Challenges and Contentment

Living in the hills, in a village far from any major town, is a constant reminder that life comes with its own limitations—yet within those constraints lies a quieter, more meaningful rhythm of living.

There is no e-commerce or doorstep delivery here. Shopping still happens the old-fashioned way—with a list in hand and a dedicated trip to the market. There are no last-minute orders promising delivery in minutes. Instead, life encourages forethought: from planning meals for my guests to deciding which seeds to buy for the vegetable garden, everything is thought through in advance and purchased with care.

We don’t have a multi-speciality hospital nearby, which makes it all the more important to look after our health and keep a stock of basic medicines. I try to go a step further with an annual health check-up and routine blood tests. Daily walks are part of my routine too, though on rainy days, discipline often gives way to the comfort of hot, fried pakoras. After all, who can resist them when the clouds are pouring? And if there is a piping hot tea along with it… that’s sheer bliss.

There are no good schools nearby, so my children attend one in another town. The nearest bookstore is nearly two hours away, which means I usually buy books in bulk. E-books on Kindle have been a blessing, especially now that we have reliable high-speed internet. Recently, a small shop opened just three kilometres from our home, offering some good stationery items. I hope they expand their range, it would make life a little easier.

We don’t have courier services here. EMS Speedpost still functions, but mostly for letters, not parcels. A few villagers still receive handwritten letters, a gentle reminder of a time when the postman brought news from distant family and friends, wrapped in paper and ink. Those closest to me have long since moved to instant messages and emails. Practical, yes, but it lacks the warmth of words arriving in an envelope.

For vegetables, we largely rely on what we grow ourselves or what our neighbours cultivate in the village. Occasionally, I do buy from the local shops, but by the time the produce reaches them, much of its freshness and flavour has already faded. Whenever possible, I prefer to buy directly from farmers who grow vegetables locally. There’s a simple joy in choosing produce still glistening with morning dew, knowing it has travelled only a short distance from the soil to my kitchen. It’s both a practical choice and a small way of staying connected to the rhythm of life here.

Being far from the town has its quirks. When our internet lines go down, we can be cut off for days at a stretch. In a way, it’s a blessing, forcing an unplanned digital detox and a pause from the constant buzz of online life.

Once in a while a fresh government circular appears or some local village discussions stir up a little dust. These things are part of life in any community, especially in the hills where everyone knows everyone. I notice them, the way one notices a change in the wind. Since I am simply another part of this landscape, I acknowledge what comes and then let it pass.

Transportation costs are high, so getting bulky items delivered requires careful planning. Often, neighbours pool their orders, or someone heading to town will pick up supplies for others along the way. While I enjoy my own company, I’m fortunate to have many friends nearby, friendly, reliable, and always willing to lend a hand.

A few days ago, I noticed some bottles of a light beer that a friend of mine particularly enjoys. I called him to let him know it was available. (I could have bought one for myself, but presently I have decided to stay away from beer. Not sure about how long it will last.) Another friend who visited a few days ago from Almora, brought along some packaged snacks, knowing they aren’t always easy to find here. When I travel to Bhimtal, another nearby town, I often end up carrying more groceries and supplies for my neighbours than for myself. It’s a small effort, but it brings me a quiet sense of happiness.

Living far from towns brings its own rhythm and lessons. Daily life encourages self-reliance: emergencies, minor repairs, or sudden shortages require patience, planning, and sometimes a touch of creativity. Spirit of cooperation flows automatically among most of the people here. Social life here is intimate and meaningful: friends and neighbours support each other, and small gestures, like sharing vegetables or helping with chores, create a sense of belonging that city life rarely offers. Leisure is found in the simplest pleasures: a walk through the hills, tending the garden, reading a good book, or simply watching the seasons change. Seasonal challenges, from heavy rains to snowfall, test resilience and adaptability, reminding us to anticipate, adjust, and sometimes simply accept nature’s limits.

Life here may be slower and constrained, but within these limits lies a subtle richness: a chance to plan thoughtfully, value what we have, and savour the small, everyday victories that make living in a village uniquely rewarding.

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