The allure of mountains draws cars and Thars full of city dwellers who brave long queues through serpentine, narrow roads - for summer vacations in Shimla, Christmas holidays in Rohtang, New Year's Eve in Manali, and long weekends at bed-and-breakfasts with a sunset view or a homestay in Kumaon, in the literal lap of the Himalayas. The tranquillity not only drenches souls parched of fresh air but also makes for good Instagram reel fodder. And for the most part, this surge of tourists is good for business too - discounting the plastic-littering, incessant-honking civic menaces. But come the monsoons, the otherwise overbooked stays and jam-packed roads wear a deserted look. With most tourists gone, the hills return to the people who actually live there.
Some city professionals who traded stable salaries for mountain life also make up this group. They once sat in traffic jams, open-plan offices, high-rise apartments with a generous view of other high-rises, and decided at some point that the hills were not just a destination. They were home.
They chose to be there. They also chose to stay put every year when rain turns livelihoods and Instagram algorithms upside down - from aesthetic shots of mountains to the horrifying ones of boulders falling on cars - and visuals of flash floods and landslides take over news headlines, almost cutting them off from tourists and, for some, from the rest of the country. For months.
"Wanted Our Daughter To Grow Up Experiencing Mountains Instead Of Malls"
In May 2021, Lipika and Harish Bisht visited Manali from Delhi for a 45-day vacation, not expecting that within a few months the hills would become their home. They explored the area less like tourists and more like locals, and were won over by the simple life, the food, and the nature all around them.
"Getting to spend a lot of time together as a family really made us think about how life should be lived and how we were rushing about it in the city. We wanted our daughter to grow up experiencing mountains instead of malls, seasons instead of traffic, and a slower, more meaningful way of life. That was the turning point," said Lipika.
Lipika, Harish Bisht (L); Lipika, Harish with their daughter Bianca (centre).
In November that year, they packed their bags, said goodbye to their decades-long career in corporate, and set off in search of a new home in the hills.
They found it in a hamlet six kilometres ahead of Manali, surrounded by apple orchards and snow-covered peaks, with natural background music provided by Himalayan birds and the river Beas. This was where they started three businesses: a homestay, a cafe, and a fitness studio. This was what their new life and livelihood would look like. Picture perfect, or so it seemed at the time.
"There is greenery all around during the summers, while clouds put up a dancing show during the monsoons. And winters are the best as the stay and its surroundings transform into a world of Narnia with snow all around," said Lipika.
Lipika says winters in Himachal are the best. (Photo by arrangement)
The first monsoon season was not bad. A trickle of guests kept things afloat. But things changed after that.
Himachal's Worst Monsoon Disaster
In 2023, Himachal Pradesh saw its worst monsoon disaster in years. Kullu district, where the Bishts' homestay, Ara, is located, witnessed devastating floods from July 9 to 11, triggered by heavy rainfall that had begun pounding the district - home to the Beas, Parbati, Sainj, Tirthan and Banjar river valleys - from July 8. Several houses and commercial buildings were destroyed. The main bridges on the Beas River - the Akhara Bazaar Bridge, Bhunter Valley Bridge, and Patlikuhl Bridge - were badly damaged. Several others were washed away entirely. Three extreme spells of rainfall that season caused 32 flash floods and 163 landslides, damaged thousands of structures, killed 428 people, and injured more than 600 in the state.
For Lipika, that season was terrifying in a way she had not prepared for. She was alone at the homestay with her daughter and a guest family.
"My husband was stuck in Delhi and couldn't travel to Manali due to the heavy rains and the damage done. Manali was almost cut off from the rest of the country on all sides. We were short on rations, and there was no phone network or electricity for almost five days. That was our first time being stuck in a natural disaster. It was scary and so uncertain," she said.
"That year, the Volvo buses, which otherwise run regularly from Delhi, couldn't come to Manali until the first week of October due to excessive road damage. Schools were shut. That time we really worried about the homestay and what the future would look like."
As the rains subsided and the sun returned to the valley, it lifted their spirits. But the season left a mark.
Lipika and Harish started Ara Homestay in 2021.
"We survived, but it definitely taught us how fragile our ecosystem is and how much impact climate change is having. Sitting in cities, constantly in air-conditioned rooms, people don't realise the gravity of the situation. But it's very much a reality when you are living close to nature and seeing everything first-hand," said Lipika.
The Cost Of Living The Dream
The incessant rainfall and the region's topography - steep slopes, deep valleys and fragile rock formations - make it naturally vulnerable. But other factors are accelerating the damage. In many areas, settlements and road construction have altered the natural balance. The influx of tourists helps the economy, but the great rush damages the very nature that draws people there. Road widening for tourist access and deforestation for new infrastructure come at a cost that the hills are still counting.
Natural disasters may be the most dramatic disruption, but they are not the only ones. The tourism boom has pushed property rates up sharply across hill towns.
Lipika said the homestay sees peak business only in May, June and December. "Monsoons are completely off for tourists due to increasing landslides and floods, and during the other months, the number of visitors isn't large either." So while expenses - rent, staff salaries, maintenance - remain steady, the off-season significantly reduces income.
"When we started, we were focused on getting good customers and regular business. What we didn't consider was the rental lease amount. Even though the rent has been increasing at a higher pace every year, the business has not seen that kind of growth. So the homestay businesses in Manali have been suffering in general, and that has affected us as well," said Lipika.
To tackle the off-season, the Bishts devised a two-pronged survival strategy: diversify and adapt. Rather than relying on a single business or a single season, they built multiple income streams to support each other through the quieter months.
A view of hills from Ara homestay. (Photo by arrangement)
"With the homestay, we began focusing more on the fitness community - runners, trekkers, and fitness enthusiasts - because we are also part of that community. It naturally helped us attract like-minded guests even during the quieter months. We are also building fitness and wellness experiences such as yoga retreats and parkour workshops that are less dependent on peak tourist seasons," said Lipika, who previously ran a martial arts gym in Ghaziabad with her husband.
"These workshops provide a steady source of income throughout the year. We also keep our operations lean. Our kitchen is run by us rather than a full-time chef, which allows us to control costs while maintaining quality."
750 km away, A Different Monsoon Story
While the monsoon cuts Lipika and Harish off from the rest of the country, that is not the case everywhere in the hills. But when monsoon devastation dominates news headlines and social media feeds, it paints a uniform picture: the hills are unsafe in the rains.
Nearly 750 kilometres away in Uttarakhand's Seetla, Shivani Tyagi and Avijeet Ray - sitting in their large dining room enjoying the calm after the peak-season rush - disagree.
"The monsoon in this part of Kumaon is generally not as intimidating as it is often made out to be, probably because many of our roads haven't been widened like in some other mountain regions," said Avijeet.
Shivani Tyagi and Avijeet Ray assert that monsoon is a great season to travel to parts of Kumaon. (Photo by arrangement)
"Like any other hilly region, weather and road conditions vary greatly from one valley to another. That's something people unfamiliar with the geography don't realise. If there's a cloudburst in Joshimath, which is in the Garhwal region, or flooding somewhere in Himachal Pradesh, we receive calls from family and friends asking if we're safe - simply because we're also 'in the mountains.'" Kumaon and Garhwal are about 300 kilometres apart.
Shivani blames misreporting around hills that brands monsoon travel risky.
"Fear and destruction grab eyeballs and TRPs. With the onset of monsoon, videos of flash floods - sometimes very old ones - start doing the rounds. All hill states and regions are lumped together and labelled dangerous for travel."
She asserts that monsoon is a great season to travel, adding, "prior checks with locals on weather and road conditions help".
The appeal? "No traffic, no crowds, and lots of silence."
"We Always Knew We'd Leave City Life Behind"
Shivani and Avijeet left careers in corporate banking and design, respectively, to open their homestay, Aikkya, in Seetla, a decision that was years in the making rather than a single dramatic leap.
"There wasn't one defining moment when we sat down and decided to move to the mountains. It was something both of us had carried quietly for years. We always knew that at some point we'd leave city life behind and build a simpler life closer to nature," said Avijeet.
Five and a half years since that decision, no challenge - hail, rain or storm - has made them doubt it.
Shivani and Avijeet left careers in corporate banking and design, respectively, to move to the mountains. (Photo by arrangement)
For them, the pause of the monsoon season has been a gift rather than a burden. "The season has always brought opportunity for rest and renewal, which helps power us through the year. New menu ideas, ideas for improvement, new projects - all of this happens during this time," said Shivani, who feels nothing but gratitude for the pause.
Avijeet agrees. "If anything, the monsoon has given us something the busy season rarely does - time. Time to work on new ideas, plant new saplings, make small improvements to the rooms, experiment in the kitchen, go on small trips around, and simply enjoy the place without constantly being occupied with guests. We actually look forward to that quieter rhythm every year."
But it is not all pause and poetry. Heavy rain and storms bring power cuts and occasional roadblocks. The oldest cottages at Aikkya are around eighty years old, built with stone walls and traditional mud-fixed stone roofs, and an occasional leak, as Avijeet puts it, "is part of life." After heavy rain, the supply water sometimes runs muddy for a while. These are "inconveniences, not crises".
When things do go wrong, the local community is their first call.
"We did rely on the knowledge of the local community for solving day-to-day problems in the initial years, and we continue to count on them whenever something new comes up," said Shivani.
"In the mountains, it's equally important to know your electrician, plumber and carpenter," said Avijeet. "They're often the first people you call when something needs fixing. Over time, these relationships become much more than professional; they become your support system."
Avijit believes "Living in nature requires being in harmony with it - including its most difficult seasons." (Photo by arrangement)
Managing cash flow through the quieter months requires its own discipline. "Expecting the same level of revenue through the year is naive. While we need the rest, more than two slow months a year can be difficult," said Shivani.
What keeps the business running during the slowdown is a combination of returning guests and a pre-booked kitchen that serves both guests and the growing local community of people who have moved to this part of Kumaon. "Together, that provides enough support to keep the kitchen running and helps us look after our staff through the quieter months," said Avijeet.
"We've now lived through six monsoons, and every year we find ourselves a little better prepared and looking forward to the season rather than worrying about it. One thing I've realised is that the monsoon is simply another season, just like summer or winter."
A Birthday Gift That Became A Life
Back in Himachal, just a stone's throw from the Bishts' Ara Homestay, is a pottery studio born from a birthday gift.
Four years ago, a friend gifted Sharmishtha Roy - who until then had worked in corporate marketing - a pottery class that changed her life entirely.
"A friend gifted me a pottery class that was meant to be a hobby. After a couple of sessions, my instructor encouraged me to continue. I had completed my MBA during Covid and planned to return to corporate life, but first I wanted a mental breather," said Sharmishtha.
"I came to Andretta near Palampur for what was supposed to be a one-month residential pottery course. One month became three months, then a year-long apprenticeship. Somewhere along the way, I realised I didn't want to go back. If someone had told me then that I'd end up running a pottery studio near Manali, I'd have laughed. None of it was planned."
Sharmishtha Roy chose the life she wanted to wake up to every morning over a corporate job. (Photo by arrangement)
She knew she wasn't choosing the bigger salary. She was choosing the life she wanted to wake up to every morning. She hasn't looked back since.
Her studio runs almost entirely through word of mouth and stays busy through the working season. The 34-year-old tackles the monsoon slowdown by using the pause to plan her own travel. "By August, I usually plan my travel because heavy monsoon can bring landslides, road closures and power cuts. You stop trying to control the mountains. You simply plan around them, that's life here."
Her savings from nearly a decade of corporate life act as a financial safety net through the leaner months. "I also live quite simply. Apart from investing in the studio, I don't have extravagant expenses. The lower cost of living here helps, and the business now comfortably supports the lifestyle I wanted."
"Living Here Constantly Reminds Us To Be Prepared"
The remote locations that make these lives beautiful can also make emergencies complicated.
For Lipika and Harish, the thought of a medical emergency remains their biggest underlying concern. "We faced a family crisis last year with an elder in the family where we had to rush her to Chandigarh for a small health concern. So yes, it is always in our minds that if a health emergency arrives, we are not very well equipped to handle it here. Living here constantly reminds us to be prepared," said Lipika.
Raising their twelve-year-old daughter in the hills comes with its own trade-offs. Extracurricular activities and school-related opportunities that a city would offer are harder to access in a small town. "But she is growing up around nature, which is a big life lesson that will shape her mindset and personality. She is meeting children and people from all across India through our homestay business, and that is shaping her communication skills in ways no school could have," she said.
For Shivani and Avijeet, the closest thing to a medical emergency was when Shivani slipped, twisted her ankle and suffered a ligament tear. The nearest hospital, about seven kilometres away, was able to provide an X-ray and basic care. "Living remotely requires a bit more planning than what's expected in a city," said Avijeet. "But we've never felt completely cut off when it comes to medical support."
"Pros Of This Life Outweigh The Negatives"
For all of them, this life came with real costs: stable careers left behind, predictable incomes exchanged for uncertainty, and some of what they witnessed around them - others who wanted the same life but eventually left - reminded them of what they had chosen to hold onto. When it came down to it, each of them had arrived at the same question: what did comfort really mean? Was it the guaranteed monthly salary, or the certain view of mountains and the freedom to set their own hours when they woke up each morning?
Sharmishtha knew she had found home in the hills when she no longer felt the need to escape on constant holidays
"The quality of life, breathing fresh air, giving new momentum to life, meeting so many interesting people and running our own business - the pros of this life always outweigh the negatives," said Lipika.
For Sharmishtha, she knew she had found home in the hills when she no longer felt the need to escape on constant holidays.
"Pottery is calming, hands-on and deeply therapeutic. Corporate life revolved around meetings, deadlines and managing people. Today I run every aspect of my own business, and I genuinely enjoy that responsibility. I don't miss my old career because this feels much more like me," she said.
As for Shivani and Avijeet, it is not just about the mountains. It is about what this life has given them that the city could not.
"Once you find a way to earn a living without constantly compromising on the quality of your life, it's very difficult to imagine going back. It's the clean air, the water, the fresh local produce, the absence of traffic, waking up to birds instead of horns, and having a beautiful valley right in front of you every day," said Avijeet. "But above everything else, what this life has given us is time. Time to think, to create, to spend with family, and to simply live at a pace that feels right."
This life, though, is not for everyone. Living in nature requires being in harmony with it - including its most difficult seasons.
"People mostly see the mountains, the orchards and the peaceful studio. They don't see the power cuts, the voltage fluctuations, the glazing, packing, shipping, cleaning, or all the work that goes into running a small business. Village life is also physical - you walk to the main road to collect deliveries, carry firewood for winter, and plan everything around the seasons. It's demanding. But the clean air, the slower pace, the fresh food and the sense of community make it completely worthwhile," said Sharmishtha.
And Shivani's thought on this is the simplest summation of all of it: "Life in the hills is out of the comfort zone of most people and hence seen as difficult. Some people just see Instagram Reels and expect it to feel like cotton candy. It isn't."
But for those who have stayed through the floods, the power cuts, the quiet and the uncertainty - it is something better than that. It is theirs.
