Come all mortals with me to the portals of the fascinating "abode of theGods", where no two sunrises are alike, nor two sunsets. View the glistening snow peaks through the eyes of an innocent child and feel within yourself, the immense warmth, peace and tranquility, of mother nature.

Hear the chirping birds, the hiss of hidden croakers, hear the wind whistle through the pine trees, hear the rain drops fall on tin roofs and window panes, hear the howling of jackals in the chill moonlight nights, along with all the other strange sounds of nature.

Soak in the rolling mist coming up the hill and trample on dewdrops left by overnight fairies, hear your echo resound in the distant hills and see the several lined clouds rolling in their ever changing forms and the beautiful rainbow after the heavy shower. The pink sunsets and glistening moonlight were scenes from paradise.

Amidst this beauty of nature stood Dow Hill - a veritable fortress made of grey stones.

I had the good fortune of being a student at this fascinating school, remembering with so much love and respect the beauty that was nature and the discipline that was Dow Hill. It taught me to bond human relationships into solid stone firm and indestructible.

A welter of emotions would greet us in March. We would be sad and tearful having just come from home, but happy to be. back amidst old friends and teachers. We saw trees dressing in their new leaves for the year, blue skies and life, hibernating through winter, come surging back.

Then came summer and the mist and the dark grey clouds. Days and weeks of pouring rain and mist failed to dampen our bright faces. We loved to hear raindrops on window panes and on tin rooftops. When the heavens poured in torrents, we gazed at the hill streams and waterfalls glistening forth with unbound velocity, where one sun filled day was a request for " Sunshine Holiday "

Autumn came close to winter, with trees shedding their leaves and the twigs getting to be golden brown. When sunsets and snows turned pink and peach and days shortened and nights chilled and lengthened and "going home fever" began. Then lost, was the beauty of nature to the restless child, captive for nine long months, hearts bursting to reunite with blood links and siblings and friends in the plains. But all this only for three short months. Then back to school again - living, loving and bonding.

Which Dow Hillian has forgotten gumboots and raincoats, leeches and salts or the P. T. teachers with her shrill " lep right ", drowned in our childish giggles, of going home songs and bonfires? The beautiful peach tree with its pink blossoms in March and those forbidden half ripe fruits? Hydranger bushes and the green caterpillars, we nursed into butterflies, childish pranks of hiding frogs and caterpillars in the desk drawers to frighten Mr. Bloud, who came to teach us English, and the look of utter horror.and amusement on his face, uttering "naughty gals ". He was a perfect gentleman.

Who has forgotten Sports Day and the socials which followed, with days of streamers unrolling and standing on ladders to decorate the halls, all for just three hours of pleasure? That was the maximum time allowed. Socials began at sunset and we never became Cinderellas!!

The " Pliva Cup " hockey fever, doning our tunics, and armed with hockey sticks, running miles in the gauver fields and the victorious Rover rides from Darjeeling after winning the cup and drinking wine in it. Oh, it was like nectar!

Life was a military drill - up with the 7 am bell which rang loud and clear in the mountains. Dress and down 200 stairs to a British breakfast of dhalia porridge, bread and butter, tea and eggs - not forgetting Grace before and after meals.

Gone, I hear. are the sahabi demask table linen and English cutlery and perhaps the white clad bearers in their fancy head gear. I wonder what Dow Hill is like today? Who has forgotten those midnight feasts, with pillow cases passing around under the dining tables to put in one's dinner. The midnight feast would begin when all mortals were asleep and the ghosts and ghostly emerged!

I still yearn for these simple, innocent pleasures. I love you, Dow Hill. You were my alma mater, my strength, my discipline and my pride. Thank you for giving me the wonderful friends and the teachers who moulded me from childhood into girlhood and then into womanhood. You shall remain throbbing in my bloodstream, till my soul fades into oblivion.

I will remain a Dow Hillian all my life.