By Geetanjali Sharma
Lately, life in Dehra has been very rainy. For days now, effortless smiles have chased me each time I have heard a gentle pitter-patter. Without fail, the monsoon makes the scenery outside look breathtaking. Through the day, I find pockets of time to admire and enjoy the love nature sends our way. I also feel the need to recognise all that’s growing, healing, and crumbling around us.
In my previous articles, I have written about all the things Dehra is proud of—be it serene nature walks, cozy coffee nooks, seasons filled with hues of light, or gentle reminders that life still holds the power to slow down and artistically find its way back into the madness.
This week, I myself am juggling grief and concern. I see trouble in paradise. Here, I won’t be alone in noticing all the pain our home is facing, but pointing out a long list of law and order problems won’t help either.
From growing moss on the gigantic barks of historic trees to the gentle music of rain jingling through the sloping roofs of many Dehra homes, this season has also brought with it raging canals and rivers in and around our city—leaving it in a state of unrest like never before.
With the monsoon showcasing its delightful expression, ‘baarish’ has been the talk of the town. But has it stopped the travellers from getting to places that demand more caution than sightseeing? Has it mellowed the monkey behaviour—destructive and damaging? Or has it sown a seed of worry, as rivers reclaim their natural turns and illegal lodgings crumble, being swept away by the force?
News of such events is flooding our feeds. I wonder if Dehra will slowly begin to scare off those it happily hosts all year long—the temporary residents of our town. The ones who have allowed the BnB businesses to boom and also those who have created a work-cafe culture in this once-quaint hill town.
While our paradise flows through pain, I desire its availability without fear. Tourism has been the powerhouse for Dehra to grow and expand, but its haphazard expansion has also contributed to the city’s chaos and congestion. Roads are packed, eateries have long waiting lists, religious places are crowded, and meeting friends has become increasingly difficult. The maddening traffic has caused much inconvenience and frustration. Locals find it impossible to gather enough reason for outsiders to speed past their vehicles, leaving them in a state of shock. Politely or not, here, the starting alphabets of number plates are judged.
So, this monsoon, as I pray in hope, I also wish for all those still safe from the unstoppable forces of nature to know that fooling with nature doesn’t work. It’s time we let the city breathe—for we mustn’t forget the charm it has always carried.
(Geetanjali Sharma is an author and communications specialist. She holds a post-graduate degree in international communication from Macquarie University, Australia.)
