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Book Review: Our Trees Still Grow in Dehra by Ruskin Bond

Our Trees Still Grow in Dehra by Ruskin Bond is a collection of fourteen soulful stories. The main theme in most of the short stories is homecoming. For example in Escape from Java, Ruskin narrates the tale of escaping from an island which is soon to be acquired by Japanese and he and his father being British, need to do something on urgent basis to escape from that dangerous island. As they start their journey on a rickety aero-plane, soon it crashes into the sea and after that how Ruskin and his father struggle for survival fills the rest of the story. In the end, they somehow reach Dehradun and feel at peace.


Well in some stories Ruskin has talked about his father and family that used to live in Dehra probably when India was ruled by the British. In the stories, that are staged around Dehra, Mussoorie and Fosterganj, you will find that Ruskin has talked about his cottage, people living in them and the overall day to day life of hilly people. For instance one touching story about a hilly person is From Small Beginnings, in which Ruskin has shared the struggle story of Prem – an innocent young man from the nearby hills. It is worth to see the kind of concern Ruskin holds for Prem’s miserability while the latter hops from one job to another to support his family.

Other than homecoming, you will also find stories about the ‘death of nature’ in Dehra and surrounding areas. Ruskin is always concerned about the nature of the hills because he always believed and expressed that hills have always been kind to a struggling writer like him. While reading this collection you will come across the relationship that Ruskin shares with Dehra. His stories are simply engaging and full of vivid description. Reading Ruskin Bond means taking a tour of the Himalayan foothills with his simple ordinary hopeful characters.

Well, the overall essence of the book is well presented by Ruskin Bond through this marvelous poem.

Poem: Return to Dehra

So this is old Dehra of mangoes and lemons,
Where I grew beside the jack fruit tree
planted by my father on the sunny side
of the house since sold to Major-General Mehra.
The town’s grown hard, none knows me now or knew my Mother’s laughter.
Most men come home as strangers.
And yet, the trees my father planted here,
These trees-old family trees- are growing still in Dehra.
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