On 23rd Jan this year, the weather gods decided to act sharply, and the vast blue sky above turned dark grey. It had to pour — and it did, incessantly in the Doon Valley — the usual hard pitter-patter that Doon rains are famous for. I thoroughly enjoy the milieu when the rain suddenly takes away the dust and ushers in freshness.

I remember standing on my rooftop, trying to trace some key positions that I knew by heart, perched in the mountains — but I couldn’t. Everything was obscured by dense clouds and the steady rain. I knew it was snow-time, and it did snow well that day. By the afternoon, when it cleared up, the entire range overlooking the valley from west to east was blanketed in a thick white sheet.

The ensuing Sunday (25^th Jan), some of us decided to trudge up the hill — make our way on foot to Landour, crossing the busy Mussoorie market, and attempt the return via the same route the same day, if energy and enthusiasm remained in our grip. We were driven by the thought of catching the lingering traces of snow from two days earlier.

That Sunday, as predicted, a clear sunny day awaited us. The sun was still below the horizon, it was dark, though I could see waves of scintillating lights shimmering over the Mussoorie slopes, and even far on the eastern end — Narendra Nagar could be roughly located.

I and my two companions commenced our drive to the far end of Dehradun, towards Rajpur village — a place I visit quite often. But as Dehradun’s urban infrastructure inches forward, nature is giving way to concrete, and even this once-untouched stretch of land is bearing the brunt. Though it was early, it wasn’t a quiet drive. Vehicular movement was active — everyone wanted to be part of the snow up in the hills. But as soon as we were past the busy roads, and concrete structures gave way to tiny settlements, the closer hill slopes, and the twitter of birds, we felt at ease, nearer to nature.

We stopped at a small shack — our favourite whenever we are here — had hot, steaming lemon-ginger-honey tea, and soon were up again, trudging along the zig-zag bridle path, or the Kipling Trail as they call it. By this time, silence had completely settled over the forests — the happenings and noise of city life below were entirely blocked out.

The best stretch on this trail is the initial part from Shehenshahi Ashram until Jharipani. As we walked through the forest, the air was fresh and cold, with a gentle breeze flowing through and tantalizing us. The soft hum of leaves rustling and the soothing call of the Himalayan bulbul only added to our moment. I could clearly see the entire valley below, so clear and fresh. It had been a while since I last did this trail, and I wanted to absorb all of it. We were not in a hurry, and stopped at numerous places – for pictures, for tea, and for random conversations along the way.

At Barlowganj, roughly 7 kms into our hike, we stopped for a sumptuous breakfast. The air was heavier and much colder here, but the sun was bright and shimmering. We sat in a tiny shack opposite the famous St. George’s school and absorbed the everyday rhythm of a hill town unfolding before us.

We continued on the winding path, crossing another well-known boarding school, Wynberg Allen. The traffic had begun to accumulate by the time we reached the outskirts of Mussoorie, and it only continued to swell further. As we approached the Landour clock Tower and its busy market, the view turned terrific. I have always loved the Landour slopes – how the houses, stacked along the hillside, cascade down the gradient, with the spiralling Landour TV tower standing upright like a sentinel. While ascending towards Char Dukan, I paused for a brief chat with Jagtam Das Ji, the man behind the iconic Garhwali topi, whom I had featured in an exclusive post a few years back (click here for the article).

At Landour, when we finally arrived, the snow from a few days ago could still be seen. Tourists were having a gala time and why not? They had braced the crazy weekend Mussoorie traffic and deserved this scenery and the joy of discovering snow. If you remove the noise and traffic, Landour has a vibe of its own and every time I come here, I am captivated by its magnanimity, its age-old structures, the tall cedar trees and my favourite, the horse chestnut tree (though at this time it was devoid of flowers or leaves).

It was almost 1 PM, and we decided to canter down the hill, walking all the way back to where we started in Dehradun. As we entered the forested patch, the sun – now in its orangish glow, was low on the horizon, and the birds were returning to their resting places. We relished our day.

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