Traveling to Mussoorie, the do's and dont's

The train to Doon, is a train from Hyderabad to Delhi and then a rackety taxi ride to Nizamuddin stations, another part of Delhi. The alternative to the death proof but heart attack guaranteed taxi ride is the new, hot, sexy Delhi Metro, the train is a marvel and a glimpse into the developed world. From Nizamuddin, an over night ride or a seated day journey to Doon only 200km away, take the night train, sleep the journey. It makes a difference.

Early morning, awake, watch the plains of the Indian Heartlands flyby, they’re spectacular, breath taking, everything that would want to make you haul your luggage out the door, and jump into the Golden sunrays falling across fields and brick kilns, tiny villages, haystacks and refineries. You pass through several lovely little temple towns, all significantly mentioned of in the Mahabaratha, famed for landmark temples and their intrinsic culture.

Walking onto Doon station is an experience pretty much identical to walking onto stations of smaller towns anywhere else in India, only as it from state to state, the dialect and the little details of how people live life is different in the slightest but most intricate of ways. As you walk out the station, on the left is a small taxi stand where you could pick up a share taxi to Mussoorie. My Father had been here a week earlier and had watched Pranoy Roy hitch a ride in one of those, in a place like Musoorie, there’s no knowing who you’d meet.

The climb up by Taxi is a winding climb but the lower Himalayas are lovely, as lovely as Ooty and Kodaikanal are, but I swear, the skies are bluer, much bluer, as if someone had been colour correcting them. It was the bluest sky I’d ever seen, a brilliant sky. Free of the crap that fills our choked cities. Of course the only paradoxical nature of romantic hills on a seemingly seamless journey is your fellow passengers throw up breakfast or the nothing they had for breakfast. Never travel empty stomach, even if it means tea and biscuits. And always sit in the front seat if you’re on your own. Otherwise you could always ask the Taxi man and drive the car yourself, he won’t mind, they do that on the road from Doon to Mussoorie.

A large Sardar community lives up in Musoorie, several of them displaced after the horrors of partition, so almost all the taxi drivers are a Mr. Singh. This particular Mr. Singh chatted me up, and as the rest of the taxi got sicker and later quieter, I had a fine conversation. When you’re traveling always talk to people, strangers, its fun, you can be totally honest about the little things in life, little embarrassments on the journey, all sorts of stuff, they’re strangers, chances of ever meeting them again are minimal, they won’t tell anyone you know, it’s a finer aspect of traveling. Of course for me Mr. Singh suddenly begins to tell me his escapades as a young man smuggling goods across the border and the IPS officer that he had killed and rolled down the mountain side. When you’re traveling watch out for killers and sociopaths, you never know the truth about anybody.

Mussoorie’s weather is across the year in extremities, severely cold and snowing, hot in summer, rainy and different points in the year. Two kinds of people are predominantly always seen in Musoorie. The Coolies, you can’t miss them, they carry anything from babies to a fridge or a whole new washing machine up and down the hill sides. And they do it on their backs. It’s a tricky business and a very pathetic one, but it is their livelihood, they never fail to smile at you. A friend of mine had recently made a documentary on their short span of life from the hard labors that their destiny cements.

The other type of people are the Delhi wallahs, guys in cars, real jerks with the booming stereos trying to look cool, talking foul Hindi. They make a lot of noise, grope at girls… avoid them like the plague, if you’re a girl traveling alone, remember kick a man in between and he’ll go down like a tree.

The locals are very friendly, very helpful, getting around Mussoorie is as easy as pie. Tourist attractions are all around, almost everything is walk-able. Staying is as you like it, based on your budget. If you are on a low budget there’s a youth hostel at the foothills which makes it quite a walk into town, but apart from that cheap rooms are all over the internet if you search right.

The chai is brilliant, the samosas are amazing, the garam garam Jelabees are not to be missed, chai shops are all over Musoorrie. They are nice, warm and comfy to have conversations in or simply read, journal or write. They’re filled with snacky food but the walking walks it all down. In Musoorrie the water is a bit of a tricky business, so best buy the bottled mineral water and stay safe.

There is an entire Tibetian community that came into Mussoorie as refugees when Tibet was occupied by China. They eventually set up their colony and now live as members of our society. It’s a very interesting cross cultural situation, walking from one part of Mussoorie walks you right into a little bit of Tibet. The Tibetian food is not to be missed. It’s a bit porky and beefy, if that’s not your thing there’s loads of other very interesting food that the Tibetians serve. If you’re a spicy person you’ll want to ask them what is spicy and what is bland.

A taxi ride or a slightly longer walk up to Sister’s Bazaar is interesting because it is one of the places where you pull out your camera for a breath taking view of the Himalayas. The mountains are snowy and icy peaks in a distance, the whitest mountains you’d see. If you haven’t seen the Magnanimous strength that the great hills have and the feeling that rouses up inside you when you marvel at the largeness of the earth, you must experience it on your own terms, the sight of the temple hills, I say temple because the mountains are something that are close to timelessness, they seem distant and eternal, a force to be reckoned with.

Walking back down sisters bazaar and into Char Dukan (you won’t miss it cause its four shops). At the café at char dukan, order Aloo Ka Partha and chai, followed by Banana Pancakes, for that food you’d come back to Mussoorie a second time. If the mountains are magnanimous then the food is out of the world.

Finally, if you’re in Mussoorie, take the time on Sunday to meet Ruskin Bond. If you don’t know who Ruskin Bond is, he’s a writer, a man who has lived in Mussoorie for years writing over seventy books, his latest being an interesting volume of poetry. This time around I missed meeting him. But the last time in Mussoorie I did, he politely advised me on writing and reading, politics and economics. It’s very interesting holding a conversation with him. He has an authority over Mussoorie and the valley, he would tell you the most marvelous stories of love and loss, adventure and tranquility. He’d also give you a specific idea of what to do in Mussoorie, what not to miss. He’s at the bookstore on Sundays, usually till about 6pm or so.

It’s a little town Mussoorie. People who visit either stay back with their lives and their secrets. The calmness of the hills has a sense of peace and healing within them. Otherwise tourists like me tonker around, try to write, meet people, ride a horse, step in dung and the get the heck back out of into the real world of degrading poisonous air, cable TV, work and worship. The hills are alive, with the sounds of all the little things in life, everything that gives life solemnity and meaning. If you walk the hills and think hard enough, you’ll hear your life, and you’ll definitely see one of the thousands of places in the earth that everyone must see.