Any time of the year, Mussorie can cast its magical spell on you. Given its mystical charm, it would have been foolish to expect any less. Why else would I be here in the November cold, with little or no thought about what I was going to do there,Ā unless I was bedazzled by the mere mention of Mussorie!
Okay, so there are several ways you can reach here, bus, private car, motor bike etc, but a backpacker cannot indulge in luxury. Therefore I relied on an arthritic bus from Dehra Dun, risked life and limb, and arrived in one piece and walked into a freezer. To be honest, the only logical purpose of undertaking an unprepared journey such as this was a sudden and unavoidable urge to catch a glimpse of Kedarnath Range in the upper Himalayas! But the article that had induced sudden passion had failed to mention the temperature!
As a backpacker, I should have let the sheer geographical difference between beaches in Southern India and snow covered mountains in the North be a guide to the variations I would experience, but I am not given to thinking that way.
It was cold. No, it was freezing and I wasnāt adequately dressed! In my haste to get to the hill station, I had dug into the backpack and come up with the only clean t-shirt that was actually souvenir from Goa. Before launching into a thoughtful stare into the deep valleys, I had to locate a safe place till the mist disappeared.
I urged my feet to move and feet like the stomach, guided ably by the nose, will essentially head straight for food. Despite the cold morning, few tea-shops had opened to business. I sat down heavily on a wooden bench, rubbing my palms vigorously, fearing hypothermia I ordered tea straightaway.
The Garwali cafĆ© owner, his faced covered in a red monkey-cap, handed me a cup of spiced-tea and spoke through the wool. Hotels, he said, were plenty. And since it was low season, it wouldnāt be hard to find good accommodation for less. I didnāt really care, all I needed was enough heat to defrost my body and mind and a shop that sold thermals! I conveyed as much. He gave me a disapproving look, as if to say, āwhy did you not have the sense to wear something warm?
He pressed a paratha on me. The tempting smells took away the edge from the cold and when I stepped out to take Mussorie head on, I was shocked.
It had transformed into a fairyland. The mist had lifted and the sight I beheld made me forget my predicament. There was a certain softness highlighted by the pale sunlight, and in some places mists hung lazily not wanting to leave this piece of paradise.
A horse-buggy pulled up in front of me. I directed him towards any hotel that would have rooms. Despite the cold, it was a good morning. I found a room very near the end of the Mall Road, reasonably priced and they didnāt show any surprise at seeing me turn up in beach shirt!
I had no idea how long I was going to stay in Mussorie, but this was a good place to rest and contemplate. At 10.30 am, I was rested and warm enough to begin exploration. I walked through the Mall Road looking for shawls and sweaters and finally settled for a blue and purple one that seemed appropriate before heading to the bus station for a ride to the Kempty Falls, 13kms away.
We hurtled past the Surkhanda Devi Temple perched on a pretty outcropping, through various twists and turns. Bundled in warm clothing, people trooped out and rapidly walked down to the Falls. The air was crisp, the walk invigorating and views fantastic -such as the one from the store that sold sun-glasses! I encountered a vermillion-covered God-man under a rock who gave me a quick run through my past for INR 25.
Kempty Falls is a small natural pool into which water empties from a great height. Enterprising hoteliers have cashed in on Mussorieās natural splendor and built hotels and going by the looks of it, were doing a roaring business as well!
The pool was predictably empty but even the cold couldnāt keep me away from water. After ārentingā a pair of shorts, I made a dash for it. A second before I hit water I realized my mistake. The cold knocked off my breath, my screams drowned in the icy water and thenā¦ from every side, fellows in colorful shorts began jumping in!! Danger was appealing after all! Within minutes, the pool was lost to wriggling bodies.
Two hours and many cups of tea later, I reached the road to find my bus gone!
But Rangeela & Rangeela, the horse and owner (respectively) came to my rescue. With them, I returned as the sky was hijacked by millions of stars.
The next morning, I decided to walk the Camel Back Road, till the weather or fatigue caught up, for here, I was told, I would get the best views of Himalayas. I didnāt but I did find pretty bungalows which I photographed for future reference.
The, without warning, (blame it on the walk) a desire to dig into a crispy fried vada hit. It was strong, but there was no way I was going to get one, not here in the hills. But miracles have a way of happening when least expected. For at the bend in the road, (I believe that the bend- in- the- road is where miracles happen) was a south Indian canteen! Without a thought, I presented myself at the door.
It was dark and cold inside and naturally the vada had absorbed most of the canteens quality which wasnāt much, but I didnāt wince, because the owner gave me a tip that made up for everything!
He told me about Clouds End Bungalow.
The name presented itself like a poem and I cut short whatever I was doing (which was nothing), and made haste to read the verses!
The only obstacle was six kilometers that separated me from CEB! What didnāt strike me right away was that I could get a horse-buggy from the Library! I walked, not fancying a Rangeela & Co, but as fated, I found myself staring at the face of Rangeela (horse)! He smiled.
Now, it was a matter of getting used to them.
When I reached CEB, I saw why it was named so. The clouds come here to morning tea! I had them and few primates for company, but the latter ruined my first ever rhododendron juice!
Rangeela suggested a visit to Lal Tibba next day, if the weather held. I was saddled with Rangeela & Co for the rest of my stay! We wandered about the hills, peered into old bungalows, and ate parathas. On day three, I hadnāt had enough of the magnificent sights! Day four was clear enough to visit Lal Tibba.
Eagerly I applied my eye to the telescope, elated at my first real view. Voila! There it was, the Himalayas wearing a crown of white! I had seen it, at last!
Mussorie had rewarded my patience.
The last evening of my stay, I walked the Mall Road, ate marble-sized apples, rode an ill-mannered horse, and not seeing guns on Gun Hill, ignored the cable car!
Next morning, the mist had cleared for me to see the mountains one last time_ I must have bowed in admiration or wept in awe, but I told myself, someday, I would find my way back.
(This article won the second place in the India Today Travel Plus competition in 2009. Of course, some bits have been changed here and there since then)
