Lows of Shimla-Kalka highway

ALL those born and brought up in Himachal or frequent travellers are well versed with the twists and turns of the Shimla-Kalka highway. This 100-km or so stretch used to be a delight. I am scared at the thought of it now. 

 

Even as the exponential rise in the number of vehicles, buildings and road-users is understandable, some things are not. Hawkers now dot the entire length of the stretch. It provides employment to locals, fine, but why would any traveller mesmerised by the hills want to litter these with disposable plates, empty mineral bottles, and plastic wrappers? And why would locals be so indifferent?

 

I am flooded with memories of childhood that revolve around the highway, its curves, contours, beauty and the green grooves. Cars were a luxury at that time and even the well-to-do would travel by bus. Along the downhill drive from Shimla to Tara Devi were just three landmarks: the railway station, the Cecil Hotel parking and Sankat Mochan temple. Lush fir trees stood majestically along the road. The green mountains were a treat to the eye, now the concrete jungle is the biggest eyesore. 

 

There were no signs of mechanics, car agencies and hotels nestled at every corner of the hillside. The drive after Tara Devi was eerie, cold, foggy, silent, yet serene. A flying fox would noisily nosedive from the towering deodars. A family of partridges would vanish into bushes on hearing the bus and the wild hens could crisscross the roads. The next curve could make you stare into the blank faces of a pack of jackals. The rhododendrons were a treat to the eye, adding colour to the mighty green canvas. The nip in the air had a never-ending aroma of the pines.  The rail track running parallel to the highway at various spots lent charisma. Tourists would take one break at Kiari Bangla before Solan, after crossing the  hamlets of Kandaghat, the brewery and Salogra.

 

The majestic old building of my school, St Luke’s, used to be the entry point of Solan. We would have tiffin sitting along the boundary walls. Parts of Salogra were visible from the school and we would wait for the one or two buses that would usually cross so that we could wave. If the buses had a few foreigners and they responded, our day was made.

 

Solan seems to have been robbed of its simple and rustic beauty by so-called urbanisation. The peaceful ambience is a thing of the past. I remember how people would be content with a packet of chana (the town is famous for), maybe a few oranges and fruits for the next part of the journey. The shops were few. No chips, Kurkure, and, thankfully, no wrappers. As the bus would move to the icy heights of Barog, it was like travelling through a forest trail. The view was spectacular with no skyscraper obstructing the magical sight. 

 

The route till Jabli had HPMC counters. A friendly request to the driver gave you access to the famous chicken and pork pickle sold by these shops. 

 

Slowly and steadily, the lush green Shivaliks would take over the landscape with trees of paja, har shingar and bottle brush adorning the highway. No horns, no loud music. The simplicity and tranquillity were a treat.

The gush of the sultry hot wind on reaching the plains jolted me back to the present. I was sentimental,  nostalgic, and helpless. Will we remain mute spectators? The mighty mountains do not seek big favours, just a plain and simple one: respect. 

 

First and foremost, do not litter the mountains, please. Do not be in a rush. Drive slow, savour the air, smile a lot. That’s the hill way. Nature has primacy, accept that.  The journey is meant to be as fascinating as the destination. Extend yourself and all others the pleasure of enjoying it.