Shimla - memories

Today was really the first real OMG OMG OMG times a million moment. A very evocative day. We lived in Shimla for a couple of years when I was 4 / 5. We stayed at a place called Summer Hill, another called Sanjoli. We also had an apartment at a place called Cecil Hotel, which was next to a grand hotel called the Oberoi. When I was booking the trip, I looked these places up. The Oberoi and the Cecil had merged. The rooms were £150 / night so I gave it a miss.... 

This morning we trogged off to The Mall, to sightsee and find out whether I could find things. We went to the Lakkar Bazaar (Wood Market), then up to the Mall. I could remember some of the landmarks: the Church, the viewing gallery, the horses, the Lower Bazaar. There were new buildings. The bandstand seems to have been converted to a restaurant.

We walked down the Mall , at the end of which there were some offices. These included the one my grandfather worked on just before he retired. It had been modernised and shared space with a bank. I withdrew some money from the ATM, but couldn't bring myself to go upstairs. In my grandfather's day , there wasn't an upstairs.

Across the other side and down the road was a café where we used to go for a Masala Dosa every week. Adam and I went in for a light snack. I had lots of Juice plus coffee. The Lychee juice was delicious.

After our refreshments we continued down the road to where there were State Offices and Military Offices. My dad worked here as an Army Cashier. My sister and I used to meet him there occasionally. I remember walking with them through one of the worst storms ever. The school had been closed so he had to walk us home. My sister tripped over the branches of a tree that had been blown over and got a swollen lip.

Walking past that, along the road, it didn't look as I remembered it. Too much had been built. I didn't remember so many cars being there. However a few hundred yards later the road looked exactly as I had remembered it.

The Oberoi-Cecil looked very grand. I talked to the doorman and the greeter outside. And then to the receptionist. They were so welcoming, happy it seemed to see me. I explained how I knew of the Hotel and they were even more impressed. We asked whether we could have some tea in the restaurant. We were ushered in very politely, into the restaurant. There was a skylight five floors​ above us! They brought us tea on a silver pot, with China cups. "Hot, hot, hot" said Adam. "Erm, it's metal. Silver. Good conductor...." He grinned. We drank our tea watching the comings and goings. 

"We are lowering the tone," he said, looking at our casual gear. "No, we are not" I reply. "You have a posh Grandmother. And I have a posh ex-mother-in-law", trying hard not to sound sarcastic. "Grandma would have a fit. This silver isn't clean." "I think it's oxidising, rather than dirty", I said. "What do you think of the Hotel", I asked. "It's a bit old fashioned" he replied. "Grandma's type of place. Like her furniture, her style." The waiter brings us small bottles of water. They look posh, stylish. We grinned at each other. "Would you like more tea? Or more water?" he asks. "No, thank you," I reply politely. We stayed a few minutes and then I asked for the bill. "It's on the house," he said. "Really?" I asked touched by the kindness. "Yes, you have come to visit us after 55 years. It's our pleasure." "Thank you very much. That's so kind." He asked how long we were in Shimla for and what we were doing afterwards. "Next time, you should stay with us." We chatted a few minutes. Adam and I left a generous tip and walked out. The receptionist and the doorman smiled at us and wished us goodbye. I walked out and took a few pictures. "There only used to be one shop here," I said, remembering. "Would you be embarrassed if I burst into tears," o asked Adam, only half kidding." You can pretend you don't know me." He grinned.

We walked slowly the two kilometres back to the Mall, past a woman moving cement from the cement mixer, with huge cheeky grin on her face, being rude to the guy working it. I look at a small stall. It looked familiar. I remembered it was the place my grandfather had got me free, empty cigarette packets for a school project, much to my grandmother's disgust. Sikhs don't smoke or touch tobacco but I was 5 and I didn't care.

We carried on past the cafe, the Offices and then to find an Airtel shop to sort out my mobile phone, chatting intermittently. Memories kept flooding back. I wondered how much my sister remembered,  wishing I could go back to that time.