Window to the World

The year is 2022. It is the year Elizabeth II, Queen of the United Kingdom, died. It is the year a Halloween stampede in Seoul led to the death of a hundred-plus people. It is also the year Ruskin Bond looked out of his window in Landour, and noticed the many small and big changes. He maps these in his latest book through journal-like entries in Another Day in Landour.

Having turned 90 in May 2024, Bond continues to be a beloved writer, with over 100 books to his name. His writing over the years is familiar, even predictable, to readers. He writes of birds and butterflies, mountains and trees. He writes with a keen eye and a kind hand, bearing malice to none. It is this predictability that, perhaps, best explains his popularity. When you pick up the latest Ruskin Bond, you know what you are going to get.

Another Day in Landour is a typical Bond book, rich in observation and the odd revelation. Age is slowing him down, he finds it difficult to manoeuvre the 22 steps that lead to his home. He is losing teeth, but still enjoys his keema and kofta, boiled carrots are fine, but raw carrots are a no go. He uses his insomnia to scribble limericks. He is plagued by a painful thigh infection, which is finally soothed by a haldi pack. Given his lack of mobility, his home and the window is “his lifeline to the rest of the world.” He finds companionship in the ring of mountains, the sparkle of the stars,  and the distant town playing hide and seek with the mist. He reassures us that even those who do not have the blessing of such views, can even find a wall outside our homes interesting. Living in Delhi, his window faced a wall but, in its cracks, grew a dandelion. As he writes, “You can’t suppress a dandelion. One of nature’s most resilient plants. We insult it by calling it a weed.”

Bond can take credit for making generations of young readers more sensitive towards nature. Here too we notice his awe and affection for the natural world. He writes of the lore behind flowers, it is believed fairies feed off the nectar of the honeysuckle flower. For him nature is the ultimate balm and teacher. One can learn geometry from the spider’s web, and industry from the red ants. For him, “Nature goes about its business quietly, with that wonderful skill which millions of years have perfected. There is perfection in green growing things, even a blade of grass.”

He is a man of routine, who drinks his one glass of vodka and orange juice every day, who knows no loneliness because he has his books to turn to, who enjoys reading the newspaper and the antics of his cat Mimi.

Bond has been writing for seventy years, and now his “sword hand” hurts with the effort. But as this philosophical rather than spiritual person—who believes in the glory of nature rather than the dogma of religion—reminds us, “to stop working was to stop living” and that he would rather contemplate a lotus than meditate in a lotus position.

Another Day in LandourbooksfictionIndian societyRuskin Bond