The drive from Siliguri to Gangtok was uneventful. Half of me travelled in a cramped shared jeep. The other half hung outside for most of the trip. There are quite a few stopovers on the way. I remember Chitrey for its rafting camps, Malli for its beer factory, and Rangpo for its busy check post. That aside, you can stop for momos and chilled beer at almost every shack along the wild and turbulent Teesta.

Six words. That’s it. I had boiled my existence down to six words.

"Good morning" at the reception every morning.
"Momos" for lunch.
"Wine" after that.
"Good night."

My first days in Sikkim were spent in self-imposed silence. I was thrilled at the prospect of being able to run my life with just six words (out of which four were quite unnecessary). There are hazards though. Like when the man at the wine shop asks, "Which wine?" These hiccups can be cured by hand gestures and grunts.

At the same time I was seriously considering Buddhism. I still am. But the old wise monk at Enchey Monastery felt otherwise. He insisted that I was not ready for it. I asked innocently, "Ready for what?" The reply was a curt "It".

Talking about old monks, the liquor situation in Sikkim is utopian. Booze is heavily subsidised. As a result you’ll see little roadside joints with little glasses chained to the cash counter. The deal is, you pay at the counter, have a shot of whatever you want, wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and leave. All this without even entering the restaurant! The benefits of booze subsidy are bounteous.