Tucked deep in the calm folds of Almora district, Siraula Gunth is one of those villages that never tries to impress you yet somehow stays with you long after you’ve left. It’s small, peaceful, and wrapped in the familiar scent of pine and wet earth. Around तीन सौ दो लोग (302 people) live here, spread across सड़सठ घर (67 homes), each holding stories as old as the hills themselves.
This is the kind of place where mornings begin with birds, not alarms. Where every face you meet greets you with a quiet smile, and time moves just a little slower as if the village itself knows there’s no need to rush.
By sunrise, you’ll already hear the day stretching awake. The sound of चूल्हा (hearth) crackling, the soft clang of steel utensils, and someone calling, “चाय बना ली क्या? (Did you make the tea yet?)” The scent of burning wood drifts through the narrow paths.
Women step out with लोटा (water pots) balanced gracefully on their heads, walking toward the spring. Children hurry down the slope toward the small school, uniforms a little wrinkled, but spirits bright. The goats bleat, the roosters crow, and just like that the day begins.
Here, work is simple and steady. Men head toward the खेत (fields), tools in hand, to tend to मंडुवा (finger millet), wheat, or seasonal vegetables. Women move from task to task feeding animals, collecting fodder, fetching water.
There’s no chaos, no noise just rhythm. A pace of life that feels right for the land it belongs to. Around noon, the air smells of रोटी (roti) and दाल (lentils). Children return from school, dusty but smiling. People eat together, talk about the crops, the rain, the road that still needs fixing.
Every day life here is built on patience. The kind city people often forget exists.
Each season paints Siraula Gunth differently.
In गर्मी (summer), the hills shimmer under sunlight, and laughter echoes across the terraces. During बरसात (monsoon), mist rolls in thick and slow the kind you can almost touch. The sound of rain on tin roofs becomes its own lullaby.
Come सर्दी (winter), smoke rises gently from every chimney, shawls tighten around shoulders, and families gather around small fires, sipping hot chai and sharing stories. On हरेला (Harela), villagers plant saplings to celebrate nature. On दीपावली (Diwali), every window glows with flickering दिये (lamps) small lights holding big warmth.
In Siraula Gunth, doors stay half open not because people forget, but because they trust. Visitors are never strangers for long. The first question you’ll hear is almost always,
“चाय पियोगे? (Will you have tea?)”
You’ll be offered a stool, maybe a plate of freshly cooked भात (rice) or सब्ज़ी (vegetable curry), and before you know it, you’re part of the conversation. Elders speak about old times when the road was just a muddy path, and a single radio in the village was everyone’s evening entertainment.
Younger ones dream of city jobs, but never forget the soil that raised them. Festivals, marriages, harvests everyone shows up. No invitations, no planning just presence.
To reach Siraula Gunth, you travel through winding mountain roads from Ramnagar to Almora, then onward to the Dhauladevi block. The last few kilometers are slow, sometimes bumpy, but beautiful. The road narrows, forests deepen, and then suddenly, the village appears like a secret whispered by the hills.
If you stay, expect no hotels or fancy stays. Instead, a family will likely open their home, serve you tea, and insist you eat with them. That’s hospitality here simple, honest, heartfelt.
Siraula Gunth isn’t a tourist spot. It’s a reminder that peace doesn’t have to be found; sometimes it’s just waiting quietly in a small village on a green hill.
When you leave, you might not take pictures, but you’ll take back something better the smell of pine smoke, the sound of cowbells, the calm that doesn’t fade easily. Because here, silence isn’t empty. It’s full of life, warmth, and the kind of stillness that modern life rarely allows. Siraula Gunth (सिरौला गूँठ) doesn’t ask for attention. It simply exists steady, serene, and deeply human.
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