Once the summer capital of the British colonial class, the fabric of old Shimla remains defined by the facades of its vintage shops and its colonial-era institutions.
Many tourists, particularly from the UK and other European countries, travel to Shimla seeking a connection to its fading colonial heritage.
Shimla Municipal Corporation—the custodian of the town’s assets and civic life—or the district administration has, however, misplaced its priorities. Preservation has given way to neglect, and the hill town’s heritage is slowly eroding due to apathy and oversight.
Just a week earlier, a Shimla journalist bumped into a Punjab politician at the India International Centre (IIC) in Delhi. Their conversation swiftly turned to his rare trips to Shimla—the erstwhile summer capital, whose colonial charm, vibrant culture, and Himalayan splendour he conceded no longer allure him as they once did.
With a wry smile, he said, “Shimla? We saw it in its glory days. That era is long gone. It doesn’t tug at me anymore.”
Taken aback, the gentle scribe found himself a bit wondering—where had Shimla gone wrong? After all, the town still draws its weekend crowds and summer rush. Don’t they come to see Shimla for the very charm, calm, and character that old-timers now say has faded?
“Or, has the city changed faster than its memories?” he asked himself.
Shimla is not just the Mall Road or its sprawling Ridge, nor the bustling Lower and Middle Bazars. It is also the fabric of old Shimla, defined by the facades of its vintage shops and its colonial-era institutions—Grindlay’s Bank, the General Post Office (GPO), the Central Telegraph Office (CTO), the US Club, Lady Reading Hospital, the oldest water supply scheme at Gumma, and never to miss the cemeteries—where the departed lie in their eternal sleep.
Many tourists, particularly from the UK and other European countries, travel to Shimla seeking a connection to its fading colonial heritage—the summer cottages, administrative offices, and quiet corners where their ancestors once lived or served under the British government.
They are third- or fourth-generation men and women. Few come with fixed itineraries, such as a must-visit to the Shimla cemeteries. Quite often, they also turn emotional upon seeing encroachments, broken gravestones, and the fading signs that mark the resting places of their ancestors.
Raaja Bhasin, a writer and Shimla historian, vividly recalls hosting some foreign visitors and taking them on the heritage trails of Shimla. “They evince quite an interest in the landmark buildings—some of these showcasing a rare architecture, a unique blend of culture and history, the stones, the timber, and the grey slates (at slating roofs) used in making these monumental places by the best architects,” he informs.
But who can stop Shimla from losing its charm when the Shimla Municipal Corporation—the custodian of the town’s assets and civic life—or the district administration misplaces priorities? Preservation gives way to neglect, and the heritage slowly gets eroded under apathy and oversight.
Shimla’s Ridge, where former Prime Minister Indira Gandhi braved winter snowfall and stood tall on that cold morning to grant full statehood to Himachal Pradesh on January 25, 1971. Since then, the Ridge has occupied a sacred place in people's hearts.
Now, the Ridge, which also houses a giant British-era 140-year-old underground water storage tank with a capacity of around 10 lakh gallons, is becoming a site of vulnerability. Ignoring the concerns of citizens about the safety of the Ridge, the government keeps allowing events like “Winter Carnival,” exhibition-cum-sales, eating stalls, and mega religious events on the pretext of promoting tourism.
“I have been repeatedly asking the government to impose a complete ban on such activities on the Ridge to reduce the risks of its collapse and structural failure. It’s a myth that such events promote tourism, or that too at what cost?” he asks, suggesting that heavy loads and large gatherings could lead to catastrophic failure—risking lives and the heritage of Shimla.
Behind the Ridge also stands a colonial landmark – ‘Takka Bench.’ During the British era, no Indian was allowed to sit on the bench. This was exclusively the privilege of the Europeans to sit on this bench—a sign of racial discrimination against Indians.
Anyone other than the British found sitting on the bench was required to pay a penalty of one takka, a monetary unit earlier used in India. Though a sign of slavery, the bench continues to remain a happening place at the Ridge even now.
“Small heritage corners like Takka Bench are slowly losing their charm in Shimla. The administration has never attempted to develop them as meaningful attractions for visitors. Instead, modern commercial activities—turning the Ridge into a venue for sales, exhibitions, and winter carnivals—are being given far greater priority,” feels Raaja Bhasin.
Shimla’s Ridge has figured in several Bollywood films, including Rajkumar Hirani’s 3 Idiots, starring Aamir Khan, which also features the iconic Takka Bench.
Shimla, these days, is also witnessing yet another aberration of name change. It’s only been a few days since signboards/marks were put up naming Lower Bazar “Lower Mall.” This has created a vertical divide in the town, especially the traders’ groups, who have objected to the move
Bhupendra Attri, Commissioner of the Shimla Municipal Corporation, said the change was carried out without the Corporation’s approval, apparently by the state’s Public Works Department (PWD). The arbitrary decision to rename Lower Bazar has led to utter confusion and stalled the corporation's drive to put up signs for some of Shimla’s sites, such as Lakkar Bazar and Ridge.
Some of the big brands that have taken over old commercial premises to open their showrooms have already altered the Mall Road’s architectural character and original streetscape. The Municipal Corporation has remained a silent spectator of the brazen violations.
Gone are the days when the Himachal Pradesh High Court mandated that all shops follow a uniform red-roof colour scheme. The purpose of this act was to maintain the heritage character of the central Shimla area. But now it looks like a free-for-all, even in the officially notified heritage zone, recalls a senior Shimla lawyer.
Things are changing fast, and so is Shimla—the mountain town.
Just a week earlier, a Shimla journalist bumped into a Punjab politician at the India International Centre (IIC) in Delhi. Their conversation swiftly turned to his rare trips to Shimla—the erstwhile summer capital, whose colonial charm, vibrant culture, and Himalayan splendour he conceded no longer allure him as they once did.
With a wry smile, he said, “Shimla? We saw it in its glory days. That era is long gone. It doesn’t tug at me anymore.”
Taken aback, the gentle scribe found himself a bit wondering—where had Shimla gone wrong? After all, the town still draws its weekend crowds and summer rush. Don’t they come to see Shimla for the very charm, calm, and character that old-timers now say has faded?
“Or, has the city changed faster than its memories?” he asked himself.
Shimla is not just the Mall Road or its sprawling Ridge, nor the bustling Lower and Middle Bazars. It is also the fabric of old Shimla, defined by the facades of its vintage shops and its colonial-era institutions—Grindlay’s Bank, the General Post Office (GPO), the Central Telegraph Office (CTO), the US Club, Lady Reading Hospital, the oldest water supply scheme at Gumma, and never to miss the cemeteries—where the departed lie in their eternal sleep.
Many tourists, particularly from the UK and other European countries, travel to Shimla seeking a connection to its fading colonial heritage—the summer cottages, administrative offices, and quiet corners where their ancestors once lived or served under the British government.
They are third- or fourth-generation men and women. Few come with fixed itineraries, such as a must-visit to the Shimla cemeteries. Quite often, they also turn emotional upon seeing encroachments, broken gravestones, and the fading signs that mark the resting places of their ancestors.
Raaja Bhasin, a writer and Shimla historian, vividly recalls hosting some foreign visitors and taking them on the heritage trails of Shimla. “They evince quite an interest in the landmark buildings—some of these showcasing a rare architecture, a unique blend of culture and history, the stones, the timber, and the grey slates (at slating roofs) used in making these monumental places by the best architects,” he informs.
But who can stop Shimla from losing its charm when the Shimla Municipal Corporation—the custodian of the town’s assets and civic life—or the district administration misplaces priorities? Preservation gives way to neglect, and the heritage slowly gets eroded under apathy and oversight.
Shimla’s Ridge, where former Prime Minister Indira Gandhi braved winter snowfall and stood tall on that cold morning to grant full statehood to Himachal Pradesh on January 25, 1971. Since then, the Ridge has occupied a sacred place in people's hearts.
Now, the Ridge, which also houses a giant British-era 140-year-old underground water storage tank with a capacity of around 10 lakh gallons, is becoming a site of vulnerability. Ignoring the concerns of citizens about the safety of the Ridge, the government keeps allowing events like “Winter Carnival,” exhibition-cum-sales, eating stalls, and mega religious events on the pretext of promoting tourism.
“I have been repeatedly asking the government to impose a complete ban on such activities on the Ridge to reduce the risks of its collapse and structural failure. It’s a myth that such events promote tourism, or that too at what cost?” he asks, suggesting that heavy loads and large gatherings could lead to catastrophic failure—risking lives and the heritage of Shimla.
Behind the Ridge also stands a colonial landmark – ‘Takka Bench.’ During the British era, no Indian was allowed to sit on the bench. This was exclusively the privilege of the Europeans to sit on this bench—a sign of racial discrimination against Indians.
Anyone other than the British found sitting on the bench was required to pay a penalty of one takka, a monetary unit earlier used in India. Though a sign of slavery, the bench continues to remain a happening place at the Ridge even now.
“Small heritage corners like Takka Bench are slowly losing their charm in Shimla. The administration has never attempted to develop them as meaningful attractions for visitors. Instead, modern commercial activities—turning the Ridge into a venue for sales, exhibitions, and winter carnivals—are being given far greater priority,” feels Raaja Bhasin.
Shimla’s Ridge has figured in several Bollywood films, including Rajkumar Hirani’s 3 Idiots, starring Aamir Khan, which also features the iconic Takka Bench.
Shimla, these days, is also witnessing yet another aberration of name change. It’s only been a few days since signboards/marks were put up naming Lower Bazar “Lower Mall.” This has created a vertical divide in the town, especially the traders’ groups, who have objected to the move
Bhupendra Attri, Commissioner of the Shimla Municipal Corporation, said the change was carried out without the Corporation’s approval, apparently by the state’s Public Works Department (PWD). The arbitrary decision to rename Lower Bazar has led to utter confusion and stalled the corporation's drive to put up signs for some of Shimla’s sites, such as Lakkar Bazar and Ridge.
Some of the big brands that have taken over old commercial premises to open their showrooms have already altered the Mall Road’s architectural character and original streetscape. The Municipal Corporation has remained a silent spectator of the brazen violations.
Gone are the days when the Himachal Pradesh High Court mandated that all shops follow a uniform red-roof colour scheme. The purpose of this act was to maintain the heritage character of the central Shimla area. But now it looks like a free-for-all, even in the officially notified heritage zone, recalls a senior Shimla lawyer.
Things are changing fast, and so is Shimla—the mountain town.
