Mountain Mania

Himachal Pradesh always enchants me, so I didn’t think twice when I got the opportunity to visit a village near Kareri in Himachal Pradesh.Himachal Pradesh is lovely with its majestic mountains and lush greenery. I feel it is my second home, which calls to me wherever I am. I felt a kind of connection the very first day I set foot there. That feeling—a mix of joy, excitement, and mystery—is stirred by the foggy mountains, the unpredictable weather, and the lovely people, creating a perfect potpourri that draws one irresistibly to Himachal. It is a long walk through the mountains from the last bus stop to reach the place—remote but green. It is enveloped by thick, forested mountains, as if to guard the tiny village. I was literally exhausted after a one-hour mountain walk, while my co-walkers—mainly mountain boys—seemed as fresh as ever! I am familiar with the mountains around Dharamshala, but this area was far more remote and isolated from modern amenities. There was a wedding going on, and all the villagers had gathered at the bride’s place. I was warmly welcomed into my friend’s home, and they did everything possible to make me feel comfortable. It was a delight to see the row of traditional Himachali houses made of mud and wood. I barely felt cold inside the house, though it was cold outside. It is a typical village where mornings begin with men preparing for their daily chores—rearing cows and ploughing fields—while women cook roti (chapati) and aloo (potato) in the traditional oven. They display a great deal of hospitality and are as curious as many Indians; you will be welcomed into every home with sweet chai (tea). They live with limited resources; even a TV is a luxury for them. I was deeply moved by the innocence and love of those simple inhabitants, especially the lovely but shy girls. I think I have fallen in love with Himachal Pradesh—its mountains, apple trees, snow, and lovely inhabitants.

There were countless moments when the quiet, fierce kindness of the Himachalis wrapped around me like a warm blanket in the biting cold. One such moment came in late December in Dharamshala, when the sky unleashed a relentless snowfall. I was utterly unprepared. Power had vanished for over a week under the weight of the snow, and my electric stove was useless.I was left with no food, no heat, no hot water. Then came my neighbor, whose home I’d occasionally visit for evening chats over chai. Without a word of complaint, they began bringing me roti- subji and Rajma- chawl, enough to fill both my stomach and my heart. Every morning, they’d trudge through the snow with a bucket of hot water, just so I could have a warm shower. Their quiet generosity wasn’t announced—it was simply given, like the mountains give snow. In those frozen, silent nights, their kindness became my lifeline, a gentle reminder that even in the harshest winter, human warmth can melt the coldest fear. As Gandhiji said, “India lives in her villages.” Indian villages change very slowly; modernity is too shy to embrace them, and tradition and social norms still dictate the lives of villagers. And this is perhaps the real face of India among her many other faces