TIME STOPS IN DEHRA...
They have always been popular getaways, but the charm of Dehradun and Mussoorie lives on forever
Standing there and watching that confluence of variety, cacophonous yet amusing sounds and intermingling of aromas, I could relate to Rusty and his fascination for these market streets. The teenager in Ruskin Bond’s books, close to being autobiographical in some of his writings, spent hours observing the proceedings and the rhythmic clip-clopping of horses’ hooves on the cobbled lanes in the ‘bazaar’. Much has changed in Paltan Bazaar and Dehradun since then, but it has retained a part of old-world charm effortlessly.
The clock tower near the bazaar still stands witness to the eras gone by and the changes set in. In the days of yore, perhaps all the activities in this town would have been limited to an area around the ‘ghanta ghar’. Dehradun has spread its wings long and far since then. Some 10km away, near Clement Town, stands Mindrolling Monastery, a comparatively new addition to the townscape.
Having been built in the mid-1960s and many additions being made in the new millennium, the monastery’s vast precincts buzz with monks of every age. While some were deep in prayer, I saw a few channelising their energy through football.
If the lawns of Mindrolling Monastery impressed me, the vast ones at the Forest Research Institute had me in awe. The manicured greens and imposing structures in colonial and Greco-Roman styles of architecture, had me walking in and around their museum halls, till the feet rebelled. A friendly neighbourhood tractor driver took pity and showed me out of the gates. After a day well spent in appreciating man’s endeavours, the following morning was marked for marvelling at nature’s magic. Though Sahastradhara is not as glorious as my parents had described, the place still has an instant calming effect. The cool waters and the caves across — which have water dripping off the stalactites — lend the place a touch of mystery. After enjoying my moments in the hills of Dehradun, it was time to pay obeisance to the queen above — Mussoorie.
One look at the Mall Road, and the clouds playing hide and seek right there justified why it had inspired many writers, romances and even ghost stories. But when it comes to weak-willed people, it forces one into spending money on various curios, local stuff and more, required or not. So, after adding to my take-back shopping bag, which was quite wholesome already, thanks to Paltan Bazaar, I made the most of an early start, and booked myself for a trip to Dhanaulti, Kempty Falls, and Cloud’s End. And, what a contrast that presented.
Away from the crowds and busy markets, surrounded by thick untouched forests of deodars, oaks and rhododendrons, Dhanaulti was captivating in every way. Its green pastures, tall trees and the snow-capped Himalayas in the distance, shining bright in sunlight, could make anyone forget the other world we have fouled enough. Something that is quite evident at Kempty Falls. Picturesque enough, as it is located in a valley, it is the popularity and the resulting human overload of capitalism that seems to be stealing much from it and giving hardly anything in return. The natural pool that the fall forms, looks more of a community pool owing to the multitude of people inside it.
Cloud’s End, however, restored my faith. True to its name, and also the geographical end of Mussoorie, the view of the valley from here, through the sheer veil of clouds, held me captive for hours. Long enough to make me gasp at the sight of the lights coming on and transforming the hills into a beautiful imagination. The sight of Mussoorie was equally pretty in the day that followe I skipped the comfort of the cable car and walked all the way up to Gun Hill from Mall Road. The second highest pea of the hill station, it was still wearing a shroud of mist despite having progressed into the day. I spent hours gazing into the valley below and skies above, only to be gladly interrupted by flights of birds or calls of animals.
It was then time to celebrate the beauty of the place the way I know best — gastronomically. And, Mall Road was indeed a paradise for that. Just as I was going from one eatery to another in search of delicacies beyond the meltin-your-mouth momos, Thai
green apple ice cream, the sight got fixated at a board outside Cambridge bookstore — a book signing session with Ruskin Bond. I
out to thank destiny as I had spent hours on the train reading nothing but him, but the gap of hours between my ticket back and the event time made me curse reality. How I
wish now that I should not have missed that moment thinking there would be more coming my way soon. The book remains unsigned.