Ascending God's Rooftop, Pt 1: A Journey to Himachal Pradesh, India’s Himalayas

A multi-part series about travelling to India over the years and, most recently, to Himachal Pradesh.

The View from Daleside Manor in Kasauli, Himachal Pradesh

These feet only ever knew Delhi and Gurgaon in over ten years of travelling to India, but those places can only tell you so much.

Delhi’s history unfolds and impresses, especially walking under India Gate, through the gardens of Humayun’s Tomb and across the towering Red Fort. The layered petals of Lotus Temple are a stark contrast to those low-slung walls of more intimate places of worship festooned with marigolds where everyday people get a little closer to God. Markets like Chandni Chowk, in their heyday, were arteries of commerce that lined and fuelled the pockets of wealthy Delhites. Now, they are dusty, aged relics operating inside a time gone by.

Chandni Chowk, Delhi

Delhi’s power stems from its position as India’s capital and host to its government. Years of business travel back and forth to Delhi and Gurgaon always left me with a deep, palpable sense of its officiousness and hierarchy that clarifies and restrains how and who gets things done around here.

The Lotus Temple, Delhi

The spoils are hardly spread evenly. No matter that all this power and wealth was accumulated through centuries of empires and trading (albeit also siphoned by conquerors and colonialism), Delhi and Gurgaon’s abject poverty gets me every time. I don’t just mean people living close to the breadline. I mean people visibly in despair. Begging—almost always by women and children—tapping on the car window and holding out their hands; the long stares of tired eyes followed by pinched thin fingers inching closer towards open mouths signalling to eat. It’s powerful and piercing. Only the most callous are immune to such heartbreak.

A woman arranges vegetables and herbs on the ground near Parliament Square, Delhi.

No place is a monolith.

All of India cannot be reduced to glimmers of wealth or egregious poverty, frenetic intensity or seeming chaos, nor the concentric circles of multinationals packed into Gurgaon’s dusty wards.

India is also the land of Goan beaches, the sands of the Thar Desert and the verdant leafy gardens of Assam’s tea plantations.

There is more. I wanted to see and experience more. So, I went to the mountains while my wife and son extended their UK plans to avoid Dubai’s gruelling summer heat.

Kerala may be “God’s Own Country”, but Himachal Pradesh is his rooftop.

Tired cyclists navigate the traffic-riddled streets for customers.

Getting to Himachal Pradesh, flying, driving, coaches or trains

Foreigners who travel to India usually speak of it in one of two ways: with exuberance and enthusiasm or with sighs and hardship—and I empathise with both.

There are few places in the world with traffic quite like India—perhaps Cairo, Karachi and similar. The infrastructure is challenging and bows under the weight of a billion-plus people. Horns blast in equal parts etiquette and frustration. Auto rickshaws, or tuk tuks, carrying families of four (often more), weave around cars—and mopeds around those. Lane discipline is not a concept that thrives. Highways are constantly built to unite India, cutting commutes in half or more. This, too, will get better, but things are arguably worse as the construction constipates the existing congestion.

Workers riding on the back of a truck in Chandigarh.

Frankly, I find this energy fascinating and even intoxicating at times. Where Westerners queue, India scrums. (Freakonomics will tell that queuing is inefficient but ‘moral’.) Plus, you can count the cows you pass along the way.

A cow rests under a bridge during Chandigarh’s rains.

In terms of my own journey, I could regale stories of a haphazard start to this trip with two flights cancelled (never take SpiceJet), the sleeper coach we nearly boarded from Delhi’s Indira Gandhi Airport or the multiple flights that led to a late, over-priced Vistara flight to Chandigarh but, what you should know is that, unless you’re touring India over an extended stay, just fly directly to Chandigarh.

India is a vast expanse of a subcontinent with a mature domestic airline industry. This is not a coincidence. Many internal flights are busy and people fly internally very regularly, as they would do in Europe or United States.

A road trip from Delhi to Chandigarh would could charm, especially reversing through the pink city of Jaipur, and this is a journey I would love to do one day.

Indira Gandhi Airport’s immigration counter, Delhi.

My enduring impression is that you should make travel to and within India as comfortable as you can afford. This infallible logic may apply everywhere, but it rings a little more true when travelling in India (or Sri Lanka, Pakistan, the Philippines, etc.). Backpacking and train travel around Europe are luxurious experiences versus embarking on the same in these parts.

• Ask your hotel to arrange transits. It makes a world of difference. This is also true for restaurants and attractions.

• Print copies of IDs, tickets, and bookings with you, especially when heading to airports. You will show them to everyone everywhere, anytime, starting from the airport’s front doors.

• Leave nothing behind that you wouldn’t want stolen. Theft and pickpocketing are rampant, especially in cities.

• Never underestimate the power of charm and gratitude. “No” can come quickly, especially when dealing with someone drunk on the purported power of their uniform and badge. Deference, humility and a comical sense of politeness can move things forward.

Chandigarh

Chandigarh is a tidy airport. The first impression upon landing is of its stoic, military pastiche. Inside succumbs to small gardens circling the luggage belts. A chaat stand doles out crispy pani puri, brimming with sweet tamarind and fiery coriander mint water. A nearby Chaiwala chimes a bell to lure punters over for clay cups of frothy milky tea. Your bag will be circling the belt by the time you read this sentence. Kasauli is a 90-minute journey north of Chandigarh, assuming there are no issues.

Chandigarh Airport’s chaat and chai stands

There were issues.

We landed in a storm, submerging much of Chandigarh in knee-deep water, which, let’s say, did nothing to ease the maelstrom and my sense of humour evaporated faster than the deluge.

Cars were abandoned everywhere. Women pushed bikes through clay-stained floodwater. Children kicked and splashed about while fruit vendors called it a day.

Our car journey inched closer to four hours despite Jedi-like navigation by our driver (appointed by our hotel).

The Road to Kasauli

Here, Himachal Pradesh revealed itself just a little through the clouds and rain. The narrow mountain passes snake through trees and cliffs punctuated by tolls. The ride is not for the faint of heart nor the scared of heights. We found ourselves between the mountain’s clay slopes and sheer vertical drops that would cause your teeth to grind to a smooth paste. Very little stands in the way of your tyres drifting too far over the edge.

Then there were the landslides, the occasional fallen tree and the small matter of oncoming traffic. These are single-lane roads, and I was not entirely convinced we would make it past and stay on the road. We audibly gasped when BUSES spun around corners at speed and with a sense of entitlement.

It’s all part of the adventure that brought us to Daleside Manor in Kasauli, where we spent two nights in the mountain air.

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Future posts in the Journey to Himachal Pradesh series will explore Kasauli, its sights and the region’s food. You can subscribe below where they will appear as if by magic in your inbox.