Shimla ki Sundarta

Shimla ki Sundarta.
The beauty of Shimla.

Shimla honestly lived up to my expectations—at least, for me. My parents would say otherwise. They told me that when they used to come here years ago, it was different. Quieter. Simpler. And if you ask anyone over the age of 40, they’ll probably tell you the same thing—it’s not what it used to be. Maybe they’re right. But for me, I realised something—I had only ever seen Shimla through perfect angles. Drone shots. Clean, cinematic views. The kind that don’t show the crowds, the noise, the reality. And even with all of that… I was still impressed.
I loved every part of it. The people. The nature. The food. The wildlife.
There was a calmness to it all. A quiet presence. Even with the population, even with the movement, Shimla somehow still felt peaceful. My parents kept pointing out how much busier it is now, and even locals said the same this is nothing compared to summer. Apparently, in peak season, there isn’t even space to stand. And that really puts it into perspective. You drive two hours up a mountain, climbing higher and higher, expecting things to thin out… and yet, it’s still full. Still alive. Still moving. But even then it felt different. After Shimla, I realised something. For a place to truly leave an impact on you, it has to come after something difficult. Something overwhelming. I had just spent six weeks in Delhi. Most of it blurred together because of the wedding.
It was loud. Busy. Constant. I didn’t even realise how much it was affecting me at the time mentally, I had almost gone numb to it. My body was just… coping. Car horns every second. Crowds everywhere. It felt like there were hundreds of people within arm’s reach at all times maybe not literally, but that’s what it felt like. Like I was always slightly on edge. And then came Shimla.
Even with the people, even with the movement. it felt clean. It felt open. It felt like I could finally breathe again. It wasn’t just a destination. It was needed.

We woke up at 4am to drive back to Delhi. My wife got up out of bed at least six times and collapsed back on the bed with a very moody frown. It was one of those quiet, early starts where everything feels still for a moment before the journey properly begins. Unfortunately, my wife’s travel sickness decided to make an appearance that morning, and we ended up spending nearly two hours stopping on the side of the road. Our first stop was near a bridge that was still under construction. I stepped out to get her some water, and that’s when I noticed a few puppies below. Naturally, I decided to meow at them - for her entertainment - completely forgetting that dogs don’t take long to respond. Within about three seconds, they’d all figured out exactly where the sound was coming from.
I laughed and said, “What are they going to do, come after me?”
My wife calmly pointed towards a small footpath leading up from where they were.
I got straight back in the car, but to be fair… it worked. She laughed.

Back on the motorway, we had a bit of an interesting end to our trip. We were about two hours away from Delhi, and my wife and I were fast asleep in the back of the car. We suddenly woke up to my parents shouting at the car in front of us. Two men were sitting in the backseat of the car ahead, aggressively signalling for us to pull over to the side of the road. We woke up instantly terrified. Our thoughts, and my mum’s voice, were completely in sync: “Gang? Thieves? What do you want? Why should we stop?” A dozen emotions hit all at once. Goosebumps. Adrenaline. Confusion. We slowly pulled over… not because we wanted to, but because we didn’t really have a choice. They were positioned right in front of us, not letting us pass.

The two men got out of the car, while one stayed seated in the driver’s seat. They walked up to our window and said the name of the man who had rented the car to us. That’s when things got even more confusing. They told us he hadn’t paid his finance instalment on the car. At that point, nothing made sense.
Was this legitimate?
Were they just trying to scam us?
How did they even have his details? Then came a call with the finest of Indian Police. My wife rang them, asking for immediate help, but instead of reassurance, we were met with endless questions. No clear answers. No urgency. Meanwhile, we were still stuck on the side of the road with two strangers demanding money. My dad stepped out of the car and locked the doors behind him. One of the men stood with his back to my door as they spoke. Those few minutes felt long. Then my mum shouted from inside,
“You can’t do this! This is wrong! We told you it’s a rental—how can you just stop us and demand money!?”
It was chaos. We were scared, frustrated, and honestly losing patience—with the situation and with the police. My mum kept shouting, worried about my dad outside, while we tried to make sense of what was happening. We called the man who rented us the car. His response?
“Just pay them 5000 rupees.” That’s when it hit me - they weren’t going anywhere. And they weren’t going to let us go either. They even said we could “wait for the police,” but by that point, it didn’t feel like a real option. It was simple—either we paid, or we gave up the car. We were furious. At one point, we even considered just leaving the car there and booking a taxi back to Delhi, which would’ve cost us less anyway. But he kept begging us not to lose his car, promising he’d return the money. The police? Still no help. No direction. Nothing. So we paid. They told us to stop at a hotel ahead and wait, but we’d already realised how this worked. These situations often involve multiple groups, and stopping again could’ve meant another demand, another payment. So we ignored that and drove off. We were shaken, but at least we were moving again.

A couple of hours later, we finally made it back to Delhi. That night, the man came to collect his car, and of course… he tried not to return the 5000. One minute, he played the victim acting like a struggling man with no money. The next, he tried to show “power,” throwing around subtle threats. It didn’t work. Not after what we’d just been through. Even my wife stepped in, and when he made a comment that “women shouldn’t speak in matters of men,” that told us everything we needed to know about him. We stood our ground. Between the tolls we had paid, the lies about filling the fuel tank, and everything else, we already knew we had overpaid him from the start. That 5000 wasn’t optional - it was ours, and we made sure we got it back.
Only then did we hand over the keys, which ended up a little comedic because once he did give us the 5000, we couldn't find the keys for about five minutes.

Shimla ka Sundarta was a fulfilling place to be, but now...

We were definitely back in Delhi.