MUSSOORIE

RAIN MEME

Misty watercoloured memories drew Deepa Gupta back to Mussoorie to see if the magic still remained...


IT WAS not as if the hills were new. It was not as if it was a place unknown or unexplored. It was not as if it was less frequented. It was more known than any other hill station in the country. And yet, it held and perhaps always shall hold a special place in my heart. It was here that I had spent my summer vacations year after year as a schoolgirl. Mussoorie was like a second home for me and my family.
Tucked away in the hills and very isolated during the late 1970s and 1980s, Mussoorie was the place to be. The Mall Road did not have any crowds, Camels Back Road was more or less deserted, with only a few residents moving around doing their daily chores. And there were hardly any tourists. Back then, that is.
This time, I was ascending the hills to Mussoorie for the first time in over two decades. The climb amazingly sans traffic made me wonder if Mussoorie would be the same. The breeze was cool and the wind in my hair was calming. There is something so soothing about the hills and the greenery that you seem to lose touch with time.
The little cottages enroute, the shacks lined up along the way all were par for the course, as indeed were the occasional couples speeding past us on motorbikes like birds in flight. But at Mussoorie, I was taken aback. The entry to the sylvan hill station was jampacked with cars, far too many for the narrow hilly road. And people hordes of people swarmed around everywhere.
The weather began to play truant , and mist would envelop the entire town one minute, and then the sun would peek from behind the clouds the next. We headed for our hotel for some rest.
An early dinner later we were really hungry, and the mountain air really whetted our appetites we were out on Mall Road. The air had turned cold and light woollens seemed just right. The Doon Valley sparkled and twinkled below us like fairyland as the ice cream melted in my mouth. Yes, Mussoorie still had some remnants of its old charm!
The crowd was young and raucous but the older among them seemed to be touched by the magic of hills. Their bonhomie during late evening hours was infectious.
The next morning was bright and sunny, so we went out looking for a place to have breakfast. Though the famous Sindhi aloo kachori shop no longer existed (so we were informed by locals), there were lots of restaurants on the Mall. We settled for sambhar-vada and dosa, the aroma beckoning us more than the food!
I looked around for Picture Palace, the movie theatre that almost always showed English films. Alas, it had been replaced by a hotel , we were told. As my friend shopped for knick-knacks , I chatted with shopkeepers. Most of the shops had been there for over 50 years and I learnt that Mussoorie residents numbered a mere 40,000. The rest were tourists!
Further along, I found that the Tibetan market now sold wares more in keeping with modern day demands hosiery nightwear, slinky, short dresses... You get the drift. Popcorn vendors lined the track up to Gun Hill. It was always a treat to pop popcorns in the hills. So we did. But Gun Hill had changed. Though the cablecar carried people up, the hill was no longer visible just hotels.







IN HIGH SPIRITS


Just as we began walking, the weather suddenly turned again. Clouds came rushing in menacingly from all directions and it grew dark in the middle of the afternoon . Mist once again enveloped the scenic beauty. And before we scurried to a safe haven in a restaurant, it began to rain heavily. The wind turned chilly and hail followed. Fantastic!
From the Victorian style windows of the restaurant we watched the crowds on the Mall scurry for cover even as a group of young girls tried to hold tight to their umbrellas. They failed in their attempts and finally gave up and let go! Then they did a little jig all of them together and danced in the rain before running for shelter... Monsoon madness!
We dug into corn kababs (the most delicious I have ever had) as a group of youngsters at the next table played the guitar and had a singsong. Though our Kempty and Dhanaulti rendezvous were washed away by the rain, our spirits were high. When the rain did not let up for quite a while, we reluctantly decided to cut short the trip. It slowed to a drizzle by the time we got back to the hotel to collect our baggage, but the chill factor was unmistakeable.
Downhill, we stopped at a shack resting precariously on a rock that served yummy Maggi noodles and tea. It was there that the rain stopped, but the wind shook the cars and seemed to almost pull us into the ravines.
Our truncated trip far from sated my nostalgic yearning for Mussoorie. We would certainly return again, clouds or no clouds!