Baluni Gaon, Pauri Garhwal

Baluni Gaon in Jakhanikhal tehsil of Pauri Garhwal district comes back to me in calm flashes. Terraced fields lay open to the hills, forests pressed in close, and small streams slipped quietly through the land. In the morning breeze, I heard birds, cattle, and distant footsteps. Missing Baluni Gaon feels gentle, like warmth that settles without asking.

I always came through Kotdwar railway station, roughly 90–95 kilometers away, and then followed the slow road climb. The nearest bus drops you along the main road; after that, locals depend on shared jeeps or simple lifts. Curved roads kept unfolding, pine scent thick in the air, sunlight flashing briefly on bends. Somewhere along the way, the mind went quiet.

Life in Baluni Gaon revealed itself without noise. Terraced farms carried wheat, mandua, paddy, pulses, vegetables, and a few fruit trees growing near homes. Farming stayed traditional and mostly organic, guided by seasons and memory. Cattle rearing blended into everyday life milking, grazing, and fodder collection happening steadily.

One morning, I watched a woman winnowing grain near her courtyard, lifting it patiently into the light. Nearby, an old man sat on a stone slab, sharpening his sickle with slow care. Fodder bundles rested against walls, and dairy cans stood quietly in the shade. These scenes stayed longer than conversations.

Festivals in Baluni Gaon felt inward rather than loud. Harela arrived with fresh greens and calm joy, Ghughutiya brought children closer to elders, and Makar Sankranti softened winter mornings. Stories of Nanda Devi Jaat surfaced during evening gatherings, mixed with folk songs hummed gently. Respect for elders and community bonding felt natural and lived-in.

Small temples and old shrines appeared along footpaths and near fields. Some were barely marked, some wrapped in faded cloth. I often paused there without intention, feeling the stillness settle around me. Bells rang only when someone felt the need.

Natural springs were scattered around the village edges. The water was cold enough to numb fingers and clear enough to trust. Forest trails moved quietly through oak and pine, sometimes opening into hidden viewpoints no one talked about. The hills revealed themselves slowly.

Food in Baluni Gaon tasted honest. Mandua roti, seasonal vegetables, pulses, fresh milk, and herbs gathered from nearby slopes filled daily meals. I watched wool being spun in courtyards and small wooden equipment shaped by hand. The odor of alrighttimber smoke lingered within the evenings.

Slate-roof homes leaned into narrow stone pathways worn smooth by the footsteps of a long time of footsteps. Walking there at nightfall, I felt the cool stone underfoot. Doors closed lightly, voices softened, and the village regarded to settled into itself.

Baluni Gaon stays with me because it never rushed me. The slow mountain life, the silence between sounds, and the comfort of simplicity eased something inside. Nature felt steady and close. When I left, I didn’t explain, just carried a quiet goodbye that still walks beside me.