My Guardian

I was born in a very small hill station called Lansdowne, which is nestled in the bosom of the mighty Himalayas. Perhaps it would have been smaller had it not been for the presence of the Garhwal Rifles, a mighty light infantry regiment of the Indian Army. Right from the day when I was born to this present day, I've seen my Lansdowne having undergone wave of changes. Change is evident... it is a necessity... perhaps it is the only thing that has remained constant. From a few shops at Gandhi Chowk to the establishment of a proper thriving bazaar there... from the flourishing pine and oak forests, to the mountains slopes being deforested in the name of development, I've seen it all... but inspite of all these adaptations and changes, there is one such presence, which hasn't changed... and that is these lofty mountains.

The Himalayas have stood ground for millions of years... . I have always been in awe of these mountains. Each of its rock has a history older than mine. Him-alaya... the abode of snow... the abode of the Gods.. These hills have watched over me all through out my life. I feel safer, lost in these mountains, than amidst a deluge of men.

I went to boarding school in Dehradun when I was only six. Six is a scary age to go to boarding you see. I had heard so many stories about how miserable your life becomes in a boarding school. My first few days in school were no exception. My constant sobs to go back home didn't go down too well with my matron. Thankfully, I wasn't the only one who used to cry and whimper to be sent back home. Now, from the back field of my school , you could see the Himalayas.. .stretching right from Mussoorie to goodness knows where!! Whenever I got a chance, I would sit under this jacaranda tree and stare at the hills. I remember the warm feeling in my tummy, when I first saw these hills. I felt comforted and I knew I would settle in my new life very well. I indeed did... homesickness became a thing of the past, as long as I knew that these hills were there. One of my biggest fears, right through out junior school was that maybe one day the mountains will just get up and walk off!! Thankfully they decided to stay put and guard me all throughout school.

Saturday night in school was Movie Night. Movies did not catch my fancy back then. I would quietly slip out of the auditorium and sit in the back field. From there, you could see Mussoorie. Now, Mussoorie at nights is a sight to behold (if you staring at her from Dehra ofcourse..) She was lit up in all the bright hues... there was red... there was orange.. there was yellow... that tall TV tower, with its beacon flashing from the top.. all arranged haphazardly on the slopes. Shining and gleaming through the night. I used to spend hours just gazing at that beautiful sight. I miss sitting in the back field and whiling away my time like that.

October was always special.Very foggy. The path used to be covered with fallen silver oak flowers. As we used to gather in the field for the morning P.T., the fog would clear and the sight of first snow fall on a far away mountain top would greet me. I would get restless, wanting to go there. I used to feel sorry that I missed out running like a maniac, with my tongue hanging out, trying to catch the first snow flakes in my mouth as I did back home. Sigh!! Maybe the mountains could feel my restlessness. All of a sudden, the fog would descend and the hills would disappear. I still feel that the hills did that to make sure I didn' get so excited that my P.T. teacher would catch me and send me to run rounds once again.

College life was fun, but something was always missing. I was too far away from the Himalayas. There were time when I felt so lost . There was no guardian watching over me... maybe that's why I never did well in college.

These mountains have taught me a lot more than my books could ever teach me. They have taught me to be patient, to be humble and understand the lessons of Nature... the various kinds of flowers, birds, reptiles, animals... I learnt to swim by being plunged into the rivers here. I understood what Silence is... what it feels to stand on top of the world...and top of the world is indeed very silent.

People from all across India come to the Himalayas to experience something called "Adventure Sports". I really do not understand what that means. Walking on a pre-determined route, with servants carrying your food supplies... running down the Ganges in a raft not controlled by you... shouting in forests, just to hear your echo is not adventure sports. Where is the adventure? And what do my hills get in return for providing "adventure" ?? The hills get heaps of garbage, ancient trees being scratched with "Paplu loves Daizy" messages and pristine forests being felled to make way for some hotel. We have mutilated these hills for centuries and they have quietly suffered. I wonder how long before the hills decide that enough is enough and take back all, what rightfully belongs to them.

There is a saying that if you have spent some time amidst these mighty mountains, you'll always return to die here. I have lived most of my life here, and I know I will breathe my last here. I belong to this mountain soil, and that is what I will be after my death.... Everytime I begin my journey from the plains to these hills, my joy knows no bounds. The moment I begin to wind along the narrow mountain roads, I feel so welcomed... Yes, I feel the same warmth in my tummy which I felt in school... It's good to be back home!!