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| Simla to Shimla |
| Wednesday October 14, 2009 |
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| How a whiff of clean mountain air pumped up the life force in me. A travelogue and some thoughts about hep boarding schools and unhep desi schools I went ostensibly for a run to my birthplace Simla. Only it's now known as Shimla. As October took hold on Delhi, I filled petrol from a pump in Greater Kailash, and set forth on the highway. The running bug in me was revived, courtesy a childhood friend from my schooldays in Simla. Late in 2008, my friend Subhash was warned of high cholesterol by the doctors, with the dreaded phrase 'heart trouble' not far away. His wife was told to go easy on the pakoras, and suddenly, somewhere, Subhash, who had otherwise never shaken a sporting bone in his body in his entire life, began hitting the neighbourhood track for a loping run in the morning. One thing led to another and before we knew it, he had taken part in a 11-km run in Noida, organised by runningandliving.com- run by Rahul Verghese, who until two years ago was working with various MNCs till he suddenly decided to return to the country, take a house in Gurgaon and begin running, and living. So, midway through September, Subhash called me, mainly to exchange notes on furniture buying, on which he was giving us an informal consultation. And then he let the magic words slip... Want to go to Simla? What for ? A half marathon. Crazy? No. Been running 10 km off and on. Something snapped, I said Oh Yes, and, from that day, in addition to my weekly game of badminton at the nearby stadium, I began running a km or two. Actually, you could say jogging, and a slow, fat-man's amble-jog at that, on account of the weight I'd put on over the years. The Simla-preparatory jogs grew from one round of a 500-metre track to many rounds, to a couple of kilometres on the road, as trial runs. Within a few weeks, all was set. Meanwhile, another couple of friends, with whom one shared a 'go Shimla' bond, had rung up and talked about going to the hills for the 150th anniversary of their school - Bishop Cotton's. The usual newspaper notices and emails were also pervasive - 'school alumni include among others, author Ruskin Bond, golfers Jeev Milkha Singh and Arjun Atwal ...these are only a few names, taken from the publicists' material'. Back to the take-off from the petrol pump, on to the Delhi-Simla highway. As Sonepat was left behind, and then Panipat, Karnal, Kurukshetra and Ambala, with the perfunctory 'chai' and 'loo' breaks, the driver driving, me sparing him once in a while... we advanced towards Chandigarh on this lovely 'piece-o'cake' highway. There on that road, came the first whiff of cold breeze, just that bit of cold air slaking it's way towards one's forehead as you lowered the window to push out some tissue paper... ahh the hills and mountains... But hold on, all was not yet won... the dusty Chandigarh bypass and the under-construction highway all the way to Pinjore and Kalka... put a nice and proper spanner in the works... the mountain air was forgotten in the wretched traffic. Come Kalka and the road up to Parwanoo, despite the diesel fumes of heavy buses and trucks on the climb, nothing could take away from the slow buildup again, of the mountain breeze. One more break for chai, at the sleepy hamlet of Dharampur, which also serves as the turnoff for Kasauli and the Sanawar school, and I took the wheel, for the final push. (the Dagshai public school, a more recent addition to the 'boarding school in the hills' firmament, is also on another turnoff from here). That's where the air begins to pump you up even more... it was dusk, beyond six in the evening... the streetlights coming on.. and the distant hills beginning to sparkle with a few little lights. In the years since the decades of the sixties, for many of us who grew up in the hills in and around Simla have done the Kalka-Simla road, it's as if each bend, each curve, tells a tale... bypasses built and old towns left behind (the Kumarhati-Solan one, which put paid to the steep, hairpinbend-punctuated climb to Barog and then equally steep, curving descent) and miles and hours cut. Of accidents which became part of typical hill folklore.. bus rolled off here, while reversing to let oncoming traffic pass.. all died, one child lived... 'chudail', 'bhoot', 'diane'. At a spanking smooth 40-60 km/hr one made Shimla town by 8-8.30. As one approached the town, the buildup to the BCS 150th was evident in big, as well as little ways.... Big four wheel drivers with stickers saying 'Cottonians' heading there. A little bit of a complex for the lowbrow country hick school wala ... I'd been to the neighbouring convent (day, no boarding) school - St Edward's -- for my initial five years. Then, as the folks ran out of money on a government employee's salary, to pay for the education of three boys, we shifted to the ramshackle Kendriya Vidyalaya aka 'Central School' in town. From smart ties, and Irish missionary 'Fathers' wielding canes, to slightly ragged school uniforms, tie not really a must, and hugely homegrown teachers, some of whom spoke with fists and kicks and 'murga bano's ' with comfort. From 'propah' English, to country English, and huge amounts of Hindi. So, as we approached town, friends from my schooldays of the seventies, Kendriya Vidyalaya, quite a few of whom were settled in Shimla, began ringing up, saying 'in town?' How about getting together the next day, i.e Sunday? Subhash, who'd ended up studying a few classes in Shimla, because his Army (civilian) employee father was posted here, and I ended up at a schoolmate's hotel just off another famous boarding school, Auckland House - approached by driving uphill past what, along with BCS must be among the most famous boarding schools of them all--the Loreto Convent Tara Hall. Many successful and high profile 'names' have been here. No longer the quaint old building visible in the backdrop against a huge forecourt... an extension building abuts right onto the road, surrounded by equally rampant construction all around. So we went out to the Mall, perambulated up and down the length, and as is Shimla custom, bumped into many acquaintances - some dating back to the late sixties and early seventies, including some of the shopkeepers - and of classmates from the late seventies. And in true Shimla style, adjourned for a drink at a reasonably non-sleazy bar. The rewind motif was huge, 'remember this teacher, that classmate... is so and so a successful pediatrician in the US now?'... a couple of doctors, some engineers, a few IAS officers, air force officers, ... X,Y and Z mostly run businesses and shops in Shimla... but some Js, Ks, and Ls are bank employees, govt school teachers, social welfare/NGO employees... the bulk of the guys were tracked. Talks veered to the few (5 or 6) girls in class too ... the one or two from town were tracked .. in the US and married. Much more enthusiasm to get together on a Sunday evening. Talk also veered to 'There's that big BCS school gathering too tomorrow.... Lots of BCS alumni on the Mall already .. bigger hotels taken ... big cars moving around on the Cart Road. (BCS and Edward's are one end of town, the well known St Bede's college is a little way off, next to the Convent of Jesus and Mary. Auckland and Loreto are in another part of town. Obviously the 'socials' and socialising would happen on the Mall, and at the age-old Gaiety Theatre, now restored beautifully by Intach. The weekend we were there, Gaiety was running a festival of environment, to fairly packed houses. The theatre's been immortalised in Merchant-Ivory's Shakespearewallah, lovely proscenium arch and old worldly look. Quaint boxes (like Regal in Delhi) from where the passionate devotee could leap out on to the auditorium and onto the stage if fired up by a performance.. theatre or dance, or music, anything. This mix is curious to absorb, Shimla is also the seat of the Himachal Assembly, and secretariat-government. Next door to Gaiety is the Town Hall, an equally historic building, although most fashionable references to 'history' in Shimla deal with the Viceregal Lodge (now the Indian Institute of Advanced Studies) and how Gandhi, Nehru and Jinnah met there. (classic photo of Gandhi on a horse carriage). There is a government town air to it too, but it's the hill station cool air, relax when you come here, feel to it that prevails. Anyway, to return from the digression, the Kendriya Vidyalaya types had a drink, some very simple food, at a restaurant just off the historic Ridge Maidan (which now has an Indira Gandhi statue, in addition to the traditional one of the Mahatma). The half-marathon that Subhash and I were in town for, was to start and end here. We took a good look, walked back to the hotel and crashed. Woke up five in the morning, smelt the air, and ablutions done, charged off to the Ridge. To be flagged off for our respective events at 6.30 and 7 am respectively. It was the mountain breeze that did it --- Subhash took off at a leisurely pace for his 21 km, I did likewise for my 6 km....3 downhill to the historic Peterhoff guest house, past the equally historic Oberoi Cecil and a million monkeys right across the Mall especially around Vidhan Sabha, Gorton Castle and the age old AG office building. A good 300-odd people running past rosy cheeked cheerful locals in their Sunday best. And heritage buildings by the dozens.. Grindlays, the Indian Coffee House, the Telegraph Office with its big clock going ticktock. Slightly misty to begin with, the odd droplets of rain, and the sun 'just so' - all in all wonderful hill autumn weather, tailor-made for anyone in the least bit inclined towards physical activity of any kind. The run is run through like a breeze. A couple of typical professional long-distance runners - lithe, lean and soft-spoken, faujis some of them -- complete the half marathon in record time. The course includes some grueling sixty degree climbs. But most of the runners say the cool mountain air helps them just cruise through all such adversity. Even us stragglers struggle home, thanks to the general atmosphere. And that's the lovely catch --- I complete my six... and then run another couple of kms more to look for Subhash and boost his morale, its the first 21-km race of his life. While I was huffing and puffing the six-km in Delhi, in Shimla I run beyond six with comfort... still warming up. It's like that for almost everybody in that run. Run done, prizes given by the state's top cop, a cool chai was had at the Goofa restaurant right there on the ridge. Then we adjourned for a walk on the mall (old Shimla adage, when in doubt - about what to do - walk on the Mall, from one end to the other!!). The afternoon was spent catching up with this friend... and by the early evening, around 5ish.. we had a gathering of about 15 in the hotel. Mild drinking and reminiscing began. And, in the overhang of the BCS celebrations (Adnan Sami was playing in the school grounds that evening) talk veered around to what made us all whatever we had become now... tinker, tailor, soldier, no spies.... Whether the schooling had made a difference. Would boarding and/or English medium education have been better.. Some were high, and let off steam in typical fashion, appropriately punctuated by swear words. But schooling or no schooling, the general consensus was, you are what you are. Schooling can maybe channel the persona of the individual in one way or the other, but the essential core comes from what you are, and always have been. Pluses and minuses on all scores, but ironically, everyone present confessed they'd not sent their children to KV!! Practically all were 'dayskies' at Edward's(boys) or Loreto(girls). Some older children had gone on to college at Bede's. The next morning Subhash and I walked up to school with our hotel host, Rakesh and another old classmate , Onkar who now worked with the Social Welfare Department (he's fervently keen that I get my birth certificate out, and state that I am a domicile Himachali, with Tamil as my mother tongue). It seemed child's play then, but now it was a steep steep climb above the Ridge on the way to Jakhu hill and temple, perforce with pauses for rest. The guard wouldn't let us in, till we asked to see Santu, aka Sant Ram, the school 'office assistant' and our then classmate. Sant Ram's father Sadhu ram was the school peon. Another brother Satpal (twin, or a year younger) was also in class with us, and now employed with an optician on the Mall. That was the beauty and joy of KV... a lesson in egalitarianism, at the practically level, that no school system could give you. We also had smartly turned out Army General's daughters in class, and people from various caste, class, region and linguistic backgrounds that no other school system had. We also had a CBSE curricula, sniffed at by the ICSE, ISC types, but there it was. The same guys landed up in engg, medical and management/CA institutions. And went on in life. The only USP - we'd breathed the mountain air, studied in cold, snowbound classrooms, on dreary winter days, singing old Kishore songs. The shared memories would keep us going. And help pick up acquaintances and friendships where we left them, decades ago. Reality check - drove back down the mountains and hills, past the building of my birth, steadily into the plains, hotter air, and worse traffic. Late at night, after two hours of a 'traffic-jammed ' entry into Delhi, in the dark, we drove to Noida to drop Subhash, and went past a motorcyclist's head smashed to pulp, the blood flowing right on to the road... policemen and passersby looking at the scene... nary a thought to cover that head.... And let the dead depart in dignity. I'm not saying this doesn't happen in the hills now, but it was my sighting of it in the plains that are Delhi/Noida that night, that for me, make the difference between the friendly nature of hills and their people, and the plains. Moral of the story (there has to be one) If you get half a chance, do go and try that walk in the hills, or run. |
Madhusudan Srinivas is a Senior News Editor at the Assignment Desk at NDTV.
