MISGIVINGS AND MCLEODGANJ

It was the most malevolent one-eye stare ever! Black as sin and horns to go with it, head bowed a little. I  tried to look friendly and make some silly gibberish but friendly sound, the way you do when reaching out to stray dogs. No effect. I stared back but that  one-eye unwavering glare refused to look away or go back to his feeding. I gave up. What was I doing locked in a who-blinks-first contest with a goat? Why was I flashing a camera at this face when he was wholly engrossed in stuffing himself? Was it because after faithfully going by the GPS and, after cautiously finding our way over narrow uneven rocky kaccha path, snaking up a rather steep hill and braving the inclement weather, we finally had to accept that the village we were looking for was certainly somewhere else and, if we continued further we would have ended up in the forest and more forests. What I liked, was that way up there where the few houses were ancient stone structures, slate roofed with occasional tin ones, the distinct dish antenna was unmistakable! Thankfully there were no shops overladen with chip packets, junk food and the inevitable cold drinks. I guess that is just a matter of time.

Every indication was that the village we wanted to go to was somewhere there, but that specific somewhere-there refused to make itself visible. We turned back and took to the road, a fully civilised motorable one, towards Bir Billing in Joginder Nagar Valley, in Himachal Pradesh, a few hours drive from Dharamshala. (Bir Billing is incidentally called the paragliding capital of India, but a rainy July was not the season for it) That's when we came across the goats, including the malevolent looks giving one and their two shepherdess, who promptly turned their backs to the camera. Don't blame them, they must be sick of tourists going 'oh how cute!'  The only consolation was that the rest of the goats gave two  bleats to the world around and went about feasting.

We had reached Mcleodganj the previous day on a grey, humid day with intermittent drizzles and often, a heavy shower or two. The rather oppressive weather humidity wise, the dark clouds that refused to go away - all indicated that we had a hoot of a hope to get a glimpse of the majestic Dhauladhar Mountains that stands guard all around Dharamshala. Worse, with two days to go for the weekend, almost everyone from the neighbouring state of Punjab seemed to have driven En masse to the hilly getaway, clogging the roads with cars, bikes and what have you - read that as ceaseless bleating of horns - and creating unmanageable chaos everywhere. The first indication came when we crossed the Dal Lake (yes there is one in Dharamshala and inspite of all its petite charm and all that, it cannot in anyway  come up even knee high to its more famous namesake) on our way to our accommodation, on Strawberry Hills in Mcleodganj, and saw people and more people around it, majority indulging in what else, but Selfies! We went looking for lunch and a huge Highway on my Plate banner outside the Norling restaurant, said it 'was delighted to recognise Norling Restaurant as an eating joint with a difference'. Yes, it was different, that's all I can say for propriety's sake. On second thoughts, propriety be damned, I wouldn't go there ever! Somehow, the Mcleodganj of today, at least on the first day, and the lovely memories we had a wonderful holiday about a decade or so ago, didn't gel. We decided to get out of the so called Mall area of the town (why do they allow vehicles there beats me!) and walk towards the outskirts.

 

 

Unfortunately the nearby outskirts too had throngs of tourists!With the jostling crowd, irritating traffic, shopkeepers calling out to clients, cows, bulls and what have you sauntering or lounging around, music- local, Hindi, Tibetan, Nepali, English -playing around, the ears suddenly pick up a Nusrat Fateh Ali number with the accents sitting rather oddly. It's a three member family from Rajasthan. I wonder how long the child has been singing along with her parents. Seeing the camera, she pauses, stops singing and gives a smile that lights up her whole face. I accept that singing and dancing is not always about happy moments, its also about making a living  but will she have to do that her whole life?  

If you are in Mcleodganj, it is but expected that Tsuglal Khang, the Dalai Lama's temple complex is a must visit. A pleasant surprise was that his birthday celebrations (82 years) were on but sadly the Holiness was out of town. There was music, dances, singing and much festivities. One couldn't help but reflect on, with a tinge of sadness, what it must be like to live in perpetual exile. And yes, there were tourists galore, some appreciative of it all and some making you wonder why they were there in the first place.

 

 

There was no Dhauladhar the  next morning too. Even though a bit of sunlight broke through the clouds, the overall grey continued to

envelop the whole town. Monsoons in the hills is certainly a relentless affair. 

 

We decided to keep off the usual tourist destinations and hit Palampur and the neighbouring areas. While the tea gardens of Darjeeling and Assam and even the Nilgiris have an international repute, Kangra gardens seem to have fallen of the global tea map despite being around for a century and half and more.The guess work is that the holdings are small and production low. There's however no denying the beauty of it all. Incidentally, most of the tea leaf pluckers are women from Jharkhand. Long after we passed by, the image of the little child plonked on a blue plastic sheet while his mother was busy at work in the garden remained. Was that a daily routine? He seemed to be the only kid around and somehow, it all seemed so lonesome.

 

Andretta, the pottery village and culture village in Kangra Valley, was where we wanted to go. By a lucky coincidence, The Sobha Singh Art Gallery and Museum was on the way.The artist renowned for for his paintings of Sikh gurus, settled down and set up his studio at Andretta. The little cottage where he lived and worked is now the gallery and museum and credit must be given to his family for keeping the legacy alive and letting visitors admire not just his works but get a glimpse into his life. Again one comes round to the issue - why can't we really popularize our rich heritage. Think of Jane Austen Centre (Bath) or Jane Austen's House Museum(Hampshire) ...well sigh. The Sobha Singh Singh Museum makes a brave attempt in trying to retain the house as it was during the lifetime of the artist, right down to his bed, easel etc.  But a life size figure is a little weird, especially when the room is so small. 

How Andretta Pottery and the Sobha Singh Art Gallery developed is because one Irish Lady, Norah Richarads, writer and Tolstoyan, settled down in Andretta ,sometime in the mid 1930s, after the death of her professor husband, who taught at The Government college at Lahore. An English cottage came up, but instead of wood and stone it was in mud, slate and bamboo. Norah, also a dramatist, began to teach theatre to students from Punjab. On her invite, B C Sanyal, painter and sculptor also moved to Andretta from Lahore and so did artist Sobha Singh. Sadar Gurcharan Singh, the renowned potter from Delhi, credited with introducing studio art pottery in the country, soon built a house and a small pottery for his summer stay in Andretta. Today his son, Mansimran 'Mini' Singh runs Andretta Pottery and Craft Society. Norah's creative endeavour clearly had that magnetic effect. Like that old Majrooh Sultanpuri lyrics:

Main akela hi chala tha janibe-manzil magar
Log aate gaye aur karwaan banta gaya          

( I started all alone towards the goal/(but)
people kept joining and it began to turn into a caravan
 -https://urduwallahs.wordpress.com/2011/12/02/majrooh-the-wounded-one/ )

The Norah Richards legacy survives. Every year, we are told, her birthday is celebrated (October 29) with students from Punjab University performing plays in the small open air theatre on the grounds of the cottage she lived in, which she willed to Punjab University. Amazingly, the cottage stands as it was and the university appears to be doing a commendable task of not just keeping her legacy alive, but also restoring and maintaining it well. The surroundings are still lush with greenery and in the tiny open air theatre two strays sleep away blissfully. There are just a handful of visitors and the gardener is quick to holler out a warning, if they step in where they shouldn't!  

      

 

The Andretta Pottery was but a stone's throw away but surprisingly not many locals appeared to be in the know. It's a long and narrow space with a natural gradient. There's a family or two of tourists and the little ones are all excited at having a go at the potters wheel for a nominal fee. We meet S from Turkey, who's here for six months. It will be soon time for her to go back and somehow the conversation veers round to politics, politicians and civil rights. An academician, she says she has quit her teaching and plans to move north of Istanbul, where she is presently located, and start a pottery class. All the while she is keeping tabs on the massive- in her words- procession that the opposition and activists are scheduled to take out back home.  

 

 

The rains play spoilsport and its all hands scurrying around to take inside the pieces drying out. As we were on the artistic trail, we decided to locate another arts centre at a particular village we had heard about. The project, it appeared, was the handiwork of artists from outside who had roped in the local people providing them a creative outlet as well earnings from tourists and sales.  And that's how we found ourselves on way to Bir Billing. The road passed by some of the most enchanting villages with red, green and an occasional blue roofed houses and greenery every which way.  The hazy weather enhanced the charm further.

 

 

And therein lies the tale of the eye lock with malevolent goat! We didn't find the village and the poor goat couldn't understand why he was receiving glares. But the view as we moved on, more than made up for it.  

Hunger pangs were invading at a rapid pace and food was what we wanted. We saw a sprawling resort with a stone walled stand alone restaurant complete with varieties of ivy, nasturtium and roses clambering up. You would think that such an idyllic place would be welcoming with hot meals. Nah! they said the lunch was only for residents and so could we hotfoot it out. Okay, they didn't exactly say the hotfoot bit but it was so implied. If you are somewhere in Bir Billing and see the wall (see below) don't go anywhere near it unless you have checked in. Some hospitality!

We drive on to Bir, the landing site for para gliders who take off from Billing. The Tibetan presence is again evident with  monasteries and even a Stupa, and ochre robbed monks and nuns visible everywhere.The recently opened Vairagi Cafe looks inviting and the menu, though limited is ample. It's a two man show, the young chef and the young lady who takes orders, serves etc. At one point the kitchen had clearly run out of bananas and she dashed out and dashed in, clutching the bananas covered with newspapers! But what kept me entertained was the trio of young Buddhists monks - strumming guitar, humming, engrossed in cell phones and often sharing jokes and laughing.

 

 

 

Its escape time again from Mcleodganj again! This time to the hills  above it, about 3 kms or so to Dharamkot. We walk up the winding road and gradually the ruckus and din that is Mcleodganj is left behind. It's green - lots of pines, cedars and rhododendrons- its quiet and though the number of cafes, hotels, boarding houses are increasing, thankfully the insanity that is throng of tourists is still to invade it. One day of course, they will get here as they always do but before that I hope the villagers of Dharamkot will act fast and stop the place from becoming another tired touristy trap. Halfway up the walk a tiny shack makes you literally stop - it's called Sunny's Cafe By Mistake! All efforts - both on the way up and down - to find the whys and hows got me nowhere. The taciturn young man, the sole worker, made it amply clear that I was wasting his time. There's another one that catches attention, a board advertising a cafe that serves Chinese and Tibetan food. Must be the only place where they coexist peacefully!

 

In fact, in Himachal Pradesh I think the best way to  discover hidden gems is to follow the Israelis! They made Manali famous and when the rest of the world followed, they moved on to undiscovered Kosul about a decade or so ago and settled in enough to build a Chabad House. And so it is in Dharamkot. Kosul is getting increasingly popular among tourists from everywhere, so as I said keep a track on the Israelis, they are the best tourist trailblazers! Who knows what gem they will unearth for us next.

From the chaos that is Mcleodganj, Dharamkot is blissful. There's no traffic honking - in fact there is one road meandering through the village- no overdressed kids running around and no more overdressed parents throwing the leash to the winds. Yoga, meditation and everything spiritual seem to be popular going by the centres and notices around. Once in Dharamkot, somehow it becomes second nature to take it easy and chill. Blame the air, the laid back lifestyle and the attractive cafes around. We go into one and among other things I want a apple pie. The funk-ily dressed and attractive young woman taking the order says it will take time as the chef makes it from scratch. I am absolutely fine by it, its lotus eating time after all!

 

Down to Mcleodganj which seems more crowded. Every time we had passed it, I was the one who demurred because there was no way I was going to eat vegetarian Japanese fare. I adore Japanese food even the matcha ice cream but a complete vegetarian affair didn't seem too inviting. The place, Lung Ta Restaurant, however always seemed to be packed. I gave in and I regret not having given in earlier. The okonomiyaki, udon noodles, miso soup etc were so wholesome and yes, tasty!And while you are there, check out the clothes section in a small attached room, there are some pure cotton tops, skirts and traditional chubas.

 

 

There was just one more place to revisit - St John's Church or rather St John in the Wilderness Church. The Gothic structure was built in the 1852 and what is best about it is that the church can literally be said to be in the wilderness as it stands nearly circled by tall cedars. The church survived the devastating 1905 Kangra earthquake except for the upper structure, the spire and the roof. In the adjoining cemetery are graves of many the earthquake victims. One grave, a rather imposing one, that catches the eye instantly is that of  James Bruce, Earl of Elgin and second Viceroy of India, who was laid to rest here as per his wishes. And like the song says, 'there's a hush all over.....'  It's a place that calls for speaking softly and treading gently. 

 

 
    

The final say of course has to be about the legendary Nowrojee's General store in the heart of Mcleodganj bazar. The 157-year old store still stands as it is, still open. At one time, especially during the British rule and even after, it certainly must have been an institution. Even a decade or so ago, its quaint charm had worked magic on us all. While all credit must be given that it is still continuing, the original wooden structure intact, relics from the past retained and all that, the rather derelict state it is in today elicits sadness and not applause.That's not the way heritage is maintained. It should look welcoming and not depressing. 

As for Mcleodganj..... Came across this shop called Gakhang General Store. I don't know what Gakhang means but if you replace the 'G' with 'L' and make it Lakhang, in the Khasi language of Meghalaya it would mean 'it's shut'. 

A closed chapter alright!