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Having grown up far from the lofty peaks of the Himalayas, I found my way here much later with my family and settled in Dehradun, a lovely city that blends the conveniences of urban life with the magic of mountain landscapes. Over the last year, my three-year-old son, P, and I have had daily little excursions into the hills near our home. I started these trips to help him see his natural home firsthand, beyond the human additions to the landscape.
The forests of Khalanga, and the valleys of the Baldi, Bandal, and Saung are all less than a 20-minute drive from home and thus have become areas of exploration for P and me. I hoped exploring these natural surroundings would teach him about the hills and the rivers, but he had plans of his own.
While I attempted to introduce him to the names of river valleys and mountains, he has understood them in terms of the tea shops that dot these valleys. Some are temporary shacks, some small cafés, and one is just a broken-down Maruti van with a guy serving tea from the window! P loves these stalls, and we make it a point to stop at them for a “bun-makkhan” whenever we head out.
The Baldi River valley has become the home of the “blue” and “green” tea shop (named after the colour of the tin sheets covering their roofs). The Khalanga canal now means the “terrace” shop, which is an open terrace café with lovely views of Maldevta and the mountains. Dwara mountain is the home of the “brown” tin-sheet shop, and the “car” tea shop (Maruti van), and the Khalanga forest is where we find the “white” shop, which happens to be the fanciest café on the list.
With our geography thus relabelled, we have set out over the past year to explore hillsides, walk along canals, trudge up mountaintops, and take in the landscapes and the birds that live there.
Our route up the Baldi valley centres around the road from Seragaon to Chamasari (a small village just below Mussoorie). Climbing up the Chamasari road, we have stopped many times to watch black kites (Milvus migrans) fly alongside and soar over. P enjoys watching them, especially when they engage in mid-air tussles.
Beyond Seragaon, this view of the gorge shows the Baldi River cutting its way through the mountains towards Sahastradhara below. The road winds down through lower montane forests from Chamasari village and is now dotted with shelters and little tea shops as it runs parallel to the river.
As the trees began flowering along Chamasari Road, we were very lucky to spot the incredible crimson mantle of (1) the male sunbird as it went from flower to flower, feeding. (2) The female crimson sunbird (Aethopyga siparaja) is olive-green with a yellow breast and black tail.
Climbing Chamasari Road, a large hairpin bend just before Baswalgaon looks down into the Baldi Valley and appears to be a favourite stop for parakeets. They delighted P when they flew up and down the valley and past us in formation. (1) Plum-headed parakeets (Psittacula cyanocephala) and (2) slaty-headed parakeets (Psittacula himalayana).
The collared owlet (Glaucidium brodiei) is one of the birds P has heard but not yet seen. We encountered the collared owlet early this spring on a walk beyond Seragaon. Suddenly, near a sunflower patch, the “toot…toot, toot…toot” call of the owlet cut through the chatter of the bulbuls and babblers around us. After identifying it for him and whistling it half a dozen times, P has now associated the collared owlet’s call with all owls.
Khalanga is a place of wonder. We don’t cover large distances, yet our wanderings here have been exceedingly rewarding. One such sighting happened as we followed the sound of a woodpecker. Following the sound, we drove a little further and found ourselves face to face with a black bulbul (Hypsipetes leucocephalus) perched on a tree, backlit against the rising sun. The red beak was the first thing I pointed out to him, and as we looked away, we had the bonus of seeing a deer stepping out of the forest briefly and then fading back in. Khalanga’s forest has recently been at the forefront of local conversation efforts to preserve the natural heritage of the Doon Valley.
We stopped at a small open-air shrine to Chandrani Devi in the middle of the forest late one morning to spend time at the temple and take in the surrounding forest. As we reached the temple, we chanced upon a bunch of red-billed blue-magpies (Urocissa erythroryncha) swooping down to claim the prasad someone had left outside the temple.
One cold winter morning, we walked to the edge of the Khalanga forest in Kalagaon to see snow on the mountains of Mussoorie and Dhanaulti. As I struggled to direct P’s attention to the snow on the peaks, we caught sight of a brown-headed barbet (Megalaima zeylanica). It was a short sighting, and I can say with some certainty that P saw one barbet and no snow that day.
Having heard the call of the rufous treepie (Dendrocitta vagabunda) multiple times while walking in the Baldi Valley this winter, P and I were lucky to find one sitting comfortably out in the open as we climbed up to Dwara. The treepie’s familial likeness to a crow has earned it the apt nickname “colour kau” (colourful crow) from P.
I have revelled in my little explorations of these hills with P, attempting to understand their geography, tracking little rivers and streams as they pour down into the Doon Valley, and showing him the incredible birdlife that we share this landscape with.
A sceptic might point out that all of this may not even fully register in a little child’s mind, and while he may now playfully identify a few bird species by sight or sound, he will likely not remember any of it as he grows. That may be the case, but it is not the real point of these trips. In a world where artificial screens scream louder for a child’s attention than any natural wonder might be able to, I hope these trips continue to build in him a love for the outdoors.
Snacking at our various tea shops, many times I have seen P’s ears perk up when a barbet starts calling in the distance; his eyes light up as he identifies the sound and turns to me with a big smile, asking, “tē kāya āhē?” (do you know what that is?). Afternoon tea doesn’t get better than this.
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