I jumped into a bus in Dehra Dun. The rickety vehicle pulled out of the crowded market along Rajpur Road, past the leafy residential buildings and the Sakya Monastery, before zigzagging upwards towards Mussoorie. It was an easy ride, and I got there within 45 minutes. Upon arrival, I decided to share a cab with a group of people heading further up the mountain, towards Happy Valley. Today, most of Mussoorie's roughly 5000-strong Tibetan community lives in Happy Valley. In April of 1959, the Dalai Lama established the first Tibetan government-in-exile here, before it was shifted westward to Dharamsala in Himachal Pradesh. In Happy Valley was also located the Tibetan School which I had attended for two years. I was returning after having been gone for two decades.
"I watched the movie English, August last night," said the driver, who bore a moustache so auburn-coloured that I almost mistook him for a European. "A good movie about English-obsessed IAS officers. I move a lot of them to the academy every day," he said, referring to the Lal Bahadur Shastri National Academy for Administration, which produces the men and women of the Indian Administrative Service. We all lumbered on towards Happy Valley. The driver said he did this trip at least ten times a day, and that he knew almost everyone who showed up on the road. Just a few minutes later, he screeched to a halt and waved to a guy in a thick jacket who was walking along. "Arre, Jai Singh, come yaar, there is always a seat in my taxi. Five rupees, only."
That we were already four people in the front and six in the back did not seem to deter our voluble man at the wheel. "Arre, no problem yaar. Sit upon him," he said, pointing towards me, by the door. "Don't forget, the luggage hold is still empty!" The guy in the jacket was quite big, and he proceeded to sit right on my lap. I tried to squeeze my neighbours to make space for this intruder, but met with little success. They looked passively ahead but refused to give a centimetre. I was relieved when we finally reached Happy Valley. I got unsteadily off, paid the driver, and continued on foot. I walked past the Lal Bahadur Shastri Academy, and then on towards the Tibetan School.
The Academy itself did not appear to have changed much since I was here last. Its grounds looked well taken care of – the shooting range, the equestrian grounds, the gym and the tennis courts gleamed in the afternoon sun. But new buildings seemed to have cropped up all over the valley, which now struck me as more congested, narrower somehow. I walked past the Birla House and towards the Tibetan School.