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Published: January 13th 2005
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Toy Train
Wonder in hills It was that moment again. After working for couple of months at an IT magazines group I finally decided to quit because it was not giving me anything remotely close to what I call creative satisfaction. When I am in such a state of mind, I usually head for some hill station to rejuvenate myself and indulge in some
chintan (thinking) about my future in my yet-to-take-off writing career.
My usual cottage in Mussoorrie was full so I decided to try this time a place known for its peace and ‘doing nothing’ feeling: Kasauli in Himachal Pradesh.
After e-mailing my resignation letter the previous night I set out on my journey early morning, reaching railway station at 5.30 AM to catch the Himalayan Queen Express train. As usual, the auto driver quoted higher fare and then agreed to reduce it by Rs 10 in a manner as if he was doing me a favor.
I did not have prior reservation for a seat in the train but thankfully it was not tourist ‘season’ so I could get a berth. Thus, I began my journey. I always like to enjoy morning view out of train’s window. When train started moving, I was looking out to get in the view. Alas, all I saw was umpteen butts busy doing morning chore bang near the tracks.
Nothing new, I think, in a country where people-producing is the main industry. What I did not expect was to see a stadium jam-packed with people who appeared to be taking part in some ‘shitting’ competition. Some were busy exchanging views on world affairs while others appeared to be sharing some joke. After witnessing such ‘naked’ display of personal acts I was scared to look out until the train had got out of Delhi several kilometers.
Things were not rosy inside train either. I had to change my seat when I saw few gun-toting security personnel taking up seats on the right of me and placing their guns on the seat just opposite seat on my right pointed at me! I immediately got reminded of the news reports I had read in newspapers where such guns got ‘accidentally fired’ resulting in deaths. I did not want to be in the line of fire before enjoying the cool mountain air of Kasauli.
While people kept getting on and off the train at the various stops, hawkers of all types kept roaming around shouting their guts out to get people’s attention. One guy was selling bread-ee (He meant bread pakora-a snack). There was this guy who was hawking thanda cold drink (Thanda means cold!) Another enterprising man was offering ‘nescopee’. What he meant was Coffee supposedly of Nescafe brand!
In between the chorus of the hawkers there were two little kids doing their bit to have their say with their parents.
I finally got down at Kalka station from where I had to take a toy train to a small station called Dharampur. I was seated opposite to an angrez (As every white foreigner is called by the Indians). Before the train started he bought lunch packet and had it placed on his lap. It wasn’t easy but he was managing. I suggested he used the empty bench to eat lunch to avoid messing his trousers, which he did not accept. In fact it looked like he did not like me suggesting that. He seemed to be following the instructions given in the travel guides for foreigners. “Avoid talking to strangers”. For hour and half that I was in the train he did not utter a single word to anybody!
Dharampur is at an elevation of around 1500 meters from sea level. One can feel the effect of cool mountain air here. From here I got into a bus for Kasauli. The bus, which was, bit smaller then the ones one sees in plain was full of students from some local college - going back to their villages.
What surprised me was seeing lot of those boys and girls displaying their ‘close bondness’ by sitting on same seat, which I found new for small town India. But, then satellite television has created a level playing field for both big city and small city youth.
The ride was part bumpy, part smooth and part scary when on sharp hair-bend turns the driver continued with same speed with Bhangra Pop blaring from the creaky bus ‘stereo’.
Finally I knew Kasauli was nearing when bus began groaning while negotiating steep winding roads. Then suddenly it stopped at a small bus stop. I got down and began my search for a reasonably priced-yet-good hotel. It was unlike other hill stations where one could spot hotels everywhere. This military town has escaped the touristification, thanks to the army. Traffic is regularised, no vehicles allowed into the small market, which still has cobbled path. The two main roads the little hill station has are called the Lower Mall and the Upper Mall. It’s just the name, no rows of shops here. Just half a dozen or so makeshift shops run by Tibetans selling jackets, woolens, T-shirts and other usual stuff one finds at such markets everywhere.
There were few picnickers sipping tea and coffee, as monkeys walked by or jumped from branch to branch on trees around, at a biggish grocery store-cum-restaurant, which had lot of space in front of it for the people to sit...
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