By Ganesh Saili
Pics Courtesy: Niharika Bakshi
In Sisters’ Bazaar, a shopkeeper warns the stream of shoppers exiting his store to be extra careful: ‘There are monkeys on the prowl! Hide that bag inside your jacket, or put it in your backpack.’
And he is right.
No sooner than one exits the shop as if on an inaudible signal, the monkeys’ raid begins. It leaves in its wake a trail of crumbs. Should you be a baking freak, you could have the time of your life identifying the pieces of bread by the line of leftovers. Our Upper Mall road is littered with the remains of the day’s attacks – now carelessly flung aside as if hit by a whirlwind.
Could the crumbs be from an old-fashioned multigrain loaf, garlic, or herb bread? Landour Bakehouse makes these delectable creations. Besides, there are always Landour Chocolate Cake, Red Velvet Cake, Carrot Cake, and the to-die-for Coffee Walnut Cake to choose from.
At the shop next door, Anil Prakash makes some finger-licking homemade preserves and relishes. But the monkeys do not discriminate; any shopping bag is fair game.
‘They’ve developed a sweet tooth!’ observes Rakesh Garg, a resident. ‘They have utter contempt for bread, which they fling to the stray dogs, who mind their own business, and peace reigns. Never will a dog attack a monkey. They go past them, eyes averted. A perfect truce is in place between the canines and the simians.
‘With the precision of an army drill, they come down from the trees to form an orderly line along the parapet wall. They watch the Bakehouse Van trundle by with supplies for the day. With a sinister gleam in their beady eyes, they creep from Sisters’ Bazaar to Language School and lie in wait to perpetrate the perfect ambush.
Lately, public anger has been brewing over the monkey menace. At the old Charleville Hotel end, guards carry dummy air guns to scare off the simians after a cheeky monkey, in absolute disregard of the man’s seniority, lunged at a Deputy Director, forcing him to take evasive action by jumping clean over the railings to fall into the khud below.
Result? A broken arm in a sling for three weeks!
Elsewhere, at a grand hotel, the guards carry plastic made-in-China catapults. This is risky – monkeys have been known to counterattack en masse. And then there’s the threat of a religious backlash, monkeys being a protected species, after all.
Locals tell you with relish how the explosion of the monkey population came about. Most unfairly, they ascribe this steep increase to Professor Agarwal, a teacher at the local college.
Many winters ago Agarwal Sa’ab went to Moradabad, his hometown in the plains where, from a poky little shop (belonging to a famed herbalist, a distant descendant of Hakim Lukman, no doubt), he picked up a box of kushta-laced sweets that claimed to be a cure-all for multiple ailments – real or imagined.
Spring saw him return to his fourth-floor flat, where he absentmindedly put the ‘magical’ box on the windowsill whilst unpacking his suitcase. The rest is folklore. A pesky monkey grabbed the box, spilling the contents onto the ledge below, which they gobbled up greedily.
Our imaginative souls in Landour ascribe the sudden rise in rhesus monkeys to this famed Unani concoction. It is believed the leader of the pack still peeps hopefully into the flat, wondering whether the old professor will unpack his suitcase again.
Years later, I bumped into Norman Van Rooy, a friend whose parents were once missionaries living in Redburn Cottage. Schooled in Woodstock, Norman was back revisiting his old school. I could not help but notice that he was travelling alone.
‘Why didn’t you bring your wife with you?’ I asked in all innocence.
‘She has her monkeys on her back, and I have my monkeys on mine! Why bring her with her monkeys to sit on top of my monkeys? Surely Landour doesn’t need a circus!’
I had my answer.
For there have been times when I jump from one word to another like a trapeze artist in a circus. After all, the monkeys have taught me that a successful ambush demands perfect timing.
Ganesh Saili, born and homegrown 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.
