The only place we do not build roads is in the sky-BRO

“The Bengalis are the ones in the funny wool hats.”
With this bit of advice Suzanne and I have migrated out of the heat and into the lush hills of Sikkim. An uncharacteristic blanket of clouds and afternoon showers are our constant companions now. Gone is the infernal heat and my tormented delusions of skiing. However, the surreal warp that has so long enveloped my perceptions of the world remains firmly in place. No matter how I push and pull my consciousness I simply cannot see the world as anything other than odd.

Stamps, passport photos, permits and most importantly money; if you have the inclination to journey from Gangtok to the Yumthang Valley these are the most important items to carry with you. If you are also looking to enjoy the journey it would be helpful to have an unshakable belief in your own immortality. Like so many people I know full well that I am mortal and I am keenly interested in not being reminded of this fact. Fortunately the serpentine drive to Yumthang is adorned with plenty of help if you are looking to gently dislodge your brain from the ‘real world.’
86 makes north Sikkim hit
The first of countless yellow and black moderately cryptic road signs passed the window of our chartered jeep.
“What’s that sign all about?”
Our guide momentarily discontinued his imitation of a Bollywood musical to attempt an answer, “86 is army, makes roads.”
East or West BRO is best
“Who is BRO?” I asked.
“BRO is Border Roads Organization, makes roads.”
The road looped back and forth on itself in sets of turns tight enough to break the back of a yoga adept snake.
Driving faster can cause disaster
At the time that I saw this sign I did not understand the pressing over supply of yellow and black paint. The road crews of BRO and 86 are gifted with oceans of paint, and endless rock retaining walls.
Keep your nerves on sharp curves
It occurred to me as odd that all the yellow paint found itself on the walls in the form of signs and slogans and that absolutely none of the paint found itself on the road as a means of demarcating traffic lanes.
BRO - Flag barriers of prosperity and civilization
Accidents begin when alertness ends
A slight rumbling moved through my stomach as the driver down shifted into first gear and negotiated a patch of washed out road. To the right of the car the Himalayan mountains stood ready to push us into the waiting arms of the Bay of Bengal.
Don’t mix drink with drive
I cannot even begin to express the gratitude I felt as I looked over at Sonam’s stern face. He held the wheel in both hands and had the solid look of a man who never smiled or joked. He looked to be a man in control of his car and his world. My version of the perfect Indian driver.
Don’t gossip-let him drive
At last a road sign of use. The Bollywood love songs spilling out of our guide, Lhakpa, had started getting on my nerves and I had been struggling to find a polite way to ask him, “would you please shut up?”
“Hey Lhakpa, is singing like gossip? Maybe Sonam needs to concentrate and drive.”
I am not sure what Lhakpa said in response. Just then a painted horn appeared on the wall holding back the mountains and Sonam dutifully honked his way around a blind corner. Whatever Lhakpa said he did not stop singing as a result of our conversation.
BRO in service of nation
Wonder if you ever thought who defied death to make these roads-BRO
I did not find this last sign to be in the least bit comforting but my interest in it faded as a horn blast emanated from behind our jeep. Sonam shook his stern head and muttered, “young bloods.” He then pulled to the side as another jeep of tourists passed on the turn and ignored the signs saying:
Harry makes worry
No hurry no worry
No need for over speed
Sonam look at me and cracked his first smile, “Photo?”
The next turn in the road brought a thunderous waterfall into view.
Inconvenience regretted
I took a good look at the mountain of water as it tumbled from the roof of the world to the ocean and the miracle of BRO became clear. This road was not about rocks and mountains. It was all about water. Every turn negotiated another valley. Every valley had another stream. Every stream persistently objected to the interfering road and relentlessly sought to dislodged the concrete asphalt and rocks in its way.
Keep left it is the right way to drive
BRO - Pioneers in nation building
“Chickne.” Sonam muttered under his breath as he spotted a section of asphalt undercut by a hidden stream. The curse proved enough to silence the ever singing Lhakpa. It also reminded me of my seldom used Nepali.
“Chickne buzako cha.” or “Fuck. I understand.”
Both Sonam and Lhakpa looked at me in shock. After a second Sonam burst into the kind of smile that can only come from pure happiness. When he then cut loose with a thirty second burst of unbroken Nepali I regretfully admitted that I spoke very little of his language and most of what I spoke dealt with words like ‘fuck, and shit.’ Lhakpa sang on and the road continued to turn and climb. BRO continued to help the journey along.
Taming tough terrain is BRO
BRO brings people of remote to main stream
Do not prove your strength on accelerator
BRO achievement though excellence
Though the signs might be reason enough to travel the road to Yumthang they had nothing to do with the original decision to travel to this particular lost valley. This particular bit of road found itself under my feet from a love of flowers. The Yumthang valley explodes with rhododendron blooms each spring. The rocks and snow give way to crimson blossoms shinning though a delicate mist of clouds silence.
Head read what we say-have a happy journey
For safe arriving no liquor while driving
Someone is waiting for you at home-drive carefully
As we descended from Yumthang and the blood red sea of flowers, a convoy of deep green army transport trucks rumbled up the hill towards us. Sonam pulled over and gave the massive vehicles their undeniable right of way. The sign read:
Time is precious life is priceless
BRO and 86 are part of the military and the road to Yumthang was not built for tourists like me. China and India never really settled the matter of who gets to call this bit of land ‘mine.’ The signs, the road and my permit, found their birth in the by-products of a war that might happen but hasn’t.