A Village Painted in Wonder

Before you arrive, people will tell you Dharamkot is just another Himalayan village. But once you’re here, you’ll realize it’s a painting that never dries, each corner bleeding into another shade of wonder.

The most random, beautiful city I’ve ever seen! My bad! Calling it a city feels wrong. 
A city makes you picture urban chaos: vehicles, noise, people… most of them far from their own realities, running around like ants, trying…and failing…to tick all the boxes they’ve crammed their lives into.

No, this is a settlement. Fitting. A place where houses have no numbers and streets have no names. 
Tall pines stand like sentinels, guarding the spectacular mountains. They’re the protectors of this place, revered by locals and tourists alike.

Where Streets Speak in Colours

You might wonder…how does one even ask for directions? Here’s how: hold your hand over your heart and follow the colours. 
The pink house down the stairs to the main market? That’s Surajji’s. The yellow one further down? His brother Ajayji’s. 
And the “blue” double-storey on the road to Upper Bhagsu? That’s Joel’s, the baker’s.

Pink, red, blue, green, yellow, orange…even purple and lime green.
And it’s not just the houses that are colourful; the people themselves seem to refract light. Bright, radiant, scattering warmth everywhere: a “hello” here, a smile there, a namaste to someone passing by. Always gracious, always ready to help in any way they can.

Life of the Locals

However, their lives aren’t easy. Self-sustained in every way, they are farmers, yes, but also plumbers, painters, or whatever else the day demands. 
They trudge steep paths carrying heavy LPG cylinders, walk miles for medicines. Transport exists, but they still toil because that’s their way of life. 
The women run their homes…cleaning, cooking, washing, gardening…not just for their families but also for the guests who stay in their “homestays.”

The Ones Who Never Left

That was about the locals of Dharamkot. But what about the ones who arrive and never really leave? 
I wouldn’t call them “tourists.” They’re backpackers turned café owners, remote workers who lost their hearts to the colours of Dharamkot and the Dhauladhar mountains. 
Maybe they’re temporary, but they are the pulse of this settlement.

From every possible city, profession, and walk of life, they bring a hum to the air. 
Like bees, they move between business and leisure, swarming cafés and winding streets. 
I’m both surprised and impressed by the tenacity and ease with which they fold themselves into mountain life. And among them live characters who feel almost written into the village’s storybook.

Their stories are as vivid as the colors around them, each adding a shade of their own to Dharamkot. John, the baker, crafts the most decadent cookies and brownies. Anita is a psychologist and a “waste warrior,” plucking plastic and candy wrappers from wherever they dare to rest. 
Nishant owns a café and has a heart of gold, calls his staff “boys,” and even plays cricket with them. 
Around them orbit artists, musicians, filmmakers, and IT folk…together making Dharamkot a melting pot of talent, diversity, and culture.

A Palette of Nature

All of them, the natives, the new locals, the passing visitors know how to keep Dharamkot wrapped in colour. 
They are as vivid as the flora and fauna around them. I’ve never seen so many shades of green in my life and I’m certain some have no names. 
Dark and light, bright and dull. All green, all alive.

Now close your eyes and imagine: if there can be infinite greens, what of the flowers these trees and plants offer? 
Tiny yellow blooms, so small I have to squint. Peach, pink, blue, white. 
Think of a color and you’ll find a flower wearing it somewhere along the path, in a modest garden patch, or deep in the lush, majestic forests. 
Hydrangeas, roses, hibiscus, and my favourite—rhododendrons—just to begin the list.

Why I Keep Returning

My visits to Dharamkot over the past few months have been peppered with these discoveries. 
Every return brings a new shade, a new bloom. It’s sensory abundance—an intoxication I would happily surrender to, over and over, for as long as I live.

Dharamkot—where even the wind looks and smells like a painter’s brush left soaking in joy, dripping myriad hues across its infinite palette.

And maybe that’s why I keep coming back…because it’s not just a settlement of colours, it’s a settlement of the heart. A reminder that not all places are meant to be ticked off the list; some are meant to be lived, breathed, returned to, like a favorite color you can’t quite name but always recognize.