Haunting Himachal

I first saw the Himalayas when I visited Jammu Kashmir, before guns overran the scenic valleys, as part of a school group. For most of us that was the first experience of snow, and for quite a few it was the first long journey without the umbrella of parents. All of these firsts coupled with my juvenile ignorance and my blindness meant that the mountains were only a destination for me and the only memories I carried back and have saved to this day have been of the people on the trip.

I finally discovered the mountains and the Himalayas very late in life on my first high-altitude Himalayan trek a few years ago. And since then I have been a complete believer in the notion of love at first sight, or technically speaking love at second sight in my case. But for several reasons that love has simmered beneath the surface, waiting for another passionate meeting. And that happened this year when I visited Himachal Pradesh.

Our journey began in Mumbai and our economy flight to Chandigarh was uneventful, the only excitement was provided by a woman who sampled all the snacks on sale for the first half of the short trip and spent the next half retching them all out and in the process using up half a dozen barf bags.

From the hot, dusty plains we drove along the highway 21 towards Mandi, our first stop, passing the long, busy Kiratput mountain-road, where the truckers rule the road. Only once you pass Swarghat does the afternoon weather become a little pleasant and bearable. This road also passes the massive ACC plant before Sundernagar.

Mandi town, the capital of the current Mandi district, was the capital of the Maharaja of Mandi, part of whose grand, but now rapidly crumbling, palace is converted into a hotel unimaginatively named Rajmahal Palace Hotel. Mandi is a hot, bustling, noisy, over-crowded mountain town, and the gateway and central market into most of Himachal. Mandi today has over 300 temples and is an important destination during Hindu festivals. But for the hospitality of our hosts, especially the aging erstwhile King, who is still sharp and witty, Mandi is completely avoidable. From Mandi we did short day trips to Rewalsar, where there is a large monastery, and Jhatindri, where the royal family has property amidst dense pine forests, which is currently used only for drying expensive Rhododendron flowers to make chutney.

From Mandi we took a state transport bus to Dharamsala, a fairly long but surprisingly untiring drive. Dharamsala, the seat of the exiled Dalai Lama, lies below Mcleodganj, where he actually resides, became famous recently in the cricketing fraternity for the beautiful stadium set in between mountains all around played host to an IPL match.

Mcleodganj, is a bustling tourist town, that may soon be overrun uncontrolled concrete construction happening on every available and excavate-able piece of land, shadowed by the mighty Dauladhar range. It is still charming and quaint with its numerous shops selling everything from curious to outdoor gear run by people of Tibetan, Nepalese and local origin, its several cafes and restaurants serving Indian, Chinese, Tibetan, Italian, Japanese and even Korean food run by people from all over India and other parts of the world who have made this town their home. The weather here is excellent, pleasant in the middle of the Indian summer afternoons, and the evenings can be cool or even cold after a periodic but unscheduled shower. But it can get very crowded and noisy over weekends, when droves of families come in big overcrowded cars from the plains of Punjab. But travelers who want to get away from it all have found residence in the several colonies and ‘ashrams’ in the upper reaches of the mountains. Mcleodganj offers several options for backpack trekkers and the surrounding areas house numerous Buddhist and Tibetan sites of interest, the Norbulingka Institute being the primary.

From Mcleodganj we moved higher up to Dalhousie. Dalhousie has a large army camp and a couple of very charming old colonial time’s properties converted into hotels that overlook the Dauladhar and Pir Panjal ranges. The sun is bright and the temperature is cool all through summer. Winters often have snow, the last snowfall, two years ago, snowed in the town. There is little to do here but take long walks and admire the beautiful mountains. One place worth a visit is Khajjiar - a massive bowl shaped grassland with mountains all around and a pond in the middle, which apparently is deeper than five hundred meters. Short rides in zorb-balls at Rs. 150 a roll bring in a lot of tourists.

From Dalhousie we moved to Manali, delayed a couple of times by traffic jams and then delayed by bad weather. By the time we reached Manali it was almost thirteen hours that we had spent on road, and we were wet and cold. But our hosts had lovely cottages, a warm fire and smooth whisky arranged for our welcome. We actually stayed a little outside Manali town, which today is a overcrowded and noisy, but has some excellent cafes and restaurants run by people from all over who have made this their summer home. A lot of these people carry their trade and their business to Goa in the winter months. Manali is the gateway for a lot of activities in the mountains – trekking, skiing, fishing and other adventure sports.
It’s the mornings that I spent in the bathroom with large glass windows which framed snow clad mountains that I know, I had found my love. I realized I had to keep coming back to these mountains year after year for increasing periods, and always desiring another look at those peaks clad in the evergreens where clouds, sun and snow all reside in abundance.

Expanding my horizons

Well I have been silent for a while, contemplating life in general and other such similar time wasting activities and have little time for anything else, leave along apparently stronger pursuits like writing.

But all that thinking and I have realized once again, for the singular benefit of you my esteemed reader, that amongst all the activities that I have pursued over the years with dreams of fame in my eyes and loads of cash in my wallet, there cannot be a bigger time loosing activity than writing. So I back again with renewed vigor and vengeance and this time I shall subject you to my views on economics, politics, travel writing, humanity, technology and everything else I can think of subjecting you to.

So go and prepare yourself for reading more dribble online.