Monkeys of Shimla

This article first appeared in the now sadly defunct monthly Himachal Guardian issue of November 1992. The descriptions may now sound a little dated because of the decades that have passed. The author is grateful to Dr. Subhash Sharma (prof. of Fisheries, HP Agricultural University, Palampur but having a literary bent) for giving his kind permission to re-print this article in this blog. A few corrections and annotations have been added here and there, and a few more pictures added. The original line drawing is in black and white. The new ones have a dash of colour.

If you are looking for a scientific dissertation on Macaca mulatta then please go elsewhere. This blog isn’t the right place; this is just a kind of advisory for the unwary traveller to Shimla.

THE MONKEYS OF SHIMLA 

Editor’s note from the original Himachal Guardian. As you can see, the Editor is a poor judge of character. There is one special class of Homo sapiens who simply defy description. Try as you may, your pen and vocabulary fails you. Sudarshan Sharma, the writer-cartoonist belongs to this exclusive class. All that can be safely said about him is that he is the one with a penchant for the prodigious, the extraordinary and the unorthodox. And he has special love for machines. When persuaded to send his brief biographical sketch he wrote: In school had a report-card bearing the remark in bright red ink: “Can do better if he wastes less.time drawing cartoons.” The Shimla Monkeys’ notoriety and menace is all too well-kuown, as every Shimla resident/visitor would readily vouch. Sudarshan K. Sharina captures the scenario in the narrative that follows, embellished with a cartoon.

Someone, not conversant with Shimla, might well ask: Why ‘Monkeys of Shimla’? Why not just title it ‘Monkeys’ and be done with it? The answer, of course, is that the monkeys of Shimla have a character all their own, as, indeed, the Delhiwallah behaves differently from a Madrasi.

The monkey for which Shimla is infamous is the Rhesus monkey (Macaca mulatta), with his light-brown fur, pink face and a not overlong tail. As for the red bottom, well, Khushwant Singh once wrote a learned editorial on it in the Illustrated Weekly of India though it is not known just how many monkeys bought the Weekly for it. The much stronger and looser-limbed Langur (Semnopithecus entellus) is also found hereabouts. but he is a quieter sort and does not hanker after fame. The residents of Shimla (Homo sapiens, I mean) are grateful for this. Their Rhesus brethren, meanwhile, strut about Shimla with a cockiness worthy of an army of occupation. They raid food, rip laundry, shred newspaper on the doorstep, tease dogs and snatch paper bags from little children, besides other acts of brigandage.

It is the contention of many people that the Shimla monkey would not be what he is, were it not for the Jakhoo temple. Fittingly, this temple is on the commanding heights of the town. Dedicated to Hanuman. it is of, for, and by the monkeys. Human beings here are ‘B’ class citizens. A Hanuman temple has been at Jakhoo long before the British founded the town. In the old days there used to be a sadhu who was a permanent fixture at the temple, immortalised by Kipling and others as the ‘Fakir of Jakko’. This worthy was on first name terms with his simian friends. His was an exceptional case; the ordinary people are a subdued lot, tamely parting with roasted gram or peanuts, and at times even submitting to the indignity of a search through the pockets for eatables.

If anyone were to fear a scenario reminiscent of the Hollywood movie The Planet of the Apes one need not worry as to who rules Shimla. The Municipal Corporation rules the municipality from the Town Hall, the Himachal government rules from the scores of offices all over Shimla and the Central government of India does its bit from New Delhi. With so much government breathing down its back, one would have thought that the monkey would, at least, pay a little heed to civilized norms. Unfortunately, he is an undisciplined character Almost two hundred years of government have only made him more anarchical than ever. Well knit bands commanded by a gang leader roam their territories in the town, loping across the Mall, clambering the walls, jumping from roof to roof, roof to tree and from tree to parked vehicle.

Electricity came to Shimla at the turn of the 20^th Century and the monkeys adapted. Simian fatalities from electric shock are surprisingly low. Came television in the Seventies and the monkeys adapted again: they climbed every available TV antenna and wrecked the fragile aluminium contraptions. The TV owners wearily responded by wrappng barbed wire around the antenna masts. Barbed wire gives a sense of security and, at times, ghost images on the screen. For the monkeys, barbed wire is just another obstacle to be crossed and the electronic-ware shops report no drop in antenna sales. The food value of aluminium TV antennae, as anyone at the Indian Council for Agricultural Research will tell you, is nil. The undue interest in the TV antenna is just another way or showing who is boss. Like the monkey who hangs about the Telegraph Office specializes in snatching mufflers and dupattas and then wrapping the booty around his head.

The next thing we know, a monkey might stand for election. This is not to say that a Legislative Assembly packed with monkeys on both the Treasury and Opposition benches will make a noticeable difference in the quality of government. As everyone knows, real power belongs to the babus and it is still rather difficult to envisage a monkey as yet qualified for even a Class IV post, sifarish or not. The proposal needs to be seriously debated, though. The hordes and hordes of government babus in Shimla, for sheer cussedness, are probably more destructive, and create much greater mess than all the monkeys between Shoghi and Mashobra. Then it may even become feasible to export babus for mcdical research (the Government of India has banned the export of monkeys for medical research; the ban is still in place as far as I know).