“The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only one page.”
Visual fragments from the places I've wandered. Each photograph holds a story, each moment a memory frozen in time.
66
Photographs
5
Journeys
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I visited Mukhba village on 1 October, just for one day. The village was quiet and cold. Stone houses, narrow paths, and mountains all around. I walked slowly, watched people go about their day, and felt the calm in the air. Even in one day, Mukhba left a peaceful feeling that stayed with me.
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I visited Harsil Valley at the end of September and stayed in Bagori village from 28 September to 1 October. Those days were quiet and cold. Autumn had just started. Trees were slowly changing colour, and the river flowed calmly beside the road, like it had all the time in the world. Mornings were gentle and still. Nights came early, bringing silence with them. Bagori felt simple and real. Small homes, apple trees around them, flowers near the doors, and people going about their day without hurry. There was no rush, no noise. Just mountains standing quietly and villages living their slow, steady life. I walked without any plan. Sometimes I sat near the river, sometimes on a stone by the road, just watching time pass. Nothing felt forced. Everything felt natural. Harsil doesn’t try to impress you. It doesn’t need to. The calm stays with you quietly. Even after leaving, a part of that silence follows you back. That’s what those days in Bagori were like simple, slow, and peaceful.
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I visited Mussoorie on 26–27 September 2025. The weather was cool and the clouds kept moving around the hills. Sometimes the view opened up, and sometimes everything disappeared into fog. I walked without any plan, spent time on quiet roads, and watched the town slow down in the evening. At sunset, the sky changed softly and the city lights slowly came alive below. No dust, no noise, no rush just clean air and stillness. A Prateek Kuhad song played quietly, my camera rested beside me, and the moment felt complete without trying to capture everything. I stood there in silence, thinking of God. Some things in life are not meant to be explained, only thanked for. This moment felt like one of them.
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You didn’t come here to do anything. You came here to breathe. Landour didn’t ask you questions. It just stayed quiet. The roads were empty, the air was clean, and the clouds kept moving without caring. You walked slowly, not looking for views, just letting your thoughts settle. When the sun went down, the sky softened. The city lights below looked distant, like another life. No dust, no noise. Just silence. A Prateek Kuhad song played quietly, your camera rested in your hands, but you didn’t feel the need to shoot. You stood there for a while, talking to yourself, and then to God. Some days, all you can do is say thank you for being here, for feeling this calm, for being given moments that don’t need to be shared. Landour felt like that pause you didn’t know you needed.
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Kalpa is a small village in the mountains. I remember quiet roads, apple trees around homes, and snow peaks always in front of you. Mornings feel cold and fresh, and by evening everything becomes very still. People live simply here, close to nature. Kalpa feels like a place where time slows down and nothing is rushed.
