In the emerald arms of the Darjeeling Hills—where clouds wrap around cedar trunks like secrets, and the wind hums songs of lost promises—hope is stirring once again. After more than a century of waiting, the hills that have lived between silence and struggle seem ready to listen anew.
When BJP MLA Neeraj Tamang Zimba from Darjeeling welcomed the Central Government’s appointment of an interlocutor to address the Gorkha issue, it wasn’t just a political gesture—it was the sound of an old wound exhaling. It was the echo of a people’s century-long yearning finding a fragile voice amid the mist.
For generations, the word Gorkhaland has burned like a quiet flame in the hearts of Darjeeling’s people—a dream for identity, for belonging, for dignity written into the folds of India’s democratic promise.
Now, as the Centre appoints Pankaj Kumar Singh, former Director General of the Border Security Force and Deputy National Security Adviser, to mediate on the long-standing demands of the Gorkha community, a faint glimmer cuts through the fog of fatigue.
The hills have finally learned to speak softly and endure loudly. In Darjeeling, where clouds graze rooftops and memory clings like dew to pine, the argument over who gets to define the Gorkha future has flared once more—this time over New Delhi’s decision to appoint an interlocutor. It is a familiar word in these parts, a bridge offered when roads turn to cliffs. And it is a word that Zimba, embraces as an overdue step toward conversation instead of stalemate.
He is blunt about the politics. According to Zimba, the Kalimpong MLA stands against the very premise of this dialogue. In Zimba’s telling, that opposition MLA Ruden Sada Lepcha from Bharatiya Gorkha Prajatantrik Morcha and backed by All India Trinamool Congress (TMC) rings hollow in the hills: “He has no local standing on this issue,” he says, framing the lawmaker as a faithful messenger of the state rather than a voice of the mountains.
Zimba’s charge is not merely rhetorical; it is a thesis about why Delhi moved—because, he argues, the Centre repeatedly sought bipartisanship and found none.
The story he sketches is simple, stark, and pointed. The Union government, he says, extended invitations to the West Bengal administration for talks in Delhi—bipartisan, broad-based, and aimed at breaking the impasse. Those entreaties, Zimba claims, were met with silence. What followed, in his telling, was predictable: politics congealed into stalemate, the kind that thickens mistrust and exhausts ordinary lives.
Now, with an interlocutor named, Zimba hears new music in the valley. He rejects the accusation that this move violates the spirit of federalism. “In a democracy,” he says, “dialogue is the first principle, not the last resort.” An interlocutor, then, is not an intrusion but an instrument—someone tasked to walk the ridge between pain and policy, to listen before drafting the map.
Yet not all voices in the hills are singing the same tune. The Kalimpong MLA, Ruden Sada Lepcha has opposed the move, calling it unnecessary and politically motivated. But Zimba, with characteristic clarity, dismissed the criticism.
That mandate, as Zimba describes it, is expansive. Every stakeholder must be invited in—even those who reject the very foundation of the Gorkha homeland demand. He names Ruden Sada Lepcha as a necessary participant precisely because he disagrees. The argument is almost old-fashioned in its faith: dialogue is strongest when it holds dissonance without drowning it out. In the hills, disagreement is not a scandal; it is the raw material of a settlement worth signing.
“The Kalimpong MLA Ruden Sada Lepcha has no local standing on this matter,” he said. “He speaks for the TMC-led state government, not for the soil that gave him birth. The Centre reached out to Bengal several times for dialogue. But Chief Minister Mamata Banerjee paid no heed. When democracy turns deaf, the Centre must become its ear.”
Zimba does not pretend this is a novelty. He pulls the thread of history into the present, reminding anyone who will listen that interlocutors have come to these heights before—not as strangers, but as mediators when tempers frayed and the streets answered to strikes.
In the 1980s, when Subhas Ghisingh led a fierce and bloody movement under the banner of the GNLF, Indrajit Khullar was appointed as a special emissary by the Centre. Khullar, Zimba recalls, stitched communication where there was none, and his work culminated in the 1988 Darjeeling Gorkha Hill Council (DGHC) Accord—an agreement that, however imperfect, pulled the region back from the brink and erected a scaffold of autonomy.
Again in 2009, during the rise of the Gorkha Janmukti Morcha under Bimal Gurung, Delhi named Lt. Gen. (Retd.) Vijay Mohan as interlocutor. That, too, was an attempt to meet fire with words instead of more fire, to slow the political weather long enough to sort out the terms of tomorrow.
Today’s appointment—Pankaj Kumar Singh, a seasoned officer who once led the BSF and later served as Deputy National Security Adviser—fits that tradition. Zimba calls it a “welcome move” and sketches a frame for the work ahead: the interlocutor should examine the path to a permanent political solution, sift through the competing claims, and chart a course that is lawful, durable, and human. More than anything, he insists, the process must be inclusive—inviting voices from Darjeeling, the Terai, and the Dooars; from parties and people; from skeptics, loyalists, and those who will only trust what they can touch.
Time, he concedes, cannot stretch forever. He speaks of a one-year horizon, a clock that should not be cruel but must be real. A year, in his telling, is long enough to listen, and short enough to prevent drift.
If Zimba sounds urgent, it is because he has more than policy on his mind. He charges that the current atmosphere bears marks of intimidation and volatility—naming recent attacks on BJP workers and citing the assault on MP Khagen Murmu to warn that these hills can be tipped back into fear with alarming ease.
His accusation is unmistakable: he holds Chief Minister Mamata Banerjee responsible for a culture of hostility that has, in his view, haunted political workers across West Bengal since she took office. These are serious, partisan claims; they belong to Zimba and are offered as such. But they shape the urgency with which he endorses the interlocutor—as a safeguard against the politics of fracture.
THE BLAME AND THE BURDEN
Zimba does not mince words when holding the state accountable for the turbulence that has marked the hills in recent years. He blames Chief Minister Mamata Banerjee for fostering an environment of division and distrust.
“She is the architect of this stalemate,” he said. “Instead of engaging, she alienated. Instead of dialogue, she delivered denial. And now, when the Centre acts, she hides behind the rhetoric of federalism.”
Beneath the rhetoric, the old questions press forward. What form could a “permanent political solution” take? Is it statehood, Union Territory status, or a constitutional arrangement under provisions like the Sixth Schedule or Article 244A? What autonomy is meaningful enough to satisfy a people without tearing at the federal fabric? And how do reforms address identity alongside livelihood—education, language, land, and the fragile economies of tea and tourism that rise and fall with the monsoon?
In these hills, history is not a backdrop; it is the stubborn co-author of every new paragraph. The DGHC Accord promised relief but left unmet expectations in its wake—the creation of later administrative bodies offered structure, not always power. Every partial remedy has taught the same lesson: symbols can calm a season, but only structure calms a generation.
Zimba’s argument is, at its core, a plea for structure—for a process that does not simply choreograph the months before an election but builds something that can hold the weight of winter. He insists that the interlocutor must meet, travel, translate, and reconcile, and that the table must be long enough to seat both dissent and desire. He wants the hills to be heard—not as a constituency to be counted, but as a community to be understood.
If the past is any guide, the path will be steep. Dialogue in Darjeeling has often been asked to carry more than words should: the ache of identity, the arithmetic of autonomy, the memory of mourning. Yet the mountains have a way of insisting that peace without pride is only a pause, and pride without peace is only a pose. The interlocutor’s task—should it be pursued with patience and courage—is to find the grammar that can hold both.
For now, the hills listen. A year, perhaps. Meetings in rooms that smell of paper and rain. Letters exchanged. Names recorded. Arguments shaped until they can sit beside each other without reaching for the match. Zimba wants that chance given, not denied. He casts the interlocutor not as a partisan blade but as a democratic hinge—the quiet mechanism that lets a locked door open.
No one here is naïve about how long a century feels. The first formal petition for Gorkha recognition predates the lives of nearly everyone at the table. Hope, then, is not a headline; it is a habit learned the hard way. But even a habit needs a moment to stand up and stretch.
A TENSE PRELUDE
For decades, the demand for a separate Gorkhaland—a state or autonomous region for the Nepali-speaking Gorkha community of the hills—has remained central to the politics of the region. As Zimba pointed out, that demand stretches back to 1907, resurfacing repeatedly, and has taken myriad forms—statehood, Union Territory status, or enhanced autonomy under constitutional mechanisms such as the Sixth Schedule or Article 244A of the Indian Constitution. He told News Trajectory that the central government in April and October 2025 had held discussions with Gorkha leaders on achieving a permanent political solution and granting Scheduled Tribe (ST) status to 11 Gorkha communities.
It is within this turbulent terrain of historical grievance, ethnolinguistic assertion and electoral ambition that the interlocutor’s appointment arrives—and arrives at a moment charged by the upcoming 2026 West Bengal Assembly election.
While many in the hills view the appointment as a welcome breath of possibility, others express deep scepticism—interpreting the move as electoral calculus rather than genuine commitment.
The ruling state government of West Bengal, led by Mamata Banerjee, has strongly objected to the appointment, terming it ‘unilateral’ and a breach of cooperative federalism. In a letter to Prime Minister Narendra Modi, Banerjee described the decision as being made without consultation with the state government despite the issues directly affecting the autonomous Gorkhaland Territorial Administration (GTA).
ZIMBA’S CALCULATED WELCOME
In a region where politics and identity are inseparable, Zimba’s endorsement of the interlocutor marks a strategic moment. He told News Trajectory that he welcomes the appointment because it lays the groundwork for meaningful dialogue. He reiterated that the Gorkhaland demand is long-standing and that options—separate state, Union Territory or special constitutional provisions—must all be on the table.
By aligning his public voice with this move, Zimba appears to stake a claim both as a regional leader and as an interlocutor between the hills and the Centre. He also raised concerns about violence and political unrest: citing the alleged assault on Khagen Murmu and BJP MLA Sankar Ghosh in Nagrakata, Jalpaiguri on October 6 as ‘pre-planned,’ demanding a deeper investigation. This layering of local grievance, security concerns and regional ambition underscores how the Hills’ politics remain firmly anchored in both identity and realism.
He also condemned the recent attacks on BJP leaders in North Bengal—including MP Khagen Murmu—calling them politically motivated acts meant to instil fear.
“Violence cannot silence faith,” Zimba said. “The hills have seen worse. They have endured bullets and betrayals. Yet here we stand, still speaking of peace.”
OLD EQUATIONS, NEW CONTESTATIONS
What gives the current moment its urgency is not only the appointment of the interlocutor but the shifting political dynamics of the Hills. Here are some of the major players:
The Gorkha Janmukti Morcha (GJM), led by Bimal Gurung, remains a stalwart advocate of Gorkhaland statehood. The party wholeheartedly welcomed the move, calling the appointment of an interlocutor a “positive step” toward a permanent political solution.
The Bharatiya Gorkha Prajatantrik Morcha (BGPM), led by Anit Thapa and aligned with the Trinamool Congress, controls the GTA. Its general secretary, Keshav Raj Pokhrel, called the interlocutor move “nothing but an eyewash” and accused the BJP of trying to “fool the hills again” ahead of elections.
The BJP, represented in the Hills by MP Raju Bista, has held the Darjeeling Lok Sabha seat since 2009 and views the Gorkhaland demand as an electoral wedge issue. Bista termed the appointment a “victory of the people” and hailed it as the first time the region had reached such a stage “without bloodshed or unrest.”
The state government under Mamata Banerjee contests both the timing and procedure of the appointment, pointing to the lack of consultation and its potential to disturb the fragile harmony of the Hills.
Thus, a long-standing movement—once insurgent, now semi-institutionalized—finds itself at a new pivot: announcements, interlocutors, dialogue formats, and electoral stakes have replaced barricades, strikes and mass shutdowns. But the fault lines remain: identity, governance, power shares, tribal recognition, and the constitutional route to autonomy or status.
THE CHALLENGE AHEAD: BEYOND THE APPOINTMENT
The symbolic value of the appointment is unarguable: for a region that has seen decades of agitation, curfews, indefinite strikes and broken trust, the possibility of formal, institutional dialogue is noteworthy. The question, however, is whether this turns into substance.
- Zimba himself emphasizes that the interlocutor’s mandate must cover:
- A lasting constitutional guarantee for the Gorkha community;
- Socio-economic upliftment and cultural recognition under the constitutional framework;
- Serious consideration of ST status for 11 Gorkha communities;
- Clarity on whether the future lies in full statehood, UT status or a special Sixth Schedule arrangement.
These are ambitions heavy with history: the Gorkhaland debate has seen fits and starts—from the early 1980s much-brutalized agitation under GNLF to the 2011 tripartite pact that created the GTA, to more recent political retreats and compromises. Zimba’s invocation of 1907 as the start of formal demand is poetic, but it underscores that the movement is older than many of current actors.
“The Gorkha issue is not a footnote in Bengal’s politics. It is a living chapter of India’s democratic conscience. The interlocutor gives us a chance to talk, to listen, and to heal what politics for too long has ignored”
What looms large now is the danger of political theatre—a dressed-up dialogue ahead of polls, rather than a genuine structural reform. The state’s suspicion, the BGPM’s cynicism, the BJP’s electoral interest—all point to a scenario where the interlocutor could become a staging point for 2026 rather than a transformative agent for the Hills.
ELECTORATE, IDENTITY AND THE HILLS’ FUTURE
In the Hills, every political move resonates far beyond the ballot box. It weaves into the everyday: the tea-gardens, the Nepali-language schools, the fragile tourism economy, the precarious geography prone to landslides and floods. Zimba referenced the landslide and flood situation when he cited the attack on the MPs; the region’s vulnerability is ever-present and anchors the political demands.
For many young Gorkhas, identity is no longer just the demand for a map-redrawn state — it is about recognition, opportunity, and assurance that their language, culture and future thrive rather than drift. The appointment of an interlocutor raises hope that talk will shift to implementation: ST status equalizing opportunities, constitutional guarantees providing permanence, autonomy preventing neglect.
Yet, the mood in the Hills remains tempered. Generations of hopes have been deferred. The GTA, created in 2011 to provide local governance, has often been criticized as under-powered and under-resourced. The spectre of political bargaining looms: will the interlocutor engage civil society and communities, or simply broker a deal among power players? Will the state government be a partner or sidelined? Will the promised permanent political solution be a meaningful status or a symbolic gesture?
WHAT THE CENTRE AND STATE MUST FACE
From Delhi’s vantage, appointing Pankaj Kumar Singh signals seriousness: a high-profile retired security bureaucrat, charged with opening a pathway beyond strikes and slogans. From Kolkata’s vantage, the move feels unilateral, bypassing the state apparatus and risking destabilization of hard-won peace in the Hills.
Mamata Banerjee argues the Centre’s decision is inconsistent with cooperative federalism and undermines the Tripartite Agreement of 2011 that created the GTA.
The Centre, by contrast, maintains that discussions were already held at administrative levels with state officials and Gorkha representatives, and that the appointment is simply a step to formalize dialogue.
THE HILLS WATCH, WAIT AND WONDER
In Darjeeling itself, the old bazaars and winding roads carry the echoes of shutdowns, slogans and memories of unrest. But today there is a different atmosphere: guarded hope, agenda-filled meetings, local press asking what next? Rather than when strike? In many tea-garden communities, children in Nepali-language schools ask whether they will finally see representation and respect. In tourism-linked towns, businesspeople wonder if infrastructure will improve and governance become stable.
Zimba’s welcome signals that one local leader is placing his bet on dialogue. But his words also betray the caution: “we must consider special constitutional provisions under Sixth Schedule or Article 244A,” he said — signalling that merely appointing an interlocutor is insufficient without a clear legal path ahead.
A POETIC TURN IN A POLITICAL POWERPLAY
The story of the Hills has always been more than politics — it is the story of land and language, of rugged terrain and resilient communities, of voice deferred and identity asserted. In that sense, tonight stands as a subtle turning point: a mountain of expectation has shifted, not erupted.
For the Gorkhas, the interlocutor’s appointment offers a chance to be heard in halls of power, rather than echoing in the streets. For the Hills, it provides an opportunity to step out of the shadow of disruption and into the light of negotiated change. For the state and the Centre, it offers an opportunity — but also a threat — to deliver something lasting rather than fleeting.
As dawn touches the tea-terraces of Darjeeling tomorrow, the question will not be whether a name was appointed, but whether the name became a step toward justice. The Hills are watching. The Hill people are waiting. In that hush of anticipation lies both possibility and peril.
ON THE EDGE OF HOPE
When Neeraj Tamang Zimba speaks of dialogue, not diktat, he captures the longing of the mountains and the community alike— a longing to be part of the conversation, to shape their destiny rather than be shaped by it.
The appointment of an interlocutor may not by itself redeem decades of neglect or erase the history of strife. But the act of listening, of engaging, of acknowledging a people and their place—that is a step. And in the Hills, where every slope carries memory and every breeze sings of change, even a single step resonates.
If a permanent political solution promises to be more than words, the following months will demand concrete milestones: community engagements, state-centre cooperation, transparent timelines, allocation of rights. Should these falter, the Hills may revert to familiar modes—bloody unrest, agitation, distrust. But if they succeed, something rare may blossom: a mountain region in India that found its voice not in conflict, but in conversation.
THE SONG BENEATH THE SILENCE
Darjeeling’s hills are more than geography—they are testimony. Each ridge holds stories of struggle and resilience, of men and women who marched through curfews and blockades with flags instead of weapons.
Today, those same hills listen once more—to the possibility of resolution without rebellion.
The interlocutor’s arrival, to Zimba and many others, symbolizes not interference but recognition. Recognition that the Gorkhas of Darjeeling, Terai, and Dooars are not just voters—they are voices.
BEYOND POLITICS, TOWARD PROMISE
As twilight settles over the old clock tower in Chowrasta—the beating heart of Darjeeling’s colonial past—the fog drapes the square like a curtain of remembrance. Beneath the soft glow of street lamps and the hum of evening life, a quiet realization takes root: the hills stand once again at the edge of decision. The road ahead winds steeply, as it always has, carved by hardship and hope in equal measure. Yet this time, perhaps, the journey need not end in flames and fury. Possibly, for once, Darjeeling’s story will find its closure not through confrontation, but through the rare grace of understanding.
And so, after over a hundred years of waiting, Darjeeling breathes again—slowly, hesitantly, but with hope. The hills, veiled in mist, seem to whisper their old prayer anew: Let the world finally listen. Let the Gorkha story be told, not in tears, but in truth.
