Baithak, Baithkoo…in Simla of the Sixtiesp

We all, the kids raised in Simla of the Sixties, carry a little of Simla with us whatever may be our lifestyle today or wherever we may be living in the world today!
I can say so with conviction atleast for kids of my humble neighbourhood raised in Simla of the Sixties!
“Drawing room” was a term, much alien to the culture of our mohalla. This term was either read about in novels or referred to the elite houses on the Mall….atleast this was what my nitwit brain understood!

We had our own Desi version of the Drawing room…a “Baithak”! A Diwan covered with whitest of white Dasooti bedcover, with “Kasooti” embroidery depicting deers, flowers, swans or even lions!The thread used would be in multi-shades with gradieting tones. It would look amazing against white background!
The white would be bluish depending upon how much “Neel” was added diring the final rinse. How naive we were to believe that whiter the bedcover…better it would be…more the neel…whiter it would be! The circle which would go on and on! We were never supposed to sit on this bedcover…it was a mere decorative item where choicest of guests, if any, could put their posterior on!

A few trunks would be covered meticulously with blankets, sheets and anything soft….and again covered with a fancy cover to give it a semblance of a setty! A few cushions would be like throws to add colour to the Baithak. They would be covered in embroidered cushion covers!
There would, invariably, be an open sitting space, preferable to one side, where women and kids would sit all through the day doing mundane tasks. This floor space would have a rug…a Kashmiri rug which was warm and soft, embroidered in chain stitch on a blanket like thick cloth, if one could afford it. Some houses would have cotton mattress or one or two Khinds made of old clothes instead of Kashmiri rug…of course covered with a thick bedcover or even a Nanda during the harsh winters.

Ah…the setty and the Diwan was always positioned where it would be away from the floor seating area. A few framed pictures of gods, some calendar or a photograms of a family member we wanted to display, on the wall, would complete the decor. That was “The Baithak”!
Looking back I notice with amusement that the women and the children would get up and down, quite effortlessly, from the floor, hundreds of time during a single day! No one complained of stiff joints….how could anyone when the joints were getting the best exercise one could think of albeit unknowingly!

A Baithkoo was offered to someone who came visiting. It was amazing social order in real practice. Not everyone was to sit on the floor seating area as this was for the family members and a few close neighbourhood friends. And rightly so, as this floor seating area would convert into sleeping area during the nights. There was nothing like separate bedrooms for everyone like today!
So for some….low in the ladder of social stratification a “Baithkoo” was offered….Now these Baithkoos ranged from a jute sack (Bori) to an old cushion embroidered on jute or even a wooden Patdaa or a low height stool!
I loved the floor seating area as it was so very functional… One could knit, do embroidery, read a book, stich on sewing machine or simple gossip sitting on this space!

So my way of carrying a little of Simla and introducing it to my kids was to have a floor seating area wherever we lived! We moved houses but one thing that remained constant was this seating area!
My kids loved this space the most. This was my “Baithak” or living area….living as well as breathing! What a pleasure it is for all of us to sit together discarding the sofa and chairs…. gossiping, watching TV or even stretching our limbs!
My grandchildren just adore it! The bonus is pain-free joints and agility while getting up from the floor! How grateful I am to those simple life lessons that we lived and learned in the narrow lanes of Lower Bazaar!! What a lovely and lively life it was in those small cosy humble houses in the narrow lanes of Simla of the Sixties!!!

Daughters of the Mohalla…Simla in the Sixties

I never had heard of Daughter’s day while growing up in narrow lanes of Simla of the Sixties! And where was the need to dedicate just one single day to the daughters. Not only every single day was a daughter’s day but also daughters belonged to the entire mohalla so we felt like belonging to whole of the humble neighbourhood! …. So glad and grateful am I to all those memorable experiences!

The mohallas were like a small close-knit clan, though each unit having diverse family orientation. But no one cared about those small details.

Any Maasi could summon you anytime…send you for an errand anytime…no one would mind. Any Maasi could look at you hawk-eyed if she so much as could see you talking to a boy on the Mall! Just one Stare was enough to stop you from going any further. She would put a jhola in your hand and would say, “Kalo, ye ghar pe chhood dena main jara late aaungi!” The message was clear, “Go home!”
“The Bua” had a strategically positioned house and the Dewan she sat on faced the entrance to the entire mohalla. We would wait for her to leave her strategical pistion for s minute if we were wearing a little too-tight or too-short a shirt!! Such was her control on entire daughters of the mohalla!
And once when I fell down hitting my eyebrow…bleeding profusely, I was taken to Dr. Jagat Ram’s clinic for sticging! Amma was not home dhe was at Khanna Academy! This sternest of all Maasis carried me all the way to the clinic!
Much later when I revisited the mohalla in the late Seventies…everyone would say, “Saadi kudi asyyo”!!! I would stay with this Sood family as a daughter having come to her natal home!

And once when I made a lot of purchases and had to buy a trunk to put all those things in while coming back to Hamirpur I found that I didn’t have a lock. My dearest Leela Bhenjii looked lovingly at me and said, ” I could give you the lock but locks are never given to a daughter!” That day I understood why the fiery frunks are tied with a red mauli and don’t have any locks on them!
The love and affection that I got from the entire mohalla made me feel like daughter of the entire mohalla! That was the beauty of growing up in Simla of the Sixties!!!
I wish it still continues like an old tradition hard yo break away from! Happy Daughters Day!!!

Stairs taking down the memory lanes…growing up in Simla of thr Sixties (Revisiting Ripon Hospital)

(Grateful to Chetan Sud for his pidispenser\’sctures that made me revisit the Ripon Hospital memories)

Ripon Hospital was a flight away from our humble abode in the Lower Bazaar….so much so that I would run down the stairs on a small pretext and knew all the pathways leading to the Ripon Hospital like the back of my hands.
A visit to Ripon hospital dispensary was as full of colours as were the shelves of different concoctions in the dispenser’s room. I always looked forward to run down the stairs to the Ripon hospital.

Most of the time I would run down the stairs from the Gunj to reach the hospital. Though the path in the Gunj market would be littered with mule’s droppings but a big pole inserted at the diversion towards the Ripon hospital stairs made this area clean. Watching the women going gor antenatal check-ups to Dr. Surjeet Kaur I would move ahead. There was a big hall next where I saw Family planning hoarding for the first time. A big red triangle saying ” Do ya teen bachhe hote hain ghar me achhe”! The much popular slogan “Ham do hamare do” came much later! Further down the stairs was the small canteen of the Ripon hospital. Aroma of tea leaves brewing all the time would waff through the air to mingle with the smell of Tincture Iodine. Taking to the the right side of the Ripon hospital I would go up the wooden stairs where it was so sparkingly clean…the dispensary! Since Bauji was an employee of Postal department so we would go to a small dispensary for central Govt. employees, just adjacent to the main Ripon hospital building, for any medical consultation.
I liked the red liquid concoction given for almost all the ailments, we called it “mixture”! So would go all on my own to the dispensary…just to get the mixture! How independent we were as kids really surprises me today when I watch parents, carrying the school bags, walking their kids to the school bus a stone’s throw from the gate!
The Sikh doctor, always in light blue turban, was a man of few words but would write down the prescription slip. The nurse, a Christian, dressed in white saree, was full of talk. I loved her. She looked like Nightingale to me though the anteroom with half the walls painted in black, and a syringe boiling in a bean-shaped dish plate, on a heater, would chill me to the bones dreading that the Doctor may not have prescribed injection for me! She would always welcome us with a smile though, even when it was to inject us with a dreadful needle!
The dispenser had his colourful mixtures downstairs, arranged in big glass bottles. There would be some “malham ” and also the blue liquid to be applied on boils of all kinds…
And that was all for the medical needs that we had except for real emergencies like when my nose got hurt with some fracture in the bone resulting in admittance in Ripon hospital.

I would and take back the return route via the Ram Bazaar. A grey coloured building near to the entrance road to Ripon hospital from the Ram Bazaar side was much revered by me! Amma would say that the man in a white turban, working in Ripon hospital, lived there. He had many daughters and all were very intelligent. And we looked at this house with reverence as having intelligent children added worth not only yo the parents but to the house as well! Such was the extent of appreciation for hard work, studies and intelligence! Then through the Kutia would walk upwards watching keenly at the wares displayed in all the shops of the Ram Bazaar I would walk back to my small home…my universe! The world outside my little world would fill my mind with colourful experiences which raise their head even now when I am on the wrong side of the Sixties! Such were the beautiful colours of having been raised in Simla of the Sixties!

Aromatic shop of Sundru Pansari in Simla of the Sixties

The picture about a lift being installed at the stairs leading from Sundru Pansari shop to the Mall brought back so many memories! Memories as aromatic and colourful as was the ship of the renowned Pansari of Simla!

Sundru Pansari shop was so popular amongst all the residents of Simla. Whole day he would sit for long time on his seat ordering the “mundus” doing mundane jobs while he would himself weigh the delicacies like Chhoti ilaychee, Heeng and other such spices which were kept drawers or small tin boxes near his seat.
The “Mundus” would scoop, with a big iron scooper, in the  bags full of aromatic spices and weigh the paper bags full of spices on the iron Taraju. The aromatic essence of the shop mitigated the stink from the water going down the nallah hidden under the stairs leading to the Middle Bazaar and therefrom to the Mall.
It was a complete universe where all of us moved around like planets, heavenly bodies and other objects, and a perfect balance was maintained.
Sundru Pansari had two sons, the younger one was a friend of Rakki, a neighbourhood playmate and thus he, too, became a part of our games sometimes. But he looked different from the neighbourhood flock, but how I am not able to pinpoint. Perhaps it was that he had some dandy-like friends as well and we would avoid him sometimes.
He lived near to the middle Bazaar masjid. What I remember about this particular alley was the notice pasted outside proclaiming, Yeh Raasta Aam Nahi Hai”!
I am sure those meandering mazes of stairs and alleys would lead to Sundru Pansari shop. He looked so healthy…reddish tinge on a very fair face with greying crown adding a dignity much earned by growing old in Simla of the Sixties.
I wonder whether it was the exotic spices in his shop whose aroma would infiltrate his nostrils everyday or his walking across, walking up and down the stairs of Lower Bazaar to Middle Bazaar that kept him and many others like him hale and hearty in Simla of the Sixties! Would he have endorsed such a huge gigantic steel structure on the fragile slopes of Simla that supported  stairs as a way of crossing over the entire length and breadth of Simla? Sundru Pansari is just a symbol for all the elders of Simla of the Sixties who traversed the entire Lower Bazaar, Middle Bazaar and the Mall…happily without any complaints. Occasionally a few of them would take support of the wooden sticks purchased from Lakkar Bazaar but nothing more than that for them to depend upon. The stairs were eternal and dependable….solid and supporting the drains beneath or  on the sides gracefully!  A beautiful ecological balance was the soul of fragile hilly slopes of Simla….all under the mazes of stairs!  Could we listen to the lone little voice of the delicate hilly slopes that have served us faithfully since ages? How I wish I could give a voice to the stairs where I had jumped up and down umpteenth times while growing up in Simla of the Sixties!  

Sundays in Simla of the Sixties to my recent Sunday in present day Shimla

Sundays in Simla of the Sixties to my recent Sunday in present day Shimla
Thoughts of my Sundays back in the Simla of the Sixties suddenly engulfed me while I walked recently through the Lower Bazaar on a bright sunny Sunday!  I thought of the Times when we would sit on the rooftops to Sun dry our hair! Hair driers, though not unheard of, would be seen only in the showindows of a fee hair parlours on the Mall! But Sub drying our hair would be so exciting, as it would be the only day of the week when we could feel the silky sheen of our tresses till Amma would put lots of Kadwa tel in our nitwit heads!  This was the first memory that cropped up in my aging head when I looked up at the humble neighbourhood of Lower Bazaar!

Washing hair was a weekly routine. There was neither time nor the need to wash hair on any other day of the week. It would not be wrong to say that it was a luxury. We would run to the rooftop after squeezing our hair with a towel. Towels were shared. It may seem absurd to think of, today,  but I can laugh thinking about it. Bauji had his own towel… Amma had hers whereas we, the girls, shared one towel. No one fell ill on account  of sharing towel. On Sundays, the weekly hair cleaning day, both of us would vie to be the first one to take a bath. The simple reason would be…we could get the fresh towel and more time to sit in the Sun to dry our tresses! And if it was raining cloudy Sunday, we would fit around Angithee to dry our hair.
Then I would roam around my small arena near Nathu Halwai stairs, the hub of all Sunday cultural tamasha for the humble folks of Lower Bazaar of Simla in the Sixties. The Madaari with his DugDugi would bring out all the kids from the neighbourhood excitedly and animated waiting eagerly gor the Madari to bring out artefact from his big Jhola! 

And there would be Kabaadis selling second-hand books and few other articles. Whole of these activities would be held perhaps throughout the Lower Bazaar but the main hub would be from area near Sardar Chanan Singh shop to the lower Bazaar tunnel and, in fact, this was the permissible limit for my Sunday loitering.
The Sunday ambience would be of exotic charm. The Madaari, the Khandani Shafakhana selling strange herbs, Kabaadis opening up a window yo the past selling books and artefacts.

It was Whitman’s lines that came to my mind on the recent Sunday during my visit to Lower Bazaar, ” April is the cruelest month…” It sure was for me for shattering all adventurous escapades in the Lower Bazaar of the Sixties! 
There was nothing except heaps and heaps of shoes and clothes being sold in that once-a-lively area of Lower Bazaar…clothes and shoes invaded every corner of Lower Bazaar. 
Though it was clear and bright yet the Sundays then and now are so different. I looked curiously for any damsel around the stairs, or on the rooftops…but was dismayed to find none. The rooftops had no open spaces to sit in the Sun. Steel cages have been installed on many of the rooftops and open verandahs or galleries wherever they were.
Where were all the young kids of the Lower Bazaar? No Tamasha player…no kids roaming about…no damsels drying their silky hair in the Sun!
And here I was, Sixty-six years “young”, trying yo go up the stairs with same vigour and energy. Up on the Mall I sat on the elevated area constructed near Scandal point to regain my lost stamina. Looking around at a changed world, I sat searching for the old world charm my shampooed grey crown blowing in the air! Gone with the wind was the Simla I grew up in but “Dil to bachha hai ji” it continues reminiscing about my Sundays in Simla of the Sixties!

Reading Doctor Zhivago in narrow lanes of Lower Bazaar…A window to the world in Simla of the Sixties

Reading Doctor Zhivago in narrow lanes of Lower Bazaar…A window to the world in Simla of the Sixties

The old guards, having studied in Lady Irwin School, the present Dayanand Public School Simla, would remember the entrance to the office of the  Pricipal ma’am, facing the Mall road. During my recent visit to Simla I captured a picture of a very small girl walking past this very office, and I  thought of numerous  young girls looking at these windows of Principal ma’am”s office with awe and admiration. There was  another room adjascent to the Principal  ma’am”s office…. that remained closed most of the time. This room contained big wooden almirahs…all full of books! Sometimes when the door would be opened we would peer inside the different worlds, created through words, stacked in those almirahs. Then we heard a gossip that those books are being wrapped in red Guddi Kaagaz, held together with gota lengths. And then we got to know that these would be distributed as prize during the ensuing Annual function day! How I dreamt of so many beautiful gifts that were to be stacked on a table and I would get one out of those!  Lady Irwin School Simla had no hall big enough to organize Annual prize distribution function so this function was held mostly at the Kalibari hall. All the prize winners would stand in a long queue while one of the teachers would announce the names and we would walk to take the prize from the Chief Guest! While waiting for our turn we would look greedily at the table where different prizes would be arranged in the same sequence in which the girls would be coming to the stage.
We would be wishing for something good as a prize.

So when I got this pink Guddi Kaagaz wrapped prize, I could feel it to be a book. When I tore the wrapping it was Doctor Zhivago. It took some time  for me to read the title and the name of the author seemed so outlandish to me.

No Google Baba to help me find what this book was all about…I had to read it. This was the first novel that I read in my life.. Did I finish it? Or if I did, could I make any sense out of its plot? I don’t think that Yes could be the answer. I was bored of the names, the story and the outlandish landscape…in short everything. I wanted to read something about Raja Rani or at  the best Cindrella like stories. But I had to read it…finish it as it was the book that was my well earned PRIZE for excellent academics. A false sense of pride made me hold it and read it…but whatsoever it was, it was  my initiation to the world of literature!
The book changed hands throughout the neighbourhood.  I am sure some other big kids must have read it but not I.

I was angry at the school, angry that why I could not get any other book instead.
The gossip all of us heard about was that the school had a big collection of  books which they were distributing as prize so that the school didn’t have to spend unnecessary money purchasing new items.
Girls would giggle that the school was saving money to have its own building at a newly acquired land.
And during all these hullagulla Doctor Zhivago lost any charm for me. The book, itself, was misplaced. I never even missed it. Never ever missed reading it as well.
But now when Simla memories are flooding my very being, I am missing the first book that was completely mine…but is lost to me! The only memory I have of the book is the first few  pages…very small print and a young boy, at a graveyard watching his mother buried, .. and telling his story…the story I never could read! But Dr. Zhivago opened up a big window to a girl raised in the narrow lanes of Simla of the Sixties!  

The Rinanubandh with Simla and it’s people

The Rinanubandh with Simla and it’s people

While visiting my daughter and son-in-law at Noida….I was pleasantly surprised to get a message from Vinod Bhai ji, a friend having sauntering with in Memories of Shimla group. Vinod Bhai ji is 83 years of age,  sixteen years elder to me!  But he undertook an onerous travel from Gurgaon to Greater Noida to meet us. And when we met it was as if we were close old friends….so much to share, so much to talk about. As I had developed some sore throat and cough, Vinod Bhai ji thought of carrying a small piece of mullathi for me, which somehow he forgot in a hurry. But it was the emotion behind this gesture that overwhelmed me. Not only that he presented me with money as he wanted me to buy a pair of sandals for me….promised long back on one of my blog posts!
Such love can be only among people of Simla!
Another friend from the group Jyoti Dogra called me and we talked and talked. She is barely 51 years of age…sixteen years younger to me! As I was returning on the weekend, we could not meet but promised to meet for sure the best time! It was lovely conversing with her….a soulful voice soothing the very basis of my being.
Another friend Rajeev Mohan called up and again we talked as if we had known each other since long! I am so excited to meet him next time when I ho to Delhi NCR!
Now my son-in-law, was full of surprise…. He asked me genuinely, “One is sixteen years elder to you, another is sixteen years younger to you! ”  Bewildered he continued, “You could not have possibly met these both in Simla!” He was right as with mathematical precision he had calculated the age difference!
I left Simla when I was about 21…so having lived in Simla at the same time as my these friends lived was just not possible! 
” What connects you?” he asked genuinely…. “It is Simla and it’s memories!” I replied with a choked throat! Teary eyed I was grateful to God for many things….having been born in Simla, raised in Simla and finally coming across such beautiful friends from Simla! I am grateful to you all….to the admin for having formed this group so that we all could fulfill our Rinanubandh with Simla and it’s people! My gratitude abounds!  

From Paisa coins to Bitcoins…Growing up in Simla of the Sixties

From Paisa coins to Bitcoins…Growing up in Simla of the Sixties

What an incredible journey we, the kids of Sixties, have made! One paisa coin would be called “Chhotta paisa” and later we learnt the terms like “Khota Paisa” for some coins which were not in use. Especially some with a hole at the centre, threaded in black string,  would find a place in the neck of an infant to ward off evil influences!  “Chhotta Paisa” and other coins of the Sixties became “Khota Paisa” over time! No one remembers when or how! 5 Paisa coin was which worked like magic in early Sixties. It could get for us Aam Papad from the Bhujju. How I would watch greedily for him to snatch a big portion from the layered Aaam papads or imli bought for 5 Paisa…imli untangled from the big bundle and put on a piece of  paper would be the most sought after delicacy. The paper it was wrapped in mostly would be a page out of a school notebook of some child finding a way to Bhujjus shop.
The Bhujju would sprinkle it with special salt and peppers. This was the most “masaledaar” salt I have ever tasted.

We never worried about whether the Bhujju had washed his hands or not….and would lick every little speck of imli or Aam Papad to its last bit! The best was that no one ever fell ill on account of it…strong immunity we did have!

One paisa coins didn’t have much use, though! It was for putting in “Kaudaa Tel” in “Lohe di kauli” carried by a man on Saturday. These men would fit outside a temple and chant “Shanii Dev” in a loud voice whenever anyone would pass that way!  Amma would instruct us to look at our face in the mustard oil kept in that iron bowl and then only put the coin in it. Amma believed that all evil eyes cast at us would be warded off if it is done.  I still see such men around but now we put one to ten Rs. coins to ward off any evil influence. Some practices don’t change only the coins have changed!
The one paisa coin was of copper based alloy and all others two paisa, three Paisa, Five paisa and ten paisa coins were of nickle perhaps. We called it “Sikka”! A bit heavy though they were as compared to later coins which were bigger in size but lighter in weight! No one liked the new coins as they seemed like imposters taking over the old solid coins.
Vohra Medical store in the Lower Bazaar and Gainda Mull Hemraj and few other shops on the Mall introduced coin dispensers and coins of different denomination  would come out from this small machine fitted with different tubelike outlets… For our small mind it was a wonderful machine. We would love to watch it work…to see the flow of coins and listening to the jingling sounds that coins of different denomination would make even they would strike the surface. Coins of different denomination made very different sounds…it was as if they spoke differently!
Chaar Anna…chavanni…or 25 Paisa was a big money and Athanni or Aath anna was still bigger! The twenty paisa coins circulated in the market in the Seventies perhaps..golden in colour they looked like and felt like real gold. We would love to collect 20 Paisa gold coloured coins. But these disappeared very soon.
We used coins to play with during spare time in schools.
Scrubbing a piece of paper on our oily head, we would put a coin under the paper and rub the backside of our pencil on it. The clear impression of the coin would be printed on the paper. It was duch an innovative way of creating impressions something the present day generation Z could never think of! Or they would not be able to do as no one carries a sticky and oily crown of hair on their head! We were super special beings!

Amma would always say, “lakshmi hai ye” and why not as coins would be offered at Shiv ji temple and Kalibari temple…given as dakshina during Kanya poojan. A fistful of coins would be hurled at the doli of a bride and also at the last journey of a mortal being!
And now when we have plastic money which we use to pay with I really feel we have come a long way. But atleast we can have a feel of these plastic cards to provide us some confidence but Bitcoins are intangible and unreachable!

I wish the new generation could feel the jingling sound of coins, could feel the weight of these coins …and the music of wellbeing that possession of the smallest of the coins filled our life with! Though we have come a long way when we are in our Sixties and Seventies, dealing with plastic money, Bitcoins and all the latest fad but we still miss the charm of jingling coins which opened up our small world while growing up in Simla of the Sixties!!! 

Paap-Punya, Bada-Chotta, Oonch-Neech …The Simple life lessons learnt in Simla of the Sixties

Paap-Punya, Bada-Chotta, Oonch-Neech …The Simple life lessons learnt in Simla of the Sixties

We were simple kids of the Sixties raised by simple folks living simple life in Simla of the Sixties! And how thankful I am to all those simple joys of life!

Killing even a small insect was Paap for all the kids of my generation. “Paap lagega” was the guiding mantra that our life revolved around. Making fun of someone would result in “Paap” whereas helping someone was an act of “Poonya”! Offerings as simple as a glass of water or something to the needy one would be an act of “Poonya”! So much so that even if by chance your feet touched a mere piece of paper…you were supposed to touch it apologetically and bow your head seeking forgiveness. Till date I can not put my feet on any paper and  am programmed to touch my head with my hand seeking forgiveness! How could I as every single page is for me “Vidya” or to be more specific “Vidya” mata or devi…a goddess…bestowing knowledge. We worshipped goddess Lakshmi only on Diwali day but Vidya devi was constantly worshipped throughout the day….Knowledge was sought after more than wealth.

Amma would sometimes send me to bring a few strands of “Doob” for pooja. If it was evening and the Sun was about to set. I would run towards Taarghar where an open patch of land had “doob” and rose plants. But knowing that it was Paap to pluck a plant when it had gone to sleep at the dusk, I would seek forgiveness and it’s permission before plucking a few branches! Amma had taught us this. I found this area full of parked vehicles and there was not a stand of green grass anywhere. I wondered where do kids go yo fetch a few strands of Doob if they are asked to.

“Bada and Chotta” were the terms we used for mainly “elder by age or size” but seldom by position or money. When some distinction was made on  such a basis, “Koi Bada Chotta nahi hota” would be a common frame of reference for all conversation to be based on. It was a social structure where the “Hatos” and Prakash, the Golguppa wala shared neighbourhood but everyone just took it for normal and usual! Koi “Bada-Chotta” nahi hota…in the words of my Amma! Where the women of the neighbourhood would chat amicably not only amongst themselves alone but with the “womn-with-kilta” selling chikni mitti or with the sweepress when she made regular afternoon visits collecting meals or even the “Heeng” selling Lama-sippy., the Tibetian woman selling exotic Himalayan herbs! Offering tea or water was common during these chatting sessions…without any distinction!

And when it came to “Oonch-neech” it would, again, be not based on higher or lower positioning of an individual based on the parameters that are the basic yardstick to gauge someone’s success. “Oonch-Neech” for us would be a game to play on the stairs or the alleys searching for any elevated space representing “Oonch”!!! The positioning of a child playing “Oonch-Neech” would never be constant…one had to be at a move to remain in the game! Just like life…keep moving, running, searching for elevations but always keeping in mind that position at elevated pedestral is never final..if you are still playing the game called life!

How egalitarian and equitable was our simple life in the humble neighbourhood of Simla of the Sixties! We never knew nor could appreciate the unconscious value-installation going on around us.,.even our elders were ignorant that in the name of some dos and don’ts they were, in fact,  giving us any structured training. For them it was how life was, how it was to be lived and how the kids have to reaffirm the long-held traditions and practices to run life smoothly. 

What a simple notion of living an “all inclusive” life…happily! That is the beauty of childhood days of kids raised in Simla of the Sixties!!!

Crossing over Comberemere Bridge “then and Now” from Simla in the Sixties to the present

Crossing over Comberemere Bridge “then  and Now” from Simla in the Sixties to the present
Ever Since I learnt about direction in our school books, I would stand facing the Sun and open up my arms to learn about a particular direction. North would be towards the Head Post office, East towards Chotta Simla, West towards Chaura Maidan and South towards Gunj Bazaar. That was my small little world. Nothing existed beyond that.
Though the Sun rose in the east and filled whole of Simla with light and warmth but somehow going beyond the Combermere bridge would make me feel gloomy at some stretches. The entire portion beyond Combermere bridge till the Clarke’s would be invariably shadowy with small patches of warm Sunlight peeping in between.
But despite all this, I loved adventuring beyond my  area of Lower Bazaar towards this side of the town. It always have me excitement to be on my own during such an adventure.  On the left hand side was this photo studio owned by a Bengali gentleman and I would go sometimes with Chandra to his shop.

The post office building at Combermere was small and beautiful in its customary colour combination of red, green and white. When in a group we would go to water fountain a little away from the post office to drink mountain fresh water. We would be do afraid of some Churail lingering near the water fountain.  Crossing the Combermere bridge would be so frightful for me. Looking down from the bridge railing, I could see a deep gorge with houses precariously balancing on one side of the deep gorge. I would be so afraid of even looking at that side and wondered how could they live in that almost shamble remains of a building!
The next building was the most curious of all…just out of my world of imagination or even beyond my reach!    Bindra studio and another Photo studio and the Embassy followed the Combermere bridge…with very little Sun rays touching this patch of road!

Bindra studio had stairs going down to a space where I could see more pictures apart from the big show windows large enough yo hold full length photo frames! . I could never muster enough courage to peep down to the cavernous spce down the stairs as the staring eyes from  black and white photos of Sahibs and Memsahibs would be enough to ward off my steps from crossing over my boundary. So daunting these pics were even in their sobriety brought by light brownish tinge to the photographs and imposing

Embassy on the other hand had an inviting look and more so as Abha was a friend so Embassy seemed like ” our friend’s” jaunt!

But could never imagine that the upper storey of the building was occupied by families. Could not imagine it as for me the living areas of Simla neighbourhood were throbbing with life, laughter and light which this particular area seemed to lack in.

It was a pleasant surprise for me to find that Anil, a friend recently made in the group, lived in that building. And I thought how limited my perception about whole of this area was. I could only see what my limited vision could let me see and rest I would imagine based on my preconceived notions. I could only think of cold, shady pach of road with photos of Sahibs and Memsahibs staring hard at me…a tremble gliding down my back bone.

I could never imagine that this daunting building had windows opening towards Suzy lane, “Ghoda Hasptaal” and beyond. I could not imagine that Sunlight peeping through windows opening towards the vast expanse of valley full of trees, fill the household with light and warmth. I could not imagine some  lovely families, like ours, living cosily in Regent House! I never could know the building having any tenants or landlord!I must confess that never did I know this building by its legitimate name as for me it was only “Bindra Studio wali building”!

All this till I got to know from a friend in FB group about his childhood spent in this building. Suddenly the building acquired a new image in my mind. ..from daunting to beautiful…from impersonal to personal.

So during my recent visit this April I specifically walked upto Regent House to re-appreciate my earlier held limited viewpoint. I silently asked for forgiveness from  the building for carrying only “one story” about it whereas the truth is that  there are “more than one story” about anything which needs to be shared to base our opinion on.

There must have been so many stories which have never reached us resulting in falling prey to the dangers of a single story. Ah…some soul searching by a Sixty-six years old woman raised in Lower Bazaar of  Simla of the Sixties…