Sunset at Lord's Point in Matheran

One thing is constant in Bombay – noise.

Whether it is the buzzing of rickshaws, the honking of four-wheel drives or the loud rumbling of trucks, traffic is the white noise of the city. On top of that are the constant shouts of the street sellers flogging everything from tomatoes, to performing monkeys to mattress re-stuffing. And no day would be complete without the ear-splitting squawk of the city’s crows or the fireworks that explode for any and every occasion.

Sitting here in my apartment it is more than a little difficult to remember the peace, the sheer and utter serenity of the hill station of Matheran. It may only be tiny and it may only be 90 kilometres from Bombay, but my lord it is quiet. It is so quiet that I am forced to refer to my notes in an effort to capture just some of the peacefulness that envelops you in the small hill station (India’s smallest, in fact).

Sitting in the garden at the Verandah in the Forest (really the only place to stay in Matheran, but more on that later) I was treated to sounds far removed from Bombay. Rather than the din of traffic and the shouts of sellers, I was serenaded by the synchronised chirping of cicadas in the trees, with the occasional bird joining in the orchestra. The chirping started out slowly before reaching a deafening crescendo – only to suddenly break into a chorus of blissful silence. It was a beautiful moment to be surrounded by an absence of noise; a negative sound.

I strained to hear anything and could barely make out the gentle patter of water falling on leaves as the gardener tended the plants. As if recognising the value of the quiet, his wife – sitting on a rock nearby – spoke to him in whispers.

This wonderful peacefulness is thanks to the town’s enlightened and merciful decision to ban cars. Want to save the world? Put someone up in Bombay for a week suffering the nerve-shredding noise of the city, then pack them off to Matheran where they can hear (and breathe) the benefits of a world without cars.

The lack of vehicular transport leaves you with rather limited options in terms of getting around. You have your feet, of course, as well as hand-drawn carts and horses. Oddly, as my guide book notes, no-one has thought to stick a cart on a horse. However, knowing India the way I am starting to, my guess is that there would be a general strike of hand cart and horse owners if anyone undermined their livelihoods in this manner.

Of course, the lack of transport isn’t really a problem as there isn’t much to do in Matheran – which is the whole point of going there. The place has some spectacular views across the Western Ghats but other than those there really isn’t much reason to leave your hotel, especially if you’re at the rambling colonial pile known as the Verandah in the Forest.

There’s plenty of faded patches of the Empire in India and Matheran has only a tiny smattering, but sitting in a plantation chair on the verandah of this restored gem, with its massive ceilings, its formal dining room and old world library gives a bit of a taste of what it would have been like in Matheran’s heyday when the Bombay set would have been up here partying away while escaping the stifling heat of the city.

Ironically, we were the only people in the hotel on this particular night, which made it all the more difficult to imagine those days of ball gowns, gin and tonics and late night intrigues. Which suited me just fine. I would have hated telling them to keep the bloody noise down as I was trying to enjoy some peace and quiet.

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