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India.com
3 days ago
- India.com
Why Dharamshala Is More Than Just Monasteries and Cafes: Discover Its Hidden Soul
Mountains do not hide secrets. They whisper them to those who slow down enough to listen. When the first mist rolls down the pine forests of Dharamshala, something shifts. Tourists clutching paper cups of café lattes stop to look up. The Dhauladhar ranges loom larger. The air smells of cedar and earth. And beneath the usual bustle of Mcleodganj, a gentler side of this Himalayan town quietly calls out. Most people come here for the Dalai Lama temple or a selfie at Bhagsu waterfall. But what if we told you: Dharamshala is not just for monks and markets. It is for moments. Hidden trails. Ancient caves. Tea gardens that hum with stories while the world snaps Instagram shots outside a café. Let's wander deeper — past the obvious. Into the true heartbeat of this mountain town. What makes Dharamshala different from any other hill station? It's not just the altitude. It's the attitude. Unlike the over-polished hill towns with concrete resorts and mall roads, Dharamshala still breathes raw. Its roads bend like question marks. Its forests hold memories older than roads. And its people — monks, Gaddi shepherds, chai stall owners — they welcome you not as a tourist, but as someone who might just stay back forever. It rains here, snows here, shines here — sometimes all in a single day. The weather is a teacher. It slows you down. Makes you wait for a cloud to pass. Makes you notice how snow settles gently on prayer flags. This is not just about visiting. It is about letting a place change your pace. Tired of McLeod Ganj cafes? These must-do activities are waiting to be felt 1. Hike to Triund – The Beginner's Everest Yes, everyone talks about Triund. But not everyone sees it. Start early. Let the mist clear slowly as you climb. Pause at Magic View Café — an old tea shack that has seen more hikers than any hotel lobby ever will. The trek is not hard, but it demands your breath and your time. At the top, the Dhauladhars look close enough to touch. Camp overnight if you can. Wake up to clouds crawling into your sleeping bag. The best sunrise here is not clicked. It is felt on your skin. 2. Meditate at Tushita – Silence Louder Than Traffic Hidden above Mcleodganj is Tushita Meditation Centre. No loud boards. No aggressive marketing. Just a small gate that opens to a place where silence has its own sound. Take a drop-in meditation class. Sit in a garden where monkeys are your only audience. Here, you learn to listen to your mind. And maybe, teach it to sit still for a while. 3. Explore Norbulingka – Where Art Breathes Skip the souvenir shops on Temple Road. Instead, head down to Norbulingka Institute in Sidhpur. Walk through Tibetan gardens. Watch artists paint thangkas. Carve wood. Cast statues. This is not a museum. It is living culture. If you have time, sign up for a short workshop. Carve your own memory into a piece of wood. The café inside serves momos under prayer flags. Simple. Honest. Perfect. 4. Wander Tea Gardens – Fields That Talk to the Wind Dharamshala's tea gardens don't shout for attention. They wait quietly on the slopes of the Kangra Valley. Drive to Mann Tea Estate or Kunal Pathri. Walk with a local worker if you can. Listen to how they pick leaves. How they read rain. Buy fresh Kangra tea. Not from the shops on the main square, but straight from the factory gate. Here, every cup is a story of rain, sun, and patience. 5. Find the Ancient Caves of Guna Devi Not all temples have loud bells. Drive to Galu Temple near Dharamkot. From there, hike into the forest to find Guna Devi cave. A sacred spot where local shepherds still tie prayer cloths and whisper wishes to the goddess inside. The path winds through deodar and rhododendron. You may not meet another soul for hours. Sometimes, the best prayers are the ones you say without words. 6. Volunteer at a Monastery or School – Give Back a Day Dharamshala is not just for taking pictures. It's a place to give. Spend a day teaching conversational English to young monks. Help at a local animal rescue. Or just read stories to Tibetan refugee kids in a community library. You may not change the world in a day. But you might change how you feel about travel. 7. Chase Waterfalls Beyond Bhagsu Bhagsu is crowded. Everyone knows it. But a short hike beyond takes you to hidden cascades. Ask a local to guide you. Walk past slippery stones. Hear the roar grow louder as tourists thin out. Sit on a rock. Dip your feet in icy water. Stay till your bones feel new. Why go offbeat in Dharamshala? Isn't it risky? Yes, the weather can flip in a moment. Roads get muddy. Trails may disappear into clouds. But maybe that's the point. The mountains don't promise comfort. They promise truth. A reminder that not everything can be planned on a spreadsheet. Some days, you walk in rain just to find a rainbow behind a ridge. It's not about how many places you tick off. It's about how deeply you let a place tick inside you. Practical Tips: How to Wander Dharamshala the Right Way Pack layers – This mountain air changes moods faster than you do. Walk more than you ride – The best turns are not on Google Maps. Eat local – Thukpa in small Tibetan kitchens tastes better than any pizza café. Respect silence – Monks don't chant for your Instagram. Listen more than you snap. Leave light footprints – Take back memories. Leave nothing but gratitude. The hidden heartbeat of Dharamshala Every step you take off the usual path keeps this place alive. You help homestays run by old Tibetan families. You buy tea from local gardens, not corporate brands. You hire young guides who know these forests better than any app. You show that Dharamshala is worth more for its silence than any concrete hotel can promise. So what's stopping you? A muddy trail? A missed sunset because clouds rolled in? That's the charm. Dharamshala, when slow, is a blessing. And while tourists rush back to the market for souvenirs, you could be at a hidden waterfall, or sipping tea under an old cedar, or hearing a monk laugh about life's small ironies. Not for a reel. Not for likes. Just for you. Final Thoughts Don't just visit Dharamshala. Let it visit you. The next time the mountains call, don't just pack a bag. Pack an open heart. Because the best parts of these hills don't come with a signboard. They come softly. On a trail. In a smile. In a prayer flag fluttering above your head. And all you have to do is listen.
The Hindu
15-07-2025
- Climate
- The Hindu
Himalayan floods are here to stay
It began as a heavy rain, the kind that Himachal Pradesh has seen before. But by the night of June 28, it became clear that this was no ordinary monsoon rain. Cloudbursts over the upper reaches of the Beas basin triggered a chain reaction — landslides, glacial run-off, river swelling, and catastrophic flooding. In Mandi district alone, dozens were killed, including schoolchildren swept away in school buses and entire families buried under collapsing hillside homes. As the disaster unfolded across the State, the death toll crossed 100, with many still missing, according to official estimates as of mid-July. Local rescue teams described nightmarish scenes: an elderly couple in Jogindernagar clung to a tree for nearly 10 hours before being rescued; a mother in Sarkaghat tried to shield her infant as their house caved in — only she survived. Entire stretches of National Highway no. 154 disintegrated. Power lines were torn down, communication snapped, and thousands stranded without food or medical aid. Farmers watched their orchards disappear. Small dhabas and homes — often the only sources of livelihood — were swept away in minutes. Damages across Himachal have reportedly crossed ₹2,100 crore, with Mandi bearing the brunt (State Disaster Management Authority estimates). Relief centres overflowed, and the overwhelmed local administration resorted to calling in the Army and NDRF. Yet, for many in the villages dotting the hill slopes, the help came too late. And with the monsoon only just beginning, the fear of further destruction looms large. And yet, the tragedy did not come as a surprise. It was foretold — not by oracles, but by decades of scientific warnings, community memory, and ecological common sense. The June disaster is not an exception. It is part of a deeper reckoning: the Himalayan flood is not on the horizon — it's already here. New normal The rising temperatures in the Western and Central Himalayas have fast-tracked glacial melt and made rainfall increasingly erratic. Scientific data show that the upper Himalayas have warmed by nearly 1.8 degrees Celsius in the past 50 years — almost twice the global average. The result? The monsoon arrives with violent bursts, glaciers retreat with alarming speed, and glacial lakes threaten sudden outbursts. The destruction in Mandi was just the latest flashpoint. And it won't be the last. Across regions such as Palampur and Barot, local communities no longer see floods and landslides as exceptions. Instead, they have become part of the annual cycle. As one Gaddi farmer observed, 'We don't question floods any more — they're part of childhood stories now.' Disasters are no longer occasional — they are woven into the rhythms of everyday life. Into calendars, rituals, memory, and even school routines. Anthropogenic climate legacy This is precisely the long arc of destruction the IPCC has been warning about. Emissions from the industrial era do not vanish with the monsoon; their impact lingers for decades, even centuries. The 2022 and 2023 IPCC reports confirm that we are already living with 'committed warming' — irreversible climate consequences locked in by past emissions. The glaciers now retreating will not return in our lifetimes. Flood-prone zones will continue to expand. Disasters don't merely continue; they accumulate. This means the children of the Himalayas will inherit not just a warmer world, but one marked by perpetual instability — unless the trajectory of response changes radically. Children of 1996 and beyond Here, the generational divide becomes stark. Those born before 1996 grew up in a relatively stable climate. For them, weather followed patterns, and seasons held meaning. But for those born after — the so-called 'disaster-evolved generation' — uncertainty is the only constant. These are children who, in Kullu, pack raincoats and first-aid kits in their school bags. Teenagers in Shimla grow up learning how to mark flood zones on their maps. This is not wartime mobilisation. It is climate adaptation — and it's becoming habitual. But when disasters become ordinary, the tragedy deepens. What should be shocking becomes routine. That is both our loss and our collective test. Melting mountain These floods are not just products of melting glaciers; they are the consequence of an ideology that celebrates extraction over harmony. Consider the Hindu notion of Pralay — the cosmic flood that destroys the world in cycles so it may be reborn. In the Srimad Bhagavatam, this deluge is divine. But today's Pralay is human-made, driven by unchecked greed and ecological indifference. Marx, too, offers a chilling echo: 'All that is holy becomes profane, and all that is solid melts into air.' Our sacred mountains are no longer revered — they are ripped apart to fuel roads, power plants, and tourist resorts. Hydropower projects blast riverbeds into submission; highways are cut crudely into unstable slopes. Tourism, rather than elevating the region, leaves behind plastic waste, broken trails, and ecological imbalance. We were told this was development. But each step forward in production — each road, tunnel, or intensified farming zone — erodes the Himalayan equilibrium. Infrastructure begets run-off. Deforestation triggers landslides. Marx's critique endures: the crisis isn't just about carbon emissions — it's rooted in a material system that prizes profit over preservation. Material production reimagined To respond meaningfully, we must reimagine how we build, where we build, and for whom. Infrastructure must be reoriented to work with nature, not against it. Rather than concrete storm drains that quicken run-off and erosion, flood management can adopt meandering stream corridors lined with native vegetation. Terraced forest buffers and marshlands at the foot of slopes can absorb excess rainwater and slow down deluge events. Homes and hamlets must be reconstructed atop engineered terraces — elevated, buttressed by stone retaining walls, and supported by deep-rooted grasses that anchor the soil. These are not utopian ideas. The State Disaster Mitigation Authority (SDMA) has outlined them in multiple reports. It also stipulates that no settlement should exist within five metres of natural drainage lines — a rule that remains widely violated. As for the roads that slice across hillsides, less than 30% adhere to basic slope drainage codes. Most rely on gravity — a dangerous gamble. Every monsoon, this negligence turns into a landslide headline. Institutional gaps The SDMAs of both Himachal and Uttarakhand have produced reports filled with hazard maps, vulnerability indices, and strategic frameworks. But these often end up as paper-bound intentions without executable timelines or budgets. Take Uttarakhand's plan to reinforce 15 critical stretches of the Corbett highway. There is no funding blueprint. Himachal's SDMA lists over 1,200 vulnerable buildings in Kangra and Kullu districts, but without offering relocation or structural audit strategies. What we see is a pattern — noble bureaucratic insight diluted by administrative paralysis. The problem is not in knowledge — but in will. Psychological shift In Chamoli and Kullu, the psychological landscape is shifting. Emergency kits are now as routine as ration cards. People pack water pouches, torchlights, and important documents, knowing full well that the next landslide could erase their homes in minutes. Schools and villages must go beyond token disaster drills. Regular training, community-based hazard mapping, and local radio alert systems are the need of the hour. Most important, people must also be taught what not to carry during evacuations. In many tragedies, precious minutes are lost trying to save religious artefacts or household heirlooms. Resilience must become muscle memory — not rhetoric. Liberation in adaptation The wisdom of both religious and political thought offers guidance. The Hindu invocation Lokah samastah sukhino bhavantu — 'May all beings everywhere be happy and free' — reminds us that true liberation begins with security: a safe home, a reliable alert system, and a dignified livelihood. Marx reminds us that personal freedom is a mirage without collective structures. If unbridled capitalism tore through community solidarities, it is now tearing through the mountains. Real emancipation lies not in individual resilience but in collective systems: shared water buffers, state-funded terracing, and community-managed forests. The individual breathes easier when the village is strong. A call to action Mandi's devastation was not a glitch. It was a grim parable in a longer Himalayan narrative. And yet, the most dangerous mistake would be to respond with more of the same: dig, drain, and deny. We must build infrastructure that is flood-adaptive by design. Disaster mitigation agencies must move from planning to implementation — with funds, audits, and accountability. Preparedness must become a daily civic routine. And most critically, we must restore a material spirituality — one that regards the Himalayas not as a resource bank, but as a living cosmos. The 'disaster-evolved' generation already understands this intuitively. Their resilience is not a genetic trait — it is a forced adaptation. But it also holds the blueprint for the future. As the Bhagavata Purana warns, 'When earth falls into chaos, the cosmic waters rise.' But redemption does not lie in waiting for a saviour. It lies in what we choose to build now — with compassion, justice, and courage. If all that is solid melts into air, let the foundations we lay today rest not just on concrete, but on collective memory, cultural wisdom, and ecological harmony. This is Kalyug's challenge — and capitalism's reckoning. The Himalayan Pralay has arrived. Whether we drown in it or rebuild from it is entirely up to us. Tikender Singh Panwar is an author of three books on urbanisation — The Cities in Transition, The Radical City, Challenges of Urban Governance; He is a former Deputy Mayor of Shimla and currently a member of the Kerala Urban Commission; views are personal
Indian Express
09-07-2025
- Climate
- Indian Express
Mandi cloudbursts: 55 people in this Himachal village owe their lives to a six-month-old puppy — Rocky
If 55 people of 20 families in this Syathi Trimbala in Mandi district are alive today, despite being in the midst of a series of cloudbursts Himachal Pradesh had never witnessed earlier, it is due to a six-month-old puppy — Rocky. On the night of June 30, massive cloudbursts struck several areas in Mandi district, including Syathi Trimbala, the worst-hit village under Longni Gram Panchayat, sitting by a seasonal rivulet. Around 2 am, Lalit Kumar woke up to the unusually loud and continuous barking of Rocky — a puppy of the local Gaddi breed. 'At first, I thought a 'Baghera' (a local word for leopard) might have entered the area, which could be why Rocky was barking so persistently,' 35-year-old Lalit, the pet owner, told The Indian Express. But Lalit and other villagers went to a temporary shelter opposite his house by the rivulet to check on Rocky and comfort him, but what they saw left them terrified — the overflowing rivulet on the verge of sweeping the village. 'Water had started entering the village. We rushed out of our houses, shouting and alerting villagers. I put my disabled sister, Anu Devi, 38, on my shoulders, and we all village residents moved toward safer locations,' Lalit, a daily wager and father of a girl child, said. Villagers said Rocky did what seemed unimaginable for a pup of his age — the pet alerted its owner about the impending danger by barking furiously. However, amid the hullabaloo, the puppy was nowhere to be found. It was swept away by the strong water current of the rivulet, along with the temporary shelter, only to be found stuck in the bushes the next day. 'We don't know how and when Rocky went back to its shelter. The next day, we found Rocky stuck in the bushes, about 2 to 3 km away from our devastated village,' said Lalit. Lalit's and other families have taken shelter in a relief camp at Naina Mata under Longni Gram Panchayat. They told The Indian Express, 'If we are alive today, it is only because of Rocky.' Talking about the devastation wreaked by the cloudburst-triggered massive flooding by the rivulet, Prithi Chand, Up-Pradhan of Longni Gram Panchayat, said, 'Trimbala, the main village, is at a considerable height, but Syathi Trimbala is much lower, sitting by the rivulet, was completely devastated by cloudburst-triggered flash floods and torrential rains. The puppy saved the lives of all villagers.'
Time of India
13-05-2025
- Business
- Time of India
Govt considering hike in MSP for wool: Chief Minister Sukhvinder Singh Sukhu
Shimla: Chief minister Sukhvinder Singh Sukhu on Tuesday said the state govt was contemplating enhancing the minimum support price (MSP) for wool, and a decision would be taken in this regard after consulting all the stakeholders.A delegation of the Gaddi community , led by newly appointed Himachal Pradesh Wool Federation chairperson Manoj Kumar, had called on the CM to express gratitude for appointing a representative from the community to the said the state govt was aware of the hardships faced by the Gaddi community and was committed to resolving their issues. He said the govt would ensure that sheep and goat rearers received remunerative prices for their hard work, thereby strengthening the rural also said by adopting a sympathetic approach, the state govt had enhanced the compensation manifold for the affected families during the monsoon disaster of 2023 by offering a special relief package. Under this initiative, the state govt increased the financial assistance from Rs 4,000 to Rs 6,000 for the death of sheep, goats, and pigs, he CM said in the coming times, this financial assistance would be further enhanced to support the livestock-rearing community. Rural development and panchayati raj minister Anirudh Singh was also 121139316 413 |
