Serendipitous. Everything on the other side of Shimla. It's getting discovered though, inch by lovely inch, and moving towards the tedium of predictability. So hurry, grab the last few moments of being able to be in the only car driving down a long, curly mountain road. Of course there are certain things you'll rush by never to notice unless dire necessity gives you an opportunity. Like discovering that a tiny, hill shop almost in the middle of nowhere, stocks the freshest packets of chips, fat with the air that those in the know say is proof of freshness. (That discovery is necessitated by a spat in the hotel room over a packet of chips of a certain flavor. Everyone wants that so out you go in search.)And that the same shop doubles as the local samosa joint. As the lone man there fishes out the latest batch from his huge kadai, you quickly calculate that you have walked enough to allow yourself to sample one. You resist all samosas in Delhi, but here, balanced on a stone, a swift breeze blowing your hair askew, the air redolent with the calorie-filled promise of a hot, luscious, potato-filled, deep-fried snack, you succumb. You are glad you did.
Then, there is the discovery that you happily drove up to Naldehra, that sweet perch 2044 metres above sea level, 22 km from Shimla, without refueling. You are not worried. The next day, you drive 32 km for to Tattapani, where hot springs on the banks of a cold, grey, swift Sutlej confuse your bare feet. You drive back 32 km back to Naldehra, by now a small frown settling on your brow. You peer closer at every sign of settlement, but yes, you are right. There is no gas station anywhere on that route. Now you are worried. In most small hill stations, when you step out of where you have taken abode, you can usually go either left or right. You learnt yesterday that there is no petrol to be found when you turn right. So you turn left, towards Shimla, in search of fuel. The tank is low, perilously low. To cut a long, meandering story and journey short, you reach Shimla without having made contact with oil. You missed one petrol pump, you learn later, and were misled away from another by a cop. You suspect sabotage but cannot fix cause for the crime. Meanwhile, in choked, traffic-filled Shimla you feed the car and decide to head back. Just out of town you realize it's 5 pm and you need to be fed too. Mashobra, the adults in the car nod sagely. That is 13 km from Shimla, enroute back to Naldehra. Higher than both Shimla and Naldehra at 2500 m. A quick search on three smartphones on where to eat yields little. Just the name Red Chilli (sic) and a himachal-based website promises it is a one-stop food solution in the area. Fast food too!! By now you are so hungry, you'll eat what you get. Red Chilli it shall be. You almost whiz past - there it sits bang in the middle of the highway, but you were looking for a half-fancy eatery. This is a dhaba with five tables and rickety chairs around them. But it's clean enough to step inside.On the menu is everything imaginable, but be warned that it might or might not be available. Much of the stuff is brought in from the vegetable seller across the road, so if you order Aloo-Gobhi, you are likely to see the gobhi fetched before it is cut and cooked and served to you. The food is more than adequate, clean and brought to the table quickly. The rotis - only tawa rotis here - though could do with some expert handling. They come in every shape but round, and often carry a black grid from where they burnt on the flame. The locals flock here too. And from them, as usual, you learn what to order. Maggi. Plain or made to order. You scoff at first. Then, tentatively order one. Next to your table two women, in their 20s, exchange confidences over the Maggi. Yours arrives, hot, steaming. Outside, the sky is grey as clouds come down to shroud the mountains. There is no rain yet but the breeze is sharp. It is June but you wouldn't know it here. The Maggi is wonderful. The Aloo-Gobhi nice and not swimming in oil. The dal - you asked for any yellow dal, sick by now of the ubiquitous Dal Makhani - tastes very good. Ask for the butter to be served on the side or they'll throw a 25 gm piece into everything. As you eat you learn this is indeed a one-stop shop - they help you with taxis, tours and, I suspect, horse rides if you are so inclined. If you are in those parts and looking for a meal at an odd hour, when most of the resorts or hotels will not feed you, head here. There are some delicate stomachs in the family and they did well with two meals at Red Chilli. Yes, we went back. There is something about Maggi served in a steel bowl at 2500 m with rain-bearing clouds settling around you.
Then, there is the discovery that you happily drove up to Naldehra, that sweet perch 2044 metres above sea level, 22 km from Shimla, without refueling. You are not worried. The next day, you drive 32 km for to Tattapani, where hot springs on the banks of a cold, grey, swift Sutlej confuse your bare feet. You drive back 32 km back to Naldehra, by now a small frown settling on your brow. You peer closer at every sign of settlement, but yes, you are right. There is no gas station anywhere on that route. Now you are worried. In most small hill stations, when you step out of where you have taken abode, you can usually go either left or right. You learnt yesterday that there is no petrol to be found when you turn right. So you turn left, towards Shimla, in search of fuel. The tank is low, perilously low. To cut a long, meandering story and journey short, you reach Shimla without having made contact with oil. You missed one petrol pump, you learn later, and were misled away from another by a cop. You suspect sabotage but cannot fix cause for the crime. Meanwhile, in choked, traffic-filled Shimla you feed the car and decide to head back. Just out of town you realize it's 5 pm and you need to be fed too. Mashobra, the adults in the car nod sagely. That is 13 km from Shimla, enroute back to Naldehra. Higher than both Shimla and Naldehra at 2500 m. A quick search on three smartphones on where to eat yields little. Just the name Red Chilli (sic) and a himachal-based website promises it is a one-stop food solution in the area. Fast food too!! By now you are so hungry, you'll eat what you get. Red Chilli it shall be. You almost whiz past - there it sits bang in the middle of the highway, but you were looking for a half-fancy eatery. This is a dhaba with five tables and rickety chairs around them. But it's clean enough to step inside.On the menu is everything imaginable, but be warned that it might or might not be available. Much of the stuff is brought in from the vegetable seller across the road, so if you order Aloo-Gobhi, you are likely to see the gobhi fetched before it is cut and cooked and served to you. The food is more than adequate, clean and brought to the table quickly. The rotis - only tawa rotis here - though could do with some expert handling. They come in every shape but round, and often carry a black grid from where they burnt on the flame. The locals flock here too. And from them, as usual, you learn what to order. Maggi. Plain or made to order. You scoff at first. Then, tentatively order one. Next to your table two women, in their 20s, exchange confidences over the Maggi. Yours arrives, hot, steaming. Outside, the sky is grey as clouds come down to shroud the mountains. There is no rain yet but the breeze is sharp. It is June but you wouldn't know it here. The Maggi is wonderful. The Aloo-Gobhi nice and not swimming in oil. The dal - you asked for any yellow dal, sick by now of the ubiquitous Dal Makhani - tastes very good. Ask for the butter to be served on the side or they'll throw a 25 gm piece into everything. As you eat you learn this is indeed a one-stop shop - they help you with taxis, tours and, I suspect, horse rides if you are so inclined. If you are in those parts and looking for a meal at an odd hour, when most of the resorts or hotels will not feed you, head here. There are some delicate stomachs in the family and they did well with two meals at Red Chilli. Yes, we went back. There is something about Maggi served in a steel bowl at 2500 m with rain-bearing clouds settling around you.
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