Hidden deep among the folds of Almora’s Bhanoli block (भनौली ब्लॉक), there lies a quiet village, Punoli (पुनोली). It isn’t the kind of place that seeks attention. There are no loud signs, no tourist spots, no rush. But the moment you step into Punoli, you feel something change, a gentle calm, like the hills whispering, “You’re home now.”
The mornings in Punoli don’t arrive suddenly. They drift in slowly with the fog, curling around pine trees and mud houses. The smell of damp earth mixes with the smoke rising from the चूल्हा (traditional hearth), where someone’s mother is boiling tea in a blackened kettle.
You can hear the soft clinking of पीतल (brass) utensils and the occasional moo of a cow. Beyond the houses, the fields glow faintly, layers of green terraces stretching down the slope, ready for another day’s work.
Here, people wake up not to alarms, but to the sound of nature itself, a barking dog, a calling कोयल (cuckoo), or the bell tied to a grazing cow. Life follows no clock, only rhythm.
Punoli survives on what its soil offers. Every family has a small piece of land where they grow धान (paddy), मंडुवा (ragi), भट्ट (black soybean), and राजमा (kidney beans). These aren’t just crops; they’re the roots of daily life.
During harvest, laughter and hard work mix. You’ll see people helping each other no one counts hours or wages. The reward is, community itself. And when the harvest season ends, families cook भट्ट की चुड़कानी (black soybean curry) and मंडुवे की रोटी (millet bread), sharing the meal under a winter sky that seems to listen quietly.
Faith, too, runs deep here. Every small temple under a पीपल (peepal) or बुरांश (rhododendron) tree feels alive with devotion. Villagers don’t ask for miracles; they only bow for good rains and a healthy family.
If you ask anyone what makes Punoli special, they’ll point to its people. There’s a warmth that doesn’t need words, a kind of “आओ, बैठो” (come, sit) hospitality that turns strangers into friends within minutes.
Old men sit by the roadside, talking about how the weather used to be colder and the streams fuller. Women, wrapped in colorful woolens, carry baskets on their heads, walking miles without complaint. Children run barefoot through narrow paths, chasing kites made of old notebooks.
Everyone here seems to know everyone else, not because it’s small, but because life here is still personal.
When festivals come, Punoli shines. दीपावली (Diwali) lights up every corner, हरेला (Harela) brings the scent of fresh soil and greenery, and at local fairs, the sound of ढोल-दमाऊ (traditional drums) fills the hills. These moments remind the villagers that joy doesn’t need grandeur, just togetherness.
You might even catch an evening of folk songs where the elders sing in Kumaoni (कुमाऊँनी) dialect, their voices carrying stories of gods, forests, and forgotten kings.
The journey to Punoli is as beautiful as the village itself. From Almora town (अल्मोड़ा), the road twists through pine forests, crossing small settlements. After Bhanoli (भनौली), a narrow route leads towards Punoli. The drive may be slow, but each turn shows you another postcard view, misted valleys, grazing cattle, and sunlight breaking through pines. By the time you arrive, you’ll realize the road wasn’t a delay, it was an introduction.
Punoli doesn’t ask for attention; it offers peace. As night falls, stars spill over the dark sky like tiny lamps. The village quiets down, a dog barks, a cow shuffles, a faint lullaby drifts from a nearby home.
There’s no sound of engines here, only the heartbeat of the hills. In that silence, you learn something most cities have forgotten: how to be still.
Punoli may be small on a map, but to those who visit, it feels like a whole world, wrapped gently in the arms of the Pahad (पहाड़), pure, patient, and endlessly alive.
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