Beyond The Lines | An uphill battle: Why India’s hill stations are in a freefall

Matheran is a hill station known to provide succour to tourists from Pune and Mumbai looking to escape the drudgery, heat and pollution of the cities. A short ride from Mumbai, this getaway provides the perfect relief for the city dweller with its majestic views, waterfalls and crisp, cool air. Quiet strolls to the lake or a trip through the forest on foot or horseback, watched by curious monkeys and devoid of internet connectivity, helps deliver a promise to rejuvenate the senses. Vehicles have never been permitted inside Matheran, though they are allowed to take visitors to the hilltop entrance leading into the town. However, like many hill stations across India, Matheran often turns into an unmanageable jamboree that resembles one of the overcrowded suburbs of Mumbai. A mess called Matheran Last week, I decided to visit Matheran with a few friends. We chose to walk from the base of the hill to the top – from where one enters the town. The gentle, pleasant route to the top has an interesting history. In 1850, Hugh Malet, who was the collector of Thane district was camping in a nearby village, when he stopped to drink water from a spring when he discovered a mountain top. The hill that Malet identified subsequently became a favourite spot for the English. The red, unmetalled mud tracks inside Matheran held a bucolic appeal not far from the cities. Until a few years ago, a drive or walk up a winding road or a train ride up the hill was a pleasant experience. That, alas, has changed, like at most hill stations. On our way, last week, we were assailed by the unsavoury sight of rampaging, blaring vehicles, mostly local taxis out to make a quick buck, honking to announce themselves, barreling down the slope or hordes of underpowered ramshackle minivans barfing clouds of black smoke in their ambitious efforts to climb up the slope. The riotous urgency of the fleet of vehicles willing to crush any object in their path and their collective raging madness forced us to take the foot track, which we realised circled around the belly of the hill, taking longer to get to the top. Finally, the crawling lines of taxis and vans screeched to a halt when there wasn’t enough space at the top anymore, forcing a long stationary queue of vehicles parked along the road to Matheran. Annoyed tourists, having been uprooted from their cars, were soon trudging their way up the mountain slope, complaining about the unscheduled stoppage, heat, noise, carry bags, endless climb and all else. By then, we had decided to return, abandoning plans of a quiet weekend. While heaving a sigh of relief in getting away from the hills – I realised that for me, it was an unmemorable first for Matheran. Bond with the past There was a time when hills evoked a sense of mystery and intrigue - sparking the creative genius of Ruskin Bond’s stories. Bond wrote of the enchanting life of the hills, of stories that grew into legends alongside ghosts that lurked in lonely lanes of Mussoorie. He wrote of the different species of birds that flocked to the hills around a rich tapestry of tales. Bond and the hills were a magic combination. How apathy killed the hills Over a decade ago, I remember hearing locals in Shimla complain how motorists from Chandigarh and the northern plains would arrive on New Year’s Eve and transform overnight the tranquil and sleepy town into a hideous dump yard of beer bottles, discarded cans, food trash and plastic bags; aside from leaving behind stories of drunken brawls. Once known for its boulevards, beguiling appeal and gentle slopes, Shimla bears little resemblance to its past with hordes of builders with no architectural bone in their body having plundered for gains. Similar are the stories of Darjeeling and Ooty that have become equally miserable over the years. The ungovernable mess that we have created of our hill stations points to a steadily eroding legacy from an era when these towns were better managed. Mediocre town planning, maladministration and apathy of tourists that characterised our cities in the plains got replicated in the isolated hills. Presently, the hill stations characterise the planning and governance malaise that has ailed administrations across the country for the last few decades. Each day, around 3,000 to 4,000 vehicles enter Nainital and the number rises to 6,000 on weekends. The city has only 2,000 parking slots. The lopsided ratio of parking spaces to incoming vehicles creates a mess in Matheran too. It is a correct but also an incomplete description that the British ran the hill stations more adeptly. Yes, they did a fine job. But then, they could also get away by keeping Indians out of the pretty spots, villas and clubs in these locations. The hills were meant for the privileged. Economic liberalisation in the 1990s in India unleashed the ability of Indian tourists to spend on travel and logistics, which inevitably put pressure on hill stations that possessed limited capacity. Constructions of hotels, villas and homes spawned everywhere with little care for the environment or safety. The result has been an unmitigated disaster. Economic progress – a positive for the country - was bound to attach greater accountability on governance and it is here that we failed. We haven’t had the will to crack the code on hill stations and thus, their cumulative decay is a natural outcome of incompetence. The disastrous impact of unplanned development has resulted in the loss of close to 2,000 lives in Himachal Pradesh in the last five years and damage to over 12,000 houses. Much has been written about the catastrophe of construction in Himachal Pradesh and Uttarakhand that has gone unabated, but this article focuses more on the mismanagement of hill stations as tourist destinations and its outcome, which is reflective of apathy and a sense of abandonment. The silver linings On the flip side, the irony is that whenever a local administration has put its mind to ensure the maintenance of a hill station, it has succeeded in creating a more habitable environment. Pachmarhi in the Satpura hill ranges in Madhya Pradesh is part of a biosphere reserve – with its green canopy providing home to an assemblage of diverse species - which the locals take pride in preserving and the administration has managed well. More than a decade ago, when I visited Pachmarhi, it was a pleasant surprise to see locals politely advising tourists to use designated bins for their food-wastes. There were fines levied on those violating the rules – and the tourists would fall in line. Since then, tourists have increased fourfold on weekends in this wonderful town, posing challenges to the administration. Recently, there were reports of how insensitive tourists had been sullying the environment and picking up fights when told to clean up. The examples of Pachmarhi, Gangtok, Madikeri and Shillong stand out even as many others continue to be mismanaged. What works in restoring order: Punitive deterrence and regular fines An uncouth and brash attitude seems a pattern associated with many Indian tourists as the disarray in their everyday conduct spills over onto their holiday living. The same tourists would be much more careful while behaving themselves in holiday destinations overseas. The one element that works as a deterrent to bad behaviour is the fear factor of paying fines. Fines work as a deterrent prescription for those Indian tourists who are familiar with the imposition of coercion to curb unacceptable behaviour. Take the example of Siliguri and Gangtok. The two adjacent towns, separated by the mountain range and situated in two states, have a social code of conduct as dissimilar as any. A traveller by road would know when they cross the state from West Bengal to Sikkim – as the journey graduates from the stridency of uncouth, raucous traffic to orderliness and calm, barely a few miles adrift. Violation of laws on cleanliness and garbage disposal attracts fines in Sikkim and no horn zones help drivers, who otherwise used to roaring down the roads with impunity a few miles earlier, find new levels of civility. Fear of punitive deterrence pushes the rogue driver, traveller and holiday seeker to respect the place they visit. As travellers strive to escape the heat of summers every year, newer destinations are sought after – Nallamalla hills and Araku valley in Andhra for instance or newer destinations in Meghalaya and elsewhere will pop up to provide succour. But visitors need to recognise that they are as much the stakeholders of the hills as those who live and maintain the place. If India has to preserve its wonderful hill stations and leverage its resources to provide eco-friendly tourism, then administrators, travellers, commercial transporters, cabs and other stakeholders would need to be sensitised on the preservation of the local environment alongside the adoption of deterrent measures that enable administrations to not be swamped by the wealthier, but culturally unthinking visitor to the hills. The writer is the author of ‘Watershed 1967: India’s Forgotten Victory over China’. His fortnightly column for FirstPost — ‘Beyond The Lines’ — covers military history, strategic issues, international affairs and policy-business challenges. Views expressed in the above piece are personal and solely that of the author. They do not necessarily reflect Firstpost’s views. 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