Listen and Look
Rustling Leaves at your feet
Bark covered Giants at your sides
Gently Swaying to and fro
Softly, Gently, into the Woods
– Randy Akherhuis
There he was, a 50-year-old grumpy man who took off running to grab a mop and clean his wooden floor with the dedication of Cinderella. One of his customers (the clumsy ones just like me) managed to spill some coffee on the floor and look at this man’s devotion towards his little hillside cafe. It certainly said something about him and I got more curious to get to know him. Though the man was too uptight to let me into his little bubble (fair enough), I did get to order a dark rum hot chocolate, one of their specials. My friend, Shivani and I sat on one of those wooden desks with little old pieces of vinyl and prints showcased on the wall. They distracted me until our drinks arrived. We didn’t have to say another word as we took our little first sips because our faces said it all. I don’t know about her, but my body hadn’t felt so satiated in a long time. Whether it was the fuzzy warmth of the rum or the sweetness of the hot chocolate in it, we were in love. Shivani seemed almost upset that despite living all her life in Shimla, she hadn’t visited the Embassy Shimla cafe before. Now that’s a regret I let her hold onto.
If our hearts weren’t filled with enough gratitude, they certainly did as we made our way back to my friend’s home through the Knollswoods. I had often heard her talk about how charming some of the unknown little forest routes of Shimla were. So of course we grabbed our cigarettes and packed our fair share of stories to share in the dark. Though I had company and once in a while, a stranger would pass by, the woods had a way of making you feel alone. They let their presence known by hovering over like giant beasts in the shadows and my heart would skip a beat every single time my feet would stamp on a leaf, a twig or call it anything! From the little muddy curves with little dark pits (that I almost fell into), venturing into these woods in the dark was an adventure of its own. My friend, on the other hand, could walk with her eyes closed. She knew these woods at the back of her mind as she grew up here with nostalgia lingering in these woods. We didn’t realise how tired we had gotten until we sat down on one of the little stone chairs in front of the boys boarding school on our way. We expected the watchman sitting by the gate to throw us out for using school property. But he was drunk, he didn’t mind.
I remember taking these woods again and yet again only to land in entirely different locations. From age-old monasteries to downtown roads that led us to little shops that sold Chinese parathas, a delicacy of its own kind, Shimla gave me little pleasures in every step we took. When I look back, this hill station carried stories that went beyond visiting the famous Mall road or climbing the highest peaks of Jaakhu. The scenic routes and the people of this place created an environment of pure bliss. For a city hustler, Shimla was also a lesson. One, to be present and cigarettes would soon be insignificant because the high of being in the cold overpowered any other feeling in your body. And two, hustle is an overrated term used for people who find gratification in pushing themselves too hard. So just ease down a little and allow your body to rest. Slow living doesn’t have to be a practice only for hill dwellers.
