A MIDSUMMER DAY DREAM

We usually write our family newsletter to coincide with Christmas and New Year. But this summer was different, both a dream and a nightmare, so I thought of putting pen to paper and telling you all about the “dream” part of it. (I still use a fountain pen to write, but neither has the fountain dried nor the pen faltered, despite all adversity. The only other person who still seems to be using a fountain pen is the little girl in the Vodafone ad).
This summer dream began in early April when I received an invitation from my classmate Vrajesh Goel (nee Patkar) from Meerut, for his daughter’s marriage in Lucknow. That set the cat among the pigeons. Vrajesh and I studied together in St. Joseph’s College, Nainital (SEM) from 1958 to 1965, when we did our Senior Cambridge (SC 65). So I began contacting my SC 65 classmates who were in or around Lucknow, for a mini reunion. We had organised the last reunion in 1996, where 12 of the 35 classmates turned up.
And so it came to pass that Wg Cdr Vijay Lal (Retd) from Agra, Saran Vinod and Anil Tiwari from Lucknow, also turned up for the mini reunion, which made it 5, including Vrajesh and myself. Saran graciously played host to us in Lucknow, and we were deeply touched by his hospitality. Most of us were meeting after a gap of 43 years, but we became schoolboys again. There is a lovely photograph of the 5 classmates together giving their aashirvaad to the newly weds, Anant and Lavina. In a subsequent letter Vrajesh writes that his family and friends were amazed to discover that friends of 50 years standing would take the trouble to come for a daughter’s wedding.
The midsummer dream would have ended there. We desperately wanted to take a summer break as I hadn’t had a day off for the last two years. Avinash would be returning after graduating from St. Xavier’s, Mumbai, and Mariam would be moving out for two years for her MBA. It seemed like now or never. But with a sea of uncertainty and umpteen court cases, hopes seemed to be receding.
Then the sun came out. Saran popped up in Kanpur, and popped the question, “Why don’t you come to Nainital?” Both Saran and Anil have their in-laws in Nainital (smart Alecs) and Vijay also migrates to Lal Cottage in Nainital for the summer holidays; so Saran’s proposal got our saliva glands going.
There was no time to make bookings for travel and stay, so we chose to drive up to the Kumaon hills. We opted for our warhorse, the 20-year-old NE 118, with our mechanic assuring us that it still had the spunk. And it did. It took us all the way to Nainital and then Binsar (8500 ft) without a murmur. Though the NE does not have modern technology it is a very sturdy, spacious and comfortable car, especially for those on the rear seat. Most cars today are designed for driver comfort only. So the 1000 km drive to the Kumaon hills and back was a comfortable journey, with yours truly at the wheel, despite cataracts forming in both eyes.
It was a ten-hour drive to Nainital, where we were warmly welcomed to Lal Cottage by Vijay, his gorgeous wife Indu, his charming daughter Dimple and son-in-law Jai. Lal Cottage is perched just above the SEM Boathouse on the lake, giving a panoramic view of the lake and Tallital. We were happy to see a sea of verdant green trees and clean water in the lake. There is a proper aeration plant for the lake, use of polythene bags is banned, and the tree cover on the Thandi Sadak side of the lake is still dense.
The good old rowing boats are still on the lake, together with garish looking fibreglass pedal boats. I saw only one yacht at the jetty. When in school, I used to enjoy galloping at full speed around the lake on the biggest horse in the horse stand. Sadly, that has stopped. The horse stand has now been shifted to Bara Pathar on the Kaladungi road. It didn’t stop Avinash and me from horsing around! There are many changes in and around good old Nainital. The dandies have gone. Nobody walks. Most people prefer to drive, so there is traffic congestion on The Mall and the approach roads.
The type or class of tourists has also changed. In our schooldays a visit to the Boathouse Club would find you in the company of royalty, with their yachts and dogs. I remember the regal looking Majithias from Amritsar, and the Rani of Alwar walking her greyhounds majestically down The Mall. The Mall is itself so grey, and the traffic hounds you. So the Rajas and Ranis have forsaken Nainital for greener pastures in exclusive country resorts. The average tourist to Nainital is now the low budget, lower middle class family, which seeks a release from its cramped quarters and soap operas. Unfortunately, the “tourist” parts of Nainital themselves now resemble a soap opera in cramped quarters! Shopping in the Tibetan flea market on The Flats or the showrooms on The Mall seems to be the greatest attraction. To each his own!
Since by nature I am off track, and in singing offbeat (more about that later) we decided on an off track trek to the old church of St. John in the Wilderness at Sukha Tal. For those who came in late, half of Cheena Peak had slid down into Naini Lake about 150 years ago, reducing it by half. Part of it came to be known as Sukha Tal, and the other part formed what are appropriately called The Flats. St. John’s Church was built by the British in commemoration of those who had died in that avalanche. There were several old graves around the church, which had lovely stained glass windows.
When we found the church, we were sorely disappointed to find it locked and in a sad state of disrepair. Formerly an Anglican church, it is now part of the Church of North India (CNI), which also runs the prestigious boarding schools of Sherwood and All Saints in Nainital, not to mention St Stephen’s in Delhi.
A stone’s throw from St John’s is the Manu Maharani Hotel. That’s where the Big B and family were staying – all of them – Amitabh, Jaya, Abhishek and Aishwarya, with their seedy sidekick Pancho Gonsalves (I mean Amar Singh) in tow. The Big B had come to spend two days at his Alma Mater – Sherwood, archrivals of SEM. The papers and TV channels were full of the Bees.
And I wondered – shining mega stars at Sherwood and long shadows over St John in the Wilderness! We have time and money for make believe stars, but we have nothing to spare for the Creator of the real stars that light up the firmament. I have always felt that the church in India has veered terribly off track in its priorities; which is perhaps why it has had little or no impact on the country. I am reminded of the words of the Prophet Haggai from the Old Testament, during the second year of the reign of the Persian King Darius (August 520 BC):
This people says: “The time has not yet come to rebuild the Temple of Yahweh”. And the word of Yahweh was; “Is this a time for you to live in your panelled houses, when this House lies in ruins? Think carefully about your behaviour, you have sown much and harvested little; you eat but never have enough, drink but never have your fill, put on clothes but feel no warmth. The wage-earner gets his wages, only to put them in a bag with a hole in it. Think carefully about your behaviour, go up into the hills, fetch timber to rebuild the House and I shall take pleasure in it and manifest my glory there” (Hag 1:2-8).
2500 years down the line, some things haven’t changed, double-digit inflation notwithstanding!
Saran, whose house is close to Sukha Tal, picked us up from the church to visit his in-laws. Their quaint Scottish style cottage, reminiscent of what Scottish Presbyterian missionaries built in Shillong, is literally the second last house in Nainital, and it has been that way for about 100 years. It even has a Scottish name “Aber Foyle”. Saran’s Father-in-law, Col Dr Madhu Sudan is 91 years old. He was made a Member of the British Empire (MBE) for his services during the Second World War. I am very close to fellow Kanpurite, Padmavibhushan Capt. Dr. Lakshmi Sehgal (94), who was a compatriot of Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose, heading the women’s brigade of the Indian National Army. Hence the irony did not escape me. Here were two nonagenarian doctors, recognised by two different governments, on different sides of the fence. Being a Gandhian pacifist, I constantly wonder at the futility of war. Are there really any winners in war? What say Bush?
Talking of war, Vijay himself was an ace paratrooper, commando and skydiver, during his Air Force years. He dug into his treasure chest to uncover our school magazine of 1958. It was amazing how many of us were classmates from 1958 through to 1965 without a hiccup. The choicest piece of evidence in the 1958 journal was a photograph of me in the music class! I had always contended that I had passed the Trinity College of Music, London, exam at the piano. Nobody in my family ever believed me. Now photographs don’t lie. But I don’t blame my family for doubting me. If you hear me sing, you’ll understand why! Vijay also had the 1965 magazine. I discovered that our class had won the senior elocution contest, and I had won the Catechism prize. Something to preen about. That night I met one more classmate, Alok Sah, after 43 years. Four classmates had dinner together at the Boathouse Club (minus the Rajas). We took a photograph of the awesome foursome. In the background was a signboard “Danger 440 volts”. How did the clubhouse know our potency?
The next leg of our midsummer daydream took us to Deenapani, a small village near Kasaradevi on the Almora – Binsar road. Not many outsiders know about Deenapani – Kasaradevi, and the secrets they hold. We had visited the village two years ago en route Binsar, and then found a shack in the village stacking cartons of imported foodstuffs – olives, pasta, muesli etc – things not every metro supermarket stocks in such quantities. Having run a supermarket for the last 14 years I am not talking through my hat.
What is the secret of Kasaradevi? It is a place of refuge for young Israelis. There are swarms of them living in the village huts. Some of them have been there for years and even inter married with the local populace. There were a smattering of tourists from other countries too, but it was Israel all the way. The Internet café in the village had several books in Hebrew, French and Italian. Amazingly, the keyboards of the computers in the café were all in Hebrew. The Israelis here are more like the hippy flower children of the 1960s. They are not the stoned, rave party type of Israeli mafia you find on Anjuna beach in Goa. Still I wonder, what brings the Israelis to Kasaradevi?
We stayed at the Kumaon Mandal Vikas Nigam tourist rest house at Deenapani because we couldn’t get last minute accommodation at Binsar, 17 km away. We had no regrets. The very first evening the clouds lifted to give us a panoramic view of the Himalayan peaks – Nandagunti (20,700 ft), Trishul (23,360 ft), Nanda Devi (25,645 ft), Changoch (20,714 ft) and Nandakot (21,690 ft). Yeah we checked out all the heights on Meera’s measuring tape. Koi shak? Besides the Himalayan peaks, the sunsets at Deenapani were indescribable. We captured some of it on film with Mariam and Avinash taking most of the shots. The peaks and the sunsets take your breath away, as do the undulating hills and the terraced paddy fields. At such times words fail. In silence one must contemplate the wonder of creation and the providence of the Creator.
I learnt the art of bird watching (I’m talking about the original ornithology) from my Father who was a member of the National Geographic Society, and the Bombay Natural History Society. On field trips we always carry our binoculars and Salim Ali’s “The Book of Indian Birds”, for immediate reference. Among the beauties that we spotted were the Verditer Flycatcher, Emerald Dove, Large Green Barbet, Yellow Billed Blackbird, House Swift and the Red Billed Blue Magpie, the last an absolute riot of colour. Vijay also identified the “chey chey ch chey“ call of the Black Partridge, though we didn’t get to see it.
Deenapanii has one more secret – the Dena Hospital which is accredited to the Ex-Servicemen’s Contributory Health Scheme. Considering that every third Kumaoni male is an ex-serviceman, this is not unusual in itself. What was unusual was that this hospital in a remote Kumaoni village was equipped with the latest medical technology like CT scan, Laparoscopy etc. Even more unusual – it was a private initiative, that of Mukta Dutta, whose mother was French and father Sikh. She had also organised a woman weaver’s project and a community health system. It is a source of immense inspiration to come across such persons, where you least expect them.
While we were in Nainital our cell phones didn’t seem to work, perhaps due to traffic congestion. But in remote Deenapani telecommunication was excellent. Meera’s father was admitted to hospital in faraway Goa, and my sister had an emergency operation in Gurgaon. But thanks to the telecom revolution we could keep in constant touch, not just with our prayers. Most of us “civilised city folks” are armchair critics and cynics. We take technological, economic and social progress for granted. Surrounded as we are by our own handiwork and accomplishments, we forget the significance of the Creator. It is a welcome breather then to take a lungful of oxygen in the hills, and experience the beauty of nature that no artist can paint in a million lifetimes.
Driving back home we passed Bhimtal. Half the lake was dry. At Kathgodam the Kosi River, which once teemed with Mahaseer (Indian Salmon), was dry. The Ramganga and Ganga rivers were just a trickle. All through our sojourn we found garbage and litter – chips packets, water bottles, gutka pouches etc. So why do we get so het up when a British politician says that we Indians are litter bugs? It’s true. If we pursue indiscriminate urbanisation and industrialisation, we will have only one bed to sleep in – the river bed, sans water!
Our midsummer’s daydream has ended. Our heads are still in the clouds, but our feet are firmly planted on the ground; to build the bonds of friendship, protect the environment, and appreciate the goodness that surrounds us, if only we stop to look.
Meera, Mariam and Avinash join me in wishing you a joyous Midsummer’s Day Dream as well.