The spirits of English sahibs and their equally grand memsahibs would be aghast at what Shimla, the Raj's charming summer capital in northern India, has become 150 years after its founding in 1864.
Ungainly cement structures, topped by rusting corrugated sheets crammed into tiered hillsides have mushroomed, replacing charming British-style cottages in the once delightfully picturesque Himalayan town, 350km north of New Delhi that once rivalled Paris, Berlin and Moscow in global importance prior to India's independence in 1947.
Each summer, viceroys moved their durbar from the searing heat of the imperial capital Calcutta (now Kolkata) and later New Delhi to the cooler climes of Simla – as the town was then known – to manage their "Jewel in the Crown". Historic events such as the Anglo-Afghan wars in the 18th century, Younghusband's expedition into Tibet and crucial military decisions during the two world wars were planned on Shimla's misty slopes, once thick with pine and deodar and populated with varied wildlife.
Shimla’s main promenade,
the mall, captivatingly portrayed by Rudyard Kipling in his short story collection Plain Tales from the Hills, was the social watering hole of the Raj's British elite.
The pedestrian-only mall was washed clean each morning by wizened mountain men with goatskin water bags tied to their backs.
Courteous policemen “directed” walkers to avoid congestion and a smart dress code prevailed. Tweeds, blazers, flannels and of course, ties were the preferred garb for men and dresses or saris for women inhabiting the mall and none dared to violate these sartorial restrictions.
A century-and-a-half later these gracious pedestrians of past years have been replaced by raucous holidaymakers from the plains and their accompanying debris.
Garish fast-food parlours and eateries selling inedible hamburgers, inflammable “curry” pizzas and equally hot Chinese dumplings have replaced the mall’s once genteel tea rooms with their starched linen, wafer thin cucumber sandwiches, assorted confectionery, delicately flavoured Darjeeling tea and wooden dance floors.
Tiny cubicles selling cheap cotton and nylon clothing and vacation-town glitz have sprung up in place of posh haberdashery stores and other regal shops offering an extravagant range of riding gear, foodstuff, books and objects that rivalled products available in London and Paris in style and grandeur.
Noisy video arcades and scores of shady hotels and shabby boarding houses have erupted in recent years with cheap neon signs and ugly hoardings, spawning a severe water shortages when Shimla’s population doubles to over 400,000.
Mountainsides denuded of lush forests by corrupt timber contractors have played havoc with the weather, making it hotter in summer and rendering uncertain Shimla’s normally dependable and dramatic snowfall.
“There is little of the old Simla that remains,” town historian Raaja Bhasin said.This decline was hastened after Shimla become the capital of the newly created Himachal Pradesh state in 1972, leading to changes in land use, rapid deforestation and a breakdown of civic amenities, he lamented.
“Once regal Simla with its stately British cottages, obvious style and understated elegance has become a noisy, concrete jungle where the greenery is fast disappearing and the ambience already has,” mourned Bhasin.
‘Social wilderness’
Other old timers complained that Shimla had become a “physical and social wilderness” where coffee shops had disappeared and with them engaging and intellectually stimulating conversation.But some relics do remain. Shimla’s numerous bakeries and majestic, baronial hotels, once owned by Europeans, still serve roast lamb, baked potatoes and bread pudding, offer Pimms and Mint Juleps and Planter’s Punch cocktails.The town’s many exclusive private schools, where chapel service is compulsory and whose students sport uniforms that even English school children no long wear, are trying, albeit feebly, to cling to the colonial legacy.
But the Maria Brothers antique bookshop on the mall is possibly the only commercial establishment that has remained impervious to change, still offering a fascinating collection of rare books, old Tibetan paintings and Raj prints and etchings.
Shop owner Rajiv Sud also possesses one of 30 existing original lithographs of the American Declaration of Independence. “It was folded inside one of the books we bought from the viceroy’s library decades ago,” said Sud, who has not yet succumbed to lucrative offers for the lithograph from western antique auction houses.
But that too is probably just a matter of time.
