Nestled among the charming Dhauladhars,
Is the quaint town of Dalhousie, Infusing life and vigour into the spirits of the travellers, When they sneak into the town looking lousy.
Far away from the hustle bustle of the Plains, Time tends to stop still in this tiny town, Every other creation of God here, has their own plans, To slog as quick and hard – as the Slug in brown.
Blessed with Pines, Deodars and Oaks, The charm of this place reminds one: of the English country side, It is for the same reason why the Lord brought here his flock, And converted this ‘Nature’s Gift’ to a town and took it in his stride. The porches, the ornate entrances, the Churches
The architecture of all- are remnants of Colonization. The memory of pain and torture comes back to haunt the patriots But then it’s time to forgive the past in this age of globalization. The trail to Pauloni along the enchanting scenery
Or the mass on Sunday at the St. Francis in the morn Each one is bound to be enthralled amidst this greenery As there is tranquility and serenity across every corner of this town The lore of Bose and Tagore are galore in the Mall, Making every Bengali take pride and flock this place Thanks to the salubrious surroundings and its call
Every nomad who wanders in , is bound to get his space. With a heavy heart as this nomad moves to another place, I pray to God: “Keep intact this town’s sanity and green space And let these buds continue to bloom across the lushness and colours of this place, As amidst the young minds at the Convent, I found love and solace”.
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