MANALI

MANALI
The Hills Are Alive
By Juhi Saklani

Once upon an age there was a flood. A primordial, all-consuming flood. The sage Manu, he of the Hindu law code Manusmriti, took a boat, put various species in it, and rowed across to a lovely mountainside that was then named after him — Manali. These are the species that the sage in his wisdom thought fit to bring to Manali, so they would stay forth and multiply: a) Israeli tourists; b) Nepalis who would wear ‘Free Tibet’ T-shirts and cook pizza; c) A living, proliferating entity called ‘German Bakery’; d) Apples to grow on trees; e) Apples to grow on children’s cheeks; f) More Israeli tourists; g) Tibetans who wear Free Tibet T-shirts and run Chinese food restaurants; h) Exquisite wooden balconies; i) Haunting deodar trees; j) Still more Israeli tourists; k) The creator of Cream of Paalak soup; l) The creator of sloping-roofed temples; m) The barber who would dreadlock species a, f, and j’s hair; n) Indian/ non-Israeli tourists.

And that’s where you come in. To lose yourself in the haunting beauty of this region, much like its beautiful glacial meltwater streams that lose themselves in the Beas. You surrender yourself to an entity called ‘Manali’, which now constitutes three adjacent hillocks, almost within walking distance. Each has a village and a temple dominating it: Old Manali (Manu Temple), Vashishtha (Vashishtha Temple), and Dhungri (Hadimba Temple). Here, you find a picturesque conglomeration of traditional village life and contemporary tourism sitting back-to-back.

In the beginning was the village. People grew, and still grow, wheat, rajma, vegetables and apples. They kept, and still do, cows, buffaloes, goats and sheep. They wove, and often still weave, their own clothes. The wheat got prepared by May, the apples ready for plucking by August-September, and the snow ripe for falling by December-January. The colonial British never made a ‘hill station’ here, never laid rail tracks or built a Mall Road (though the road on which the bus stand presides defiantly calls itself thus).

At some point, someone discovered the high quality of the cannabis plant that grew in the region. Europeans of assorted nationalities came visiting, stayed on, discovered yoga, married locals, and started their own cafés. Perhaps a decade ago began the new phenomenon of Israeli tourism, whereby young men and women, fresh from their two-year compulsory military service term, started arriving in steam-letting-off hordes. The summer-time local economy in much of Manali runs thanks to these boys and girls, with their long hair and polished skins, who stick close to each other, creating a smoky world-within-a-world. Old Manali is pretty much considered a hippy enclave.
Thanks to this rather ‘global village’ feel, Manali has riverside cafés called River Music or Moondance that waylay your senses with promises of soups, pasta-lasagna, hummus-pita, momos, pancakes, ginger-honey-mint tea... at reasonable prices. Shops called No Problem International sell diaphanous, colourful, entirely charming garments that you may never dare drape around you anywhere else. Internet cafés also offer money changing, bus services to Leh, and opportunities to go paragliding or river rafting (Thrills! Chills!! and Spills!!!). Look around and there’s the river and protected stretches of deodar. Look up — and the majestic Pir Panjal, Parvati and Bara Bhangal ranges cradling the town mesmerise you.