Between 1798 and 1815,the Gurkhas exercised control over the Garhwal and Kumaon regions. Their presence brought the angrezes like Frederick Young, who enlisted as a 15-year-old ensign, and went on to become a general, having served in India for 44 years and set up Landour’s convalescent depot.
Elsewhere, atop a ridge in the library, rose Christ Church, the oldest Church in the Himalaya, built in the best Victorian, Indo-Cotswold style, with a William Hill organ.
Along the bridle path came our older schools. By 1834, Mussoorie had acquired a reputation as ‘the Eton of the East’. Wynberg-Allen Memorial School began in 1888, as did the Railway School in Jharipani. Waverly, the Convent of Jesus & Mary, for girls, was started in 1845, and St George’s College, Barlowganj, came up in 1856.
The lack of officialdom gave Mussoorie a risqué reputation. Desire was not the only force that drove the locals up the hill. Those early settlers needed porters. There are reports of a party consisting of 24 workers struggling to bring a grand piano up from Rajpur.
By 1900, Mussoorie had turned into a suitable residence for our princes. The Maharaja of Kapurthala built the lavish Chateau, and the Maharajah of Nepal built the Fairlawn Palace. Others who followed were Patiala, Jind, Rajpipla, Panna, Baroda, Nabha, and Alwar, so did the rulers of Tikari, Cooch Behar, Palanpur and Indore.
Then came the exiles like Amir Dost Mohammed, Yakub Khan, who were Emirs of Afghanistan, and Maharaja Dhulip Singh, son of Maharaja Ranjit Singh of the Lahore Durbar. They broke the British monopoly over these highlands, and by 1860, the Indian middle class took over.
Around this time, the special aura of the hills began to evaporate. Troubles began to plague our schools. In 1900, Mussoorie Boys’ School closed its doors for financial reasons. The 1934 gazetteer tells us: ‘Mussoorie has considerably declined in prosperity, owing to the great decrease in the number of Europeans.’ The Himalaya Club was closed even before 1920, as were the two breweries, and the Castle Hill Estate of the Survey of India was vacated. The leaky Municipal Hall is hardly habitable and is now never used for ‘balls, theatricals and other entertainments’. Between 1921 and 1931, our population fell by 40 per cent.
Of course, our professional classes, like doctors, schoolteachers, and successful businessmen, filled the gap. They picked up their properties, moved into their cottages, and enrolled their children in the schools.
Briefly, World War II brought some respite from the depression of the 1950s. Fortunately, our burgeoning middle class had arrived and started anew.
‘This is no longer a hill station. We’ve become a ‘hotalstation!’ (sic) My friend Rupinder Lal would say, adding: ‘We are paying the price for being too close to the plains.’
In love with the hills, I hung on like a limpet.
At day’s end, you could say that I had forgotten to go away.