The Scent of the Pines

 My love for travel is inextricably linked to savoring beauty and learning about the countless cultures of our vast country .I would love to go back and sit at an old fashioned table by the glow of a hurricane lamp and pen down innumerable memories almost getting smudged with the vagaries of time .

I lived two knockout years of my life at DHARAMSHALA in the winsome state of Himachal Pradesh ; bordered by the breathtaking view of the formidable Dauladhar ranges.

 The house in which we lived , an old fashioned British bungalow, built by a certain Col Neil was already a hundred years old ! The house was aptly named STILL BROOK owing to the gurgling stream flowing near by lapping against scores of interesting looking pebbles and moss ridden rocks .

Due to the huge earthquake that struck the Kangra valley in 1905 , our vintage home had been literally sliced into half and there were only the bigger debris which was visibly seen lying around as some integral part of the brook . The flooring still remained , a grim reminder of that horrendous day of history . The stables were in a shattered state too . I would sit in our lawn and see the brook spout and spurt ringing musical notes in my ears , as I often jotted down a page or two ; imagining a glorious bygone era , the bungalow replete in all its glory , horses and horsemen with the ‘ Gora Saheb ‘ with their silver spurs . My imagination would thus take wings !

Each season flitted by like a kaleidoscope . The candy floss toned sunsets in spring , to the greyish dark clouds which threatened to bring down buckets of rain , to the white snowy winters along with its flora and fauna were absolutely mesmeric . 

Summers made birds and butterflies congregate in our garden dipping into the flowers of contrasting hues while chameleons pranced around in gay abandon .We were surrounded by a pine forest which was endowed with floral notes of their own . The scent of the pines used to be very predominant during the summers . The children used to slither down the slopes of the hills slipping on the pine needles bruising their elbows and knees but not giving up on the fun and frolic they had ! During the rains the fog would hang heavily like a thick curtain. Would you be surprised if I said that the fog had its own fragrance . Open the doors and it would simply wisp in like an uninvited sinister guest !!

September to November was a welcome interlude from the harsh rain and frost . My son and I would sit in the sunshine as often as we could and chase the sun with our garden chairs till the warmth of the Surya Dev would slowly fade away giving space to a cool nip in the air . Col Neil may have left Still Brook eons ago but seemed to have left a chef behind !! As far as my memory goes , I must have baked the maximum where the ‘ FAUJ ‘ gave us the opportunity to call our home . From Apple pies to Diplomat puddings to Rum cakes et al !

Tourists flocked from all over to see the Dalai Lama ‘s monastery to trekking down the hills and walking down the alleys of McLeod Ganj . 

It was mystical to hear the Lamas chant their prayers turning the prayer wheels slowly . The green moss wrapped rocks and the ivy clinging to the walls was absolutely enthralling . It seemed like a slice of Tibet transported to India . The cafe’s on the slopes of the little town had interesting names like ‘ chocolate log ‘ etc. 

 

The by lanes beckoned to tourists with fascinating curios mostly the Tibetan kinds . As you came down from McLeod Ganj you would not miss a grand old church built during the British era called very relevantly as the ‘. St John’s church in the wilderness ‘ ! It is located in a wooded , lonesome area with a large cemetery where rests the souls of more than 18000 people of all ages who perished in the horrendous earthquake .The epitaphs touch many a chord of my heart and I literally lived those grim times all over again . Besides this , the tomb of Lord Elgin one of the viceroys of the East India Company is also inside the church premises. The 5000 odd year old BHAGSUNAG temple is a must see too . It is just a few kms away from McLeod Ganj . 

Winters brought in a lot of snow especially the year we were there. Water froze in the pipes , electric lines were knocked down for over a week and we lived by the light of a petromax 24/7 , with water being ferried from a spring close by. The pine cones gathered by my son during the good weather came to good use to light up our fire places .Undeterred by this tangible misery ,our spirits were high with our family ‘s first initiation to snow , frost and black ice.

It was so exciting at the prospect of making a snow man for my son with all the heaped up snow that lay around . We hammered the snow into shape right at our entrance and dressed him up handsomely with my husband’s cap , tie and scarf knowing for sure that this would surely come under tremendous flak and sure it did ! The minute my husband saw it , he shrieked in disbelief. “ why couldn’t you guys use the best of your clothes to dress this clown up “ ? We scrambled for firing cover ! To add to the histrionics his ‘ runner ‘ ( the office help ) chose that auspicious moment to hand over few files to the Saab . When he saw our carrot nosed , marble eyed snowman shine in the moon with his scarf fluttering in the wind ; he ran away shouting in chaste Nepali “ Saab ko kotha ma booth rahecha “ !! ( there is a ghost in sir ‘s house ).

I truly miss those wonderful days , so tranquil , so surreal ! I miss my son ‘s innocent boyhood days when our lives seemed out of a children’s story book ; mother and son partners in crime ! Such a contented life without other major distractions children of today have . Sheer unadulterated fun.