The anticipation of an adventure in store allowed me to grab only a couple of hours of sleep. Awaiting the alarm, I awoke at 3 a.m. I had asked Nimish to stay over and he dropped me to Churchgate Station. I caught the first local train of the morning, departing at 4:15 a.m for Santa Cruz. From here, I took a rickshaw to the airport.
Check in was uneventful except for airport security confiscating Viraat’s pen knife. Though they did eye the plastic tent poles with suspicious stares, they let that pass. The lengthy procedure of going back to the entrance and checking the rucksack into the main baggage with only 45 minutes left for departure seemed too much of a hassle, so I decided to just let the pen knife go.
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| All set and on the way |
The flight to Chandigarh was via New Delhi and was scheduled to depart at 7 a.m.. Taking off on time, it turned out to be a rather uneventful flight, the only noteworthy observation being the exceptionally beautiful Air India air hostess serving us. Six feet tall, she made heads turn every time she walked up or down the aisle. After a half hour stop over at Delhi, we took off again on the hour long flight to Chandigarh. Chandigarh Airport was tiny but tastefully done up.
A Rs. 200/- rickshaw ride (which I knew was far too much but was forced to pay) by a big, hairy Sardarji brought me to the Sector 43 bus station. This is when the realization struck me that “when travelling alone, TAKE THE BUS YOU FOOL.” Anyway lesson learnt, I walked around the bus station, looking around. The shops at the bus station did not have the memory card for my camera(my weapon for the trip), so I found a local bus that took me to the Sector 22 market, picked up the card I needed and returned to the Bus Station.
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| The quaint town of Dharampur |
There being no direct bus to Kasauli, I hopped onto a crowded one to Shimla. A bunch of noisy college boys kept everyone entertained for a while, as we began climbing after Kalka, the thinning air began putting people to sleep. About two hours later, we stopped for a very late lunch (an obvious tie-up between the bus driver and shop owner) at a bustling restaurant perched precariously at the edge of a cliff. He had a variety of fast food, chips, soft drinks and most importantly – water. A half hour stopover later, we resumed to climb up to Shimla. Within twenty minutes, we arrived at the town of Dharampur – my disembarkation point for the onward journey to Kasauli.
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Picturesque - The Narrow Gauge
Rail Track at Dharampur
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Dharampur was a quaint little town – everybody minding their own business. Here I would like to bring out the observation of how the local people became friendlier and friendlier as one transited from the crude, money-oriented people of Chandigarh to the gentle laid back folk of Himachal. I walked down to the beautiful picture postcard like railway station of Dharampur with its narrow gauge toy train tracks set in a meadow of grass. It was shut for the day since the last train had already departed. I noted the train timings for the next day and then made my way to the bus stop.
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| Metres of Wool |
The tiny, crowded bus to Kasauli had more than its fare share of hubbub. Vendors stalking you, beggars standing in queue, children crying, people chattering – it was a melee in there. However, I once again noticed the friendly eyes and kind eyes of the Himachali people. An hour’s journey brought me to the central square of Kasauli. Set in the hills, all the roads around the tiny town were steep, winding ones.
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| The Ancient Church at Kasauli |
I walked into a nearby church that looked like it had been pulled out of some remote village in the Scottish countryside. Later, I walked up the Upper Mall Road, passing a number of quaint cottages set in beautiful blooming gardens. The end of the road brought me to the Army Holiday Home (which turned out to be fully booked out), Sunset Point and Lovers’ Point. At Sunset Point, the sun set exactly between two ridges that ran parallel to each other, away from the viewer. The evening was overcast and an extremely strong, gusty wind had begun to set in, threatening to bring with it an inconvenient rain, as I was stranded at the top of the hill.
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| The walk down the Upper Mall Road |
I quickly made my way back down, intending to look for a place to stay. The wind raged on, blowing thousands of flowers down along the tree lined Upper Mall Road. At the bottom, I passed the Military Hospital Officers’ Mess. Deciding to give it a try, I walked through the gate and was met by a cheerful Sepoy named Shehar who was very helpful. After peaking to the Major in charge, he arranged a room for me. Leaving my backpack there, I set out to wander the Lower Mall Road and Heritage Market.
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Where History meets Commerce -
The Heritage Market on Lower Mall Road
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Unlike the Upper Mall Road that was a residential one, the Lower Mall Road was a hubbub of activity – scores of tourists, lovers holding hands, wooden handicraft shops and dhabas emanating mouth watering aromas filled the atmosphere with a lovely old-world charm. I walked down to the end and back by which time I succumbed to the aromas and ordered a tasty chicken soup. As the evening wore on, I explored the clothes’ market. Though I was tempted to extract my wallet on several occasions, the weight of my backpack had me deciding against it. Eventually I made my way back to the Mess. A bath and change later I sat by myself at the bar, sipping a Teachers Scotch Whiskey, reliving the events of the day. Soon I struck up a conversation with Shekhar who I found out was from Hubli in Karnataka.
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| Central Research Institute - Kasauli |
Dinner was a simple but tasty affair with Shekhar as both the head cook and steward. Once done with dinner, I returned to the room. With no mobile coverage to distract me, weariness soon got the better of me and I fell asleep, snuggled into the warmth of the Army blankets.
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