First of all, why should one go at all to a place named Ziro (Disregard for a moment that the spelling is not Z.E.R.O.)? Do that name and the sojourn thereto have a hidden cosmic significance? Is it preordained to be a journey into primordial nothingness? And more so given Ziro’s distance and mountainous isolation? Will all the effort and time invested ultimately lead to the inevitable revelation of the meaninglessness of life?
Not just that, why go there in the middle of a raging Covid-19 pandemic which has crippled the globe? Why head for Ziro when amid all uncertainties it seemed like the world was winding down to a big Zero? It felt as if the cryptically- named place itself was striding across to us to offer an eternal, silent embrace.
These melancholic broodings wrecked my mind for a considerable length of time. The situation was highly fluid. Covid numbers were flashing across news headlines daily, till they stopped meaning anything to my tired brain. Different states were whimsically imposing and lifting restrictions (including but not limited to mandatory RTPCR tests!) as they saw fit. My trip companions’ Mumbai– Guwahati air travel plans were beginning to look as implausible as flying carpet travel.
Be that as it may, finally most troubles sorted themselves out and everything fell into place. The trip was happening.
We only had a rudimentary idea of what Ziro was and in which general direction it lay. It is a small town in Lower Subansiri District of Arunachal Pradesh nestled high up in the mountains, the road to which begins at North Lakhimpur in Assam. Its recent claim to fame is the annual Ziro Festival where a lot of Indian rock bands perform to delirious fan- crowds. We knew little else, apart from the fact that the distance involved (from Tezpur) was close to 350 Km. I enquired around for details but few people knew more. Travelogues on internet were also of little help. Most cracked the same old puns on its name (refer my first three paragraphs above!) and offered no planning details.
On the positive side, we were going to drive in a Corolla Altis (AT) which carries iron-clad reliability of Toyota. Secondly, our accommodation was confirmed.
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Day One
We chose to be prudent and turned the ignition at 07.30am. Actually, in North East India, where day breaks before 05.00am, this is hardly an early start. But it was early enough. The road was great. Balipara village went past and traffic thinned even more.
Rice fields on both sides of the road soon gave way to tea gardens.
Barring a few semi- urban clusters, the rest of the landscape was open upper plains of Brahmputra, gently undulating and dotted with sleepy villages. Apart from a short breakfast break at Biswanath Chariali, we did not stop much.
At Banderdewa, we veered a little towards Itanagar in confusion, before careening back to the highway. It added a few unnecessary kilometers.
But shortly thereafter, we touched Pahumara village on the outskirts of North Lakhimpur and turned left on the road which goes to Ziro, leading up the mountains.
The landscape turned magically. The hills began to rise steeply. The forest turned denser and the road, narrow.
At nearly every turn, there would be an overpowering temptation to stop and take pictures.
The ITBP location at Kimin.
Excluding some fairy tale- like villages of bamboo huts, the road after Kimin was bereft of any human presence. We hardly came across any vehicles either. Needless to say, the drive to Potin was a breeze.
The forest was overrun with wild banana plants. I mean thousands of them. Did they really yield edible fruit? I don’t know for sure. But we did see banana growing on some of the plants.
Suspicious Mithuns, grazing by the wayside, kept staring at our car. They didn’t seem to appreciate being photographed.
We reached Potin at 03.00pm and took a much needed halt.
By standards of North East India, it was pretty late for lunch. But Paratha, Potato Curry and Omlette were still being served at the local ‘Wooden Tables and Paper Plates’ dhaba.
We topped it with black tea and turned the wheel towards Ziro.
And, end of dream!
The under- construction road beyond Potin was a relentless horror. Not one inch of it was driveable. We could see even SUVs struggling. In places, there were mud swamps large enough to swallow a small car. Treacherous potholes and big stones threatened to cause serious damage to our low- slung sedan. Suddenly I was no more as confident about Toyota.
The view on the sides was a treat to the eyes but the torture of driving on such a road didn’t allow me that pleasure. Nevertheless, the sheer effort of steering the car often made us stop for frequent breaks. That was when the unmatched beauty of nature that surrounded us became apparent.
Big churches seemed to be everywhere.
As darkness fell, the road too became progressively worse. It also started raining. In one of the potholes, my Toyota lost the hard plastic wheel-flap that sits behind the front left tyre. It also took along with it the entire inner liner of the wheel arch. We had anticipated this possibility a little earlier but we were a little overawed by the rain (the weather was chilly too) and neglected to remove the flap preemptively. It would have prevented the loss.
We mentally bracketed the stretch where it had possibly fallen, using identifiable landmarks along the road. It wasn’t all that far from our destination. I made a tentative plan of returning next morning to search for it, weather permitting.
Somehow, we reached the outskirts of Hapoli (the twin- town which precedes Ziro). Here, an ocean-sized mud bog lay right in our path. Spread from end to end, it covered the entire road and left no space to pass. Fortunately, its full threat potential was visible even in darkness. After a couple of cautious attempts, I sensed that it presented a real danger to the car and gave up. While we were wondering what to do next, a pick-up truck following us honked loudly. Finding no response, the guy walked across to us in rain and peered through my window. Not much conversation was required. Being a local he was well aware of the ‘geography’ of each pothole! Our car’s Gujarat (GJ) registration automatically explained our ‘outsider’ predicament to him. He stood in front and deftly guided me steer the car, inch- by- careful- inch, thorough that spot in hell.
By the time we reached our pad in Hapoli, it was nearly 08.00pm. Last 60 Kms had taken us over four hours. The car had taken some brutal belly scrapes. It was also thoroughly caked in mud.
We knew that if it continued to rain the next day, we were going to be trapped in Ziro.
****
Day Two.
The day rose, thankfully to clear weather. I put on my trekking shoes, packed a water bottle and an umbrella and set out to search for the wheel flap. I had estimated an outer extreme of seven Kms. Out of this, the first three Kms (up to the point where loss was detected) were ‘dead mileage’ for which I was hoping to hitch a ride.
Alas, my luck wasn’t strong. Barely any vehicles passed by and I ended up walking the whole distance. Not that it wasn’t fun. The sun was rising, the weather was amazing, there was no other human soul on the road and an invigorating silence (just bird calls and an odd chirping cricket) filled the hills.
As the road climbed upwards, it afforded a captivating bird- eye view of the town.
The only tough part was finding a path to walk through mud, the entire road having turned into an enormous swamp.
Amusingly, bikers seem to love the road precisely for what it was- a breakneck dirt track! During our time in Ziro, apart from local guys and their girlfriends we also saw many professional, long-distance bikers having a blast riding their machines.
A thirty- minute walk brought me to that killer mud bog of last night. A giant truck was stuck exactly at the same spot, its rear wheel buried deep. Perhaps for the whole last night.
I realized that we were fortunate to have escaped a similar mishap last night and silently thanked that angel from heaven, the helpful pick-up driver.
I covered the entire stretch of the road, right till the other edge of our bracket, but failed to retrieve the lost component. Luckily, I did not have to hotfoot it back. I got rides, first in a truck (blaring 1990s Nadeem Shravan songs), and then in a Tata Sumo (I was startled to find that a goat was my co- passenger). Both drivers refused to take any money.
******
A bath and breakfast later, we set out to explore Hapoli town on foot (Yes, it is that tiny).
We followed up our prior research (carried out at breakfast table!) by detailed field interactions with townsfolk. It threw up the following important insights:
1. None of the automobile mechanics in Ziro (or Hapoli) touches a Toyota. Nobody has ever handled anything other than Maruti, Tata (Sumo only) and Mahindra. In fact, there are no local Toyota cars at all.
2. No café sells veg momos- only pork, beef and chicken ones.
3. Accessories of discontinued mobile phone models (i.e. covers etc) are not stocked by any shop.
4. Actor Varun Dhawan is currently in town, shooting his new movie with a crew from Mumbai.
The first three findings were disappointing but the fourth one sparked some mild interest. Should we try to meet the young star, maybe click a selfie with him?
****
The state of roads within Ziro/Hapoli wasn’t any better. The car could do with some rest as well. Hence, it was decided to hire a cab for local sightseeing.
Enter Danny.
No, I was joking. Not Sikkim‘s Dengzongpa but Ziro‘s Danny.
The cab guy we struck a deal with was a talkative, lively, young maverick named Danny.
Apart from being a cab driver, he was also an aspiring actor and a big English movie buff. He had also driven his cab for Dhawan’s film unit for a few weeks before calling it quits over money issues. Goes without saying, he was quite updated about nearly each member of the film crew (or so we thought) and every minute of shooting schedule right since their arrival. He made sure that we were informed about it all during the drive. Perhaps he would’ve taken us to watch the shoot as well, had we insisted. But we couldn’t. The honour of our ‘Mumbai connection’ (We had let that part be known to him) was in our hands. We didn’t want to come across as being too enthusiastic about movies and movie stars, how could we!!
Jokes apart, he also gave us a lot of good information about his Apatani tribe, local customs, food and history. He had a cheerful, intelligent and positive demanoeur. If he was born in Mumbai, Delhi or such places, he would have definitely reached somewhere in bollywood. Maybe he will someday. I certainly look forward to seeing another Danny on screen.
***
The sightseeing began with a local Hindu shrine outside Hapoli.
Named Siddheshwar Nath temple, it is a massive natural rock believed to be a manifestation of Shiva. I won’t call it a temple because there doesn’t exist one yet. Only a half-constructed structure. We bowed our heads and moved on.
The road offered some breathtaking views of the town periphery.
Danny chattered nonstop as we headed further to Kaasa Adventure Resort which everyone had been praising a lot.
Carpet- like paddy fields of bright green colour lined the road on both sides.
A private property set on a steep hillside, Kasa Resort lived up to all that we had heard. It has been smartly designed to give children a feel of outdoor treasure hunt-like thrill. We were told it was a popular place with all local schools for outings and picnics.
The zip-line ride made my inner child come alive.
The part I liked the best was this really long swing which is installed right at the edge of the hill and takes one flying over rooftops of houses. I just couldn’t get enough of it.
‘Lapan Babo’ is some kind of a traditional religious structure found in Apatani villages. This wooden platform (as Danny explained) was a replica and not the actual thing. Apparently, the real thing is much bigger in size.
I was curious to know why married women were ‘not allowed’ on it. But Danny suddenly became defensive and refused to explain anything beyond “such things don’t happen now”. It looked like he suspected that ‘progressive’ guys like us would judge him for patriarchy, sexism and such other ‘regressive’ notions. It stopped me from probing any further. Unfortunate.
I quietly did a google search for Lapan Babo but couldn’t get much information. Does anybody know more about this?
****
The third place to visit was Silkhe Lake (“It is nothing great. Why do you want to go there?”- Danny). It is a mid-size artificial lake that gives Ziro town something akin to a beachfront. Quite a few private bungalows dot the hills on its periphery and more seem to be coming up. The entry to the lake is ticketed. As we drove in, we saw a music video shoot taking place. A young beefcake and a girl in denim shorts were the actors. The ‘budget’ crew comprised of just three other guys who were respectively manning the car (The actress entered the frame riding in it), the handheld monitor and the drone. Danny bolstered his aspiring-actor credentials by giving us a running commentary on the mechanics of a shoot!
The guy doing push-ups on the left is the hero of the music video. Decorum stopped me from clicking the lady’s photo.
Thus, in Ziro we couldn’t meet Varun Dhawan but got to watch another shoot. Danny also pointed out to us a faux- house erected on a hill by the art directors of Dhawan’s film where a lot of scenes had been shot.
Good enough.
Close to Silkhe Lake, symmetrical planks had been stacked up like this, to be used for making a wooden house. A beautiful visual.
Finally, about the local home- brewed rice beer, Apong. Trying it was on our agenda all along. Though it came in a recycled Pepsi bottle, making us somewhat feel as if we were in a theka desi sharab, I am happy to say that we totally loved the flavour (think normal lager beer, spiked with sour buttermilk) and polished off full 2 litres of it.
Apong would be a good enough reason for me to return to Ziro.
But only after they finish making that road. Please let me know when they do.
And bring me some Apong when you go there to check.
Chalat Musafir 