By: Ganesh Saili
‘Was Mussoorie always like this?’ asks author Madhu Gurung, living in Dehradun. Chance had brought us together at a function.
‘Madhu!’ I assure her, ‘I promise it was not always so!’
Not until Lal Tibba, Winter Line, and Landour Bakehouse went viral on social media. All three pulled together to shovel in the crowds.
Walking through the bazaar the other day, I ducked two-wheeler kamikaze squads hurtling my way. I owe a debt of gratitude to the New Age heroes, for my vocabulary, at least the unprintable variety, has blossomed! Gone are the mundane BCs and the UKPs. My latest additions to the lexicon would have made me a prime candidate for an honoris causa.
Back in 1976, when Ruskin Bond was editing Imprint Magazine, I tilted at the windmills: I typed his manuscripts or bell-clipped pink rejection slips. I remember one day a police constable knocked on the door, huffing and puffing, and asked if this was where Ruskin Bond lived.
In the darkness of the emergency, it could mean anything: a court summons or an arrest warrant. Instead, he pushed a manila envelope at me with: ‘Tell him Kaptaan Saab sent it.’
It was an article: ‘India Good! Everybody King,’ outlining the Sarkari five-point program. It was not well-written and destined for the rejection bin. Every month, however, as punctual as a star, a new cyclo-styled copy would arrive in the mail.
Down the years, what has stayed with us is its title! It’s our leitmotif – to be used when we deal with overflowing sewers, tourist jellies, and traffic jams. Knowingly, we nod at each other to say, ‘India Good! Everybody King!’
How well I know I’m a prisoner of yesterday. Some two hundred years ago, the British built a lovely resort after leaving the plains behind. In 1834, the boarding schools started, and behind them followed the royals of PEPSU and UP, who were bent on doing their own thing. And even for pedestrians like me, till the turn of the 1960s, it was a place we called ‘home.’
If you were to look at the old municipality rule book, it’s a Victorian shopping list. Nothing is left to chance. It includes rules and regulations for any road, street, byway, wasteland, foul water, filth, urine, or refuse of any description.
I can’t move forward without repeating some of my favourites.
*No open smithy, forge, or piggery within 100 yards of a public road.
*No buildings without a setback as per the Roadside Act.
*No cutting of trees, branches, or fences along any public road.
*No loud music or musical instruments to annoy the public.
*No dogs on the road from the GPO to Happy Valley between 4 and 8 pm.
*No bills, advertisements, or notices to be stuck in public places or any public building.
*No bad character at any public place, road, doorway, house, roof, or open place abutting on such public place, road, or thoroughfare to annoy the occupants of homes or property in the vicinity or to passers-by.
Today, suffice it to say that neither the Mussoorie Municipal Board nor the Landour Cantonment Board has had a sanitary inspector or health officer for the past ten years. The Queen of Hills is now a toothless hag – you can find her hobbling around, grumbling ineffectively.
Any resident will tell you we have three usual punching bags. The first is the complete lack of will. The second is the City Board and the third is the complete absence of authority.
‘Folks are no longer afraid of the law!’ says Mannu, once chairman of the Municipal Board.
Our town crumbles under the combined weight of new buildings cobbled together overnight, built to accommodate the hordes of tourists flocking here. Every second home has turned into an unregistered Airbnb.
Spotting a driver in a large car going in the wrong direction, I tell him, ‘This is for one-way traffic only.’
‘Says who?’ He rudely barrels past me, and causes a gargantuan traffic jam.
Finally, we have broken free of the shackles, the very shackles we needed to keep us in line. Result: chaos.
Yes! ‘India Good! Everybody King!’
Ganesh Saili, born and raised in the hills, belongs to those select few whose words are illustrated by their pictures. Author of two dozen books, some translated into twenty languages. His work has found recognition worldwide.
