I last visited Landour towards the end of winter in 2014. For the last three years, I have only longed for another visit to this cantonment town that lies snuggled amidst the Deodars and the pine forests of the lower Himalayas.
The taxi from Dehradun threaded its way up the hill as dusk comfortably settled all around. Though much of the scenery was shrouded by night, it made the twinkling lights on the hills all the more enchanting.
Sunrise in Landour brought a flurry of activities from the neighboring squad – the langurs and the monkeys. Proficient gymnasts in their own right, the langurs hopped from one rooftop to another, sometimes ziplining with the use of cables that hung loosely from the poles.
In the backdrop, the sun rose gently over the horizon.
The locals here told me that on some mornings one can even see the baggha come out of the woods – an image I tried hard to avoid thinking about during my walk through the lonely, meandering, and the deserted road that lead to Char Dukan. Epynomous to its name, Char Dukan is literally made up of four shops. The shops serve tea, Maggi, and pancakes to the tourists, while for the kids from the nearby Woodstock School it is a regular tuck shop.
St. Paul’s church is a stone’s throw from Char Dukan. I remember reading somewhere that this is where Jim Corbett’s parents were wedded. The church is beautiful with its yellow walls, its spire reaching skywards and its blossoming garden. Faith comes easy under the blue Himalayan skies at a place like this.
There’s a loop that goes around the cantonment called the Upper Chakkar. Signboards discouraging noise and litter are put up on trees everywhere. Here the mountain ranges tower in the distance and a carpet of thick forest lands stretches as far as the eyes can see. I look at the beauty that surrounds me and wonder if this alone is not enough to command silence.
An occasional squabble is heard on the higher branches, Must be the monkeys deciding on which rooftop to raid next.
As the day draws to a close, the sky turns into a theater as the sun sets behind the mesh of peaks of the Dhauladhar range. Apart from the fact that Landour is home to many celebrated personalities such as Ruskin Bond, Victor Banerjee, and Sachin Tendulkar among many others, Landour is also a home, albeit temporary, for thirsting travelers like me.
No other place has given me mornings where I see the wildlife hanging from poles, or stories of tigers prowling the hood that induced such a visceral fear, or the sound of the bell tolling at St. Paul’s. Here I saw the milkman or his mule walk down the forest path that leads to Char Dukan, I saw students clamoring for Poppins – a long forgotten lozenge that is no longer available in the city, and I saw the theatrics of a sunset on a sky that promised of spring. Before I walked away I filled my heart and soul with the scent of sweet pine, only to remember on desolate evenings like these when a news from Landour reaches down the plains that tell me about the demise of Tom Alter, a veteran actor of Indian cinema and a loyal resident of Landour who passed away today.
