By: Ganesh Saili
As I arrived at the western end of the hill station, I thought of those to whom this was once home. This is where William Frazer (later Resident of Delhi) arrived at the end of the Gurkha Wars to set up Garh Dudhli; this is where Sir George Everest lived in Park Estate bringing the Great Arc of the Meridian to its conclusion, and this is where Convalescent Depot Commandant Edmund Swettenham fell in love with a local girl and built her a home called Cloud End.
In Lyndale, John Mackinnon set up the first English-medium school in the hills; it was called the Mussoorie Seminary. Fifty years later, his firstborn, Phillip, grew up in Hollow Oak, a sprawling twenty-five-acre spread. Around him, he saw rare and exotic butterflies: the Grand Duchess, Water Hairstreak, and several others. Later, the place was renamed the Mackinnon Butterfly Trail – a paradise of flowered hills and valleys.
Pic courtesy: Tulika Singh Roy
Further afield, peeking into Landour’s bungalows reveals (until the 1950s) that the missionary community living here enjoyed a standard of living much more affluent than that of the British families. They had everything delivered home: fish, flesh, and fowl. This home delivery lasted well into the 1980s as local milkmen from the surrounding villages delivered milk to your door. The tradition of watering milk was ubiquitous, with interesting results: Ruskin Bond’s milk got watered at Victor Banerjee’s tap, much to Victor’s glee! Little did Victor know that his milk got watered at publisher Pramod Kapoor’s tap, much to Pramod’s glee!
Those days of innocence are over. I see a steady stream of young residents out and about on what I thought was a morning constitutional.
I couldn’t have gotten it more wrong!
They were heading to Firs, a well-wooded estate, that claimed the dubious distinction of being a place where David Bleach ‘the one who got away’ in the infamous Purulia Arms Drop Case, had halted before setting off for his escapades. It now has a modern gym open to those in pursuit of fitness.
Ever since Chhaya Café just outside our gate folded up, I admit I do miss the early morning aroma of baking. In its stead came Kairo’s Café, known for its Naga style, minus the baking. My friends tell me that the eateries of today have a 65% survival rate! It simply means that today’s café might become tomorrow’s public toilet.
At Char Dukan, the authorities, in their wisdom, built a car park. In typical sarkari-babu brilliance, a four-story concrete structure could park only five cars. The other hundred or so cars end up cluttering the roadside of the Upper Chakkar.
What do you do with the remaining three floors?
Obviously! Start a new restaurant; that was the reason behind this parking charade.
And with the advent of Sunday morning bikers who pour into Landour, we were placated with: ‘It’ll take some of the pressure off the Char Dukan area.’
Culture vultures are assured of always having a spare chair at the Landour Lecture Series. Come and hear experts animatedly discussing the lost glories of Landour. In these choppy waters, Prakash’s Store still stands with its well-stocked shelves of homemade peanut butter, jams, jellies, chutneys, pickles, and preserves.
‘Why don’t you folks make blackberry jam?’ I fondly ask the two brothers, Anil and Sunil.
‘Who collects berries nowadays?’ Sunil answers with a sigh, adding, ‘Kids are hostage to smartphones!’
With newer guest houses, hostelries, and hotels popping up like mushrooms, scribblers like me are at least assured of a fresh supply of stories emanating from these places. Their tribe seems to multiply with each passing day. Did someone say ‘the more, the merrier’? Of course, weekends are a nightmare as vehicles of all shapes and sizes scrape through our narrow lanes, seemingly no thicker than my veins.
Perhaps it is time to say a little prayer. I cross my fingers, and toes too, so that the hordes leave Landour alone. We certainly deserve a bit more than turning into Mussoorie’s Siamese twin.
‘Just living is not enough,’ says Hans Christian Anderson’s butterfly, adding: ‘One must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower.’
Ganesh Saili, author-photographer has written and illustrated twenty books which have been translated worldwide into more than two dozen languages. He belongs to those select few who illustrate their writing. His work has found publication in periodicals, columns and journals.
