Where Time Stands Still

I took a walk down memory lane, and for a while, it felt like time stood still.

I spent the first few years of my life in Kalpa, Kinnaur; where forest spirits defined the pace of life and beautiful golden apples adorned the trees. We crunched on them as we walked to school or while we explored our magical surroundings. Deodar trees constituted the majority of the population, and if you spent enough time with them, you’d surely recognise their unique personalities.

It was a small place where nobody remained a stranger. If you met someone new, they’d probably be sitting across from you at your next mealtime. It was a simple, pure, and unadulterated existence. Something we lost touch with. But I can’t entirely put a finger on why.

Returning to the majestic Himalayan mountains recently felt like pressing pause on everything that now passes for life. While development has transformed the village into an unrecognisable mess, the spirit of Kalpa still breathes strong. Stray from the used roads and wander into the high-altitude pastures, and you'll find that a quiet yet fierce energy rises from within. It strips away the layers of importance you’ve draped yourself in. And then, just like that, you remember: you are not the center of the world; only a small part of it.

Up there, surrounded by mountains that have stood long before we learned to name our ambitions, I felt small again. But this time, small didn’t mean insignificant. It meant free. Free from the endless chase. Free from the illusion that happiness is something to be earned, bought, or proven.

I’ve spent years in cities, immersed in their glimmer and speed - mistaking stimulation for fulfillment. But It has been nearly two years since I decided to start believing more, wanting less, and doing instead of doubting. Have I been happy? Yes. Have I been heartbroken? Also yes. But I feel I've come back with a quiet understanding that joy and pain, confusion and clarity, are all woven into the fabric of a good life.

The vast silence of the Himalayas holds a truth that words can rarely illustrate. I've already started thinking of when I will be able to return to Kalpa next. Not just to remember where I come from, but to keep learning how to live. Because moving forward means occasionally circling back - to what is real.