The Eternal Eyries

I grew up in the hills,spending most of my childhood on foot. If I wasn’t trekking up a mountain,I would be walking down to the valley. One of my most memorable experiences as a child was walking to Mussoorie from Dehradun — something we did very often. It wasn’t a difficult walk,perhaps an hour-and-a-half long. I don’t think anyone does it nowadays. Walking has,unfortunately,gone out of fashion. I,too,have jumped on to the car bandwagon (my old age compelling me to do so).

Traffic aside,Mussoorie and Landour (the small cantonment town it’s contiguous with) is still as beautiful as can be. A change the hills have undergone in recent times is the presence of crowds all year around. Enthusiastic honeymooners brave the harsh winters and come to the hill stations to celebrate the festive season. I remember winters in the ‘60s when shops would shut down,today they do brisk business and remain open throughout the year. Despite the strong tourist traffic,hoteliers still complain about tourism dwindling but that’s just because of an imperfect demand-supply ratio since more hotels have sprung up in the last few years. True,these aren’t places people come to for long holidays anymore — maybe it’s the changing lifestyles rather than the changing hillside. Shorter holidays have led to an increase in hotels and a decrease in boarding houses,as the hill station gears itself for the casual weekend customer.

Hills stations are also known for their Dak bungalows,and each one has a story to tell. Once on a trip to Kumaon,we were warned of one such haunted bungalow,but the ghost never appeared. I must confess,I’ve never had a spooky experience,I’ve always made them up.

Away from legends and myths,a reality today is the piles of garbage one is bound to stumble upon at regular intervals on the roads of Mussoorie. It’s quite a dampener when you find a pile of garbage at your feet,after looking at a beautiful sunset. I remember,long ago,on one of my many walks — on the road (which is now motorable) from Mussoorie to Tehri — I stumbled upon a bench outside a hut. It was a cold day and my eyes immediately fell on a brown rug on the bench. As I sat down on the bench,I got the shock of my life. The rug reared up,blinked and looked back at me. It took me a few seconds to realise that the rug wasn’t a rug,but a bear. On seeing each other,the bear and I,both ran for our lives,in opposite directions. Luckily for me,the “rug” was as scared of me as I was of it. But,that never deterred me from walks,I still step out in the evenings,from time to time,dodging scores of honking cars which line the roads.

It is heartening to see the town of Mussoorie still hasn’t crossed over to the dark side. The very urban concept of an evening at a shopping mall has not arrived and I don’t think it ever will. Yes,some of the older shops have been converted into showrooms for well-known brands but I don’t think there is a building large enough for an all-in-one deal. If they do come up,they would cater exclusively to tourists. The local population isn’t that affluent: The five or six cinemas which we had closed down because of this very reason. From my travels to bigger hill stations like Nainital and Darjeeling,I’ve observed that they have become slightly overcrowded and congested.

But in Mussoorie,the climate hasn’t changed of long cold winters and short summers. Last year,we had one of the coldest winters. This year,we had two weeks of hot weather when everyone threatened to buy fans,but I don’t think they ever got down to doing it. Now the monsoons are here and it’s pleasant again.

If I wasn’t living in the hills,I’d perhaps like to live by the sea or somewhere closer to nature. The hills have changed — there’s no denying that — and they will continue to change. But I doubt that hill stations will ever die out,in most probability,there will be more of them. When they start bursting at the seams,people will notice and the more enterprising of them will then try and turn hamlets into mini hill stations.