The Hills Are Alive
There’s a hill I remember from my childhood days. It stood right across the window of my room of our rented house in Dalhousie, a high-altitude town located near the Dhauladhar mountain range.
One particular long snowy winter day, with no electricity, and while there was no one at home, I sat at my window wrapped up in a warm white blanket. I sat there cursing my loneliness and boredom, while all my friends were away enjoying the winter vacations. I truly was so upset.
So I sat there, looking at the icicles hanging from the edge of the roof, the pine trees and their branches stooping down under the weight of the snow, shedding the snow little by little to come back to the original position. And then I looked at that hill in the distance. That splendid, spectacular hill. I thought of how magnificent it looked covered in the cold white blanket of snow. How it stood there all alone, by itself, enduring the mighty weather, the lighting and thunderstorms. Somehow it gave me an energy to appreciate that moment of my loneliness and I shall forever be grateful to it for that!
Come spring, I decided to trek over to that hill. It was all rocky and steep the way up, a rather difficult terrain. But when I reached the top, I can never forget what I saw. Lush green meadows covered with white and yellow wildflowers. I lay there on the ground, upside down, as if trying to hug it. And it’s difficult to express how I somehow felt as if the hill was hugging me back. That day, I made myself a promise, to always take care of my hill. And all the other hills for that matter.
Like me, all the people of Himalayas have their own little stories and a personal connection with mountains, they’re home to us and irresponsible tourism is not only harming nature, but for us it’s personal loss.
After all, mountains may not be living things, but we must never forget that they are alive.
BY PALAK MALHI
( Instagram Id- palakmalhi )