Bansari lies quietly in the hills of Syaldey block in Almora district. The village covers approximately 91 hectares and is home to around 139 people dwelling in 31 households. With more women than men, and a sturdy experience of community, it’s one of those locations that remind you existence nonetheless runs on rhythm, no longer rush.
When you reach Bansari, there are no bright lights or busy roads. You find green terraces, stone houses, the smell of wet soil, and pine drifting through the air. Everything feels slower, calmer, more human.
Bansari falls below the gram panchayat of Kalyanpur and is part of Bhikiyasain tehsil. It rests amongst rolling hills and quiet forest paths. From the slopes, the valley stretches a ways and is extensive, and the sound of the wind drifts softly through the wooden.
The human beings right here speak Hindi and Kumaoni. When you stroll through the village, a person will greet you with a hearty “राम राम”. That greeting feels real, like an antique buddy announcing howdy.
Farming, or कृषि, is the heartbeat of Bansari. Most families here depend on the land for everything. Out of 66 working people, 36 are cultivators, and the rest work part-time in the fields or take up other small jobs nearby.
The fields are shaped by hand into terraces that hold crops of mandua, paddy, and pulses. The soil is both a challenge and a gift. Work depends on the season. Rain means hope. Sun means harvest. There’s no hurry, only steady effort.
Evenings come quietly. Smoke rises from mud chimneys. The light fades behind the hills. Someone finishes paintings, someone has a tendency to the farm animals, and a small fireplace burns within the courtyard. Life moves gently, like the hills themselves.
Festivals here aren’t about noise. They are about people coming together. The whole village joins in, they sing folk songs, cook simple meals, and share stories under the night sky.
The food is plain and pure. मंडुवा रोटी, भात की दाल, chutney made from nearby herbs, and ghee that tastes of the hills. Every meal feels earned, shared, and complete with care.
In Bansari, neighbours aren’t separate. They are part of the same story. If someone needs help with the harvest, others come. If a roof needs repair, hands gather. That’s how things stay alive here.
Life inside the hills is stunning, but not clean. The roads are slender and choppy, and when rain hits, the journey slows down. Schools and health centres are a few kilometres away, which means effort for even simple things.
Many young people move out looking for better chances. This पलायन leaves behind elders who still hold the land, still wake early, and still believe in staying. They keep the fields alive and the traditions breathing.
Bansari doesn’t run on speed or change. It survives on balance. On faith. On small things done with care. It reminds you that progress doesn’t continually imply motion; on occasion, it approaches staying grounded.
All it needs is a little support, better roads, cleaner water, and a few opportunities that let the younger generation build their life here. The rest, the people already know how to do.
If you ever find yourself in the Almora hills, stop by Bansari. Walk through its narrow lanes, listen to the wind, sit with the people. You’ll see how life here is both simple and rich in ways that don’t need to be explained.
When you leave, it received’t feel as if you’ve just visited. You’ll deliver the quiet with you, the sound of temple bells, the smell of rain on pine, the warmth of a shared smile. Bansari may be small; however, it has a heart that holds everything: silence, struggle, and peace. And when you sense it, it stays with you.
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