People are complaining here about 'development' and 'dilliwallahs' ; Looks like this is not a problem just limited to Goa but to tourist places across the country. Below is a nice article in Outlook on Kumaon by Ira Pande. Interesting, how they are facing a problem similar to Goa.
http://www.outlookindia.com/diary.asp?fodname=20080811 =================================== A Creeping Sickness Every summer, the hills call out to all of us NRKs (non-resident Kumaonis) to come to UK (Uttarakhand to you desis). This year, we took the scenic Kaladhungi route past Jim Corbetts terai home and lush green woods to arrive at Nainital and the mother of all traffic jams. This once-lovely hill station is now an air-conditioned version of Karol Bagh, so if you wish to walk in the hills my advice is: stay away from this honking-parping mess. But why blame Nainital alone? Simla, Mussoorie, Darjeeling, Kodaikanal, Ootyall of them are gasping for air. Municipal services have broken down completely, leading to chronic water shortages, stinking gutters and choked drains. Why we never thought of developing other hill stations after the Brits left is a mystery. The cheery red tin roofs that once dotted verdant hillsides have been replaced by flat (and totally unsuitable) cement lintels and high-rise apartments, where wet laundry is perpetually hung out to dry. Wherever we went: Almora, Ranikhet, Bhowali, Bhimtal or even in off-the-track pilgrim towns that were sleepy villages until a few years ago, traditional mud and wood houses are being replaced with cement boxes. These teeter dangerously on hillsides and the next time an earthquake hits the region, I shudder to think how many may perish. ----------------- Dump The Philistines Kumaons spectacular view, or bhew, as we Paharis pronounce it, was what once drew the Brits to our hills, which have the Himalayas studded on their horizons like tiaras. Deodar and oak, pine and chestnut, to say nothing of the apple, peach, apricot, pear and walnut trees that grew abundantly made Kumaon a favoured orchard country. But once these pretty estates passed into the hands of desi developers, notorious all over the hills as the bhoo maphia (land mafia), the trees were forgotten along with the bhew. In Mukteshwar, I bumped into a group of gum-chewing youngsters, wearing baseball caps and low-slung jeans. "Aunty, do you know of a good fast food joint around here?" one of them asked me. Why be in this most scenic spot if you crave burgers and French fries, I wanted to reply. I shook my head. "S***t, yaar," one of them said as they loped off, "what a dump!" I almost hurled a rock at their retreating posteriors. How dare they call such a hallowed place a dump! ----------------- Caravan Of The Exalted The unique charm of Kumaon was best understood by the Brits, who set up schools, orchards and dak bungalows that command the best views. The names of Corbett and Ramsay, a legendary commissioner of Kumaon, are still taken with awe. Anyone who has read Corbett cannot fail to appreciate how deeply he loved this enchanted land that casts a spell on all who come here looking for something more than burgers. Take a place like Almora: Sir Ronald Ross was born here in 1857; Uma Thurman too. Among its past residents were the dancer Uday Shankar, the Swedish monk Sunyata Sorensen, the mystic agricultural scientist Boshi Sen, the gentle Tibetan Govinda Lama and painters such as Earl Brewster and Elizabeth Brunner. Swami Vivekananda came here, as did Tagore and Nehru, who wrote furiously while incarcerated in Almoras pretty jail. The scenic Kasar Devi ridge has always been a sort of bohemian quarter, aptly named Cranks Ridge, that now has its own website. During the 60s and 70s, Harvards acid guru Timothy Leary came here, a wave of flower children followed. Other cranks include R.D. Laing, Mick Jagger, Alan Ginsberg and God knows how many incognito celebs. To appreciate the Almora brand of eccentricity you have to understand that those who value solitude, nature and contemplation, in that order, gravitate here and then stay on. There are still others who come here to heal their spirits: cases of burnout and stress. I could take names of some really brilliant people who still live here, but that would not be fair as notoriety is the last thing they want. But not everyone in Almora is a blessed soul, I must add quickly. Take a walk down its atmospheric Lala Bazaar and encounter the cussed and lazy Pahari shopkeeper, more interested in playing chess than selling his wares. Gurranis blackboard is another institution: a sort of wall magazine for scribbling gossip and news. Then there are those who have surrendered to drink and despair. Others have declared themselves mad and so escaped the burdens of the not-mad. ------------------ Arise, Mr Nobody The most amusing character I met at a village a few years ago was a young man who informed me that he was a "dubbul MA in Ingliss and Hindi literature". "So what do you do?" I asked him. "What is there to do here?" he countered. "Nothing," he muttered sullenly. "But why cant you at least teach some of the village children?" I persisted. He looked me in the eye and said in all seriousness, "Ackchewly, didi, I am shupherring phrom inpheriority compleksh." Faced with this profound confession, I have to say I could offer no advice.
