Shimla

After staying for a few days in Manali, it was time to head back down south, with a few days' pit stop in the city of Shimla, capital of the state of Himachal Pradesh, and the former summer capital of British India. 

On our last morning in Manali, we packed our bags, said goodbye to the puppies (see previous post), loaded our jeep and set course towards south. As distances in the mountaneous state of Himachal are long and  roads meander through the hilly terrain, even a seemingly short ride may (and usually does) take hours. During our 8 hour jeep ride we were luckily entertained by our Sri Lankan travel companions, who gave us a crash course on the essence of Buddhism as well as a thorough briefing on the recent political developments in Sri Lanka, including the fate of the Tamil Tigers - another example how every day in India has been, and is, an enormous learning experience. 

Eventually dusk started to descend, and the hills on the way to Shimla were lit by the houses like small lanterns. Just as the group's backs were starting to get achy and patience was running short, we reached the city, and after a while of driving around town, looking for affordable accommodation on very short notice, with little success, we deboarded our jeep and decided to continue on foot. At this point our group was joined by an elderly man wielding a cane, a blanket wrapped around him, and a traditional Himachali cap, making him look like a sheep herder looking for his lost flock in the city. The man promised to help us on our quest for an affordable hotel (as these people are often paid commission for it) and eventually, after hours of looking for an affordable and available rooms, we ended up in mid-range establishment with an interesting range of services, such as unlimited freezing water, blankets for the beds for an extra 100rs and a ten o'clock lockdown (leaving the place was possible after waking up the receptionist and kindly asking him to let you out). 

Next on the agenda was food, as it was already past 11pm, the whole city had gone to sleep and none of the restaurants, or shops were open. After wandering a while amidst the empty streets inhabited only by the occasional stray dog digging the garbage bins or a monkey observing us from the rooftops, a man called after us from one of the apartment windows. Since this seemed to be our only option for now, our search party climbed up the narrow stairs into the man's quarters. It seemed that the man had made his house also his business; the room he lived in was divided in two. On one half ,there was a fully furnished apartment with a bed, TV, sink, toilet, chairs and a bookshelf; On the other, there was a fully furnished cornershop selling everything from soft drinks and snacks to batteries and lightbulbs. This man certainly didn't waste time commuting every day. Our hungry pack made his day as we literally emptied his shop of bread pakoras and veggie patties. 

The next day, things started to pick up again as we were able to concentrate on exploring the city and enjoying the atmosphere.

The main part of Shimla spreads out to the green hills and altitude changes between blocks can be surprisingly vast. On a clear day one can see the Himalayan snow caps surrounding the area. 

The modest view from our room.

As mentioned, Shimla served as the summer capital of the British Raj from 1864 onwards. The sweltering summer heat of Calcutta had started to apparently test the patience of the colonial administrators and the quinine from all the gin tonics in the world did not seem to be enough to assuage the constant plague of malaria during the wet months. Running an empire just seemed to be too much to ask on a hot day. The Brits, accustomed to a cooler climate as they were, then ended up with a somewhat ambitious, yet practical plan - the capital needed to move further north for the summer. At same time when the clerks where lamenting the heat, reports from topographers of an ideal location for a hill station with a pleasant and temperate climate in the region of Himachal had reached Calcutta. As Lord William Bentinck, the Governor-General of Bengal at that time, in a letter characterized it, "proves a very agreaable refuge from the burning plains of Hindoostaun". Without further ado the clerks, crazed by the heat, anxiously began packing their bags (or their servants did, at least). Slowly, a British cultural wave swept over a sleepy village on the hills. The result can be seen below.

Two icons of past British culture dominating the city centre: Tudor Style Architecture (left) and Christianity (the Neo Gothic Christ Church of Shimla is the second largest church in northern India)

The main shopping street, or the Mall, as it is called. The architecture makes downtown Shimla seem like some small town in Britain that was teleported into the Himalayas. Tweed clad pukka sahibs with their immaculately pressed trousers and walking sticks strolling down the market only reinforce this vision.

A true Indian gentleman enjoys his afternoon coffee in the Indian Coffee House, a locale that still retains some of the colonial atmosphere. Interestingly enough, the place is almost solely frequented by older gentlemen, who apparently gather there to gossip.

India's dual, janus-like, relationship with colonialism and British culture is illustratively reflected in the urban spaces of Shimla. The fact that instead of eradicating much of the colonial past by replacing the Tudor-style architecture as well as the church with more contemporary architecture, these spaces have become venerated and carefully preserved heritage sights. They serve as a reminder to younger Indian generations, where much of the culture of India today derives from. The interplay of recent history and traditions surpassing it form a melange through which India created and still constantly re-creates its identity.

Cities with idiosyncratic pasts like Shimla retain their history in not only their architecture, but also in the collective memories of their inhabitants. The impeccably tweed-dressed Indian gentleman with a distinctly aristocratic habitus, a somewhat rarer sight in the constantly changing urban Delhi, represents the two-sided relationship of colonial history to Indian culture as much as a preserved colonial building. The elders of a city are the keepers of its spirit and its living memory who through their personal histories provide a window to the past from an alternative perspective. Meeting a person like this is thus as educational as visiting a museum or reading a book.

On our last day in Shimla, we had the opportunity to meet one of these people. Having had a big dinner on our last night in the city we were trying to digest our feast with a little stroll around Scandal Point, one of the central meeting points of downtown Shimla. It was already getting late, we had been the last customers in the restaurant and the streets were mostly empty, once again inhabited mainly by the occasional street dog sniffing  around for food or a monkey observing from the rooftop. We were slowly progressing towards our hostel, when our chatting was interrupted by a somewhat withered, yet firm voice: "Halt! I recognize your language! Where do you hail from?" Behind us stood an elderly gentleman, dressed in a thick woollen sports jacket complemented with a light blue silk scarf, a matching cardigan and a silver headed walking stick - a man with a rather generously proportioned body structure with the kind of belly that can only come as a result of years of economic prosperity. It was clear that he was a man of wealth.

Having introduced ourselves and explained what we were doing in Shimla and in India, the man found our interest in the city apparently very delightful and insisted on inviting us for a late night drink to his apartment. Looking at each other askingly, we agreed. The man introduced himself as Mr.Chandra - a carpet merchant par excellence with decades of experience in hand woven carpets, shawls and other fine textiles. He entertained us with a brief personal biography, how he emerged from a modest background with little education to the founder of apparently one of the most distinguished carpet dealers in Delhi.

Climbing up the stairs to his apartment, we were greeted by what appeared to be his servant - a thin and quiet man with an alert presence. He opened the door and invited us in. Entering this carpet mogul's apartment was like entering a mid sized home museum. The walls were covered with black and with photographs of him and his family and friends from different decades from various prestigious-looking events and people. The floor was covered with oriental carpets from every imaginable corner of the east - later it turned out that he owns the second largest collection of oriental carpets in all of Asia, which I did not find hard to believe. 

We told to sit down as the servant served us wine and whiskey. Throughout our brief stay in the house, if the servant was not performing a task, he was standing on the doorway quietly waiting for the next orders. As we were sipping our drinks, our host gave us a brief personal account on how he had seen Shimla's palpable change from a pristine mountain town to a busy commercialized hub of the northern Indian states. He was not too keen on the increasing population of the new rich Indian population in the area. Apparently, Shimla as he knew it, was dying fast. The history of the town as he had experienced was vanishing along with people of his generation. Nevertheless, he insisted on still spending most of his spare time there. The dacha we were sitting in was apparently his second apartment mostly intended for recreation, the first one being in Delhi, and the third one being in London (for business purposes, of course). After finishing our drinks, as it was getting late, we saw fit to thank the man for his hospitality and leave. He courteously thanked us for our company and bade us good night in an appropriately gentlemanly manner.

The meeting with one of the remaining old hand Shimlaites was a perfect closing to the historical excursion our visit in the city had been.