The old-world charm of Kangra

DC Sharma

The passage of time no doubt brings about changes and idyllic Kangra has been no exception. Now, dark clouds appear, but merely turn into whirlwinds instead of soaking the earth with rain. The heat is sizzling but the place boasts of English-medium schools, medical and engineering colleges. Back in the ’70s, people would curse Kangra for being a backward area. Now, they reminisce of those days as one of bliss. Even the simians seemed to be tame, as they now snatch lunch boxes from school kids.

It was March 1970. I was a postgraduate student in Jalandhar, living in the college hostel that was on way to Jwalaji. One day, my roommate’s father paid a visit. He took both of us to Jwalaji for divine blessings ahead of exams. ‘If dana-pani permits, I will get to see the place one day!’ he exclaimed. I had also heard my mother often tell us that it is dana-pani that takes one to different places.

I was working as an assistant professor at DAV College, Jalandhar, in 1976. The principal, BS Bahl, once called me to his office and said a sister institution had come up at Kangra, and that I was needed there. I was reluctant but the temptation of promotion changed my mind and mood.

I took a bus for Pathankot, from where a mini bus took me to Kangra. While it was hot in Punjab, the valley was cool. The small bus stand, housed on the Rajput Sabha land, had a tin roof. A few huts were there, a tea shop and two dhabas, where I relished a meal of rice and curry. On being asked for direction, the dhaba owner raised two of his fingers: ‘Dial 2 to see the principal.’

Phone numbers were then in single or double digits. To talk, one could ask for the link signal from the telephone operator. The town was just a small village then. The market had only 30 shops and the two vegetable shops would serve everyone’s needs.

Since ours was the first college here, people would respectfully address the professors, even the principal, as masterji. The college proved to be a boon for the girls who were not allowed by their parents to study after higher secondary. The century-old GAV School, a branch of the DAV, was their last hope at the time.

In those days, only two buses would come and go from Kangra. There was no pollution. People would rarely use fans. Nearby Dharamsala had no fans and in McLeodganj, people would wear sweaters even in June.

Kangra appeared like a foreign land. Now, it’s my own sweet home. I wonder what brought me here and a voice inside me says: Dana-pani khinch ke liaunda hai, kon kisi da khanda hai… Life indeed is what happens when you are busy making other plans.