By Sarvajit Mukerji
Every reader of Ruskin Bond’s autobiographies and journals is bound to be familiar with the name Ganesh Saili, ‘the man from Sail’. Whenever Bond writes about the good times he has had in Mussoorie, he is sure to refer to author Ganesh Saili and Nandu Johri, the erstwhile owner of the historic Savoy Hotel. The Savoy, its Writer’s Bar and the regulars there appear in several of Bond’s works. The Savoy– its faceless revenant, the bear that wandered into the bar, the fire which sent the chimney up in flames—is almost a character in Bond’s works, and Ganesh Saili often appears in the context of these tales. Even when Bond writes about the supernatural ‘Bhoot Aunty’, for example, or about haunted cottages, he refers to Ganesh Saili, his daughter and his cottage in the vicinity of Mullingar, the first Mussoorie residence built by its ‘founder’ Fredrick Young. I had also read Ruskin Bond: The Mussoorie Years authored by Ganesh Saili as part of my reading for my work on Ruskin Bond and found it an invaluable resource, especially the photographs and the list (a la Ruskin Bond) of the various houses Bond has lived in and which books were written there. So, when Prof Ranu Uniyal offered to introduce me to Ganesh Saili, I was delighted. After an exchange of a couple of mails, I took advantage of the long Easter weekend to rush to Mussoorie to conduct a few interviews of the authors who appear frequently in Bond’s works—and topping the list was Ganesh Saili. In fact, it was Ganesh Saili who helped me to get in touch with the Gantzers, who were next on my list.
Chirantan and I were to meet Ganesh Saili in the evening and, as we were staying at the other end of town, we spent the day exploring Sisters and Landour Bazaar, and then as the sunrays turned a deeper gold, we set out to seek Ganesh Saili’s cottage. The landmarks were the Landour Bazaar barrier, he had WhatsApped, and the only gompa in town. While most people were vague about the gompa, the first person we asked where author Ganesh Saili lived promptly escorted us to his gate with the dire warning of a huge dog within. A plaque on the gate warned prospective visitors against the dangerous master rather than the dog. A trifle intimidated we peered over the gate to spy a man casually dressed in shorts and T-shirt coming around the corner of the cottage followed by a magnificent pooch. Ganesh Saili! At last! The first thing that struck me, as Ganesh Saili accompanied us to the garden, was the beautifully kept up cottage and garden. My own hometown of Allahabad (now Prayagraj) was once renowned for its colonial bungalows very few of which now survive, so I found the beautifully maintained Mussoorie cottages just amazing. A profuse border of pinky-mauve flowers bordered the veranda. The garden was aglow with arum lilies and primula. We sat in the garden in the shade of a massive conifer, and Ganesh pointed out an elderberry bush that came from Ruskin Bond’s erstwhile home, Maplewood. Ruskin Bond and Ganesh Saili are neighbours now, and he pointed out the red gable of Ivy Cottage clearly visible from where we sat under a towering cedar, flanked by a trailing ivy. Ganesh Saili recalled meeting Ruskin Bond for the first time in in 1967. He was a student at the time. He found Ruskin, already getting to be a well-known figure, unassuming and friendly. They played badminton that first afternoon, he recalls, and a friendship was born which has continued for nearly sixty years.
My first question is about the Writer’s Bar. Whose idea was it? Who were the members and does it still survive? The idea of starting the Writer’s Bar was Nandu Johri’s. He was the owner of the iconic Savoy. He had just returned from Singapore and having visited the Writer’s Bar in Raffles Hotel was fired with idea of establishing one in Mussoorie. Bond suggested calling it the Horizontal Bar, chuckled Ganesh Saili. It was the perfect place to meet up with friends. Mussoorie was a much smaller place then, and the Writer’s Bar was the best place to meet up. Saili remembers how both Ruskin Bond and he would zip off on his aging Java to the Savoy at the other end of town. No wonder then Bond often writes of Ganesh Saili in the context of the Savoy—the bear that wandered into the bar, the chimney that went up in flames, and the handful of nuts who gathered there to reconjure up their schooldays. Ganesh Saili mentions Ruskin Bond’s support for budding authors, a fact mentioned by Hugh Gantzer as well. Not only did he encourage young authors to keep on writing, he helped to get them published as well. ‘He is like a Banyan tree’ comments Saili, adding with a chuckle that Bond does not appreciate the comparison. But Saili makes a valid point. As editor of the Imprint Bond was in a position to publish authors whose work would otherwise not reach a wider reading public. Bond launched many a Mussoorie author and Ganesh Saili developed into a celebrated author uniting in himself the binaries of travel writing and delving deep into the local Mussoorie lore. Bond often writes about the banyan tree in his grandmother’s house in Dehradun, and Saili’s observation sets me pondering on how often nature influences us unconsciously. To keep going is also something Saili has imbibed from Bond. A superficial reading of Ruskin Bond’s work conveys an impression of unhurried leisure, but the underlying tough tenacity noted by his first editor Diana Athill—she considered his extraordinary determination quite ‘heroic’– is confirmed by Ganesh Saili.
What about Ruskin Bond: The Mussoorie Years? This book is a testimony of an enduring friendship, as well as Saili’s twin passions of writing and photography. It was Ruskin Bond who suggested the title, says Saili. We listen spellbound as he talks about Bond’s two families. His mother, his brother, who is lives in Canada, Harold his step-brother who died in a car accident, and his adopted family. Prem, the patriarch who passed away this year, his children and grandchildren who have been Bond’s mainstay. We have yet to meet Ruskin Bond, but Saili’s conversation brings alive for us the author and the man, Ruskin Bond. The past and the present mix and merge as Saili talks. Bond’s early years in Mussoorie when they had an active social life. His present, when he is often pestered by the curious, and his ardent fans, like the doctor from Max Hospital who drove up twice to help Bond overcome a fungal infection. Even in this little anecdote Bond’s grit becomes apparent. Faced with an annoying infection Bond asks himself, ‘What does a writer do?’ The answer is ‘Write’, and Bond gets to work on a book to be published shortly (Could this be Hoopoe on the Lawn, I wonder?)
The weather is unusually warm for March. The Mall, Landour Bazaar and the road to Lal Tibba are all jammed with traffic (which prevents us from meeting another Mussoorie celebrity, Steve Alter, the next day). The long weekend has led to a tourist explosion. Little had we realised when finalising our own travel plans that we would be part of a massive weekend migration. The conversation naturally turns to Mussoorie. Like all old residents Ganesh Saili is appalled by this overburdening, but he is also resigned. The damage has already been done, says he. Not only Mussoorie, but also Chardham is chock-a-block with tourists now. No longer is Chardham a place of pilgrimage for the devout, it is a destination for holiday makers. He says Mussoorie lies on a seismic zone and can only absorb so much pressure. He points to an ugly building teetering on stilts, ‘Mullingar’…and Chirantan and I almost gasp. Mullingar! The first residence of Mussoorie built by Frederick Young is an eyesore. The shock is even greater because I had visualised an old (if dilapidated) colonial structure, surrounded by at least some open ground where Young once grew his famed potatoes earning the sobriquet ‘Mullingoes’ for his home. What we saw appeared to be a square block consisting of several floors, girded with iron railings. The Sailis have lived in Mussoorie for three generations—his father settled here– and Ganesh remembers the time when the first scooter came to Mussoorie and the entire town turned up to see the new contraption. Today, the town is awash with two wheelers for hire. Walking up to the Landour Bakehouse means being hemmed in by heavy traffic and Saili relates an amusing incident about being unable to squeeze through the teeming traffic because of his comfortable proportions.
The sky turns violet. A faint chill makes itself felt. Damru the dog, pacified by half a gujhiya, sits protectively by his master. The voices of children raised in excitement as they play a vigorous game of cricket are now a little muted. It is evening and time to bid goodbye. We pass through the living room, a picture of cosy domesticity, and then out of the gate. My first day in Mussoorie has been so fruitful because of Ganesh Saili, his warm welcome and offer of every help. As we walk away, I turn to get another glimpse of the cottage and the garden, the windows now glowing in the fading light and hopefully of the luminous man within.
