By L Aruna Dhir
Dehradun has always been an important port of call; a crucial destination of heightened tourist interest.
The earlier Bollywood films had ditties and dialogues written around a trip to Dehradun, put sacrosanctly on the esteemed perch of a hill station. It wasn’t misplaced either, because if family lore is to be believed, it would snow in Rajpur and around in those days.
Besides, Dehradun has been the Gateway for sheer lusciousness that lay beyond – Mussoorie, Landour, Dhanaulti, Chakrata; even the holy cities of Rishikesh and Haridwar!
We would have friends who would make annual plans to visit us during winter breaks and summer vacations.
Elaborate, homemade picnic hampers would be packed in large rattan baskets and tiered tiffins. Pretty plates and cutlery with embroidered napkins earmarked for such occasions were pulled out from cabinets, as were colourful rugs and straw chatais, for these blissful day-outs. Holdalls, ruck-sacks and leather suitcases were kept handy for weekend trips that were filled with walks in the woods, trek up the hillsides, board games under dappled sunlight in flower-speckled meadows, and river cruises.
A big group of family and friends would pack themselves in Ambassadors, Fiats, Vanguards and Baby Austins; and the convoy would head to the pre-decided destination, amid much mirth and peals of laughter that trailed over.
But what stood out was that these jamborees were conducted with decorum and discipline. When we left a place of visit, the area was stepped away from in its pristine condition.
There was no aftermath of vandalism, desecration of structures, scratching out love notes on tree barks, and littering.
We, packs of tourists cutting across creed, cultures and class, did not get into each other’s way or hair. Noise pollution was not even a term then.
Somewhere down the line we have lost the plot completely.
The Instagram generation, that sadly lives more vicariously and superficially than in real terms, has christened Dehradun, as the City of Love.
But ironically, the Valley Town that still gives so much to us, sadly is not the recipient of either our love or our respect.
Almost a decade and a half back trip to the Queen of Hills has proved to be a turning point in our collective psyche and civil behaviour.
Driving back from Mussoorie in the magical Monsoon of Doon and thereabouts, we came face to face with harrowing sights at display. The side of the curving hills had split open with waterfalls and natural springs in several places. What could have been a beautiful scene was marred by mayhem unleashed by man.
At each of these beatific pitstops we witnessed human ugliness at its prime. Women bathing their rambunctious tots just as cars whizzed by had our hearts jump to our mouth not only in astonishment but also in concern for the children’s safety. There was worse to follow. Each major waterfall had a chaotic blocking of road by haphazardly parked cars. Men, undressed down to their innerwear, either sat atop their cars guzzling beer or gathered in big ungainly puddles around the waterfall to shower under the clean spray of mountain water. The gang was either boozily boisterous or high on dopamine.
We have only gotten worse since then.
Reel after reel on my Insta feed is a capture of a myriad hideous sightings. Half-naked men sit on roofs and bonnets of their ill-acquired vehicles to pop open bottles of their favourite tipple to have an open-air party. The inebriated men, then, proceed to wreak havoc on others wishing only to conduct their regular business.
Flocks of mindless marauders leave behind mountains of garbage as tell-tale signs of their ill-fated visits. The hills are reeling under the weight of the wreckage, while a tiny group of concerned, civilised citizens are picking up cudgels against the atrocity.
One such reel shared across Dehradun Groups widely showed a pack of raucous young men, obviously drunk, standing by the roadside, soaking in rain, swinging their wet shirts in air, and passing lewd remarks at women who crossed their path.
Another reel showed a clutch of louts huddled around a vehicle on the arterial road of a posh, high rise, gated community, playing blaring music, spewing expletives amidst cacophonic laughter, raising, spilling, toasting their plastic tumblers of intoxicated arrogance, uptight-ness, callousness and extreme unruliness.
But what is becoming a cause for major concern is the spreading trend of men, in various stages of uncladness and boorishness, snaking out of moving vehicle windows and sunroofs, shouting, half-dancing, waving stretched out arms in a fully baked recipe of tragedy waiting to happen – for them and for others.
The cars, more often than not, bear UP, HR, RJ, DL number plates. But such complete lack of civility and social behaviour is fast becoming endemic. Youth everywhere can be seen depicting what can only be called a malaise – a sign of social sickness and mental disorder.
Sadly, cases in Dehradun are rampant, with city folk, students flocking a zillion institutions that have mushroomed here, and weekend revellers, throwing all care out of the rolled down windows and caution to the winds.
It seems that heart-rending, mind-numbing spectacles of mauled, decapitated bodies, have not served as a deterrent.
How many accidents and counts of administration apathy will it take to have us all wake up to impending catastrophes?
