Postcards to Shillong

I went to Shillong on a whim back in 2021, at one of the most fragile points in my life. I was carrying a heaviness I couldn’t shake, a quiet despair that had settled deep. And yet, this beautiful city — unassuming, gentle — began to unravel that weight and quietly start my healing.

Nestled in Meghalaya (“the abode of the clouds”), Shillong sits a couple of hours’ drive from Guwahati airport. I took a dawn flight, arriving just as the world was still soft with early light. The cab ride to Shillong felt like a slow awakening. Before the hills began, the serene Umiam Lake stretched out, calm and endless in the morning mist.

It was the kind of sight that lets you breathe again.

I reached the city, checked in, and stepped out for a walk. It was early on a weekend morning; the streets were still stretching awake. I found a cozy little Manipuri restaurant serving local food. The chill in the air and my love for spice led me to ordering their hottest breakfast.

Sitting there alone, the owner quietly tending to the place, I let the heat build up in my mouth while the morning sun warmed my face. It felt like the first moment in a long time where I just existed, without pretense or pain.

That day, I wandered — through quaint churches, past street shops, watching the city stir slowly to life.

Over the next few days of my stay, Shillong wrapped itself around me more and more. And I fell in love with it more with each passing moment.

The people were kind, gentle, warm in a way that doesn’t demand anything but gives freely.

The city was clean, but not artificially so. Fallen leaves and flowers carpeted the streets. I’d just missed the cherry blossoms season by a few weeks, but their echoes were scattered everywhere. There’s a quiet kind of peace in walking among fallen petals — nature’s way of saying it doesn’t need us to tidy up, that life is messy and beautiful and unpolished.

The architecture was refreshingly human-scaled, untouched by towering skyscrapers. Shillong had a bubbly spirit beneath its calm surface — bright colors, graffiti, rustic charm that felt real, not curated.

I spent an afternoon in the central park, walking slowly by the lake, reading a book, sampling food from the stalls.

No blaring music, no harsh lights.

Just the scent of pine cones, the mountain breeze — a balm for the spirit. It felt like the wind itself was stitching my wounds with quiet patience and care.

I found refuge in the city library for a day, surrounded by the silence and company of books, my steadfast friends.

There was no hurry here.
No plans or expectations.

Only the present moment, unfolding gently.

It was Christmas time. At night, Shillong came alive, but minus the pandemonium I was used to.

Festivals in India have become loud, rambunctious displays of light and sound and everything that triggers me. But Shillong was different.

Cafes and restaurants stayed open late. Children sang carols on quiet streets. Even in the dark, I felt safe, wrapped in a community that welcomed me to simply be — to breathe, to walk, to exist without fear. For those few days and nights, I was at peace with myself. Peace that had been elusive, overpowered by the raging storm in my life.

The city’s churches, mosques, and gurudwaras stood quietly, scattered like peaceful islands. I visited many, searching for something — maybe answers, maybe a sign. The answers didn’t come immediately, but over time, they eventually found me.

I’m not deeply spiritual, but faith — in oneself, in something greater, in the vast, unknowable universe — took root quietly in that place.

On my last day, I went to Laitlum Canyons, a hidden treasure I had long wanted to see. Mist curled over the cliffs as I hiked, sipping the local red tea. It was a moment of simple joy and accomplishment amid the fog of my thoughts.

I felt lighter by the end of it — a happiness that wasn’t loud or flashy, but steady and real.

Though the next day I had to leave and face life again, I was no longer afraid or sad.

A calm belief had settled over me, like a warm, familiar blanket from childhood, wrapping me in quiet hope.

Since then, Shillong has stayed with me — a silent companion in the hardest chapter of my life. I had no business knowing this city, yet it held me when I needed it most.

And for that, I will forever be indebted to it.