"Glory lies in the attempt to reach one's goal and not in reaching it. " ~ Mahatma Gandhi

In Himachal Pradesh, there is one British hill station that leaves you with two practical choices of a dream. One is that of being a Governor General of the British Empire and the other, of receiving a gift from the Governor General. The reason is simple. Dalhousie is a gift from Lord Dalhousie to the state of Himachal Pradesh.

One couldn't have asked for a more heady cocktail. A hill station in Himachal Pradesh, located on a spur of the unique Dhaula Dhar ranges and facing the Pir Panjal range! It doesn't stop there.

Through the lush blanket of ban, oak, pine and conifers, the five districts within Dalhousie take positions. At an altitude that varies from 5,000 feet to 7,800 feet, their strange names evidence the Indian origin of Dalhousie regardless of the British advertising: Kathloang, Tehra, Bakrota, Potreyn and Balun. From certain places, the three rivers Chenab, Ravi and Beas can be seen together, along with the common border of Jammu and Kashmir, Punjab and Himachal.

A few relatively recent milestones are etched as monuments and are seen on tourist literature. Subhash Chandra Bose's secret visit here. Or Dalhousie's claim that this is the place where the Nobel laureate Rabindranath Tagore wrote his first poem. But deeper in the past, history stakes its maturity to much beyond 120 years. Even as the quality, maintenance and upkeep of Dalhousie makes one suspect a historical aberration in it's age.

It is a hill station that has survived the ravages of civilisation. Despite its proximity to rustic Punjab, it seems the PB registration number plates from the neighbour, after their touristy sojourn, carry their culture back to where they came from. Sparing Dalhousie their commercial friendship. Only traces of their visit survive on the menu cards of basic restaurants at Gandhi Chowk and Subhash Chowk, in the form of names like 'chicken lollypop'. Yet the apple cheeked Himachalis wear their fresh mountain skin and handsome features, oblivious to the exhaust fumes of the PB registered cars. Bungalows retain their charm and the utilitarian Shimla like architecture, has not yet cast so much as a shadow on Dalhousie's arrogant aloofness. The one other minor trace, is the dialect of the locals, which despite some Punjabi words, retains a strange mountain melody in its flavour.

History hasn't quite invaded the natural beauty of these hills, but has nevertheless made subtle impressions here and there. Many eons ago, it is said, that to seek peace and quiet, a battle weary Lord Dalhousie chanced upon this place of great beauty. He lost no time in leasing it from the Rajah of Chamba. Over time, his staff followed and soon a British hill station took birth. Dalhousie left India soon after, but left his gift which had developed further due to a sizeable presence of the British Army, some convent schools and British education.

A second cultural brew simmered in 1959, when Tibet was overrun by China. Tibetan lamas moved into Dalhousie, along with their colour, energy and enterprise, which continues to cling to the locale like a rare Himalayan flower. Many Tibetans later relocated to McCleodganj, where the Dalai Lama also lives. Hence, by a quirk of fate, even the Tibetan culture hasn't overbearingly taken over Dalhousie.

Recent times have seen a few names being printed on the tourist literature of Dalhousie. Subhash Baoli, a memorial to Subhash Chandra Bose, the gutsy Indian freedom fighter. Satdhara, a confluence of seven mountain streams. Jandhri Ghat, the palace of the Rajah of Chamba. The Bakrota Round, a beautiful walk with fabulous views of snow clad mountains. Kalatope, where wild animals are on the loose. And of course, Khajjiar, a saucer shaped meadow fringed by trees; which Swiss authorities have certified as mountain topography similar to that of Switzerland. And across the mountain, some 55 kms away is a fascinating place called Chamba.

But amidst all these, it is Dalhousie, that is top seeded in the minds of mountain lovers. Chances are, that even when you return to the plains, the racy Hindi movie song you would have heard in a Himachal taxi at Dalhousie, or its simple beat at Gandhi Chowk, when heard again, will bring back memories of a Governor General, the mountain mist and the lonesome cry of the Pangi Valley. Or if you dream of Dalhousie, the music will return to your lips. The poet in you will awaken and ink will literally flow from an empty pen. Just blame it on Dalhousie. The place and the person.