Featured Trending Thoughts Media Contest November 2024 Contest October 2024 Contest September 2024 Contest April 2024 Health & Wellness Politics Science Religion Technology Culture Business Finance Sports Art & Illustration Beauty & Fashion News Music Faith & Spirituality Climate & Environment Literature Travel Parenting Philosophy Comics International History Humor Education Miscellaneous thinkspot
recent image
A Morning in Landour
Sadhika Pant
 November 13 2024 at 12:57 pm
more_horiz
post image
Have you ever found yourself in a moment that, even as it unfolds, feels like one of life’s rare, complete fulfillments? I had one of those on a cool November morning, the 8th, right around 8 a.m. It was at a place called Char Dukan in Landour, a hill-town just beyond Mussoorie, which still carries the quiet grace of old British days. My boyfriend and I were ten days into a long trip, and, as we often do, we’d risen early to greet the dawn. We sat on the balcony in silence, watching the sky’s palette shift as the sun climbed, casting its warm, gentle light over the hills from new angles with each passing minute. When that tranquil half-hour had passed, we felt the pangs of hunger, and so, like pilgrims with a shared purpose, we set off down the road, hoping to stumble upon a breakfast as perfect as the morning. Char Dukan—meaning, simply, "four shops"—is what passes for the main market in Landour, though calling four shops a market is a stretch. Back in colonial days, it really was just four humble stalls serving tea and snacks to passersby. These days, it’s grown to six, but the spirit remains. Most folks who make it as far as Mussoorie rarely venture further up to Landour. It’s a steeper climb, and those who come usually navigate its narrow road in small cars or on two-wheelers. Having called Dehradun home for almost two years, I know this place as well as any local, and, given the choice, I’d take Landour over Mussoorie without a second thought. Back to that moment—when we arrived, not one of the four shops at Char Dukan was open yet. But fortune had a hand in it, as there was a park close by, so we settled on a bench, huddled together, breathing in the mountain air and letting the soft morning sun dapple over us. Four friendly dogs trotted up, tails wagging, and took their places at our feet, as if they’d been expecting us. While we waited for the shops to stir, we watched the town wake up—a few locals sharing early-morning laughs, a milkman rattling by on a motor scooter (a bicycle wouldn’t do for these hills), a father dropping off his children to school, and a handful of mischievous monkeys heckling the dogs from a safe distance. Around eight, the shutters of the shops finally clattered open, and we crossed the road to settle at an outdoor table. We ordered aloo-pyaaz parathas (potato-and-onion flatbreads), and two steaming cups of chai. The shop owner and his wife bustled behind the counter, putting together our breakfast, while a troop of monkeys, sly and hopeful, watched from a branch overhead. There’s nothing especially rare about aloo parathas and chai—it’s one of India’s simplest, most beloved breakfasts. But what made it extraordinary was the fullness of the moment: the crisp morning air, the birdsong that gets swallowed by the city noise back in Delhi, the tangy homemade achaar (pickle) that added a sharp note to the hot, crispy parathas that singed our fingers, the chai that chased away the chill, and the dogs, nuzzling our knees, hoping for a taste of our breakfast. And, of course, the best part of all—the company of one another, sharing a quiet, golden morning. What a morning it was! Just across from us, a group of locals sat at another table, savouring their own parathas and chai, their noses buried in the morning papers. The difference was, for them, this was the routine—another easy start to the day. For us, though, it was something not so ordinary, something we had travelled over 300 kilometres to experience—this quiet, beautiful moment of harmony. Image (self-clicked): The Himalayan Range, as seen from Landour.
2 5
tip thinker

Trending Topics

Recently Active Rooms

Recently Active Thinkers

open_in_newAll Thinkers

Please confirm your account