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This
morning, a cloud breezed through our front door. We live two km
up in the sky and clouds are our companions. Particularly now when
rain drizzles like a silver shower and a visitor from Chandigarh was
delighted with something we take for granted. He said "Imagine
wearing a sweater in July! Wonderful!" Then he and his family
drifted out of their room, shopping, snacking ... we have a
particularly friendly bhutta-wala ... and breathing in our
oak-filtered, mist-moistened, mountain-cooled air. Our mountains are
young and, like all infants, they throw occasional tantrums which hurt
those near and dear to them. But no one disowns an infant because of a
tantrum. And we thank our mountains that, recently, they have not been
upset.
Yes, we live in the mountains, in Mussoorie, and five generations of our family have stayed in our Victorian cottage in the oak woods. So what makes us stay here, far from the razzmatazz of the big city? Why do we continue to live in a green-and-white cottage with a red metal roof, a garden, a goldfish pond, an aviary of budgerigars who love dhania stalks, and a dog named Ginger who was born in our outhouses? Why do we choose to stay in a home whose front door is accessible to clouds but not to cars, and to visit us you have to either walk down the equivalent of a six-storey building, or up as much through our wood of Himalayan oaks? Why? Ask Ruskin Bond and Bill Aitken, Ganesh Saili, Victor Banerjee, Steve Alter and Tom Alter and Allan Sealy down in Dehradun; and all the others who make a living, as we do, selling dreams. Ask the thousands of kids who live, and study, and build their hopes of a future in our many boarding schools. Ask the IAS probationers, and all their predecessors who administer the one-billion people of our land and have fond memories of Whispering Windows, sipping coffee, overlooking the cloud-softened valley of the Doon. In spite of the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed LBSNAA (Lal Bahadur Shastri National Academy of Administration) youngsters, Mussoorie is not a red-taped town, and never has been. And so it developed a certain relaxed, liberal, don’t-be-nosy, character. No one’s bothered about who’s sitting with whom in a cycle rickshaw, perambulating down the Mall. Or who that couple is holding hands when they visit the Sharma’s Aquarium, just below the kacheri and above the Mall. There are no self-righteous cops with hockey sticks. Just don’t be boorish or uncouth. The last time some goons made loutish remarks at a group of girls, our young people admonished them, shaved their heads, and sent them home to their VIP parents. It wasn’t the police who did it: our own youth did. That’s another reason why we love Mussoorie: our people are concerned about the well-being of the town. We frown at so-called, ‘developers’ trying to use their clout to make Mussoorie into a concrete jungle as some other hill-stations have become. We harvest rain water and are trying to convince the government to adopt a long-term plan to pump water into our town for its future needs. We’ve not succeeded in everything, as yet: bureaucrats move slowly, politicians often have their own agenda. But we’re still a very green place and we’re becoming greener. We have a happy, tourist-friendly, civilised town because as our Chief Minister said recently, "My economy rests on tourism." Our business is to welcome you, keep you happy and safe, send you home with beautiful memories. What sort of memories? On the way up from Dehradun stopover at the Jheel. So what if it’s "very middle class" as a newly rich lass remarked. Then, when you reach Mussoorie and have checked into one of our many hotels, in the far west and a little below, is Kempty Falls: crowded, noisy, but fun. In town, to the west, is the Tibetan colony: interesting food and a beautiful Tibetan Temple with fascinating murals. That area is called Happy Valley and you can get a good view of the Lal Bahadur Shastri National Academy of Administration, alma mater of the IAS. Not too far is the Municipal Gardens, known as the ‘Company Gardens’ probably because it once belonged to the East India Company. A profusion of flowers, Swan Boats for the kids. Down past the great old Mussoorie Library, along the Mall, a short walk uphill to Christ Church where a deodar tree planted by the present Queen of England’s grandmother still stands, also radiant stained-glass windows.
Our Mall is a road, not a shopping complex but it does have plenty of shops, eateries, banks, wide angle views of the Doon with the blue Shivaliks in the distance. And it’s naturally air-conditioned. Halfway down the Mall is the cable-car station from where you can board the ‘trolley’, as its known locally, to soar to the highest point in Mussoorie: Gun Hill. The gun was melted down for taps during World War II but the 360 degree views are incredible on a clear day. On a misty day it’s a great cloud-breathing experience. The great thing, however, is that you don’t have to do anything in Mussoorie. Just relax; stroll in unpolluted cool, mile-high, ambience; and chill-out with the mist-softened, fairy-tale lights of Mussoorie at night. We’ve spent a lifetime seeing, photographing, experiencing and writing about those wonderful faraway places. But whenever we look back, and beyond, we know that there is our Mussoorie and there’s Elsewhere. So why should we choose elsewhere...?
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