Modern Shillong may be a bustling city, but its citizens still hanker for the beauty and serenity of its self-contained past, writes Annie SadafTake a small, but perfect little gemstone, surrounded by old, rose cut diamonds, in a classical setting — and you have the Shillong of the past. Surround this mount with a more morder, but gilt-edged hard setting, letting the entire piece acquire the grime inevitable with age — and you have latter day Shillong. A city in transition, Shillong still retains some of the beauty of its past, but it has been oppressed by the weight of a larger, uglier, modernity. Once dubbed by colonials the Scotland of the East, Shillong possesses both the geography and the climate to fit the bill. Only not so bleak — nestled in rich pine forests in the Khasi hills, verdant grassy downs, lakes and streams dot the region, with the added attraction of fine, wooden cottages complete with floral borders.
Shillong had a poetic beauty that echoed the best Scottish countryside, tempered with a softness lacking in the windswept heather-clad moors of the original. The city derives its name from the deity Shyllong or Lei Shyllong, which is worshipped at the Shilong Peak (1965 m high), about 10 km from the main town. Today’s Shillong is a more quixotic, if more modern city — some of the old, quaint houses and cottages still exist, but their large, lush lawns have been overtaken by the construction boom changing the skyline — and not for the better. Monstrous and ugly buildings have trampled these greens, to rise as concrete milestones on the path to progress. The various streams that flow through the city, once populated with picnic and angling spots, are now an ugly testament to development — filled with unregulated sewage, garbage and filth. More like nallahs, they drain Shillong of its former beauty.
Any old-timer would bemoan the fact that the distinctive black and yellow Ambassador taxis have been now overtaken by Marutis. Worse, the city’s narrow, winding roads — whose meanderings supposedly led a British gentleman to comment, “the Khasis made the roads when they were drunk” — are today choked with the growing traffic. Shillong’s place in the political sun came in 1874, when it was made the capital of Assam. It remained so for over a century, till the seat of government was transferred to Dispur and Meghalaya became a separate state. But like smaller, urban centres all over India, this old world gem is now a rapidly-growing city.
It’s among the 63 cities to be selected for the Jawaharlal Nehru National Urban Renewal Mission (JNNURM) project, launched by the Prime Minister in 2005. The city’s experiencing an onslaught of domestic tourists and hotels catering to different budgets are coming up. Once a typical hill station boarding school centre, with names likes St. Edmunds, Loreto Convent, St Marys and Pine Mount, the modern makeover of Shillong has brought an Indian Institute of Management (IIM) and Indira Gandhi Regional Institute of Medical Sciences (NEIGRIMS) to the city. Shillong is also the headquarters of the Eastern Air Command and 101 Communication unit of the Army. Some of these may be good news for the city and the region, bring the hope of economic prosperity and the ability to retain the migration of its youth to more economically salubrious climes, but residents of Shillong still reminisce fondly about its erstwhile charm.
John F. Kharshiing, advisor & spokesperson, Federation of 25 Khasi States, talks of the ancient traditional markets that are a distinctive feature in Shillong localities. His grandmother told him that during the time of the British, the largest such traditional market, the Burra Bazaar, was manned by a British officer on horseback to monitor that there was no littering. Today, the same market is both crowded and filthy, a sad reminder of bustle gone to hustle. Some things, however, haven’t changed much: the one-stop destination for all gourmands is one of the oldest bakeries, Mahari & Sons in Mawprem. It started doing business in the 1930s and boasts of having supplied bread to the British Army. Today, it’s grown into a departmental store. Says proprietor Jwain Sing Kharshiing: “With the expansion of the city, demand for our bakery items and confectionary has grown.” Old-timers still remember the ‘Guiddeti’, another famous bakery whose deliveryman used to sell cakes and bread in different localities.
For A Christian-dominated state, it’s hardly surprising that there are over 100 churches dotting Shillong. But today the bells of the Catholic Cathedral in Laitmukhrah resonate amidst the chaos of the newly commercialised locality. Dominic Jala, Archbishop of Shillong, feels that the aura around the Cathedral has changed now, but the religious life of the people has increased. “We find newer challenges confronting us. We are actively involved in organising and improving the lives of domestic workers of Shillong, training school dropouts and care for women,” adds the Archbishop. And even for those who have moved out, the love affair continues. The romantic charm of the city exerts a powerful nostalgia on its former citizens, who might have moved to work elsewhere — but have their hearts still in Shillong’s gentle embrace.
Academic Alak Buragohain, who was born and brought up in Shillong and has moved to Assam, eulogises on how one could walk miles and miles and literally count the vehicles plying the roads and the quaint city buses on their routes. At the State Central Library librarian Ram Goswami remembered almost every reader. “He used to inform us if there were any new books. We used to even read the The Washington Post and The New York Times there,” Buragohain adds. He feels that there was a sort of bonhomie present in the past that is missing now.
There was a strong non-Khasi community, which was very localized in areas like Bishnupur and Moti Nagar. “In spite of these different ethnic backgrounds, there was a rich round of cultural activities like Ananda Sanmelan and Bihu Sanmelan. Most of the past landmarks, including the Assembly House with which we grew up, are now missing. The nostalgia is there but with a lot of pain. No doubt it’s a city in transition, but I don’t know if it’s for the better or the worse,” says Buragohain, sadly. Looking at the present-day Shillong, is hardly surprising that the Khasi hills are alive with the sounds of sentiment and nostalgia.
