Monsoons and magic: life in the Himalayas

One afternoon, during the monsoon, journalist and author Anuradha Roy was in a taxi with her small dog Jerry heading back to their home in the Indian village of Ranikhet. All was going smoothly as they drove along the narrow, winding roads through the hills until rain, with ‘annihilating force’, began to pour.

Anundradha Roy with dog Piku 

Trapped between ‘vertiginous drops’ and rock faces, their only choice was to continue on the 6,000ft climb. Then came a loud thud on the car’s roof – and another. Soon boulders were smashing against the roof, bonnet, windscreen and rear window. Roy turned and saw Jerry covered in shards of glass, shaking in fear on the back seat. The only thing they could do was keep driving, or risk being buried alive.

Roy’s book on life in the Himalayan range is filled with such stories of jeopardy. Having discovered a derelict cottage on the hillside facing the mountains, she and her husband settled and set up a publishing house, despite the lack of internet or phones in the early 2000s, a peaceful idyll from which they could work and thrive. Yet, as with the rockslide, life in such a far-flung place could never be easy.

There are droughts that ravage the forests, setting whole hillsides ablaze. There are rains and floods that drown new seedlings and wash away roads; leeches that plug themselves to legs, only noticeable when you feel the blood trickle to your ankle. Then there are the leopards who, emboldened by man’s need to remain indoors during the pandemic, snatch dogs like Jerry ‘in broad daylight, though she was surrounded by caring people and other dogs’.

Having lived in Ranikhet for a quarter of a century, Roy, an astute observer, concludes that climate change and human intervention are at the root of the growing difficulties of life in the region.

Despite all this, her book abounds with life and positivity. If it were possible to make someone homesick for a place they have never been, Roy has achieved it. Reading this you will not believe there is a more beautiful view than the mountains from the aspect of Roy’s home, nor a more haphazardly bountiful cottage garden nestled in a forest. Every page bursts with flora and fauna: Roy plants an unyielding lime tree, there are roses that climb up walls, and barbet birds who become transfixed by Mozart’s Oboe Quartet.

The people she encounters are as vividly drawn as the landscapes. You cannot help but smile whenever the chiding ‘Ancient’ appears. She enters as a housekeeper of sorts, but becomes the authority on the garden, cooking and general living. Nothing can be done at the cottage unless approved by her watchful eye.

This domestic bureaucracy is not just reserved for at home. When Roy wants more plants for her garden she must go to the government orchard and negotiate with Mr Singh, the orchard’s director. It takes a whole day of cups of tea, placating the gods and enduring his mansplaining to acquire the desired plum and cherry saplings.

Lyrically written and combining memoir, history, travel and nature writing, this is a testament to both Roy’s talent and the power of a beautiful if brutal place.