Even with the hustle fading as I traveled higher, escaping the relentless city stress felt impossible… until Himachal cast its spell. The road to Shimla wound upwards, the air cool against my cheeks – a world away from the stifling heat of the plains. Even with Mohit Chauhan’s familiar voice crooning in my ears, it was the mountains rising before me that promised a unique melody, a chance for finding peace and mind in nature.

Their call felt like a whisper of hidden paths, forgotten tales, and a yearning within my heart for a simpler life. This wasn’t just about the views; Himachal held a deeper magic, a call to the simple life.

My destination wasn’t the bustling heart of Shimla, but Chamba, where time slowed and old traditions lingered. They say a place like this finds you, not the other way around, and deep down, I knew I wasn’t just a visitor.

The world hummed a new rhythm, a song of earth and sky: ‘Yeh zameen ga rahi hai, Aasman ga raha hai…‘

Join us on an audio journey through the breathtaking beauty of Himachal Pradesh!

Ghati Trails: Finding Peace and Mind Through Nature

Ghati Trails: Finding Peace and Mind Through Nature

During my stay, I explored the Ghati Trails ecologist located in an apple orchard nestled in a beautiful valley overlooking the Beas River. Here, the scents of damp earth and sun-warmed pine needles mingled with the sweet promise of ripening apples.

Sounds of water and birdsong were my constant companions. My mind quieted, finding a peace I hadn’t experienced in years! The cottage and the orchard, dating back to the sixties, were briefly occupied by the Forest Department in the eighties.

A few years ago, the owner Yuvraj began renovating it to transform it into an experiential destination, while the lodge has been restored in a style that has an old-world charm that could easily make you forget the day and age you live in.

The cottage, weathered and wise like an old mountain dweller, nestled amongst the apple trees. Their gnarled branches reached like protective arms, dappling the sunlight into coins of gold upon the mossy ground. The scent of woodsmoke lingered, a cozy whisper from the hearth. Rough-hewn beams framed the room, and a worn leather chair, soft with years of stories, beckoned beside the window.

Time softened its edges, and I felt strangely at home, as if a piece of my restless heart had always belonged amidst this quiet valley. The creak of floorboards beneath my feet, the quiet ticking of a grandfather clock…a stark contrast to the endless buzz of the city. Yet, even here, some part of me still twitched with restless energy, waiting for the next task, the next email needing a response.

Nature as a mindfulness practice

A weathered, cozy cottage nestled amidst an apple orchard. Golden sunlight dapples the mossy ground, and gnarled branches frame the scene. A feeling of warmth and welcoming.

The cottage was a refuge…but there was no escaping the feeling of being adrift. Faces blurred into a crowd, smiles more polite gesture than genuine warmth. The forest, on the other hand, didn’t ask for my credentials or my calendar.

It invited me simply to exist, part of its intricate tapestry. The cottage was a refuge, but the scent of the forest beckoned, a siren call of moss and sunlight. One afternoon, a restlessness stirred within me. There were wilder paths to explore, echoes of forgotten songs carried on the mountain breeze. With Suresh as my guide, I set out to discover them.

The path narrowed, a green tunnel with only snatches of sky above. Sweat prickled my skin, but the scent of crushed pine needles was sharp and clean, a reward for the climb. My guide, a weathered man named Suresh, pointed upwards. ‘The hidden one,’ he called it, the waterfall only locals knew.

A turn in the trail, and there it was, a shimmering veil against the rock face. Mist hung in the air, cool and refreshing against my burning cheeks. For a moment, every worry, every ‘to-do’ echoing in my head, fell silent.

Reconnecting with Childlike Tranquility

Suddenly, I was a child again, scrambling barefoot along a creek, the laughter of my cousins echoing in the sun-dappled woods. We had a waterfall too, smaller, less grand, but it was ours, a secret kingdom of moss and spray.

That same sense of boundless possibility washed over me, the world a wild and unexplored marvel. Had I lost that spirit somewhere along the way, buried beneath deadlines and the relentless rush of city life?

Suresh seemed to understand nature as a mindfulness practice, his presence as steady as the mountain itself. He watched me, a gentle smile curving his lips. ‘The mountains, they have a way of bringing our true selves to the surface,’ he said, his voice low. ‘City man or mountain dweller, we all drink from the same streams.’ His words held no judgment, only a simple truth. For a fleeting moment, I belonged, not as a visitor, but as a child of the earth, rediscovering the wonder I’d forgotten how to see.

The Dham: Nature’s Bounty and a Call to Action

The Dham: Nature’s Bounty and a Call to Action

The feast was a celebration of nature’s bounty, a stark contrast to the discarded litter. Could we truly find calm in nature while disrespecting it? A feast fit for a mountain king, that’s the ‘Dham’. Every village has its secrets, variations handed down like precious heirlooms… Mandyali or Chambeyali, it’s more than just the taste. It speaks of kinship, of seasons turning, of hands that bless the harvest.

Yet, even amidst such bounty, a shadow falls. Sometimes, where wildflowers ought to bloom, discarded plastic shimmers like a broken promise, a strange offering to these ancient hills. There ought to be a Dham for the mountains themselves, I think, or perhaps we already partake of it with every breath of pure air and every sip of cool spring water.

Can it be that the feast is not complete until we offer respect in return? Perhaps tomorrow, my hands will pick up more than fallen apples, leaving these valleys a little closer to the way they were meant to be.

Leaving the Mountains, Carrying the Change

Days blurred into a gentle rhythm of hikes, shared meals, and quiet evenings spent on a weathered bench, gazing up at the boundless night. ‘We are all made of stardust,’ Suresh had said, a twinkle in his eye. It was a beautiful concept, but could I carry it back with me? Above me stretched an expanse of stars I’d forgotten existed.

Above me stretched an expanse of stars I’d forgotten existed. The city’s glow had stolen them from me, each pinprick of light swallowed by a haze of ambition and artificial urgency.

In this vastness, the deadlines, the endless social jostling…it all seemed so absurd. Yet, a familiar unease stirred. Would the memory of this sky fade with the returning dawn, dimmed by the demands of my other life?

The final meal with Suresh was a simple affair, yet rich with shared silences. The weight of unspoken questions hung in the air – about what I’d leave behind, and what part of this place I could carry with me. Outside, my bags lay packed, a testament to the inevitable end of this mountain sojourn.

The drive to the city blurred past, a kaleidoscope of green fading into gray. Each jolt of the bus was a stark reminder of the smooth, silent rhythm of the trails left behind.

Finding Inner Peace, Amidst the Urban Chaos

Could I carry the lingering peace and tranquility of the mountains with me – the sunlight on my skin, the bird’s call amidst traffic or  – a reminder of the peace found in nature? The blare of a car horn jolted me from my thoughts. My crammed balcony held a few scraggly potted plants, a pale imitation of the wild mountain blooms. Yet, a single ray of sunlight, filtering through the towering buildings, dappled a drooping leaf. It seemed to perk up, reaching weakly towards the light.

Suresh’s words floated back to me: ‘The best spices are sunlight on your skin…’ A small smile touched my lips. It wasn’t much, but perhaps, it was a start. Perhaps, even here, amidst the concrete jungle, I could cultivate a tiny pocket of wilderness, a reminder of the vast, starlit sky waiting for me to return.

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