Uttarakhand – Day 17
Friday, February 21, 2025
The old mission road
If there is one thing you need to know about Surender, it is that he loves trekking. He was born in these mountains and there can’t be a single spot that has not at some time or another held his footprint. And so, before the sun woke up, we met in the compound and headed up a mountain road that Surrender had walked a thousand times, but to me held the excitement of a path unknown, into the lands of a foreign country – Kipling-like. This sensation grew stronger as we passed by signs posted in 1916 informing us of the toll fees for each bull or buffalo and their offspring, or rickshaws, or “carriage pullers with five ropes,” or motor vehicles, or persons on foot. And if you don’t happen to read Hindi, no worries, the same information was also provided in Urdu. This was the old mission road to Mussoorie.
Reeta was with us too, and we were joined on the way by a local dog that thought there could be no better way to spend a morning. Dogs are plentiful around here; sturdy mountain dogs of mixed breed, running free, but well cared for and friendly to people – the ones I encountered, at least. Our road turned to a broken road and then into a footpath and after a certain amount of time Surender pointed high up to a town clinging to the mountainside. “That’s Mussoorie.” Here we turned around, but not before taking some moments to enjoy the sunrise and eat a few bananas we had brought along.
Up to Mussoorie
Over breakfast, Surender, with a heavy heart, spoke more of the MGVS programs that have been discontinued – hopefully temporarily, but it may be more serious than that. About 60 kilometers from town there is a field center that was doing all kinds of programs for the villagers. Now, he is writing reference letters to assist the staff to find other jobs. One project continues, however. It is the MGVS Kaplani School, where Reeta works – four years now. Actually, we are heading there right after I finish all these chapati!
Mussoorie is truly a mountain top town, 7,500 feet above the Dehradun valley. It is also a popular vacation spot for Delhiites, and packed in the summer months. From 5 stars to simple guest houses, the place is bristling with hotels, one on top of another – literally, carved into this steep terrain. I worry about the torrential rains that have become commonplace in recent years. All this land once belonged to the villagers, but when the businessmen made their offers, prospects of bags full of rupees filled their hearts, and they sold. Now they work in those hotels.
ARI has been to these mountains
Abruptly, Surender pointed and said “that is the Woodstock School.” It took me some time before I understood the significance of the place, that is, that it is a highly reputable international boarding school. The founder of MGVS went there as a Presbyterian missionary kid. He later became a missionary himself and served as its superintendent. The kids of two ARI staff members attended it as well. Remember how I said that no ARI staff had been to this part of India in a long while? Well, that was true, but back in the day Miura san and Makino san, two of ARI’s founding staff, had a strong connection with a training center in (somewhat) nearby Allahabad and came here often. I am always amazed at not only the wideness of the reach of tiny ARI, but also at its depth, spanning more than 50 years.
Many fine members of Indian society have their educational roots in the Woodstock school and some of them support MGVS, which is one of the reasons why the Kaplani school can keep going. They recently funded a computer lab. Another reason is that its administration was shifted to the Christian Study and Retreat Center. Hopefully, that should stabilize things for a while.
The Kaplani School
At last, we reached Kaplani, and turned off the main road onto an impossibly steep and narrow street that Surender expertly maneuvered his trusty Mahindra down and then parked on a slope in front of the school gate. I was quick to help him find some big rocks to put under the wheels – all four of them. I didn’t want my means of transportation heading back down the mountain without me. As we unloaded supplies for two days up the stairs and into the kitchen, Surender looked around and said “My life is all in these mountains.” Then he gazed northward into the cloudy sky and noted, “You can’t see the Himalayas today.”
After a cup of ginger tea, we made a tour of the school. It was uncharacteristically quiet because many of the students were out taking exams and the teachers were out proctoring those exams. But in one room we found a group of girls and boys studying Sanskrit together. Or, at least they were sitting at desks with their Sanskrit books dutifully opened. The learning of Sanskrit allows them the benefit of being able to read ancient literature, they told me with a sly expression that indicated I should certainly believe in their deep love for reading ancient literature. These students are all from the surrounding villages and walk up to five kilometers to reach here. Twenty-five years ago, there was no school at all, meaning local children had to go to boarding schools somewhere (expensive), or forego education.
MGVS started with a primary school and a few plum trees planted by Surender himself. The trees grew along with the school and greeted us with full blooms. MGVS Kaplani School is its full name and it has since expanded to reach the twelfth form. Oh, I found a YouTube video about it. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pyeIOYEFkhc I wondered if it grew year by year just in time for the highest-grade students to advance to the next level. That is how it happened with a school started by our graduates in Kenya. Another great story for another day. Surender is worried about their school lunch program though, now that they are short on funding.
ARI memories, ARI dreams
Speaking of lunch, I noticed some nice smells coming from the kitchen where Manoj was preparing ours. Manoj is a man of few words and excellent culinary skills that joined us on this excursion. From the provisions we had brought, he created a tasty dal curry along with vegetables and fruits. As we all dug in, Surender reminisced about his time as a Training Assistant at ARI. When Yamagata san (ARI staffer) traveled, he would leave all the livestock in Surender’s charge, which he managed with the help of volunteers Yuskue Seya and Yukiyoshi Ito. Yusuke later became an organic farmer and both of them made their ways to these lands to pay Surender a visit.
Reeta also recalled her time at ARI remembering the dream she had while she was there. This was to create a women’s group to teach young people weaving – to preserve their traditional cultural dress. The women of her home state of Manipur are famous for their exquisite weaving, with each village having their own specific colors and designs. As is the story with most arts of the hands, the techniques are being lost. Due to circumstances beyond her control, this dream is on hold, meaning, it is delayed, but she still keeps it. I happened to know the organization that sent her to ARI. It was founded by an ARI graduate and is devoted to empowering women and preserving traditions such as weaving, local building styles, music and song. On a visit there several years ago, two Manipuri women sang me a welcome in their customary style, ad libbed in perfect harmony. I’ll never forget it.
The “circumstances” I’m referring to above, are the ethnic violence in Reeta’s state that is flaring hot once again. It is truly dangerous, with house burnings, rapes, and killings, despite the Indian military checkpoints and lockdowns that are supposed to bring a degree of safety. When I asked how other Indians feel about this situation, both Surender and Reeta quickly said that they probably know little about it. For them, Manipur is in a far-off corner. It’s another one of those forgotten wars that I can’t forget about, because our graduates live in those far off corners. There are more than 50 ARI graduates in Manipur and WhatsApp allows me to check in with them from time to time. I always worry about them and pray for their safety. So far, okay, but life isn’t easy.
A drive…
After a brief rest, we headed to a part of town called Landour, a tourist spot famous for wonderful views and thieving monkeys. Their strategy is for one or two to sit in a cute pose and solicit the taking of a photo. Then others will run up and grab whatever food you or other members of your party may be holding. And better keep your car windows closed, because they will certainly climb in and cause mischief there! One day they may figure out how to put it in gear and drive off! The most common ones are the Macaques, but there are also plenty of Langurs with their long tails and black faces.
As we came around a curve, Surender pointed to a spot far across the valley. “See that village? We used to work in that village. We did a health and vaccination program. It’s very far and you can only reach it by walking.” As I said, there is no part of these mountains he hasn’t touched.
I’m still amazed at Surender’s exquisite driving skills. Managing the curves and steep, narrow roads is hard enough, but then there come times when he has to pass, or turn around, or park in tiny spots, all while perfectly manipulating the clutch in such a manner that ensures we don’t roll off a cliff!
…and a stroll
As dusk was settling in, we strolled around Mussoorie’s downtown area. All manner of curious street foods were on offer. Reeta bought us a big bag of popcorn. When a shop that sold scarves caught my attention, Surender told me to wait in the street while he went in to get the prices. I then selected two scarves and when I went to pay the price had suddenly doubled. Surender stepped in to correct the situation and we were happily on our way. Well, we were happy, but I’m not sure if the merchant was. She wanted that tourist price!
As we headed back, I saw two women shoveling gravel with one shovel. You probably can’t picture what I’m talking about, so let me explain. One woman would push the shovel into the gravel and the other would lift the scoop part with a rope tied at the base of the handle. Working together they could remove the backbreaking part of shoveling and lift heavy loads. Ingenious, I thought, but probably just normal for them.
And so, with this riveting shovel story, I hereby end the day.
