Yarrows forever ...

It is beautiful. It is majestic. It is endlessly, effortlessly charming. And more than all that — it is home.

This place resists the rush of time, holding its ground with a quiet dignity — and thank heavens for that. It is a stillness caught mid-river, a droplet of memory suspended in the flow of years, nestled among the ageless Shivalik ranges of the Himalayas. Generations of officers have walked these paths before me — calling Yarrows not just an alma mater, but a place of belonging. A place you fall in love with at first sight… and then again, and again, each time your eyes meet its familiar curves and corners.

I return now, after three years, wearing a different hat, carrying new responsibilities. But ever since this journey was set in motion, the work has remained a faint echo. What filled my heart was something else entirely — the quiet pull of remembrance. Shimla — a city that wears all its seasons like jewels. And Yarrows — our royal refuge, resting like an old soul above it all.

It’s almost impossible to count the things I miss about Yarrows once I’m out in the vast, hurried world. I miss the serene Buddha beneath the walnut tree, smiling gently at all who pass. I miss the camellia bush, on the cusp of bloom — each bud a whispered promise of spring. I miss the hush of twilight as it slides behind the pines, and the nostalgic chuk-chuk of the toy train tracing its path through the Glen Valley like a memory come to life.

But more than sights and sounds, I miss the feeling — the cocoon of comfort that wrapped around me during my probation days. The laughter echoing down corridors, the friendships forged in quiet corners, the unhurried walks to Annandale and the grandeur of the Viceregal Lodge. And above all, my own little universe within Yarrows — Room No. 11 — still etched in memory like the warm glow of a lamp left on for you.

When we first arrived here, tales of Mr. Jinnah’s ghost were passed on to us — half in jest, half in wonder. A ghost in a hill cottage is always welcome, almost a status symbol for any house worthy of a place in the history books. And surely, Yarrows deserves one.

Mr. Jinnah’s stature does suit the grandeur of Yarrows. But then, one might ask — why would his ghost choose this faraway home to haunt? Of course, this was once his summer retreat, and it is said he spent his honeymoon here with his beautiful wife, Ruttie. But he lived in many more splendid houses during his lifetime. If his spirit visits Yarrows, I imagine it’s only occasionally — drawn by the warmth of those happy days long gone.

More likely, though, it is the ghosts of our own kind — the old boys and girls of my service — who return here. Drawn by the memories, by the magic that once lit up their lives.

And once at Yarrows, what else is one supposed to do but sit by the window and soak it all in — the stately deodars swaying gently in the breeze, the sun weaving patterns through clouds, the mountain flowers blooming with casual brilliance. If that’s not enough, a walk is always an option — even at midnight. After all, Yarrows is just ten minutes from the Viceregal Lodge, once home to the Viceroys of India.

Another ritual from my Yarrows years — “mall-ing.” That is, going to the Mall Road. We did it religiously, every other day. The Mall, Scandal Point, the Ridge, and the ever-beautiful Christ Church — that was our pilgrim’s route. And of course, no pilgrimage was complete without the customary stops: Baljees for hot gulab jamuns, Devicos for snacks, and Beekays for soups and pizzas.

It’s impossible not to feel nostalgic in Shimla. Every building has a history, every corner a tale. At every turn, I feel the presence of Rudyard Kipling and his poetry. Every view reminds me of a similar one from a time when India was ruled from this town.

About halfway between Yarrows and the Mall stands one of the most impressive castles in town (well, second most impressive — after the Viceregal Lodge): Gorton Castle. It houses our Shimla Office and looks like something straight out of Harry Potter — a perfect biscuit-tin picture.

Then there’s the Retreat, Knockdrin, Kennedy House, Observatory Hill, Strawberry Hill... so many places to visit and admire. There’s really nothing better than walking. For those who’ve read Rajaa Bhasin’s wonderful book on Shimla, the city becomes a living museum — where every step links you to history.

I can spend hours at the Viceregal Lodge — simply sitting and admiring. It’s a pity they still don’t offer a full-fledged tour for visitors. The place is brimming with history’s mysteries — some true, others spun with imagination. And the romance of it all is magnified by the lovely weather.

Shimla is beautiful in every season, every month — but I love it most when the valley is wrapped in a white robe of clouds. Except for a few winter days, the weather is always pleasant. No wonder the British felt so at home here. “Like meat, we keep better here [in the hills],” wrote Emily Eden. I would paraphrase that for Yarrows probationers: “Like apple blossoms, we bloom naturally over here.”

The probationers — God bless them — are always the same. It’s such fun to meet these ‘owner-residents’ of Yarrows. It’s a pity that this air of confidence, that twinkle of intelligence in their eyes, combined with a blessed ignorance of the world outside, will slowly fade once they leave. But perhaps that’s just life. We learn, and unlearn, to find the right balance.

Today, I heard a horrid suggestion — that Yarrows should be taken away from probationers. Apparently, some committee of architects and conservators found fault with the furnishings and the structure, saying it doesn’t “gel” with the building’s heritage.But who can explain to them that this is not just a heritage building? This is our home. We love its imperfections as much as one loves one’s mother — even if she has buckteeth.

And when I’m at a loss for words to express what Yarrows means to me, I borrow from the Beatles. So here I go again:

There are places I’ll remember
All my life, though some have changed.
Some forever, not for better,
Some have gone and some remain.
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall.
Some are dead and some are living —
In my life, I’ve loved them all.