Memoirs of a Path Taken

Immediately on his suggesting it, I searched on GPS for the distance. 5.1 km it read.

“Too much!” I complained. “I’m not walking so far.”

“It’s downhill,” he tried his luck.

“And I’m not coming back uphill walking!”

He smiled – he knew I was on, “We’ll cab it.”

So, on a chilly winter morning the next day, both of us set out on a 5.1 km steep downhill path from Landour peak (where we were staying) to the Mussoorie Mall.

People had told us it was an amazing walk. And we were ready to find out for ourselves.

The road was one of the steepest we had treaded on. Literally hurtling us down on our way.

The purplish winter line visible as a stretch over the hills against the setting sun of last evening had cleared in the bright sunny day. But in spite of the bright sunshine which the wisps of clouds on the horizon were not obstructing, it was an extraordinarily chilly morning for a couple from the plains.

We set out before breakfast, wanting to do it on the stretch itself. And with all the woollens, we could possibly wear in one go – we started.

Going downhill definitely was easy, and we moved quickly till we came upon a quaint, pleasantly old-fashioned street which read “Sisters’ Bazaar.”

A fine bakery amidst a handful of shops was all that the bazaar had to offer.

Bazaar would be indignant with this nomenclature! Four shops in a quiet lane – Bizarre Bazaar!

We found out that the name came from the nurses who lived there and worked in a hospital nearby when Landour was a British Cantonment in the early 19th century.

Landour still had a colonial feel to it without the proverbial ‘stiff upper lip!’

And even though people could freely move around there now, we were pleasantly surprised by the lack of the customary holiday goers flocking to hill stations that one usually encounters.

We were wondering if the narrow steep slopes with vehicles parked on both sides were an impediment to the holiday goers driving up here. We faced that on a number of close encounters while on our way up a few days back. Going to and fro innumerable times, juxtaposing in a waltz with cars coming from the opposite direction.

As we trotted along, we came upon a colourful, vibrant inn at a forked road and decided that this was our stop-over for breakfast. It was a bit early for their steamed momos, so we made do with the other items on their breakfast menu.

“Ruskin Bond’s house is just a little ahead,” the manager at the desk informed us trying to be helpful. Just knowing we were in the vicinity of the great writer made our hot ginger tea taste wonderful!

Outside the inn were four wooden signposts –

Chaar Dukaan – 10 minutes

Sisters’ Bazaar – 25 minutes

Lall Tibba – 20 minutes

Woodstock – 20 minutes

– put on a blue coloured wall with dragons painted on it.

This kind of summed up all the touristy things that there was to Landour. The little charming old Cantonment.

After breakfast, we came upon some breathtaking views as we meandered along the winding road. The town of Mussoorie lay embedded in the hills below and made for some beautiful pictures through the deodar leaves.

As we descended, the crowd grew. Tiny shops sprang up on both sides of the road. Houses with wooden windows also appeared. And soon we were caught up in the throng of people, some tourists, some the local paharis.

A few traditional women were in long skirts called ghagri while the men wore pahari topis (woollen caps), blending beautifully as a quintessential part of the Garhwali landscape.

The mall was quite a distance from the point where we entered the town and we asked for directions at every confusing alley that sprung up not wanting to amble long directionless.

After about five kilometres, as the GPS had said, we entered the street which we were told was the Mussoorie Mall. Here we encountered the full impact of the tourists and the buzzing atmosphere it brought along. The entire mall was interspersed with pretty murals depicting the culture of Uttarakhand colourfully painted on the walls by the road. We stopped to appreciate each one of them.

It was noon by the time we finished walking through the mall and we looked for a restaurant that would serve local Pahari cuisine. We found one on asking around. We agreed to go by the suggestions given to us by the young boy at our table who recommended –

Kafuli – a vegetable dish, rich with fenugreek flavour,

Chainsoo – a thick daal (lentil) cooked slowly,

Kumaoni raita – curd with cucumber,

and rice.

I hadn’t tasted such simple flavourful appetising food in a long time and after our tedious walk we relished every morsel of it!

Just outside the restaurant was a sweet shop preparing fresh jalebis, gajar ka halwa and gulab  jamuns on the street itself. My sweet tooth didn’t allow me to go by without sampling some of it. Pre-diabetic intervention could wait!

Before heading back, we decided to round off our gourmandise with another hot cup of ginger tea. Just as the glasses of tea were set on the rickety table before us in the road side chai ki dukaan, I could hear a song reverberating in the valley. The song grew louder and louder building up to a crescendo as it drew nearer.

Leaving my tea untouched I rushed out to see what the revelry was all about. Below on a parallel road to the one on which we were, a celebratory procession was weaving its way forward. I inched my way through the surging crowd, all of us trying to get a glimpse of the parade.

Women in vibrant pahari attire of ghagri and choli, their heads covered in colourful scarves, had formed a circle and were dancing to the rhythm of the dhol damoun (a local drum) beats and some more instruments played by the men, in equally vibrant colourful jackets, and Garhwali topis (caps) that they so proudly wore.

I don’t know what the ritual was all about – a religious procession, cultural celebration or a baraat (marriage group), but as I sat in our taxi returning on the steep uphill drive back to Landour, the beautiful song in the hill stayed for a long time with me.

Photos by Noopur Vedajna Das