Letters from the Summer Capital

Shimla carries the weight of history lightly. The British built it as their summer escape from the heat of the plains, and they left behind an architectural vocabulary that sits, unexpectedly, in perfect harmony with the surrounding deodars and the rhythm of the hills. I walked The Mall on a December morning and had it almost entirely to myself.

The old bazaar below The Ridge is a different world from the colonial quarter above. I spent a morning with Ramesh, a third-generation tailor in a narrow shop whose walls are covered with photographs of customers he has dressed since 1971. He is making a Himachali coat for a customer's son — the same design he made for the father forty years ago. He showed me the order book without a word, letting the unbroken thread speak for itself.

Kufri, a short drive from Shimla, holds one of the best apple orchards I've ever sat in. The farmer, Bir Singh, gave me three varieties back-to-back and explained what the soil and altitude do to each. 'People come for the views,' he said, gesturing at the Himalayan panorama around us. 'But the apples are the real reason to be here.' He was not wrong.