Growing Up In The Hills

AN ODE TO THE CITY THAT SHAPED ME- SHIMLA                                                                                                                                                 Nandita Sharma

There is certainly something infectious about this hill town.

My yearly summer sojourn in Shimla is a stress reliever. It is a getaway from the mundane and grilling metropolitan routine where I inhale and relish the aroma of the yesteryear. My earnest quest for a piece of peace finds solace here which also is reminiscent of the days that have shaped me into what I am today.

 The craving to come back here has escalated remarkably with every passing year. Heading to the hills, the journey is an opportunity for the self to be one and introspect. The soul instantly rejuvenates amidst the healing deodars and the calming breeze, the steep slopes and the meandering alleys. The change in and, the dose of purified air does wonders vise a vi the contaminated breaths we take in the capital.

 It somehow feels calm even in the clusters of haphazardly built homes and the traffic chaos, the crowded roads and the flood of tourists. Well! probably, since it still hasn’t drifted away from its small town pleasing concoction of fellow intimacy, humble approach and a sense of assurance along with the air of tranquility, oozing  from the  deeply embedded harmony, to name a few. And of course, the apparent sense of security it offers as commuting alone even in the late hours is not a risky affair.

 I now realize, life was much more grounded and peaceful in that phase, without the complexities of a modern set up. The less was more indeed. Our initial two room rented accommodation was our home for a long time. I grew from a child to a teenager in that little space with all the big dreams.

 As far as I can fondly recall, all my birthday celebrations that never took place in a fancy restaurant with the typical theme based décor, but at home with desi delicacies that my mother cooked along with baking her signature vanilla cake. School friends and neighbors would pile up on the lone sofa set in one corner. The joys were in the sharing and the little things which are nonetheless, precious memories to treasure.

That also reminds me of the particularly warm neighborhood we were part of in that small vicinity. The much awaited Diwalis & Holis (celebrated amidst the winter chill) were pure unadulterated fun in the absence of a show of wealth and status maintenance where we celebrated these festivities like one big family and with fewer means, unlike the ones now, which leave me craving for that era gone by.

 This was a gadget free generation and very few even had landline connections and the mobile phone was only a rich man’s device looked at with awe. The casual and carefree neighborhood conversations and gatherings, therefore, were relished to the core and the proximity instilled a sense of belonging.  In our desire for everything BIG, we let go of the little mundane things that make our lives and lead to our larger values and outlooks.

As I continue my retrospective look; unlike today, my childhood and growing up in Shimla, was far less stressed out.  

 Every time I watch a bunch of school children climbing the narrow alley uphill with visibly heavy bags on their backs and with hardly any sign of exhaustion on their face, it takes me back into time when I carried more or less the same expression without a complaint. Our school routine stretched beyond the normal hours of the day and homecoming was entirely at the mercy of weather gods and the obsolete Himachal Roadways school bus. The after school hours were deficient of the evening play and devoid of recreational space and the left over energy was squeezed by the never ending home works. Still, I can’t recall cribbing being part of the hills. Perhaps, the assimilation into such a regime came very naturally with a modest middle class cultivation. If it wasn’t all plain sailing, existence in the hills was far more uncomplicated in the absence of facilities which though unknowingly, made life more desirable. In fact, my strength and perseverance has a lot to do with my spare parts being greased with the displeasures and hardships. Ironically, the indiscernible compensations for these quibbles lay in the little gratifications.

 It was the beginning of the 90’s then and social media and television expansion was yet to take off, so our life was more or less at the mercy of Doordarshan and the Hindi film video cassettes that we hired occasionally. Nevertheless, a stroll on the Mall road was indeed a cherished Sunday delight combined with a horse ride on the Ridge.  A visit to my favorite pastry shop, and coming back with a mandatory cone of vanilla ice cream in one hand and an eye on that irresistible yet out of reach expensive dress in one corner of the famous showroom opposite Gaiety theatre, made for those priceless  childhood memories. These were the small pleasures that sparkled our souls.

However, all is not glitter! The city’s unpredictable weather- tested us. The charms and exhilaration of the seasons’ first snowfall were soon replaced by the dreariness and yes, confinement. It was one significant aspect that altered our moods and choices turning it pretty much monotonous; a perfect example of which was the three month long boring winter vacations. And we probably were the few enthusiasts, who willfully bribed our wilted hearts with the condolence that a bag full of excitement was waiting at the onset of spring as we waited in anticipation for the new school session to begin.

The fact that these extended holidays coincided with a spell of heavy snowfall and nearly life crippling situations, candle light dinners and candle light conversations inevitably became part of the nothing else to do routine. My working mother would be stranded at home, dealing with me and my younger sibling’s’ boredom, while every single day my father would walk for nearly two hours to cover a distance of eight kilometers to reach his office. With no snow cutters and public transport almost negligible, there was hardly any choice. Although, every now and then we waited endlessly in vain, gazing at the tube light to sparkle and surprise us. Moreover, there were no heaters to warm up, no geysers for hot water and in the given circumstances even taking a regular bath was conveniently avoided. And by the way, heading to the toilet was another tough task to handle, so was obtaining water for the same. The water pipes jammed and a chunk of ice was melted time and again over the gas burner in our dimly lit kitchen in order to attend to the nature’s call. One dealt as best as one could without complaint with the proverbial cards in hand. Hence, the day’s time table didn’t stretch far beyond eating and sleeping. Or else we creatively indulged in our favorite outdoor sport of making snow balls of all sizes, in an attempt to hit each other as hard as possible.

More importantly, there was no television.  Please spare a moment to imagine, how deeply uninteresting life could  turn in those  months of long winter vacations when there was nothing more to elevate our bored senses, except for a weekly Chitrhaar, and a weekly movie on Doordardarshan- the then sole source of entertainment. That too, was completely out of question, courtesy the state electricity department. I can’t forgive them for making our lives- the habitants of the frozen city, utterly unappealing and uninteresting in those days.

 How many snowmencould we make? How many books could we read, how many forced afternoon naps could we take or how many dull moments could we embrace? Without any close friends, cousins or an extended family around, I and my younger brother were entertainment starved. And eventually after more than a week’s torture, when the bulbs and tube lights suddenly dwindled and illuminated our bedroom, I was visibly ecstatic. I had indeed found God. Life was back on track and having access to television again was a blessing more than anything else.

For that matter, the rains in Shimla have a knack of cheering me up even now, when I am miles away. It triggers nostalgia and memories cascade when friends post pictures of the monsoon laden. The clouds usually relieve themselves with full force and the dense fog crawling gradually over the hills is a treat. In the aftermath of the rain, every bit of the city is drenched in vibrant hues. There is a sense of the mystical and a charm that at once uplifts the spirits besides the disarray it brings with it. While here, the scorching sun and the unbearable humidity is enough to test one’s patience, it presents an opportunity to imagine and escape.

Growing up in this small quaint hill town (although it’s no more a small town now) was a gift and a privilege, the realization of which dawned quite late post, all those diligent efforts to move out of here in search for a better future. The way life sculptured in this hill town was in fact, a reward in terms of simplicity of existence that was not bound by the constant struggle to possess more. And more so, unlike today where love for and acquisition of gadgets, social media dependency and maintaining a brand conscious lifestyle, yet substitutes for happiness. 

 Sometimes I wonder what if I was born in this age of modern technology.  What if I had access to the new found luxuries?  What if I had all the freedom to sway without any parental restraint and a handful of pocket money? What if I could escape all the dull moments then?  My answer, then how I would have emerged a more accommodating and a tougher being who still remains very much independent and fearless?

 Shimla has not only provided me lessons in survival, the value of seemingly inconsequential little things and emotions but also acceptance in the scarcity of amenities & funds. The exhaustion of climbing slopes, in the endless wait for buses, the wintry discomfort, the life disrupting rains and the absence of resources has certainly contributed to tenacity and persistence. In that sense, I am a proud product of the hills.

However, I am deeply saddened to see its transformation. Once a calm and serene place, Shimla has lately grabbed eyeballs for the administration’s inability to tackle city’s basic issues and the increasing threat to its ecology despite the rebuking of the National Green Tribunal and the higher courts.   

The town has drastically turned into a set of unplanned, muddled structures, taking away the sheen off its pristine beauty. The diminishing green patch and stringent laws not being strictly implemented to curb the rampant construction all over in the name of development, has led to frequent landslides during the monsoons.  A lack of vision and political indifference on part of the administration for such seasonal calamities is questionable. In addition, the paucity of drinking water and the massive influx of tourists leading to utter traffic chaos have kept the locals fuming, thus failing to keep the essence and the heritage of this historical hill town intact.

However, despite the growing concerns and the place turning into a concrete jungle, the peace it still offers is unmatched. Though, the tides of globalization are pervasive, the socio economic gap between the various segments of the city’s population to the eye seems to be closer. Shimla is a refuge from the souring taste of life in the ever expanding metropolitans. 

By: Nandita Sharma