Farewell to
Shimla
By Nasim Hassan
Delaware, USA
Before the partition
of India in 1947, my family lived in Shimla.
Shimla was the summer capital of British India
at the beginning of 20th century. My grandfather
Ibrahim with his younger brother Ismael left their
small village in Gurdaspur district in the foothills
of Himalaya around 1912. Both migrated to Shimla
in the quest of better opportunities. With hard
work and luck they were able to afford a decent
living. Older brother Ibrahim made good money
and returned to his village. He was able to educate
my father and other siblings.
The younger brother of my grandfather Ismael became
a successful businessman specializing in English
clothing. He made good money going by the standards
of that era. He had about ten people working for
him in his business facing the famous Shimla Mall
Road.
Shimla during those days was a cosmopolitan town.
People from all over India came to spend their
summer vacation at the picturesque hill station.
You could see a wide variety of people including
the British, Anglo-Indians, Sikhs, Hindus, Muslims
and Tibetan people in Shimla.
On completing his education my father, Khadim
Hussain, became a civil servant in Shimla. A large
number of our relatives came to work during summer
and returned home in winter. Our home was located
at a walking distance from the Mall Road. A small
road passed in front of our home leading to the
Ripon Hospital. I can close my eyes today and
visualize distant hills of various colors - gray,
green and white. On the road there was a fence
on one side and a row of houses on the other side.
This fence acted as a safeguard as there was a
steep incline and deep gorges on the downhill
side. The hills were lush green and the valley
down below was full of wild flowers.
There were small passages on the guardrails located
at certain distances that led to the steps on
the hill to go down the mountain. During rains
the clouds were very dark and seemed like horses
racing from one side to another. The sound of
thunder was scary at times.
Shimla was, and perhaps still is, a walker’s
paradise. Cars, buses, motorcycles, auto rickshaws
were not allowed in Shimla. On the Mall road only
the Viceroy or Governor could use his car. There
were men-drawn rickshaws to transport people but
the majority of people walked on foot. At that
time Shimla was a place where small children,
women, and old people could walk around without
any fer of the traffic. The trains and buses stopped
at a circular road. From this point one had to
hire a coolie to take the luggage up the hill.
The partition of India had been a defining moment
for millions of people. At that time everyone
looked for himself and his family. Friendships
with people of different religions were forgotten
altogether. Before partition Hindus and Muslims
lived in peace without any problems. I still remember
a number of names like Mukand Lall Sood, Dr. Pamrey
and Gurbir Kohli who were friends of my father.
Life was normal in early 1947 till June when sporadic
incidents of ethnic violence began. In July of
1947, the Muslims started leaving Shimla for Pakistan.
The rich were the first to leave. I remember very
vividly that our house was locked from outside.
The timeframe has to be July/August 1947. Another
Muslim family moved in the upper storey of the
house. My grandfather had a servant name Mukhtar
who was worldly wise and could get along with
people of all religions. He was our lifeline and
would bring food and other items while our family
was locked in.
During this time we lost all contacts with grandpa
Ismael and his family. He was attacked in his
shop and fled to a nearby hotel. He was killed
by a mob that included his Sikh business rivals
in the same area. My father learned about of his
death in Shimla but kept this news to himself
till we arrived in Pakistan.
In August 1947, we moved to Ripon Hospital with
the help of a doctor friend (Dr. Pamrey) and stayed
there till we could catch a train for Pakistan.
From Shimla a narrow gauge trains winds its way
down to Kalka. It passes through breathtaking
scenery of mountains, tunnels and small stations
along the way.
In the Kalka area I recall a refugee camp which
was like a tent city. One night there was an attack
on the camp. My parents physically covered my
two sisters and me so that we could be saved.
After three days’ stay in Kalka, my family
and relatives boarded the train to Pakistan during
the night. The passengers locked their compartments
from inside so that no one could board the train.
Sometimes people tried to hang on to the windows
but were pushed away by people inside the train.
The train slowly made its way through the plains
of Punjab. I recall a bright sunshine when the
train arrived at a station. I saw a huge crowd
of Sikhs brandishing swords and violently raising
slogans like Sat Sri Akal. The train was about
to stop as the crowd was getting closer when all
of a sudden it started moving in the reverse direction.
After this episode, the train crossed over to
Pakistan in the middle of the night using an alternate
route. Our family and other refugees were placed
in a camp in the Walton Refugee camp area in Lahore.
Everyday people will go around looking for their
relatives. My father knew about the death of his
uncle Ismael but he did not tell anyone till we
were settled in Lahore. We settled down in the
splendid city of Lahore.
In the 1980s, long after partition, I went to
India on a business trip. After completing my
work I took two weeks vacation and went to Shimla
by train. The train passed through hills and valleys.
The first scene that rattled me was the denuded
hills and a multitude of small houses. The Shimla
of my dreams lay in shambles. While walking up
the hill I did not notice any tall trees or lush
green hills of yesteryear.
Outside the railway station there were a large
number of hotel agents and coolies. The latter
were mostly from Kashmir. Loaded with the luggage
they seemed to walk faster than me. After checking
in a hotel, I walked around looking for something
that could look familiar. I could not find anything
that resembled my memory of lush green Shimla.
The next day, I got up early and went to Jakho
Hill. I remembered visiting Hanuman Temple with
my mother on the top of the Hill with monkeys
jumping around everywhere.
As I started climbing up the Hill slowly, I noticed
tall deodar and pine trees. This place looked
exactly the same as I had seen more than thirty
years ago. Gradually I moved up the hill and I
saw a group of monkeys walking leisurely at a
distance. Other groups of monkeys of all sizes
and ages later appeared in the vicinity of Hanuman
Temple.
It seemed like the time had stopped and the place
had the same everlasting beauty. I was alone on
the Jakho Hill that morning for about two hours.
The first to appear was a small vendor selling
fried snacks. I was his first customer so he gave
me more than my money’s worth.
While taking photographs of the surrounding area,
I heard someone calling me. Behind me there was
a family consisting of a couple and three kids.
The man asked me to take the family’s photographs.
I obeyed their commands and took photographs from
various locations. The man thought that I was
a local photographer from Shimla and could give
them the photographs the next day. They had come
from Jallandhar in East Punjab. The gentleman
became friendly soon after I told him about myself.
I promised to send him his pictures from the USA.
As the afternoon approached, the weather became
pleasant and I started walking down the Jakho
Hill. Coming down took half the time compared
to the uphill track. In the afternoon, I sat in
front of the old church built by the British.
People were sitting on a small ridge facing the
sun. I also sat down to enjoy the warm sunshine.
The person next to me introduced himself as Sukhbir
who worked for the state of Himachal Pardesh.
As soon as I told him that I was visiting my birthplace
after thirty years, Sukhbir transformed into a
long lost friend and called me Watni (from the
same place).
He introduced me to many people including the
local Ayurvedic Vaid, restaurant owner, fellow
colleagues. All of them treated me like a part
of the larger Shimla family. For the first time
during my visit to India, I felt I had come home.
For comments please contact the writer at nhassa@yahoo.com.
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