none of the shops have signboards. Why would you, if your only customers are from your village? a local friend had told me when I asked him. Now my only recourse is to knock on the door and find out.

Why would your shop have a signboard if your only customers are from your village?

The door is open but it is not a restaurant, just a tiny shop. My hopes are dashed. I resign myself to eating biscuits shared with a few friendly mutts who appear out of nowhere. The children running the shop are shy to ask me anything, so I do.

“Where are your parents?”
“Oh they are out working the farm.”
“Are you all friends?”
“No, we are siblings.”

I count five pairs of eyes staring back at me from behind the counter. None blink. They laugh like tittering birds after every question of mine.

“Why aren’t you at school?”
“It’s Sunday!”
I have lost complete track of what day of the week it is.
“Would you like oranges?” one of them suddenly asks me.

He takes me outside and presents me with rows of pretty handmade bamboo baskets full of freshly plucked oranges. I choose one at random and settle back inside. The dogs are downcast with this unexpected change in meal plan. I offer them more biscuits and they perk up instantly.

Sweet but tangy, the oranges burst with contrasting flavors in my mouth. “These oranges are fantastic!” I exclaim, corners of my mouth dribbling with juice. The children giggle.

“Where are they from?” I ask.
“They are right here from our farm!”
One of the girls takes my hand and leads me behind the shack. She points at a short distance to a large plantation of trees.
“See, those are our orange trees. We harvest the oranges during the season and bring them out here to sell.”

Rows upon rows of fresh succulent oranges from fields behind await passing travelers like us near Sagalee in Arunachal. The cabin is constructed using bamboo, found much in abundance all across this area.

It is time to leave. I grab my helmet and make my way out. The children follow to have a look at my motorcycle. They are no longer shy.

The eldest asks me about my travel. Where I’m from. Where I’m going to. I ask him about what he wants to do. He tells me his dreams. A restaurant of his own. A motorcycle just like mine. To see the world. To meet new people.

The more I travel the more I find we’re all so alike. And yet so different at the same time.

Contrasting flavors like an orange.

[Red Liner]

The way to Ziro switches direction at Potin. The only turn off here will take you down south into Assam. But our days in Arunachal have just begun.

The road soon begins its climb up north into the mountains. Down in the distance behind me is the placid reservoir of the Ranganadi dam. Built over the Panyor river, this is the first of many mega-dam projects in the state. The Panyor river is a tributary of the mighty Brahmaputra and traces its origin from a trio of mountain ranges, Nilam, Marta, and Tapo.

One spends much of their time riding alongside the pretty Panyor river and postcard perfect landscapes like these for company enroute to Ziro.

What starts as a drizzle now becomes an absolute downpour. The roads or what little is left of them quickly turn muddy. A new highway is being built between Potin and Ziro. Construction trucks leave deep ruts every where and I am struggling to pick a line uphill. I slide in and out of the ruts, my front wheel battling for traction and grip. Finally I find a small shop on my left where many have stopped to escape the pouring rain. I ask a local motorcyclist when he thinks the rain will ease off. He shrugs looking up at the sky in prayer.

His prayer is answered. The rain eases into a drizzle and all of us head back into the grim overcast sky.

In a few kilometers I come face to face with a terrifying obstacle. What used to be a road is now a river with nasty 5 foot deep craters ready to swallow you whole. There is no telling how deep the water can be in there. The line of waiting motorists behind me begins to swell as I try and figure out what to do.

The local I met earlier is at my side. A quick visual inspection and he looks at me to build some confidence. “I’m with you brother, I’ll fetch you if you go down!” I scream through my helmet. He wades through and I follow in quick succession across. My gloves are drenched but that doesn’t stop us from high five’ing each other on the other side.

A fine testament to the kind of terrain we were subjected to during our day’s journey to Ziro.

We laugh. In less than half a minute, I felt true kinship, a sense of brotherhood with him. Here in the middle of no where, in the most dismal conditions, in the most unlikeliest of situations. No words were spoken, and yet we knew we were there for each other. I didn’t even know his name.

Is this what motorcycles does to one?

[Red Liner]

Kat Ramana is an adventurer and explorer first.

His earliest memories of a true travel adventure was sailing around the world with his dad, a year’s journey on the great seas when he was all but five. In 2015, he walked from Kanyakumari to Kashmir, exploring India’s diverse cultures and ethnicities. His love of the great snow capped mountains have taken him tramping from India to Tibet and his search for authentic stories has seen him living in the distant North East for months at a time.

His way of understanding cultural nuances is by meeting people, listening to their stories and living with them.

[Aditya]

Thread moved out from the Assembly Line. Thanks for sharing!

[ex-innova-guy]

What an amazing narration of your adventure with your contrasting Orange (ADV 390). I love how you have incorporated some anthropological terms which just add so much more depth to this. There is something about the North East which excites me like nothing else and I certainly wish to explore it like you did.

Originally Posted by Red Liner

His way of understanding cultural nuances is by meeting people, listening to their stories and living with them.

I recently started watching videos of “Itchy Boots” and I enjoy it because of her knowledge in Geology and her interest in different cultures just like yourself. I dare ask do you have a YouTube channel by any chance? As I see a GoPro mounted on your Helmet too!

Thanks for sharing and looking forward to more of them!

[ShivC]

Originally Posted by Red Liner

Only I was painting this panorama in the canvas of my mind. A fresco of imaginary watercolors come to light from the inner silence. For a brief moment in time, I become one with what I see.

Congratulations Sir.

You are a man with deep inner thoughts and words that are bound together like a pearls in a beautiful necklace.

Have read your travelogues before. Sheer artistry. And profound thoughts penned with deep inner meanings.

Please keep them coming …kindly plan to write a book one day…it would do very well.