It was past seven in the evening. The light was leaving the hills. In front of my hotel balcony, the scarlet of rhododendron blooms was being obscured by a fluid, purposeful fog. Lights pricked out vaguely along the road, dogs barked incessantly, a stiffish breeze jangled wind chimes somewhere. The streets began to look ghostly the residents of Pelling had left them to their devices and retired for the night. It was, to my nostalgic mind, a scene out of a Dev Anand movie from the &rsquo60s &mdash any minute now, the dapper hero would emerge from the haze as he did once on the streets of mist-enveloped Shimla and pace the pavements crooning &ldquoTu kahaan, ye bataa&rdquo, searching the casements for his beloved. That was Pelling.