A Raj Experience
There is a hotel on the road to Mukteshwar called 'The British Retreat'. Dominated by the Indian Vetinerary Research Institute (IVRI), a campus of greying Edwardian buildings in much the style of The Far Pavilions, at the centre of the town there is even the old officer's club.
Here you can play billiards with the octagenarian caretaker, a toothless old chap who will play shots to rival Hendry yet gracaiously let you win. The trophies on the mantelpiece are engraved with the names of champions at the table and on the golf course and alternate from year to year from English to Indian: Manning; Sengupta; Fields; Singh.
Yet beneath the eccentric veneer, and the magnificent Himalayan vistas, this is not the greatest place to live. My niece has a nasty cough but there nearest doctor is a two hour drive away. The Victorian house is airy and full of character, but when night falls the only warmth comes from a dwindling supply of logs and to use the toilet at night is an arduous experience.
The children at the village school - the new building is half completed, so they learn outside in the warmth of the morning sun - were pleased to meet me, and hear a few words from one who came from so far. But eventually these children will be gone; their mothers hanker for the conveniences of the cities; and gradually Mukteshwar station is closing down.
