Is this Shimla or Nature’s
own treasure trove?

Text and photos by Baljit Singh

EVERY single day of my holidays in Shimla begins in a most unholiday-like manner. I wake up an hour before sunrise and scan the sky. If I can discern clouds in the pre-dawn darkness, I go back to bed, and let the chirrup of songbirds lull me to sleep. However, if it promises to be a reasonably clear morning, I pick up my camera bag, get into the car and head for the nearest hilltop that affords a clear view of sunrise.

A Chinar tree blushing from the sun’s kiss, every leaf aglow. Click! I select, compose and shoot at an almost instinctive level.

After one such sunrise, I was walking around, growing inwardly from all the beauty I had just soaked in, when I stumbled upon a patch of wildflowers, some mauve, some white. No ordinary wildflowers these, but ones swarming with butterflies of all hues and sizes. Being cold-blooded creatures, they were in a state of semi-stupor induced by the morning chill, and would sit unmoving at one spot for minutes.

I left the place only when the sun moved directly overhead, making good photography difficult, and marvelled at my good fortune all the way back home.

On another photo-outing, I took a kutcha link road just after Theog, and found myself in a village square about an hour’s drive later. ‘Quaint’ would be the best word to describe what I saw. A makeshift structure with walls of weather-beaten planks painted in a peculiar green, atop which copper-coloured tin sheets formed a roof. This shack apparently housed a provisions store, and through the open doorway I could see an old man sitting cross-legged on the floor, bathed in the warm yellow light of an electric bulb. On a bench outside the shop sat a couple of middle-aged women in gaily coloured Himachali attire.

The sky was blue, the light was right and there was a song in my heart. The only problem was that I stood out like a sore thumb in this rustic setting, and I knew I would spoil everything if I started clicking there and then, with every available pair of eyes trained on me — the stranger in their midst. Looking around, trying desperately to appear casual and unobtrusive, I sauntered over to the village dhaba a few feet away, half-hidden behind a tree. It was breakfast time there, but the customers seemed to find me more interesting than their breakfast.

Walking in, I ordered tea and sat down on a rickety chair. By the time I emerged from the dhaba some 30 minutes and several cuppas later, nobody seemed interested in me anymore. Settling down on a bench under the shade of the tree, I fitted a zoom lens to the camera, lifted the camera to my eye, and began my journey into unmitigated bliss. An almost endless procession of interesting characters made its way across the maidaan as if carefully orchestrated by some unseen hand. With the little green shop forming a perfect backdrop, I shot frame after frame, oblivious to everything but the view through the camera.

The many rounds of tea perforce consumed at the dhaba brought on a mild attack of acidity later that day, but that was a small price to pay for adding some outstanding pictures to my collection!