MANALI MAGIC

Its summer time and most of us will be heading for the hills in quest of fresh air and relaxation. But most north Indian hill stations are fraught with irritants, the worst of which are local touts who materialize in hordes at entry points with the single-minded aim to fleece you. More often than not taxi drivers cheat you as well. But during a recent trip to Manali, my friends and I were blown away with the excellent organization there. It’s no exaggeration to state that Manali is a case study on how to manage a hill station in order to provide the one thing that a tourist seeks above all else – hassle-free enjoyment. As we drove into the town we were stopped at a barrier and my first thought was, ‘Oh no, not another tollgate’. But we were surprised to find that while we were charged Rs 200 as entry tax for the car, this fee also provided us free parking for a week in most areas of the town. We were also given a pamphlet containing a guide map of Manali, essential local telephone numbers and taxi fares for sightseeing at neighboring places. No room for confusion, no scope for cheating, sees? We were then requested to contact the local hoteliers’ association, whose office was conveniently located on the Mall, in case we required assistance in getting suitable accommodation.

Manali has much to offer: Breathtaking sights of snow-capped peaks; the gushing Beas river; hot springs at Vashisht; Manu and Hadimba temples; and plenty of shopping. Manali is also the favorite haunt of many a foreign tourist, particularly Israelis, who’ve made it a second home. Hence lafa, shaksuka and other Israeli cuisine are advertised at every second hotel. There’s Italian, German and Japanese food available, too. I can go on – about the famous Roerich Art Gallery, the beautiful Solang Valley, and, of course, Rohtang Pass. At over 13,000 feet, it is surprisingly reachable thanks to a fairly good road and, once more, I’m compelled to mention the efficient organization along the route. Vehicles move in convoys that leave Manali at designated time so as to regulate the flow of traffic. Tourism is the life-blood of nearly every hill station in India. This is a truth that Manali has taken to heart; others would do well to follow her example.

HOLI REMINISCENCE

Hailing from a Garhwali village, where we still have our old family haveli, with a beautiful temple dedicated to Radha-Krishna, it was only natural that Holi was to be the festival of choice for the entire clan. At our grandparents’ home, preparations for the great day began weeks in advance. Colossal amounts of tesu flowers would arrive to be boiled in massive brass cauldrons for hours on end. The vermilion-colored water was used to play Holi. Of course gulal (dry color), in myriad hues would also be purchased to smear each other’s faces with, but made of wheat flour, it did no harm to the skin unlike the hazardous chemical stuff which is rife today. Armed with massive pichkaris and pails of colored water, we would patiently wait for an appropriate target. If a gentleman with a starched white kurta and dhoti passed by, our delight at besmirching his pristine attire, with a mélange of crimson and orange, knew no bounds. If he fumed and fulminated, brandishing his stick, our joy was multifold. We would scamper away at lightening speed to raucous screams of Holi hai! Complaints to our elders in the family would fall on deaf ears. Be a sport, the harried complainant would be told. Surely you can’t take umbrage at innocent little Bal-gopals, indulging in a bit of frolic and that too during the Holi season?

A few hours and several pails of colored water later, we would raid the kitchen for various sweets. Gujiyas, stuffed with khoya and an assortment of fried fruit were the perennial favorite. Washed sown with fragrant thandai, minus the bhang of course, it was the end of an idyllic afternoon. As for bhang, it was de rigueur for all the disparate reactions on different people. Some became wildly merry, yet otters turned philosophical, spouting forth pearls of wisdom. My uncle usually lapsed into a very deep sleep. Fifteen years down the line, Holi’s association with lumpen behaviors makes it our most dreaded festival. Refusing to hobnob with the bands of merrymakers, i lock myself at home, catch up on the latest blockbuster on the DVD and hope to goodness we are not disturbed.