I could stay happily in Shimla for another month, but after a few days I know I need to head on if I want to see as much as possible in my five weeks. Before I leave, however, I’m dying to visit the Viceroy’s Lodge, which I’ve heard is an imposing building just 3kms outside the centre, the once-HQ of the Raj but now part- converted into the Indian Institute for Advanced Study. Yael, Nir and I set off at a casual pace, since tours don’t begin until 1pm. Everywhere I look on the road are monkeys. Normally I’d find them cute but this morning, one stole my favourite black t-shirt from the balcony I’d hung it out to dry on. (I am suddenly reminded of my friend Humphrey who, in Tamil Nadu, had his wallet stolen by a similarly cheeky creature. A helpful local boy climbed up a nearby tree to retrieve it and Humphrey was so grateful he gave the boy his sunglasses as a gift). I smile to myself. Maybe I got away light with the t-shirt?
Whilst Yael and Nir are filming the monkeys, I fall into conversation with a man in his 50s who is walking our way. He tells me he’s a Professor from Delhi, here for a conference at the academic institute the Lodge now houses. He’s erudite, charming and soon I discover he has two daughters, one a VP at Citibank in the States and the other an engineer in Paris. When he hears I’m an academic editor he is thrilled to bits. We talk about family life in India, arranged marriages, and he asks if I have a husband or children. I’m used to this question and because of the polite way he asks it, I’m not offended. I tell him no. There is a silence and then he says:
“Can I ask you something? Do you feel a “lack” at not having this family life?”
I like the way he puts it, the sensitivity he is expressing combined with the inevitable curiousity and I try to explain as best I can the choices I made…to study abroad, work hard at my profession, travel a great deal and live very independently. I tell him that, for instance, were I not so “free” I could not be travelling like this now. I wonder if it’s out of his realm, this way of thinking, but he’s a Brahmin, and they’re known for their love of learning. Neither do they deny their daughters an education. He nods, and I can tell he is trying, at least, to understand. We walk on, in comfortable silence.
At the grounds of the Lodge, I bid him farewell and there I catch my first glimpse of where the British ran the show. It certainly is impressive – a large, grey stone building, mock-Tudor style, which apparently had electricity long before the rest of the town. According to my guidebook, the sandstone and limestone used to build the Lodge was transported there on mules, and aside from the banqueting suite, ballroom, enormous wine cellar andindoor tennis court (what a charming idea) there was also a room set aside solely for the storage of empty suitcases…
The sprawling gardens, however, are in terrible shape with half dead flowers and brown grass. They’ve clearly seen better days and it saddens me that someone in charge can’t get it together to employ some locals to bring them back to their former glory. A few roses wouldn’t go amiss and the fountain I am sure would look marvellous with a little water cascading down the sides. It’s hot and sunny and I am grateful for the shade of the benches; Yael and I lounge there whilst Nir photographs us and then it’s inside for the grand tour. We’re with 40 other Indians from all across the country and so it’s conducted both in Hindi and English (many Indians don’t speak a word of the former but almost everyone understands the latter).
The Lodge, no surprise, is luxurious, in a no-expense-spared kinda way…velvet curtains and custom-made teak panelling shipped in from the Far East, an enormous spiral staircase and verandas and terraces at all levels. It is lavish on a spectacular scale and I can only begin to imagine the parties that were hosted for royalty and governors. Today, though, some of the ground floor rooms (including the ballroom) have been converted into a library and inside it there’s an interesting exhibition of the struggle for independence, culminating in the British finally packing up and leaving town. I ask about the lawn and am informed that there used to be over 800 gardeners employed to tend them. No wonder they’re looking a little sad now…
We wander back slowly to Shimla and spend the rest of the afternoon doing our respective “things” then meet for dinner at a local restaurant. We love this place but are decided – tomorrow we’re heading north, up into the foothills of the Himalayas and Nir, the guy who a few days ago couldn’t get out of bed before midday, has even pre-booked our tickets. It’s an early start – 5am wake-up call – but it’s a ten-hour or so bus journey. I don’t mind though – it’s a straight road, or so I’ve been told. Back at the hotel, I pack my bag (sans black t-shirt) and brush my teeth. On with the journey…