That rainy evening when we got down with all the baggage and accompaniments of a TV crew after not so pleasant day-long journey from Delhi, I never realised that the faint contours of the somewhat crumbling architecture hid beneath its facade a legend of indefinite proportion – the Ghost in Hotel Savoy.

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“..and suddenly the chandelier started swaying back and forth.” He paused. Impassive face, eyes fixed on mine, unconveying any hurry. I thought I saw a hint of smile, mischievous, maybe, or perhaps my imagination was running frenetic.

I wanted to tell him, “Pray! Proceed! the Victorian setting was getting on me – but right at the instant I proceeded to open my mouth he started. The pause had lasted the exact moment for the impact to register.

“Could he read my mind?” I let that thought wander. His story was far too compelling to hold on to that strand.

“It was close to midnight and I was alone. Windows were all closed and blackness enveloped everything outside. Mists, which had found its way inside had turned the interiors into a romantic den. The only problem shaabji was the chandelier.”

“He would take a pause.” Flashed the thought inside my mind. I was certain. But like any seasoned storyteller he bellied my expectation and went ahead with his narrative.

“It swayed quite violently, as if propelled by some force unknown.”

A stop. He was lost in his thought.

“Except for it all was calm and not a sound could be heard.” He added. Not much later.

I chuckled, kept a serious mien, and said to myself, “What an ideal location to shoot a suspense telefilm!”

“I was passing this room to fetch for Director Shaab a glass of water and was transfixed at the spot almost exactly where you now stand shaabji.”

Ghost in Hotel Savoy – The next day

I look around. It is the afternoon of the next day. The room appeared as if it were inside of an oyster – tiny, painted all white with wooden colonnades and wooden floor, vacant, bereft of any furniture, silent and still – a mute witness to the fox-trots, fun and gaiety of a bygone era. A huge ballroom with a lone piano in one comer stood to its adjacent.

Another door opens to a corridor that leads down the wooden stairs to the kitchen and the cellar. On its outer wall a row of glass pane windows open to the outside from which occasional clouds waft in. It is drizzling and the pitter patter sound of raindrops falling on the corrugated tin roof is pleasant to the ears. It is slanted for snow to slope down and supported by wooden beams, again painted white. The chandelier hung from it. It lay still.

“But weren’t you afraid?” I ask Arjun with feigned seriousness. “No shaabji!” Pat, comes the reply.

I was amused by the way he pronounced shaabji. He had come with us all the way from Delhi to Mussourie where we were shooting a suspense tele-film. All crew members and the cast, which included Atul Agnihotri and Irfan, were staying at Hotel Savoy, which was also the main location for the film.

According to the script, the husband who is a serial killer buys this property from his wife’s money and as they come to stay, the husband plots to kill his wife but by the twists and turns of the event is himself killed.

A chill runs through the spine as I relate the incidents. It was eerie.

Ghost in Hotel Savoy – The making of Mussourie

The story of this hotel could as well have been the story of Mussourie – over 150 years old. Ever since the establishment of the Raj in India, the English had always cursed, fretted and fumed over its dust and the heat. After the Gurkha War of 1815 vast hill tracts fell into their hands. Captain Kennedy started the first settlement in Shimla. Captain Young pioneered Mussourie, so called after Mansur shrub that grows in abundance and is staple cattle feed.

Shimla became the summer capital of the country and Mussourie became its pleasure capital.

Shimla became the summer capital of the country, and Mussourie became its pleasure capital. Click To Tweet

It was in this scenario that one Mr. Lincoln acquired the estate of Mr. Maddock’s Mussourie School with the intention of constructing a large luxury hotel. The hotel was opened to the public in the summer of 1902. It was named after the Savoy in London. As Ruskin Bond, one of India’s most acclaimed writers, his short story “A Face in the Dark” was part of our English syllabus at school – its ending giving everyone goosebumps, quotes one resident of the hotel,

“The Savoy Hotel has sprung, phoenix-like from the ashes of the Mussourie School. The estate was (and still is) the largest, acreage-wise, hill station hotel in India.”

And what a character to have in this cute historic place! The babble from this chatterbox was compelling. Watching him speak was a sheer delight. He was a spot boy, whose responsibility amongst others also included waking everyone up with the morning tea. An all-purpose fellow, in his late teens, he was full of raw energy and with an earthy sense of timing—never around when you shouted for him but would mysteriously appear, almost instantly, with glasses of water or tea for the Director or the Producer, when the work was done. In the midst of frenzied activity of shooting, he could find time for his naps while managing to remain in the good books of the bosses.

Ghost in Hotel Savoy – Arjun triumphs

We had some time before the next shot was to commence. With nothing to do, I was here whiling away my time.

Arjun reminded me of hawkers on railway stations and bus stands cajoling passenger to buy their “time-pass chiniyabadam” (Groundnut). He wasn’t a chiniyabadam but he could as well be. He was a real time pass and he rattled on.

“I was taken aback for a while, then thumped my feet and commanded, “Hey you ghost, move away!” And the next moment it was all quiet. The chandelier stopped swaying as if it were waiting for my command.” He stops.

His face looked intent. “Could he be lying?” It was difficult to be certain.

The pause in long. Heavy. I let him take his time.

Some moments lapse before he breaks his silence.

“You see shaabji such incidents are very common back-home in Nepal.” He adds with an air of confidence.

I almost chuckle to myself as if the ghosts on hills have a similar pattern all through.

And then it struck me.

Ghost in Hotel Savoy – Dawn of realisation

I run as fast as I could. Past the ballroom, the smoking room and the billiards room. The twin wooden stairs in the hallway, commonly seen in the mansions of 70s and 80s Bollywood films, creaked with a flurry of activities. I heard someone call my name. I ignore the voice. Shoot passed the main entrance, its wooden Victorian facade partially enveloped in the mist. It was wet outside. A vast open space in the backdrop of majestic lower Himalayas spread in front of me. It had two lawn tennis grass courts with spectator’s gallery on one side, a perfect picture postcard look.

It reminded me of Victorian England with all its pomp and show. But my mind was elsewhere.

The gravel filled pathway made it difficult for me to run. I ploughed through. It was flanked by two neat rows of double storied rooms. Mine was on the upper floor. As I negotiated the turn my shoes clattered against the wooden floor. Frantically I searched for the keys.

The room as usual was damp. The furnishings and the furniture were old and creaked under my weight. (In fact the hotel is a bit too much steeped in history, so much so that the room where I stayed could hardly be bolted from inside). I look around.

There it lay. In the far corner of the wide spring soggy bed.

Ghost in Hotel Savoy – Murder and Agatha Christie’s first novel

It was a booklet on the history of Hotel Savoy by Ruskin Bond. I frenetically turn the pages. “The clientele it had catered to is (lists) virtual who’s who of its time – Her Highness the Princess of Wales (later Queen Mary), Motilal and Jawaharlal Nehru, Indira Gandhi, His Holiness Dalai Lama, Haile Selassie (the Emperor of Ethiopia), His majesty the King of Nepal, His Majesty the Crown Prince of Laos, Pearl S. Buck (the Nobel Prize Winning Author) and many others.”

But this was not what I was looking for. My eyes travel a little backwards. “When Jawaharlal came to Mussourie (and stayed in Hotel Savoy) in 1920, he had not yet entered politics. But as a result of an incident here he was soon to find himself in the thick of freedom struggle.”

No! Not even this! I almost cried to myself. My head was reeling with excitement. I found it difficult to read.

And then there it was. A paragraph above. I quote.

“It is said that the halls and the corridors of the historic Savoy Hotel are haunted by the ghost of Lady Garnet Orme, who was found dead in mysterious circumstances many years ago. (But she is said to be harmless). Apparently strychnine had been placed in her medicine bottle. But how it got there, no one could tell. Agatha Christie used the circumstances of the crime in her first novel The Mysterious Affair at Styles(1920).”

Agatha Christie used the murder at Hotel Savoy in her first novel The Mysterious Affair at Styles. Click To Tweet

The scenario of our tele-film too was loosely based on the Dame’s story.

“Yet another eerie resemblance.” But I bring my mind back.

“The case was quite a sensation in its time as it involved crystal gazing and table-rapping seances. The victim having been the practitioner of occult.”

Ghost in Hotel Savoy – Faith in the harmlessness of the spirit

“A famous mind reader claimed to have found the murderer but nothing could be proved. And Rudyard Kipling wrote to his friend Conan Doyle, urging him to use the case as a new adventure for Sherlock Holmes; but Holmes never did make the trip to India. The case remained unsolved. In fact, it came to a dead-end when Lady Garnet Orme’s doctor was also found dead (of strychnine poisoning) a few months later. But not at the Savoy!”

Rudyard Kipling wrote to Conan Doyle to use the circumstances as a new adventure for Sherlock Holmes. Click To Tweet

That night as I slept, I fervently wished the ghost to pay me a visit. Very early next morning when it was dark all around, and dense clouds covered the mountains and the vales, enveloping the hotel, floating in the corridor, I wake up to a gentle knocking. Precise and unhurried. As I opened the door a strong waft of mist swept past me.

“Chai shaabji!”

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When we had shot the telefilm at Hotel Savoy at the fag-end of the last century, the property was merely living its former glory. It was rarely visited and seldom anyone stayed there. Later, the ITC Group took it over and it now forms a part of their Fortune Hotel Group. The TV Channel after commissioning the script went through a major shakeup, and, ironically, the man who took over the reins and changed the entire outlook of the network turning it into a major success, was charged with the murder of his daughter. The film was not telecast.

Photos: Anand Jha