By Kulbhushan Kain
In the evenings, the lights of Mussoorie twinkled in its forefront – a glorious uninterrupted view – no buildings were high enough to block them. During winter months one could see the Himalayas powdered in snow trying to kiss the blue skies. Lovely birds chirped throughout the day, and I have never seen so many butterflies and “jugnoos” in my life. The entry of our house was lined with rows of sweet peas, pansies, roses…
That was Guro Bhavan (the name of our sprawling bungalow). Its original name was Anchorage, completed on 14 June 1948. When my father bought the house on 15 October 1960 – he renamed it “Guro Bhavan”.
Guro is an unusual name and has multiple meanings. In Filipino, it directly translates to “teacher” or “instructor”. It is a term derived from the Sanskrit word “guru,” which signifies a master or a person of wisdom and leadership. In essence, “guro” embodies the concept of guidance, knowledge, and authority. I haven’t met anyone named Guro in my life. The name is as unique as her!
The most memorable moments of my life were spent in Guro Bhavan. As long as it stood, I never felt orphaned. Guro Bhavan glued me to the memories of my parents and my growing up.
The memories revolved not just around my parents and the bungalow – but the small number of families that inhabited Clement Town. Panna Lal Seth was a very good friend of my father, as were Vilayat Ali Khan, Ujjwal Kalsi, Colonel Deshraj, the Kauras, the Mehtas, the Masseys, the Joshis (my cousins), Miss Lumsden, Mr Flaskett, Jyoti Lala, and many more. There was no traffic on the Subhash Nagar-Post Office Road that ran in front of our house — we used to cycle with gay abandon to Bharuwala to play cricket on the Dakota fields. Once in a while, the State Transport bus would slow down on the dusty road and allow us to pass or overtake it.
All that changed when my parents passed away in quick succession and I left for the Delhi University to study. After that, I started working, my sisters got married and the once noisy rooms of Guro Bhavan (there were 8 huge rooms), fell silent. The house could not be left unattended and a good Samaritan, Retired Major Sumra, and his wife Winnie, took care of it. I would visit it once in a while – a dash for two or three days. It was like visiting my past and meeting Mom and Dad.
As I aged, so did Guro Bhavan. I could no longer climb the Jacaranda tree. The unrelenting termites ate into the 80 years old trunk of the Weeping Willow, and finally a storm did her in one day. The Jamun tree started to grow too big for the new electrical wires and the electricity department cut it down.
I last visited Guro Bhavan in November 2011. I went to meet Uncle Sumra, our father figure caretaker. I was told that the once hammer thrower for India was slowly fading away from life. I entered the gates of the house. It looked very dilapidated. My car came to a halt beneath the Jacaranda tree. I looked up at it. Where, and which one was the branch from where my younger sister had fallen off? Which was the highest branch that the young black haired impish schoolboy once used to climb and say “hurray” after doing so? Was it the one on the right or the one on the left? I could not make out. There were some lovely purple-coloured flowers on its branches. The tree looked old but beautiful – trees always age more gracefully than human beings. A squirrel dashed up and down its main trunk and looked at me as if I was an intruder. There was a breeze that rustled through the leaves and the flowers. Just like old times!
I entered the house and went to the room where Uncle Sumra lay. It was the room that was once occupied by my Mom and Dad.
He looked very frail. But he recognised me in a flash.
“Kulu, I have been waiting for you,” he mumbled. He then made an effort to get up.
I was stunned into silence. Memories of him dancing, of him taking me for partridge and water duck shoots near Paonta Sahib, of him and I driving to Delhi and Ludhiana, of him lifting a steel trunk above his head to load it into a tempo – all came flashing back. Surely, the curtain was about to fall. I reached out to him. His hands were cold. He whispered, “You have to think of selling Guro Bhavan. I don’t have much time left now. And none of you want to stay here.”
Clement Town as I knew it, was already dead. The iconic bungalows had been sold off one after the other, as their original inhabitants struggled to maintain them and their heirs went abroad or to bigger cities. Uncle was dying, Guro Bhavan was still alive – albeit on a ventilator.
I stepped out of his room. I knew my professional commitments would not allow me to meet him again. I stood beneath the Jacaranda tree. I looked up. I searched for the moments and the birds. Suddenly a gust of breeze ruffled its leaves and the purple buds. They rained on me. I did not brush them off my hair or my jacket. It was as if Guro Bhavan was applauding me and showering its blessings. I also remember telling myself,
“See, it’s crying!” A squirrel ran up and down a branch and looked me in the eye. Was it pleading for me to stay an extra night as Mom and Dad would have?
A small flower fell into my eyes. It brought out the tears. After many years, I was bonding with something that had dared to stay there without any of us – the Jacaranda tree.
It taught me an important lesson. Trees are more loyal, – they don’t forget you even if you desert them!
Uncle passed away peacefully in his sleep on the 25th of December 2011. Winnie Aunty passed away in 2013. I held on to Guro Bhavan for 11 years as it lay abandoned. I knew I could never stay there. Everything had changed. Old properties and bungalows had been converted into shopping centres, a university, a bus parking space. All the old residents had passed away.
I finally laid Guro Bhavan to rest on 9 August 2024. I sold it. It was pulled down and a new structure now stands where it once stood.
Guro Bhavan has become a part of history.
I hope it will forgive me. I am sure it will. Alexander Pope had written –
“To err is human, to forgive is divine.”
I am a very ordinary human. I may have erred. But Guro Bhavan was divine!
Did I build anything in its memory? Yes, I bought a property with lots of trees. I brought 5 bricks from Guro Bhavan and they form the foundation of my new house. I brought the original windows and doors as well. They will adorn my room. I will plant a Jacaranda tree. A few remnants of Guro Bhavan will live on in my new house.
I have named it “Guro Villa”.
(Kulbhushan Kain is an award winning educationist with more than 4 decades of working in schools in India and abroad. He is a prolific writer who loves cricket, travelling and cooking. He can be reached at kulbhushan.kain@gmail.com)
