COME HELL OR HIGH WATER

Come hell or high water, we plan a family vacation every summer. Our favourite hunting ground is the Kumaon Hills, the eastern part of Uttarakhand (UK); as it is within easy driving distance of our hometown, Kanpur. Having exhausted all the hotspots in Kumaon, my wife Meera opted for Himanchal Pradesh (HP) this year.

Little did we know of the hell cum high water that lay ahead? We hit the road from Gurgaon (my nephew Francis generously loaned us his car) on the 16^th June afternoon, when the rains had just begun. The highway through Delhi was already flooded. We had planned to tour the Kinnaur and Spiti regions of HP, as they have little or no rain. Our son, Avinash, had cycled through the region in the recent past, and got us hooked on to the windswept beauty of the Spiti valley.

All hell broke loose on the 16^th night. Spiti, in eastern HP, adjoins the Garhwal Hills in western UK, the region devastated by nature that night. We were still oblivious to what was unfolding ahead, as we spent the 16^th night in Parwanoo, in the Shivalik foothills. The next morning we headed for Shimla, for a historic rendezvous. 83 years ago, on the 20^th June 1930, Lord Irwin, the Viceroy, had inaugurated the YMCA building in Shimla. It was named the Birdwood Hall, after Field Marshal Sir William Birdwood, the then Commander-in-Chief of the Indian Army. My grandfather, W.C. de Noronha, who was then the Life President of the All India Cantonment Residents’ Association, had donated this hall. So I had to see his legacy.

We stayed at the YMCA on the 17^th night, with Naresh Scott, the Secretary, playing gracious host to us. We took photographs of the brass plaque and marble tablet commemorating the event. I had with me photographs and press cuttings of 1930, and felt rather proud of grandfather, who looked no less regal than the Viceroy or the Field Marshal! Grandfather made an interesting endowment two months later, on 1/9/1930. It was the Birdwood Sword of Honour, which was to be presented to the best cadet of the Indian Army at the Kitchner College at Nowgong. Could some army historian please tell me what happened to that sword?

Other than the YMCA visit, Shimla was horrible – overcrowded and infested with monkeys. Parking is maddening. Infact, on the 17^th afternoon, when we actually hit Shimla, we decided to move on to Mashobra for want of parking. At Mashobra we were catching up with old friends from Kanpur, now in their eighties. Seeing the beautiful cottages of Delhi’s super rich in Mashobra reaffirmed my belief – that if one has the money, there is no better place than India to live in! That is ofcourse a big “if”.

When we actually left Shimla on the 18^th morning we were headed for the Spiti Valley. But we got a rude shock. The area had been hit by hell cum high water, as in adjoining UK. Even Virbhadra Singh, the Chief Minister, was stranded there, and was airlifted three days later. The tragedy in UK was still unfolding, as journalists and TV crews trickled in. Bereft of TV and newspapers we were still oblivious to the natural catastrophe and human calamity. A seasoned mountaineer advised us to head north instead, into unknown territory. It was here that the GPS system on daughter Mariam’s phone gave us accurate directions to plan our future itinerary.

That is how we came across Rewalsar, a quaint lake township in Mandi district. It was a pilgrim centre for both Buddhists and Sikhs, with a gurudwara at one end, and a Buddhist temple at the other. The latter was overshadowed by a colossal gold painted image of the Buddha. A naughty thought entered my mind. Had Mayawati visited Rewalsar she may have erected her own statue, bigger than the Buddha’s! There was also a sobering thought. Why can’t religions co-exist, as at Rewalsar, without stepping on each other’s toes?

On the 19^th we drove 160 kms to Dharamshala, and were lucky to find a secluded hotel appropriately called the “Pit Stop”. The owner must have been a fan of Formula One racing. Next to this was the Pong View Hotel. The Pong mystery was yet to unfold. Since Mariam has been working in Mumbai for the last three years she longed for authentic north Indian food. Her desire was fulfilled at a roadside eatery serving “authentic” Punjabi Tandoori chicken and rotis.

 The next morning we turned the corner to McLeodganj, the home of the Dalai Lama. We tried visiting the Bhanunag Waterfall, which was even more crowded than Shimla. So we retraced our steps to McLeodganj where we had a sumptuous lunch at the Tibet Kitchen, including classic pork recipes of Tibet and Bhutan.

We then visited the Dalai Lama’s temple. There was no entrance fee, and it was devoid of commercialism, so prevalent in most places of worship. Having visited Jerusalem in 1980, I recalled how even the place of the Lord Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection are commercialized. Another interesting aspect of the temple was the near absence of security, even though the Dalai Lama is a marked man. Even the cash offerings were lying in open trays, unattended. People of different religious persuasions make different types of offerings like candles or agarbattis. Here, for the first time, I saw offerings of chocolates, biscuits, confectionery and juice packs. The most fascinating and intriguing experience at the temple was the tête-à-tête between the monks, which went on for almost two hours. They were all in pairs, with one sitting and the other standing. These pairs were engrossed in lively debates punctuated by the standing partner periodically lunging forward with a loud clap.

There were hundreds of tourists, photographers, and curious onlookers. But the monks went about their debates unperturbed. It reminded me of an observation of Pope John Paul I, whose papacy lasted just a month. He had said that a railway porter could sleep on a busy railway platform, unaffected by the sound of the trains thundering past. The lesson – you can find God and peace even in the midst of your daily hustle-bustle.

On the way back from the temple we stopped at a Tibetan café. The coffee was as good as that of any of the big chains, at half the price and double the quantity. What caught my eye though was the grace of the lady attending to us. I presumed that she was the café owner. It turned out that she was the waitress. She had fled her home in Tibet 10 years ago and was now fending for herself. Back in Tibet she was officially classified as “dead”, lest Chinese Govt officials harass her family. One wonders why we “humans” are so inhuman in our dealings with the weak and defenseless?

From McLeodganj it was downhill again to the rock hewn temple of Masrur, in Kangra district. This again was off the beaten track. According to the Archaeological Survey of India, which declared it a protected monument in 1912, there was a legend that the Pandavas had built it during their period of exile. However, it was “discovered” by the British only in 1875, and was devastated by the Kangra earthquake of 1905. There is so much of the rich heritage of our country that we don’t know, and there is also much of it that the westerners made us aware of. Sadly, we Indians have a poor sense of history, which is why it keeps repeating itself.

From Masrur’s history we proceeded to unravel the Pong mystery. It is a 400 sq km artificial lake created by the Pong Dam, which has now been renamed the Rana Pratap Sagar. We were fortunate to get accommodation at the Forest Rest House (FRH) at Nagrota Surian, as also permission to visit Rensar Island in the middle of the sagar, with the Forest Dept’s motorboat. I have never seen such a vast expanse of boulder-strewn grassland, or inland water stretching beyond the horizon, as we did at Pong. In winter it is one of the biggest breeding grounds for waterfowl from Siberia. Ironically, neither the Forest nor the Wildlife Depts know how to trap or track the migratory birds with rings or transmitters. For this they are dependent on the Bombay Natural History Society. Ever wondered what sarkari babus get paid for doing?

The FRHs at Nagrota Surian and Rensar Island were all that they should not be – ugly, hot, decrepit, cement structures; a far cry from the lovely wooden cottages that we have seen in Corbett National Park (UK), Dudhwa National Park (UP) and the Binsar Sanctuary (UK). Did anybody say that these were British legacies? Spot on.

The last leg of our vacation was the two days we spent at Dalhousie, again a motorist’s nightmare. Tourist brochures refer to it as the Switzerland of India. Whoever made that claim has obviously not been to either Switzerland or Dalhousie! It was quite lousy. Since the 23^rd was a Sunday we went for Mass at the St Francis’ Church; ministered by a frizzy haired (Sai Baba style), straggly bearded Capuchin, in his traditional brown habit and white cord. This is something rarely seen today in the extremely secularized and anonymous attire adopted by most religious and clergy. He conducted a maha aarti 3 times a day, in which several tourists participated, invoking God’s blessings. In true Franciscan style the friar had a menagerie of geese, ducks, turkeys, pigeons etc in a large cage. Perhaps to augment the church funds, he had given out a small corner for a handicrafts shop. The shopkeeper was displaying his wares on some of the religious icons; seeing which I saw red, and had them removed. No wonder Jesus chased the merchants out of his father’s house and upset their apple cart (cf Mat 21:12).

The 600 km drive back to Gurgaon took us through the verdant Punjab and Haryana countryside. I must confess that I did not see any signs of poverty; so endemic in our country, in the 3 States and 2000 kms we traversed. We were cruising at 120 kmph on excellent roads, most of which were toll ones. We ended up paying about Rs 600/- in toll, a rupee a kilometer – the price of development.

Back in Gurgaon, weary travelers were welcomed by my sister Louise, with a repast of schezwan jumbo prawns, crabs and a peach n cream cake for Mariam’s birthday. We returned refreshed and invigorated, hoping to hit the trail again next year, come hell or high water. Had we started two days earlier we could have been in deep trouble; had we planned our trip two days later we may never have embarked on it.

We do also remember those who were not so lucky and lost their loved ones or livelihood. One must also salute those brave members of the Defence and paramilitary forces who risked life and limb to save others, come hell or high water.

June 2013