It is very easy to make friends when one is a child. Takes just a few minutes, a few words exchanged and a little time spent together. Every summer brings back memories of my school days when we used to leave for Mussoorie as soon as the last exam of our half-yearlies was over. I used to be picked up from my school and went up to the hills wearing my school uniform! I can vividly recall the happiness and thrill I used to feel at that time. It used to be exhilarating.
During the two months we spent in the hills before the school reopened we did a lot of reading, walking and lazing around at the guest house where we put up. But the most exciting part of these summer vacations was the friends we found every year. The cook at the guest house, dear old Samru, had a son called Hari and a daughter called Jhimli with whom I became friends when I was in Class VI. They were both younger than me but that did not matter to us. They were lovely kids and we played all the outdoor games which were popular in those days namely chhupan chhupai, pithhu, pakdan pakdai, oonch-neech and other similar games. We went in search of the juicy pink wild berries known as kaphals which grow in that region and which leave delightful stains on one’s hands when one eats them. Sometimes we would go downhill towards the ITBP settlement while looking for the berries and this would cause a lot of worry to my parents as they were sure we would meet a leopard or two there!
As we grew up, things became a little different. I would find Jhimli engaged in household chores, helping her mother at the outhouse. Hari would be given duties by his father — to go and distribute milk at the nearby homes, take the goat for grazing and get provisions for the guest house. I also had to carry more books to Mussoorie to do my holiday homework. But whenever we were free, we would meet and talk and share stories about what we had been up to all year. The two knew some charming folk songs of Garhwal and would regale me with them. At times, I would not eat with my parents but go to the outhouse to savour the delicious dal-bhaat served with buttermilk and til kichutni by their mother. It was simple food but even today, I remember the flavours of all these dishes, especially the arhar ki daal and the pungent buttermilk (mathha). Samru Kaka, as we called him, could cook the best of English and Continental dishes. He had learnt these from an old cook who used to cook for the English and the Americans who were once settled in Mussoorie and landour.
But as the years passed, our summer visits became shorter and at times, we could not go up at all. We exchanged letters but when I went to university, we quite lost touch with each other. I found new friends at college and in the city where we shifted to.But every summer, memories of those joyful days in the guest house come back to me. A few years ago, I went there to find out about my old friends. Jhimli is now married into a family in Tehri. Hari has three children and I met one of them, the other two being in school. I met his wife too. Hari was very happy to see me and made me speak to Jhimli on the phone. It was a sweet moment. Samru Kaka has become very old and does no more cooking. His wife still works at the guest house.
While I was there, my heart was full and my eyes were wet. I could remember all those days of leisure, innocence and pure happiness and the words of Mirza Ghalib — Dil dhoondta hai phir wahi fursat ke raat din — echoed in my mind. Nothing much has changed at that government guest house. In our lives, however, there had been a spate of changes and now we could only look back at our wondrous childhood days spent there. I wondered whether the children who come and stay there now will find friends like Jhimli and Hari. And would they still go out looking for kaphalsIJ The kaphals are around even now. I tasted some. And they were as sweet as they used to be.