last week I happened to drive up to Mussoorie for some work. It was after quite a long gap that I could actually visit my favourite town although it is just an hour’s drive from my home in the Doon valley. Such is life these days that taking out a few hours to go up to the hill town cannot be fitted into one’s schedule easily.
Mussoorie is very quiet till the time when the visitors begin pouring in for Christmas and New Year celebrations. In a way, I was glad that I would find it calm and in a leisurely mood. That is the mood of the hill station that I enjoy the most, with which I can identify and relate. The crowds somehow do not let it retain its natural look and feel.
I have always had a very meaningful and cherished relationship with the town which has grown stronger and deeper with the passing years. It started when I was around five and was taken there by my parents. However, the first memories I have of the town are of the time when we stayed there for a two months when I was in class seven. It was a long summer vacation, beginning in mid-May and ending in mid-July.
It was during that summer that I fell completely in love with this Queen of Hills which was once the resort of kings. Its beauty and tranquility, its greenery and charm worked on me and enslaved me for life! I think this happened with many people. In fact all people who love the mountains and their soul, all those who would give anything to breathe the pine-scented air of the hills and walk around the winding roads without seeking any destination.
In those two months, I roamed around (with my cousins) the entire town and became familiar with every nook and corner. The libraries, the cafes, the bun makhan stalls, the photographers’ studios, the curio shops, the bakeries, the Tibetan shops selling a huge variety of gift items and clothing, the popcorn wallahs, the chooran wallahs, the rickshaw stand, the horse stand near the library Point, the lovely cinema halls and so many other places and things that would always stay in my consciousness as enchanting memories of childhood.
When I was there last week, I tried seeing what all of these memories could now be actually found there in real. I could get the popcorn and bun-makhan, the chooran and the Tibetan shops, the bakeries and the rickshaws too. What were missing were the cinema halls, the horses and the photographers’ shops. The cinemas closed down several years ago for want of business and so did the photographers studios. The horses could be seen till last year but have now vanished as they were creating too much odour in the hill station (I was told by a local). The horses used to give a nice look to the Mall Road as children took fun rides. They added colour to the landscape. A pity that they were so smelly !
By and large, I find that Mussoorie still has its soul intact unlike Dehradun that has been completely commercialised and taken over by the “developers”. Mussoorie is luckily not a capital. If it had been, the powers that be may have managed to change it totally and make it unrecognisable as they have done with Doon. The little corner markets would have been done away with and all chai shops would have been modernised to keep up with certain “standards”. The bun-makhan may have given way to momos and the rickshaws replaced by Vikrams!
Dear Mussoorie, you are indeed fortunate that you were not turned into a capital city with aspirations to become a metro city. And we are more fortunate that you were not found so “convenient” by the so-called developers. They would have plundered your treasures and impoverished your soul.
I felt delighted that my childhood memories were still lodged comfortably in the hill station and I did not have to make a special effort to look for them.They beckoned from various corners and places , calling me to sit with them over a cup of tea, to listen to their voices , to touch them, if possible, and nourish them by spending a day of solitude and quiet in the hill town that echoed with long silences.