Settled in the quiet grip of the Almora district, Selakot (सैलाकोट) is one of those mountain-top villages in which we feel that time is about to slack, and every sunrise is a thankful hour. There is the smell of the earth of pine (चीड़), the sound of the cowbells, the gossip of the mountain, which is a thing of humility, and also of a very romantic character.
You will not find much noise of revelry or population on Selakot streets, but the hills softly breathe there, and life is lived peacefully in the silent presence of nature.
A new day in Selakot has started very long before the sun comes up. The drift of the मुर्गा (rooster) crowing in the fog is heard at dawn. The चूल्हा (hearth) in any household is smoking with tea (चाय) boiling, and the thick air is full of smoke and the aroma of burning wood spreading throughout the chilly mountain air.
Women, who are covered with woolen shawls, are going to the fields with their woven baskets on their backs. The men are trailing behind with tools in their hands to look after their terraced lands (सीढ़ीदार खеत). Light-hearted and carefree children skip to school on the stone pavings that generations have passed. There is no hurry in Selakot in the morning; it is like a slow, small stream running down a mountain.
Soil in Selakot is rugged, but it has a story of perseverance. The countryside is built on gorgeous terraces which turn golden in the harvest period. Mostly, the folks here are peasants (किसान), toiling to cultivate staples such as wheat, mandua (finger millet), and pulses, which feed their families.
Life is harsh and contented quiet pride. The villagers know how the earth goes round - in what month to plant, when to sleep, when to allow the earth to breathe. They are not connected with nature in a modern sense of sustainability, but it is an ancient tradition that has been handed down to them.
The sun goes down behind the hills, and you will see people going out there, chatting away in low tones and their laughter mixing in the rustling of the pine trees.
Selakot changes season after season, each having its own charism.
Here, festivals are plain but passionate. In हareला (Harela), villagers put little saplings which represent new births. During दीपावली (Diwali), small lamps (दिये) are lit up in every house, and their brightness is a telltale of how welcoming the people are.
The trip to Selakot comes as a trip to the past. When you are driving through Almora to Bhanoli, the highway passes over pine trees, lethargic villages until there is a turn that opens up to a spectacular view of the valley. It might be a narrow twisting path, but it brings you scarcely any silent beauty, every encouragement.
As soon as you land, you can probably be greeted with a broad smile and a mild, “चाय पियोगे? (Would you like some tea?)” and in another moment, you are going to be sitting on a veranda, having tea, which is the hills disappearing in a blue carpet.
The thing is that Selakot is memorable not because of its size or its popularity but its soul. It is the rustling of the wind among the deodar trees (देवदार के पेड़), the shouts of children playing with a ball in some narrow street and nothingness that is accustoming you to the art of the languid style of life.
You do not take souvenirs with you when you go out of Selakot. You are the bearer of memories, The peace and faces, the feeling that somewhere in the heart of Uttarakhand (उत्तराखंड), life is still moving at the speed of nature.
Selakot does not command attention. It only bids you stop and breathe and hear - to the hills and to the silence and to yourself
Uttarakhand is not simply another country. People here name it Devbhoomi (देवभूमि), the Land of the Gods. And it feels that way. Rivers begin right here. Old temples sit on mountain tops. Morning dayl...