Tales of the Open Road

Ruskin Bond's travellogue - like his novels and short stories - are full of verve and vigour.

Tales of the Open Road
by Ruskin Bond
Paperback
Penguin Books India
Price: Rs 200.00
Pages: 202
ISBN: 0-14-400072-5

‘I have come to believe that the best kind of walk, or journey, is the one in which you have no particular destination when you set out.’

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Ruskin Bond’s travel writing is unlike what is found in most travelogues, because he will take you to the smaller, lesser-known corners of the country, acquaint you with the least-famous locals there, and describe the flora and fauna that others would have missed. And if the place is well known, Ruskin leaves the common tourist spots to find a small alley or shop where he finds colourful characters to engage in conversation.

Tales of the Open Road is a collection of Ruskin Bond’s travel writing over fifty years. Here, you will encounter a tonga ride through the Shivaliks, a hidden waterfall near Rishikesh, walks along the myriad streets of Delhi (one of which used to be the richest in Asia), trips down the Grand Trunk Road, stopovers in little tea stalls in the hills around Mussoorie, and an excursion to the icy source of the Ganga at over ten thousand feet above sea level.

Enriched by rare photographs that Ruskin took during his travels, Tales of the Open Road is a celebration of small-town and rural India by its most engaging chronicler.

Here is an excerpt:

"Of course, the best walks are to be enjoyed in the hills, preferably in the company of a quiet friend. Sometimes I would escape from Delhi and trek to the Pindari Glacier in Kumaon, or the hills beyond Landsdowne, or Deoban above Cakrata. I wasn't interested in climbing mountains - I preferred going around them: you saw more that way. At ever bend of the road in the mountains there is a fresh vista, a different landscape, interesting people, new birds, trees, flowers.

Some of these excursions could be quite comical. On one occasion, many years ago, a Bengali friend and I decided to walk from Mussoorie to Chamba (near Tehri), some thirty miles distant. This was before the road became motorable.

I knew we wouldn't find anything to eat along the way, so I slipped two tins of sardines into my haversack and we set off on our day-long walk. By noon we were both quite hungry, so we sat down in the shade of a whispering pine, and quenched our thirst from our water bottles. Then, with a flourish, I produced the sardine tins.

To my horror, I discovered I'd left the tin-opener behind. We did our best to open the tins with stones and even a horseshoe nail, but to no avail.

'Why couldn't you remind me to bring a tin-opener along?' I snapped at my companion. 'You're a Bengali, you're supposed to like fish.'

'Only fresh-water Hilsa,' he replied disdainfully. 'We don't go in for tinned stuff.'

In my frustration I flung both tins into a deep ravine, and for all I know they are still there, unless aliens from outer space have succeeded in opening them.

At Chamba we found a tea shop that sold some ancient, rock-hard buns, probably left behind by the roving Pandavas. We softened them up by soaking them in mugs of hot tea, and so satisfied our hunger to some extent.

Two days later, on our return to Dehra, the first thing I saw was the tin-opener on my desk."