"The night is as still as a mural. Only a dog barking somewhere punctuates the silence. When I open the room door, the snow capped peaks glow in the moonlight like apparitions. A clear night, plenty of stars, and a chilly breeze blowing."
- My Facebook status while in Mcleodganj.
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| Prayer wheels outside a temple on Temple road |
There was a certain despair that I carried on my trip to Mcleodganj. I can say that that baggage was larger and heavier than my rucksack. I was nursing a broken heart, struggling to crawl out of a swamp of a disastrous relationship I had no business being in, in the first place. Ironically, instead of spending 'quality' time with the two most beloved - then, a little estranged - people in my life, I was running away from them, seeking some time off for myself in the hills. And yet, after I boarded the Duronto Express at Mumbai Central at night, a shrill, desperate cry pealed out in my head telling me to get off the train at that instant and return home.
'Don't be stupid!' the wife said on the phone when I called her and told her how I felt. 'You've wanted to do this for a long time. You told me about some place over there near Dharamsala where you could go hiking. Just forget all your worries and go. Have a good trip!'
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| Unedited photograph of the view from the veranda in front of my room at Om Shanti Guest House. The Dhauldar peak in the background with the Triund ridge in front of it. |
Eventually, I went all right. But from the moment I reached Mcleodganj, I began to feel homesick! It was embarrassing and amusing at the same time. I admonished myself several times for feeling that way, for allowing that silly tug-of-war to ensue in my head. Never before had I ever felt like cutting short a trip like that and going back home. (It was a similar lone trip that led me to Kanha National Park many years ago.) Every morning in Mcleodganj, other than the day the I eventually hiked up to Triund, I hauled myself up the 264 steps from the guest house I was put up at in the valley to Jogiwara road where there were Internet cafes. I logged into the railway portal looking for tatkaal tickets back home to Mumbai.
I didn't get any. Thankfully.
Now that you know the state of mind that prevailed while I was on this trip, I'll try to keep the gloominess out and, as objectively as possible, try and describe my trip to the "neighbourhood of Sir Donald Friell McLeod, Lt. Governor of Punjab" during the Raj days, after whom Mcleodganj is named.
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| The other side of the Kangra valley as seen from Temple road |
Dharamsala and Mcleodganj are two distinct towns. The former is a sort of base town and the latter is where the Tsuglagkhang complex, the temple of the Dalai Lama, is at. An overnight ride on a Himachal Road Transport Volvo bus brought me to Dharamsala at 5:30 am, from where I had to take a local bus up to Mcleodganj. On the Volvo, a wiry, pleasant man from Kangra sat next to me, wearing a Himachali cap and pronouncing Kangra as Kangda. Early next morning, he got off at Jwalaji, but for most of the journey from ISBT, he slept. I, on the other hand, watched 'Ghulam E Mustafa' that they played on the bus. Still can't figure out from where on earth did they get a DVD of that Nana Patekar flick! One would have to go through a lot of trouble finding that movie, not because it was popular and always in demand. Quite the contrary actually. Anyway, the movie had its amusing moments and it also lulled me to sleep.
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| View of McLo town from Naddi road |
The caretaker of Om Shanti guest house, the always-smiling Mr. Surinder Singh, persuaded me to take a look at the room he had on offer. It was a clean room with a decent bathroom, plenty of light and grand views of the Dhauladhar mountains. The only daunting factor about Om Shanti was the descent of 264 unpaved, uneven steps (I counted later) into the valley from Jogiwara Road. For Rs. 350 a day, which he said he could reduce to Rs. 300 if I would stay for 3 nights or more, it was a reasonable deal. It was the panorama of the valley and the mountains surrounding it that was enthralling.
'See that ridge in front of the snow-capped peak?' he said to me later. 'That's Triund. You can trek up to Triund, go beyond it even to Snowline cafe or Indrahar pass. Do let me know, sahib, if you want to go there. I take tourists, especially foreigners all the time. For now, you take a bath and relax. I'll get you tea.' Himachali hospitality had begun.
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| A monk savouring his Thukpa in Cholsum Cafe |
I remembered the Rocky and Mayur Highway On My Plate episode of Mcleodganj in which they mentioned that McLo, as it is fondly called, is full of good eateries and cafes and bakeries that one should not miss. So I stepped out, huffed and puffed my way up the 264 steps and found Cholsum Cafe, a cosy little place with nice photo frames, posters of the Dalai Lama, some mandala wall hangings, 'Free Tibet' paraphernalia, and a lot of books. I have a lot of respect for a place that has bookshelves. Besides, I was so famished, and so awestruck by the menu, that I ordered a plate of Bombay toast and chicken sausages, another plate of pancakes and maple syrup, and a large cup of coffee. Then, belching and dragging my feet, I went to the primary attraction of Mcleodganj: The Tsuglakhang monastery, the temple of the Dalai Lama.
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| Mandalas and other Tibetan paraphernalia, and of course, the smiling Lama |
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| My first breakfast at Cholsum cafe |
Mr. Tenzin Gyatso wasn't there, obviously. I hadn't sought an appointment because he had told me that wouldn't be in town. In my dreams of course. I first trawled through the exhibits focusing on the Chinese invasion of Tibet and the Tibetan exile and exodus from Lhasa. I didn't get round to entering the temple. There was a long queue of tourists, and where there are queues, especially at religious places, I don't go. So I dillydallied about the two arterial streets of McLo: Jogiwara and Temple road. Curio shops nudged each other and covered every inch of space they could find. Slight eyed men and women sold medallions and trinkets, clothes and scarves and satchels in the curio shops that line both roads. After an hour of walking around, I realised I was back at the temple. So I bought myself a plate of momos, dumplings; from a street vendor right outside the temple gate.
'Veg momos,' the matronly Tibetan woman said. I wondered what could veg momos contain and what it would taste like. I'd never had veg momos before and was looking forward to eating pork momos this time. But the vegetarian alternative was extremely satisfying. Each one of the six steaming and delightful momos in the plate had different fillings: potato, spinach, carrots and cauliflower, cottage cheese, and cabbage.
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| Curio shops like this exist on all streets of McLo |
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| Had a nice coffee while looking out to the street below, at Indique cafe. The 'backside' of Norling restaurant looks up at me. |
By six in the evening, the sun had already hidden itself behind the hills leaving behind a kaleidoscope of colours around the snow peaks of the Dhauladhar range. I had to find my liquor for the night and so, once again, I trudged up the steps, stopping after every four or five steps to catch my breath, stepping aside for the monks and schoolchildren who ran up as if they were running downhill! Some of them were even skipping a step or two at times. Eventually, I got to the top and decided that I had to get local food, read Tibetan, for the night. Saw a little bakery en route - Tibet Quality Bakery - and made a mental note to buy one of the tarts or pies he had.
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| You'll find placid woods like this all around Mcleodganj |
At a liquor store, I bought a full bottle of Smirnoff wearing a bemused look all the time. It was much cheaper than it is in Mumbai, and with nobody to share the vodka with, I promised myself a night of much drunken revelry. I also bought spicy chicken wings, Indian style with a lot of chilli in it, and an apple pie from the bakery, before retiring to my room for the night. I didn't realise that I had turned on the television in full blast until somebody knocked on the door. I opened it to find a woman wearing a bandanna, a foreigner, standing there.
'Am sorry but uh could you uh please turn uh the volume down?' she said. 'The walls are thin and your TV is very loud.' I could tell she was European but from where exactly, I didn't know then. I promptly turned the TV off and apologised. The sounds of the hills should be more pleasant than a TV, I thought.
The next evening, we spoke for a little while in the veranda. Her name was Gabriella and she was Spanish. Said, she was staying in McLo for a while to learn Tibetan. I wondered why, but didn't ask. Besides, Senorita Gabriella looked every bit like a crystal-ball gazer to me. She also had a way with cats, a baffling, Murakami-esque affinity for them. Every night, all the cats of that locality would skitter in and out of her room, which was adjacent to mine. Later, the caretaker said that her room was much larger; a 1BHK apartment in fact. She did something mysterious with them. Like a witch doctor, I thought and chuckled, for I would hear her talking to them and hear the cats purring and mewing and moaning even, as though in heat.
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| The trail leading to Bhagsu falls, and the thin cascade itself |
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| The view of the trail from End of the World cafe |
I awoke late the next morning with a throbbing headache from the last night's excesses of vodka. I also did not get railway tickets, and trekking to Triund in that mental and physical state was out of the question. So I found myself once again in Cholsum cafe, this time having a bowl of muesli only for breakfast. A monk walked in and smiled warmly at me. Then he devoured his bowl of vegetable Thukpa, washed it down with a glass of milk, rose, smiled again and walked away. That reminded me that I had to taste the Thukpa of McLo that night.
Once again, with nothing else to do, I walked around the two main streets of McLo, bought myself a pair of black ear studs, and stepped into Norling Restaurant for lunch. Then I walked to the Church of St. John in the Wilderness on Forsyth Ganj road.
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| St. Johns in the Wilderness in b/w |
The churchyard could serve as the perfect locale for a Stephen King novel. The place was largely deserted, save for a handful of curious tourists who took a peek into the church and left promptly. Kaleidoscopic light shone into the church through the stained glass windows. A grave memorial of James Bruce, the 8th Earl of Elgin and Viceroy of India once upon a time, stood in the churchyard.
That evening, I drank some more, a lot more in fact, but only after savouring a Styrofoam cup of hot chicken broth from a roadside vendor. And also, a plate of delectable chicken Momos. That night, I braved the chilly breeze and went up to the rooftop at night and updated my Facebook status with those lines at the beginning of this post. Although the night was largely quiet, my head was not. Along with the grunge music and guns that pealed out, I could also hear echoes of my last telephone conversation with her.
'I won't meet you ever again, Sandy,' she said.
'Okay.'
'The last few months...I've been thinking about...the last few months I've...'
'Please don't make things worse by explaining,' I cut her.
'Yes...you always hated explanations. Well, goodbye and...'
I disconnected the call. That was the last time I'd heard her voice.
***
I eventually trekked up to Triund on the fourth day in Mcleodganj, but I shall write about the trek in another post. Apart from the many eateries, the Tsuglagkhang temple complex, Namgyal monastery, and St. Johns in the Wilderness, Mcleodganj also has a Bhagsu waterfall a couple of kilometres from town. As you drive up the road to Bhagsu, you arrive at a temple complex dedicated to Lord Bhagsunath I think. Walk down the path along the valleyside till you reach the falls, which has a little cafe called 'End of the World' cafe. Quite a misnomer, for above the cafe on the hill sits Shiva cafe, a hideout of sorts allegedly famous for their midnight rave parties. The caretaker told me that a week or two ago, the police raided the place and arrested a few stoned tourists and a local peddlar from the cafe.
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| End of the World cafe in Bhagsu |
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| The other deity at Shiva cafe |
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| At Shiva Cafe |
On the other side of Mcleodganj, near Forsyth Ganj I think, the road leads through pristine pine forests into a quiet village called Naddi. People told me that bears are sighted in the forest sometimes, though apart from monkeys, I didn't see any. There's a little lake there which is pompously called Dal lake, but it has none of the grandeur of its larger cousin up north in Srinagar. Apart from these 'sightseeing' options, there's nothing else in Mcleodganj. I, for one, hadn't gone to McLo to 'sight-see'. And I must confess that not leaving McLo in a hurry was, without exaggeration, the best thing that I had done that year! I rode back to Delhi on the overnight bus - they played an old Bollywood, Rajesh Khanna flick called Avatar this time; I really don't know where HRTC finds these gems! - on the fifth day and stayed overnight at Smyle Inn, a tiny hotel in Paharganj. I'll write another post about Delhi in which I'll collate all my Delhi experiences. This post is solely about enchantment for the soul (and the belly) that Mcleodganj had to offer.
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| Dal lake at Naddi |
Some of the restaurants I ate at:
Cholsum Cafe, which was my breakfast place every other morning in McLo
Norling Restaurant, where I had noodles and a nice chili chicken
Takhyil Peace Cafe and Restaurant, Had a coffee and some delicious pastries here
Illiterati cafe, where I had a coffee
Pastry Den, from where I bought pastries and tarts
Tibet kitchen, where I had momos and thukpa
Indique Cafe, where I had coffee and a sandwich after walking back from Naddi
Heard of or seen but not visited:
First Cafe on Jogiwara road
Oogo's Italian Cafe, where I wanted to have a pasta or lasagne but didn't
McLo Restaurant - Apparently Pierce Brosnan has visited this place
Namgyal Cafe
Jimmy's Italian Kitchen
Chocolate Log; kept this place for the last day and then forgot about it
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