The LO—previously, the ‘Little One’—is my now-nine-year-old daughter. I say ‘previously’ because the LO has now decided (and both her father and I agree) that she’s too old to be called ‘little’. “How about Loved One instead?” she said, and I agreed. The LO is now the Loved One. She always has been, actually.

For those who’ve read previous travelogues on this blog, you’d know that the LO is quite a one for travelling. Much like her parents, really: all three of us like nothing better than to go new places, explore new cultures, experiment with new foods.

This time, our summer vacation was not really a completely new experience. My husband and I have been to Shimla before, and the LO has been to Himachal too. But she hasn’t been to Shimla, and that, we figured, needed to be corrected. Also, it had been fifteen years since the two of us had been there last. High time for another trip.

From Noida, it’s an easy two-day journey up to Shimla. This travelogue is about our trip up to Shimla and back; Shimla itself will be covered in Part 2 of this travelogue.

On our first day, we drove from Noida to Chandigarh in easy stretches, arriving in Chandigarh sometime in the late afternoon. We stayed at the Novotel, and the LO was very excited to discover that the hotel lobby houses a Porsche showroom! She couldn’t stop ogling the cars.

Given that we had some free time, it would be a waste to not go sightseeing. When in Chandigarh, Nek Chand’s Rock Garden seemed the obvious choice. My husband and I had visited this fifteen years back, but every time since then, we’ve been in Chandigarh with the LO and not had a chance to revisit it. This was a good occasion, we thought, to take the LO there.

Nek Chand was a self-taught artist and sculptor who had arrived in Indian Punjab from Pakistan in the wake of Partition. Around the time Chandigarh was established (in the early 50s) Nek Chand got a job there, and soon found himself dealing with a massive amount of waste material from demolition projects and other debris. This gave him the idea that would go on to result in the Rock Garden: Nek Chand began to put together bits of broken glass and tile, electrical odds and ends, scrap metal and more to form artworks.

These artworks, originally over a spread of some 18 acres, are now believed to cover up to 40 acres, and it’s a mad labyrinth of narrow corridors, canyons, waterfalls, water courses and dozens of other creations.

Stylized figures—of humans, peafowl, monkeys—decorated with colourful broken bangles stand in ranks. A vast and colourful mosaic covers the amphitheatre. Contorted shapes, of trees and figures, sprawl here and there.

The LO, to be honest, got a bit bored after a while. The idea of recycling is all very well, but she couldn’t, beyond a point, gush over one more figure covered with broken tiles. She was fascinated, though, by the igneous rocks that formed the canyons we had to walk through. And when we reached the amphitheatre, there was more in store for her.

‘Laughing mirrors’, for one (these are those mirrors, common enough, that distort your reflection): the LO was in splits of laughter at these. Then, there were the many swings, enough for lots of children to have their fill.

And there was an interesting Dolls Museum: large rag dolls positioned to represent life in a Punjab village. A village teacher with a class; a woman milking a buffalo; a farmer ploughing a field; a group of young people on swings—and everything, from humans to animals to objects, made of colourful stuffed rags.

A little less than a week later, on our way back home from Himachal, we again stopped at Chandigarh for the night; this time, we thought we might visit Sukhna Lake. But me, doing some research online, came upon a mention of the Japanese Garden. The LO, peering over my shoulder, saw some photos of the garden, and zeroed in on one. A bright yellow dragon that was a slide.

Sukhna Lake stood no chance after that. It had to be the Japanese Garden. And that dragon.

The Japanese Garden turned out to be a damp squib as far as any authentic Japanese-ness goes; it was crammed full of rather kitschy paint-and-plaster representations of not just Japanese motifs but Chinese ones too. A stocky Buddha statue. A yin-and-yang symbol. Lots of dragons. Pagodas. ‘Stone lanterns’ made of metal painted grey.

But the dragon slide was much appreciated, and the greenery of the garden was classic North Indian city park: quite nice.

So that was Chandigarh.

The next day, on our way back from Chandigarh, we decided we had to see at least some of the immensely historic sites along the Grand Trunk Road (National Highway H19 and 44, more prosaically). For one, we stopped briefly at one of the unmissable kos minars along this stretch: a short, tapering tower made of brick that was used to mark a kos (a distance of about 3.2 kilometres). This kos minar, near Karnal, was erected under the orders of Jahangir.

The LO was suitably impressed, especially as, just a few days earlier, she had been shown one of the kos minars in Delhi.

Further on from Karnal, we stopped at Panipat to see the Tomb of Ibrahim Lodhi. Ibrahim Lodhi was defeated by Babar at the First Battle of Panipat in April 1526, and died on the battlefield. His tomb is a simple one, a cenotaph on a brick platform. Restoration and conservation work was carried out here by the British in 1886, and I’m assuming they were the ones who also put up the plaque, inscribed on white marble, that stands beside the cenotaph.

The rather tacky metal sculpture, of three figures that I suppose are meant to represent Ibrahim Lodhi and his generals in battle, is obviously much newer.

The LO did not seem to much care for this tomb. It was a hot day, and though she was kitted out in sun hat and goggles, all she wanted was to get back into the air-conditioned comfort of the car. Fortunately, there’s really not much to see at this tomb: the park in which it is set is the typical small-town North Indian park, not very attractive, with junk and piles of debris lying around here and there, even though there were some shady trees, lawns and flowerbeds.

Anyway, that was what we saw in the plains. Before that, we had been in the hills. After our first day in Chandigarh, we were headed for Shimla. We had planned to take detours for a few attractions along the way, and the first of these came up on Day 2, a few hours out of Chandigarh: the historic hill station of Dagshai.

Dagshai’s name, it is believed, is derived from ‘Daag-e-Shahi’, ‘royal brand’. The story goes that during Mughal times, prisoners would be branded, then released in the vicinity of this village, far away from civilization, so to say. Whether that’s true or not is I suppose open to conjecture, but quaint and very pretty Dagshai has another claim to fame: it houses a 19^th century British Indian jail that holds the distinction of being the only prison that’s hosted both Mahatma Gandhi and Nathuram Godse.

The Dagshai Jail (and the museum attached to it) were top priority for us, even though Dagshai has several other sights, including a couple of churches and cemeteries. We had thought we’d stop by at the others, time permitting, once we’d finished seeing the jail. But then, on our way uphill, we came upon the Roman Catholic and European Cemetery, and decided we may as well have a look.

A worn old plaque on a gatepost of this hillside cemetery informed us that the cemetery was established in 1845 and had its gravestones repaired in 1893 by the 93^rd Highlanders. The 11^th Battalion of the Madras Regiment maintained it till 2018, but the cemetery now looks forlorn and untended, grass growing all over, many gravestones broken or toppled over.

The gate was locked, so we couldn’t go in, but we peered over the low boundary wall and had a look, while the LO admired (!) some cows wandering past.

Walking along the boundary wall, I found wild mock strawberries (thank you, Harvey, for correcting that!) at its base, and pointed them out to the LO, who went enthusiastically foraging. On a little outcrop, we also discovered some bushes (very prickly) of Himalayan golden raspberries, which were added to the stash. Bottled water was used to rinse off all the fruit before we had it. “The strawberries don’t have any flavour,” said the LO. “And the raspberries are sour.”

From the cemetery, we went on to the jail.

Dagshai Jail was built in 1845, and consisted originally of 54 cells. Some of these were turned into staff accommodation, but the others—ranged on both sides of a long, high-ceilinged hall and restored some years back—can be seen. The floors are all of teak, which (along with those sound-amplifying high ceilings) would have made it well-nigh impossible for a prisoner to have attempted an escape without being heard.

Among the cells closest to the main door is that of Nathuram Godse, who was housed here for a night when in transit to Shimla, where he was tried for the assassination of Mahatma Gandhi.

In an adjacent row of cells—these more claustrophobic, with next to no daylight, the cells for solitary confinement—Mahatma Gandhi himself had stayed for a night. This, however, was at Gandhi’s own request: when the Irish soldiers of the Connaught Rangers mutinied at Jalandhar in 1920, they were arrested and incarcerated at Dagshai. Gandhiji came to meet them and, at his request, was housed here. The cell where he stayed is a double one, two cells with a doorway in between. “And there’s a fireplace too!” the LO remarked, duly impressed.

The jail has other attractions: a tiny one-room ‘museum’; a 19^th century hydrant; and a torture chamber. This was one of the solitary confinement cells, rigged out with rusted chains hanging from a rusted iron bar on the wall: the LO was thrilled. So chilling!

We spent a while exploring the grounds of the jail, which are pretty interesting in their own way: masses of hydrangeas, wandering cows, outcrops of wildflowers. A pear tree grew in one yard, and was being assailed by a small troop of monkeys. According to a sign outside, the Jail Museum (next door, also part of the building but otherwise inaccessible) would open at 4 PM, and we had timed our trip here to enable us to see that.

But 4 PM came and went. We mooched around. The LO, with unerring instinct, discovered a small children’s park slightly downhill, and utilized her time by checking out each slide, each climbing frame, everything.

Eventually, a shopkeeper at a nearby shop told us that the museum’s caretaker wouldn’t be turning up today. Another local shopkeeper said they would. We, already getting a little late, decided we couldn’t wait. We had an hour’s drive (at least) ahead of us, to Kasauli. Dagshai is small and has limited accommodation options, so we’d booked into a hotel (WelcomHeritage Glenview) in Kasauli.

We spent the night at Kasauli, and drove the next morning to Shimla, via Arki. The tiny town of Arki is home to an early 18^th century fort which supposedly has some magnificent murals. I was very keen on this—history and art are two of my greatest loves—so we braved the very bumpy ride up to Arki Fort, only to discover that it was locked, closed for renovations. (I have since discovered that it is probably in the process of being converted into a hotel). Online research had informed us that the Arki Fort is home to several restaurants as well, and we had intended to have lunch here too.

With that impossible, we thought of eating in Arki town. But this area, somewhat offbeat, is not exactly teeming with attractive places to eat. We had had a heavy breakfast before setting off, so we weren’t irredeemably hungry. A banana bread I’d baked and carried came in use. We stopped the car on a shady, green stretch of road, ate banana bread, and thanked God for Himachal.

Then we continued, to Shimla.

(Watch this space for Part 2 of this travelogue).