NORTH EAST — WHERE INDIA FEELS DIFFERENT

9,500+ KM. One Ride. Countless Stories.

· Roads • Rain • Mountains • Food

· Culture • People • Friendships • Memories

This wasn’t just a ride. It was a journey through chaos, culture, extremes, food, people… and silence.

It began with faith.

From Delhi, I first rode towards Deoghar, seeking blessings at Baba Baidyanath Jyotirlinga. I stood in the queue for almost 7–8 hours — a record in itself for me. But more than the number of hours, what stayed with me was the experience of simply standing, waiting and surrendering to patience.

There are moments when a journey teaches you something before the journey has even properly begun.

And this was one of those moments.

---

Puri — Where Food Becomes Part of the Journey

From Deoghar, the road took me towards the coast and into Puri.

Puri is, of course, known for the Jagannath Temple and its spiritual energy. The magnificent Sun Temple at Konark adds another layer of history and architecture to the experience. But for me, as a chef and someone who travels with an appetite for understanding food, Puri had another story to tell.

The streets had their own language.

One of the things I was most excited to explore was Dahi Vada–Aloo Dum, one of Odisha’s most loved street foods.

I tried it at several places, and what surprised me was how different the experience could be even when the dish carried the same name.

KONARK's Golgappa — or Gupchup

Then came the golgappas.

I have eaten golgappas in many parts of India, but the ones I had in Puri were unlike anything I had tasted before.

In Odisha, they are commonly known as gupchup, and there is something different about them.

The puris are generally softer rather than extremely crisp and crunchy like the golgappas I am more familiar with in North India. But then comes the filling and, especially, the water.

The amount of filling and pani they put inside is surprisingly generous.

The combination is simple, but the overall experience is fantastic.

Sometimes food doesn't need ten ingredients to impress you. It just needs to be made correctly, served generously and connected to the place where you are eating it.

The Sweet Side of Odisha

Puri also introduced me to some of Odisha's beautiful sweets.

Chhena Poda and Rasgulla are two that I would strongly recommend trying when travelling through Odisha.

Chhena Poda, with its baked chhena character and caramelised exterior, has a completely different personality from the sweets many of us grow up eating.

And Rasgulla has its own deep connection with Odisha's food culture.

For anyone travelling through the state, I would say this: don't just visit the famous temples and beaches.

Eat Odisha.

The state's food deserves to be explored on its own.

---

Cuttack — Street Food With Emotion

From Puri, I moved towards Cuttack.

Cuttack has a very different street-food personality, and one dish that immediately stands out is the famous Dahi Vada–Aloo Dum.

Soft dahi vadas soaked beautifully, paired with spicy and tangy aloo dum — the balance is almost unreal.

What makes it even more interesting is how popular it is.

One of the most famous vendors I came across was Raghu. His setup is extremely simple. There is nothing fancy about it. He arrives with huge vessels filled with the preparation, and people are already waiting for him before he even starts serving.

The queue builds up quickly.

Sometimes, within an hour or two, what he has brought is already sold out.

That itself tells you something about the relationship people have with a particular street-food vendor. It is not just about eating. It is about waiting for that particular taste.

And what I loved most was the simplicity.

There is no elaborate setup, no unnecessary presentation and no attempt to make the food look more complicated than it is. The ingredients are simple, the preparation is straightforward, but the flavour has an identity of its own.

Interestingly, only about a kilometre away, I found another famous place serving Dahi Vada–Aloo Dum.

And the two versions were completely different.

The ingredients may look familiar, but the style, balance, texture and flavour profile change completely. One is not necessarily better than the other — they are simply different expressions of the same dish.

And honestly, you need to try both to understand the fun.

That is one of the things I enjoy most about travelling for food: two people can take almost the same ingredients and create completely different experiences.

---

Kolkata — A City That Never Lets You Leave Hungry

Then came Kolkata.

And Kolkata is one of those cities where food is impossible to separate from the experience of the city itself.

Park Street at night, puchka, kathi rolls, cutting chai, rasgulla, Tangra's food lanes…

Kolkata has a way of making you eat even when you think you are already full.

A Simple Kolkata Breakfast

One of the experiences I really enjoyed was seeing the early-morning luchi vendors around Chowringhee Road.

The setup can be incredibly simple.

A vendor carries his food around, finds a suitable spot and starts serving.

There is something beautiful about that kind of breakfast culture — inexpensive, filling and full of flavour.

Soft luchis, sometimes stuffed with dal, a simple vegetable preparation without onion and garlic, and fried green chillies on the side.

Nothing luxurious.

Nothing complicated.

But as a breakfast, it is absolutely satisfying.

This is the kind of food I always look for when travelling — food that belongs to the streets, food that people actually eat every day, and food that tells you something about the city.

Chowringhee itself has a long history as one of Kolkata's important urban areas, and its connection with the city's old commercial and cultural life makes the experience of eating there even more interesting.

---

Tangra — Where Kolkata's Chinese Story Became Indian

Then I went deeper into Kolkata's food culture — Tangra.

Tangra is not simply another restaurant district.

It is an important part of Kolkata's Chinese heritage and the story of how Indian-Chinese cuisine evolved.

Chinese communities had been present in and around Calcutta for generations. Tangra eventually became an important centre of the city's Hakka Chinese community, with tanneries and Chinese restaurants developing together.

Over time, the food changed.

It remained connected to Chinese cooking traditions, but it also adapted to Indian ingredients, tastes and eating habits.

And that is where the story becomes fascinating.

What we now casually call "Indian-Chinese" has a deep connection with this part of Kolkata.

Golden Joy

During my time in Tangra, I had the opportunity to visit Golden Joy Restaurant and, more importantly, sit down and speak with Executive chefs there for a long time.

That conversation became one of the highlights of my Kolkata food experience.

He had been working in the same place for around 20–25 years.

What struck me immediately was how grounded he was.

He wasn't someone who spoke about food with complicated terminology or tried to impress anyone with big words.

He simply loved cooking.

He told me that he had started his journey there and that he felt his life as a chef was coming towards its natural end. One day, he said, he would like to move on and perhaps spend his time fishing.

That stayed with me.

Because sometimes the most important lessons about food do not come from culinary schools, books or awards.

They come from people who have spent decades standing beside a stove.

He spoke about feeding hundreds of people every day, managing a large team and working in a restaurant spread across multiple floors.

And yet, despite all of that, his attitude was remarkably simple.

There was no arrogance.

Just respect for the food.

And when I tasted the food, I understood another part of the Tangra story.

The cooking was not about unnecessary complication.

It was simple.

But the flavour was right.

That is something I appreciate as a chef.

Sometimes we overcomplicate food when the real challenge is actually to keep it simple and get every element right.

Tangra taught me that Indian-Chinese food is not merely "Chinese food made in India."

It is its own culinary story — a story shaped by migration, adaptation, local ingredients and generations of cooks.

And for me, the best part of Tangra was not even the food.

It was sitting with that chef and listening to his story.

---

Howrah Bridge — Kolkata in Motion

From Tangra, I moved towards Howrah Bridge.

It is one of those landmarks that you have seen countless times in photographs, but standing there is different.

Of course, it is an extremely crowded and chaotic area, and during the heat of summer, spending too much time there can be exhausting.

But that chaos is also Kolkata.

People moving in every direction, traffic, vendors, pedestrians, the river and the bridge above it all.

You don't necessarily need hours there.

Sometimes just standing for a while and watching the city move is enough.

---

Siliguri — The Gateway Before the Mountains

From Kolkata, the road eventually took me towards Siliguri, one of the most important gateways to the Northeast and the Himalayan region.

Siliguri is not necessarily a city that gets the same attention as Darjeeling or Gangtok, but for a traveller, its importance is difficult to ignore.

It sits beside the strategically important Siliguri Corridor, popularly known as the "Chicken's Neck" — the narrow land connection between mainland India and the Northeastern states.

For travellers heading towards Darjeeling, Sikkim and further into the Northeast, Siliguri often becomes a natural halt.

For me, it became more than just a transit point.

I stayed there multiple times during the journey — on the way out, on the way back, and once again while heading towards Gangtok.

In fact, I stayed at the same hostel three different times.

There was something about the place that I liked.

It was simple, relatively peaceful in the areas where I stayed, and comfortable enough to make it feel like a familiar stop during a very long journey.

And the accommodation was good too.

If you are planning a trip through this route and need a simple place to stay in Siliguri, feel free to message me. I can share the accommodation details I used.

---

Meghalaya — When the Journey Became Difficult

From there, the road took me deeper into the Northeast.

Before talking about Meghalaya, though, there is something I learned here about travel itself.

Everyone experiences the same place differently.

I had once met a woman traveller in South India who told me:

"Go to Meghalaya. You will love it so much that you will want to keep coming back."

So naturally, I was excited.

I had built an image of Meghalaya in my head before I even arrived.

But my experience turned out to be completely different.

For me, Meghalaya became one of the most difficult parts of the entire ride.

Not because it wasn't beautiful.

It was.

But because I was travelling alone.

I was a solo traveller, riding a motorcycle by myself, and the weather tested me constantly.

When the Sky Suddenly Turned Against Me

There was one particular stretch that I will never forget.

I was riding alone in the evening.

Suddenly, the sky changed.

The clouds became dark almost instantly, and then the rain came down heavily.

Before the rain, hailstones had started falling.

They were hitting my helmet and making a sharp metallic sound against the motorcycle.

Tang… tang… tang…

And then the lightning started.

It was so intense that, sitting there alone, it almost felt as if the next strike might land right on top of me.

There was hardly anyone around.

One side was wilderness, with the Bangladesh border in the distance and steep drops in places.

On the other side were high mountains.

For a solo rider, that moment feels very different.

There is no car behind you.

No friend riding beside you.

No one to stop and ask what to do.

You simply have to keep going.

Somehow, I made it through.

I don't remember exactly how long that stretch felt, but I remember the feeling.

I just wanted to get out.

---

Meghalaya's Roads — Rain, Mud and Patience

Another difficult stretch came while travelling towards one of Meghalaya's cleanest villages after Cherrapunji.

Road construction was happening across several stretches, and the rain had transformed parts of the route into a completely different landscape.

Mud everywhere.

The motorcycle would move in one direction and slide in another.

For kilometres, I was riding through conditions where keeping the bike upright itself felt like an achievement.

There were moments when I genuinely wondered:

How am I going to get through this?

But somehow, one kilometre became another.

And eventually, I got through that too.

That is one thing a long motorcycle journey teaches you.

You don't always need to know how you will finish the entire road.

Sometimes you just need to reach the next turn.

Then the next one.

Then the next.

And eventually, you are out.

After all these difficulties, let me tell you one thing — perhaps all those struggles were actually nothing compared to what Meghalaya had to offer.

One of the biggest rewards was the Double Decker Living Root Bridge at Nongriat, near Cherrapunji, locally known as Sohra. Reaching the bridge is an experience in itself. The trek starts from Tyrna Village, from where you descend roughly 3,000–3,500 steps through dense forests, small streams and suspension bridges to reach Nongriat. During the monsoon, the stone steps can be extremely slippery, making the trek even more challenging. And remember, whatever you walk down, you eventually have to climb back up.

But once you finally stand in front of this incredible two-level bridge, naturally formed by the roots of living rubber trees, you realise that every step was worth it.

And the adventure does not necessarily end there. From Nongriat, you can continue towards the Blue Lagoon and further towards Rainbow Falls. The trail becomes even more demanding, with countless steps, rocks and uneven sections. But the reward is spectacular — crystal-clear blue water surrounded by dense green forest, followed by the dramatic Rainbow Falls. After everything you have gone through to reach there, these places feel almost unreal.

Meghalaya, of course, is much more than the Living Root Bridges. This is a land where water seems to be everywhere. During the monsoon, countless waterfalls come alive across the hills. Nohkalikai Falls, Nohsngithiang (Seven Sisters Falls), Elephant Falls and Rainbow Falls are among the most spectacular, but there are countless smaller waterfalls and streams that you encounter along the roads and trails. Sometimes you don't even need a tourist sign — the sound of falling water is enough to tell you that something beautiful is nearby.

Another place that deserves special mention is Mawlynnong, famous for its exceptional cleanliness and often referred to as one of Asia's cleanest villages. What impressed me most was not just the cleanliness itself, but the way the entire community maintains it. The pathways, houses, surroundings and public spaces are kept remarkably clean, with bamboo dustbins placed around the village. It feels less like a tourist attraction and more like a way of life.

And then there is the food.

Being a vegetarian, I did not get the opportunity to explore too many traditional meat-based dishes of Meghalaya. But what I did experience was enough to understand the quality of the local produce. A lot of the vegetables, fruits and other ingredients come directly from the surrounding land, and the freshness is something you can actually taste.

The green vegetables have a completely different flavour compared to what we normally get in cities. The pineapples are exceptionally sweet and juicy, and the local bananas I tried were equally impressive. The simple fact that these fruits and vegetables are grown in such a clean, natural environment gives them a freshness and character that is difficult to replicate elsewhere.

And after travelling through Meghalaya during the monsoon, I kept thinking about one thing — if you take the heavy rains out of the equation, how incredibly beautiful must this place be during the right season?

I travelled through Meghalaya during the rainy season, and as a solo rider, the difficulties felt even more intense. There is nobody travelling with you to share the workload, help when something goes wrong, or simply say, “Don't worry, we'll manage.” Every slippery road, every difficult trail, every breakdown in plans and every unexpected situation has to be handled on your own.

But perhaps that is also what makes a solo journey special.

Because after all the rain, difficult roads, endless steps and physical exhaustion, when you finally stand in front of a Living Root Bridge, look into the clear waters of the Blue Lagoon, hear the roar of a waterfall or walk through a village like Mawlynnong, you realise something very simple:

Meghalaya may test you on the way, but what it gives you in return is absolutely worth it.

---

Tripura — Friendly People and Simple Food

From Meghalaya, the journey continued towards Tripura, where I stopped around Dharmanagar.

The food immediately caught my attention.

Here, the familiar samosa is commonly called singhara, and naturally, I had to try it.

But more than the food, what I remember about Tripura is the people.

I found them extremely friendly and approachable.

One thing that surprised me was how comfortably many people spoke Hindi.

Compared with some of the places I had travelled through in the Northeast, communication here felt much easier.

I spoke with local people, explored the food and simply observed daily life.

And once again, the journey reminded me that travelling is not only about reaching a destination.

Sometimes a five-minute conversation with a stranger stays with you longer than a famous tourist attraction.

---

Towards Mizoram — The Road Changes Again

From Tripura, the journey continued towards Mizoram.

Near the route ahead, I stopped at a police station around Kanbun to arrange the Inner Line Permit (ILP) required for entering Mizoram.

The process was straightforward, and I remember paying around ₹200 for it at the time.

From there, the road towards Mizoram opened into something completely different.

If you continue beyond Kanbun, the route takes you towards Aizawl.

The landscape becomes increasingly beautiful.

Small villages appear along the road, surrounded by green hills and forest.

And then you start noticing the houses.

Simple structures made with wood and local materials, sitting naturally within the landscape.

There was something very different about the way these villages looked and felt.

No unnecessary decoration.

No rush.

Just houses, hills, forests and people living with the landscape around them.

And as I continued deeper into Mizoram, I realised that the Northeast was not one single experience.

Every state had its own language, food, architecture, landscape, culture and rhythm.

And that was exactly what I had come looking for.

Not just places.

Differences.

And the stories hidden inside those differences.

The road from Mizoram towards Manipur

kept changing every few kilometres.

The landscape was still wild, green and beautiful, but the feeling was different now. I was travelling deeper into a part of India where every state seemed to have its own language, food, traditions, clothing and way of life.

And then came Manipur.

For me, Manipur was not just about seeing a new state.

It was about understanding a place that, from the outside, is often reduced to news headlines and political conflict.

I wanted to see what was actually happening on the ground.

---

Manipur — Beyond the Headlines

Finding accommodation in Manipur was itself an experience.

I was travelling alone and, close to the border, I finally managed to find a place to stay. The condition of the hotel was so poor that, honestly, I wondered how I was going to spend the night there.

There wasn't much choice.

So I stayed.

The family running the place also lived there, and instead of simply going to sleep, I ended up sitting and talking with them for hours.

We spoke until almost midnight.

They told me about Manipur, about the people, about the ongoing conflict between communities, about their food, their clothes, their weddings and their everyday lives.

That conversation was more valuable to me than anything I could have read online.

When you sit with local people, you start understanding that every conflict has many sides, and every place has a life beyond what makes it into the news.

I also learned more about the differences in traditions across the Northeast.

For example, in Meghalaya, I had already come across a marriage tradition where the husband may move into the bride's family home — something completely unfamiliar to me coming from North India.

In Manipur, the customs and family structures are different again.

That was one of the most fascinating parts of travelling through the Northeast.

India is not one culture. It is thousands of cultures living within one country.

---

Manipur's Markets

I also explored the local markets in Manipur.

The markets gave me another perspective on the place.

There were separate areas where you could see non-vegetarian markets and vegetable markets filled with local produce that I had rarely seen elsewhere.

For me, as a chef, this was particularly interesting.

I always believe that if you really want to understand a place's food, don't begin with a restaurant.

Go to the market.

Look at what people buy.

Look at what is seasonal.

Look at what is sold every morning.

Look at what vegetables, herbs and other ingredients are considered normal there.

That is where food culture begins.

And Manipur gave me a completely different window into that culture.

---

Nagaland — When "Far Away" Became Real

After Manipur came Nagaland.

And Nagaland had a very special place in my mind even before I reached it.

Growing up in North India, whenever we went somewhere far away from home and returned, someone would often joke:

"Where had you gone?"

And the answer would be:

"I had gone somewhere nearby."

And the usual reply would be:

"I think you must have reached Nagaland!"

Nagaland, in that sense, meant somewhere extremely far away.

So when I actually rode my motorcycle into Nagaland and saw the sign:

WELCOME TO NAGALAND

I had a strange feeling of satisfaction.

I had finally reached the place that, as a child, represented "very far away."

It sounds simple.

But for me, it was a big moment.

Nagaland has a completely different relationship with food. One of the things that caught my attention was the traditional way pork is preserved. In many Naga homes, people buy a good quantity of pork and hang it over a wood fire, allowing the smoke to slowly cure and dry the meat for days. I saw this myself and also asked people around the place where I was staying, and they explained how the smoked pork is kept for later use, with portions being taken whenever needed and added to different dishes. It is not just a cooking technique here—it is a traditional way of preserving food.

Naga cooking is also quite different from the heavily spiced food we generally associate with Indian cuisine. Many dishes are kept simple, allowing the natural flavour of the ingredients to come through, with smoked meat, fermented ingredients and local chillies providing most of the character. And then comes the famous Naga King Chilli. I saw both the green and fully ripened red versions, and this little chilli is seriously powerful. With heat levels exceeding 1 million Scoville Heat Units, it is among the hottest chillies in the world. You don't need much of it to completely transform a dish.

For anyone interested in food and local life, I would definitely recommend exploring the Supermarket area of Dimapur. The local market is where you really begin to understand what people eat and how they shop—fresh vegetables, fruits, meat, fish, local produce and many unusual ingredients all displayed side by side. It is also close to the Dimapur Railway Station area, making it easy to explore while passing through the city. For me, walking through such a market was not just shopping; it was a lesson in Naga food culture.

And one surprisingly pleasant discovery during my stay was the laundry service. Because of the continuous rain, my clothes were simply not drying properly, and as a solo rider carrying everything with me, clean and dry clothes were becoming a real issue. The local laundry services were remarkably affordable, charging by the kilogram. I handed over a large load of rain-soaked clothes and got everything back clean, fresh and ready for the next leg of the journey. Sometimes, during a long motorcycle journey, it is these small conveniences that feel like the biggest luxuries.

---

A Stranger Who Changed the Direction of My Journey

Nagaland also gave me something I desperately needed at that point in the journey.

Motivation.

After my difficult experience in Meghalaya, I had become nervous about continuing the ride.

The weather, the roads and the challenges of travelling alone had started getting into my head.

At one point, I was even thinking about shortening the journey.

And then I met a foreign woman traveller.

She was travelling alone and had already travelled through a huge number of countries.

We spoke, and somehow that conversation changed my mindset.

I looked at her journey and thought:

If she can travel alone through so many countries, why am I thinking of stopping now?

Sometimes you don't need a friend to motivate you.

Sometimes you just need to meet the right stranger at the right time.

She gave me that push.

And I continued.

Nagaland became one of the happiest chapters of the entire journey.

---

Assam — The Road Towards Arunachal

Before entering Arunachal Pradesh, I spent time in Assam.

Kaziranga National Park was one of those experiences that I will always remember.

Kaziranga has a remarkable conservation history. Its protected-area journey began in the early 20th century, when the declining population of the Indian one-horned rhinoceros became a major concern. It was established as a Reserve Forest in 1908, became a Wildlife Sanctuary in 1950, was notified as a National Park in 1974, and was declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1985. Today, it is one of the world's most important strongholds of the one-horned rhinoceros.

For me, however, Kaziranga was not just about its history. It was my first-ever jeep safari, and the experience was genuinely exciting. Driving through the vast grasslands, wetlands and forest, seeing wildlife in its natural surroundings, and suddenly finding a rhinoceros just a short distance away was something completely different from seeing animals in a zoo.

One particular sight that stayed with me was a young rhino. There was something incredibly innocent and adorable about watching that little one moving around with its mother. Seeing such a magnificent animal from so close, in its own natural habitat, was a moment I will not forget.

The landscape itself was equally beautiful. The tall grasslands, patches of woodland, wetlands and small water bodies create a completely different atmosphere. The ponds and beels surrounded by greenery, with wildlife appearing unexpectedly along the way, make every turn of the jeep feel like another little discovery. Kaziranga's landscape is closely shaped by the Brahmaputra's annual flooding, which continually creates and renews wetlands and grasslands.

And then came another little piece of luck. The weather forecast had predicted rain that day, and I was honestly expecting the safari to be a wet one. But fortunately, the rain stayed away while we were inside the park. For a traveller on a long solo journey, sometimes these small things feel like a blessing. We were simply lucky to have such a beautiful day to experience Kaziranga.

What made the day even more interesting was that it happened to be Eid. The markets and many small shops outside were largely closed, including places where we might normally stop for tea or coffee. Everything felt unusually quiet. But somehow, that made the experience even more memorable. There was something special about spending a festival day surrounded by the silence of the forest, open grasslands and wildlife.

Kaziranga is much more than a place where you go looking for a rhino. It is a landscape, a conservation story and an experience that makes you appreciate how extraordinary the natural world can be.

And for me, seeing that little rhino on my very first jeep safari made the entire experience even more special.

On the way back, we stopped at a beautiful resort tucked away in the middle of the forest, where we were served simple, homemade, almost entirely local and organic food made from ingredients grown around the property. The homemade pickles, in particular, were incredible, and the lady who prepared everything had years of experience and a genuine connection with traditional cooking.

But what made that meal truly memorable was the people I shared it with. Watching them enjoy the food, seeing the satisfaction on their faces, and sharing that simple meal together gave me a different kind of happiness. As a chef, there is nothing more satisfying than watching someone genuinely enjoy food.

That meal was not just food for the stomach.

It was soul food — food that fed the heart as much as the body

One place that became particularly memorable for me was Dhekargaon, near the railway station.

The location was important because this route takes you towards Arunachal Pradesh and the Tawang side.

But Dhekargaon became more than just a transit stop.

I stayed there on my way towards Arunachal.

And I stayed there again on the way back.

In fact, I spent several days there during the journey.

The weather was not allowing me to move ahead, and sometimes rain simply forces you to stop.

So instead of fighting the road, I stayed.

And somehow, those unexpected days became part of the experience.

There was something comforting about returning to the same place during such a long ride.

On a journey of thousands of kilometres, certain places become temporary homes.

Dhekargaon became one of mine.

---

Arunachal Pradesh — Where I Felt at Home

And then came Arunachal Pradesh.

Of all the states I travelled through during this ride, Arunachal is probably the one where I spent the most time.

Somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like another destination.

It started feeling like home.

The scale of the mountains, the valleys, the forests, the weather, the villages and the sheer emptiness of certain stretches made Arunachal completely different from anything I had experienced before.

For Indian visitors, an Inner Line Permit (ILP) is required to enter Arunachal Pradesh. The permit can be arranged online, and official tourism information also notes that offline options are available.

Once you enter, the real adventure begins.

---

Ziro Valley — A Place I Will Carry for Life

One of the places in Arunachal that came closest to my heart was Ziro Valley.

When you reach Ziro and stand within the valley, the landscape seems to open around you.

The valley, the surrounding hills and the agricultural fields create a feeling of being completely surrounded by nature.

It is difficult to explain the feeling in photographs.

You have to stand there.

You have to look around.

You have to breathe.

And then you understand why this place stays with people.

Ziro was not just another destination on my journey; it became an emotion.

If you plan your visit around September, you can also experience the famous Ziro Festival of Music, a four-day celebration of independent music, culture and community set amidst the beautiful Ziro Valley. I wasn't there during the music festival, but I experienced something completely different — a local village festival that gave me a closer look at the warmth, hospitality and community spirit of the people.

During my stay in Ziro, I also got the opportunity to experience the Maku Festival, a beautiful local celebration that gave me a closer glimpse into the community life of the valley. What made it special was the tradition of people from one village visiting another, sharing food, spending time together and warmly welcoming guests into their homes. The festival is organised on a rotating basis among the participating villages, so each year the celebration moves to a different village.

For me, it was much more than a festival—it was a chance to experience the warmth, hospitality and togetherness of the people of Ziro from very close

I spent days exploring Ziro on foot, often walking 10–12 kilometres a day, through endless paddy fields, muddy trails and beautiful landscapes. I met some wonderful people, ate simple local food, and even had small restaurants prepare exactly what we wanted — fresh local vegetables cooked in a simple, homely way.

I also visited Naara Aaba, Ziro's renowned kiwi winery, and tasted some of their naturally made fruit wines. The experience was another beautiful glimpse into the local produce and creativity of the valley.

But the hardest part was leaving.

As I rode from Ziro towards Assam, I carried a strange heaviness with me. It felt as if a part of me had been left behind in those fields, among those people and those quiet roads.

Some places you visit.

Some places you remember.

And then there are places like Ziro — places you leave, but somehow never really leave behind.

---

The Apatani Way of Life

Ziro also gave me an opportunity to observe the Apatani way of life more closely.

What fascinated me most was the relationship between the people and their land.

The agricultural landscape is incredibly interesting.

Rice cultivation and fish rearing have traditionally been practised together in the same agricultural system, making the fields much more than just rice farms.

As a chef, I found this particularly fascinating.

It is a beautiful example of how food, agriculture and local knowledge can exist as one system.

I also saw older Apatani women with the traditional facial tattoos and nose plugs that immediately caught my attention.

Today, these practices are no longer commonly followed by younger generations, but they are part of an older cultural identity.

The facial tattoos were historically associated with Apatani women and were shaped by a very different social world from the one we know today.

Standing there and seeing elderly women carrying those traditions on their faces made me think about how quickly cultures can change.

What we see today may be one of the last visible connections to practices that once defined an entire generation.

---

Ziro's Local Flavours

I also explored the local fruit wines in Ziro.

The idea of turning locally available fruits into wine was another reminder that every region has its own way of preserving and celebrating what grows around it.

Again, the food and drink were not simply about taste.

They were about geography.

About climate.

About what people grow.

And about what generations before them learned to do with those ingredients.

That is the kind of food knowledge I travel for.

Not just recipes.

Stories.

---

Sela Pass — The Moment My Hands Went Numb

From the valleys of Arunachal, the road climbed towards the high mountains.

And then came Sela Pass.

This was one of the toughest riding experiences of the entire journey.

There was so much snow and ice around that riding the motorcycle became extremely difficult.

The temperature was below freezing.

My hands became completely numb.

At one point, I genuinely couldn't feel my fingers properly.

It felt as if my fingers were no longer attached to my hands.

As if someone had run a knife across them.

I stopped and put my hands near the warm exhaust of the motorcycle.

That was the moment I realised just how badly the cold had affected me.

Slowly, the feeling started returning.

And with it came the realisation:

My hands are still here. My fingers are still working. I'm okay.

It sounds funny when you tell the story later.

But standing there in freezing temperatures, with ice everywhere and a motorcycle that still had to be ridden, it was not funny at all.

It was one of the toughest moments of the ride.

On my return journey, I did not have to cross the same high section in the same way because the newer Sela Tunnel route allowed traffic to pass beneath the pass. The tunnel provides an all-weather alternative and has significantly improved connectivity towards Tawang.

---

Tawang — At the Edge of the World

And then came Tawang.

The journey towards Tawang itself is an experience.

The mountains become larger.

The roads become more dramatic.

The weather becomes unpredictable.

And eventually, you reach a place where the landscape seems almost disconnected from the rest of the world.

Tawang is located at around 10,000 feet and is home to the historic Tawang Monastery, one of India's largest Buddhist monasteries and an important centre of Tibetan Buddhist culture.

Tawang gave me that feeling of standing at the edge of the world.

But for me, the real adventure was still ahead.

Bum La Pass.

---

Bum La Pass — Where the Road Ends and the Border Begins

Reaching Bum La Pass is not an ordinary sightseeing trip.

It is an adventure in itself.

Bum La is around 15,200 feet above sea level, roughly 37 kilometres from Tawang, and sits very close to the India-China Line of Actual Control. It also has historical significance as one of the areas associated with the 1962 India-China war.

And because of its location, you cannot simply decide to ride your motorcycle there and go.

For the journey to Bum La, you need a separate special permit, in addition to the Arunachal Pradesh ILP. The official Tawang District administration lists the Bum La Pass Permit through the DC Office, Tawang, and the district's tourism information states that visitors require permission involving the Deputy Commissioner's office and the Indian Army.

This is an important distinction for anyone planning the journey:

The Arunachal ILP is not the Bum La permit.

You need the state entry permission first, and Bum La has its own additional security clearance.

---

You Don't Simply Ride Your Motorcycle to Bum La

The road towards Bum La is extremely challenging, especially during heavy snow.

During my visit, tourists were taken upwards in local vehicles with experienced local drivers.

The conditions can become so extreme that even these vehicles use snow chains on their tyres to maintain traction.

And when you see those vehicles climbing through deep ice and snow, you realise what kind of environment this actually is.

The official Tawang administration itself advises travellers heading into snow-covered high-altitude areas to use non-skid chains, carry appropriate emergency equipment and hire experienced drivers.

This is not a place to treat casually.

It is high altitude.

It is freezing.

The weather can change within minutes.

And the road conditions can be completely different from what you see when you leave Tawang.

---

Standing Beside the India-China Border

And then, finally, you reach Bum La.

This is the moment when the geography becomes real.

You are standing in one of the most sensitive border regions in the world.

The India-China border is right there.

You can see the Indian side and the Chinese side in the landscape around you.

And suddenly, the maps you have seen all your life become real.

But what affected me most was not the border itself.

It was the soldiers.

Standing there in those conditions, I could see what our soldiers have to endure.

At the time I visited, the temperature was around –8°C.

The cold was brutal.

There was ice everywhere.

And even spending half an hour there felt extremely difficult.

Then I looked at the soldiers.

They were not there for half an hour.

They were doing their duty.

In conditions where a traveller is struggling simply to stand comfortably, they are posted there protecting the border.

There is a different kind of emotion when you see that with your own eyes.

Pride.

Respect.

And gratitude.

A simple salute does not feel enough.

---

When the Snowstorm Arrived

And as if the place itself wanted to remind us who was in charge, a snowstorm arrived shortly after we reached there.

The weather changed quickly.

Snow and strong winds started coming in.

We were told to move down.

And we had to descend as quickly and safely as possible.

That was another reminder that Bum La is not a normal tourist destination.

The mountain decides when you can stay.

The weather decides when you leave.

And you have to respect both.

---

A Note for Foreign Travellers

For international travellers planning an Arunachal trip, there is an important distinction.

Foreign nationals require the applicable Protected Area Permit (PAP) arrangements for Arunachal Pradesh, rather than the Indian ILP system. Tawang District also maintains specific restrictions for foreign nationals, so access to sensitive border areas such as Bum La should not be assumed to be available to foreign visitors.

In practical terms, foreign travellers should plan around Tawang and the permitted tourist areas, and check the latest district and security rules before planning any border-area excursion.

Bum La is a sensitive military border zone, not simply another viewpoint.

For Indian travellers, too, the rules and permissions can change with weather and security conditions.

So always verify the latest requirements locally before travelling.

---

Sangti Valley — Silence in Another Form

After the intensity of Tawang and the high-altitude roads, Sangti Valley felt completely different.

Peaceful.

Quiet.

Almost untouched.

There was no need to rush.

No need to chase another viewpoint.

Sometimes the best part of a journey is simply sitting somewhere beautiful and doing nothing.

Sangti gave me that.

These places may have been cold, sometimes freezing cold, but the people I met along the way brought an incredible warmth into my journey.

The time we spent together—sharing food, laughing endlessly, exchanging stories and knowledge, and simply enjoying the moment—became some of my most precious memories.

They were cheerful, knowledgeable, curious travellers, and people who looked at life from a wonderfully different perspective.

The help, kindness and genuine warmth they showed me during my journey are things I will never forget.

Some people you meet only for a few days, but somehow they find a permanent place in your heart.

These friends brought warmth to some of the coldest places I travelled through, and they will always have a special place in my heart. My best wishes will always be with them.

---

Back Through Assam — And Towards Sikkim

After Arunachal, I came back towards Siliguri.

Once again, that familiar halt.

And from Siliguri, the journey turned towards Sikkim.

This was another route that I absolutely loved riding on a motorcycle.

For a biker, the road towards Gangtok is a beautiful experience.

The mountains, curves and changing landscape keep you engaged throughout.

And alongside the road, the Teesta River keeps appearing and disappearing, almost travelling with you.

There is something special about riding beside a river in the mountains.

You are moving forward, but the river is moving alongside you.

For long stretches, it feels as if both of you are travelling together.

And that makes the ride even more enjoyable.

---

Gangtok — The Mountain City

Gangtok was calmer than some of the places I had just travelled through.

After the raw wilderness of Arunachal, Sikkim felt more organised and accessible.

But the mountains still dominated everything.

The city, the views, the roads and the surrounding valleys created a completely different Himalayan experience.

And after so many difficult stretches on the motorcycle, simply reaching Gangtok felt rewarding.

---

Kalimpong — A Beautiful Pause

From Gangtok, I moved towards Kalimpong, in West Bengal.

Kalimpong has a charm of its own.

It is quieter and less chaotic than some of the more heavily visited Himalayan destinations.

I explored the town, saw the large Buddha statue and spent some time simply absorbing the atmosphere.

The surrounding mountains, monasteries, viewpoints and slower pace make Kalimpong a very pleasant stop for anyone travelling through this region.

It also offers activities such as paragliding for those looking for something more adventurous.

For me, though, the biggest pleasure was simply riding through the area and experiencing the changing landscape.

---

Darjeeling — Mist, Mountains and Tea

From Kalimpong, I eventually headed towards Darjeeling.

The road towards Darjeeling had some challenging climbs for the motorcycle.

But once you start descending back towards Siliguri, the experience becomes completely different.

One of the most enjoyable things about this route is that the famous Darjeeling Himalayan Railway runs through the mountains.

There are stretches where the road and the railway track seem to travel together.

And when the heritage train appears alongside the road, it is one of those moments when you almost forget you are riding a motorcycle.

You slow down.

You watch the train.

And for a few moments, the road becomes secondary.

---

Darjeeling in the Clouds

Unfortunately, when I reached Darjeeling, the weather was not on my side.

The entire place was covered in fog and mist.

I stayed for two days, hoping the weather would clear.

It didn't.

So I couldn't experience Darjeeling in the way I had imagined.

But sometimes a place doesn't give you what you expect.

It gives you something else.

And Darjeeling gave me something I will probably remember much longer than a clear mountain view.

Tea.

---

Darjeeling Tea — From Leaf to Cup

I had the opportunity to visit a tea company and spend a long time talking with the manager there.

For a chef and chai lover, this was an incredible learning experience.

He explained the entire process of tea to me.

How the leaves are selected.

How tea is processed.

Why Darjeeling tea is so different.

Why certain varieties command such high prices.

How the tea is graded and marketed.

Why it is valued internationally.

And how the journey from leaf to cup is much more complicated than most of us imagine.

Until then, I had obviously known Darjeeling tea as a product.

But after that conversation, I started looking at it differently.

It was no longer simply tea.

It was agriculture.

Craftsmanship.

Climate.

Altitude.

Processing.

Skill.

And years of knowledge.

The manager was kind enough to gift me some green tea as well.

For that, and especially for the time he spent explaining everything to me, I remain genuinely grateful.

As a chef, I believe knowledge is everywhere if you are willing to ask questions.

That day, I learned more about tea than I had ever known before.

---

Back again through Siliguri —

the old gateway, the chicken neck I crossed not once, but three times.

And then… Bodhgaya.

After 9000+ km of noise, roads, engines, and thoughts —

I found silence.

Not emptiness… but something that fills you from within.

Standing there, in front of the one I admire the most…

No thoughts. No words. Just presence.

Maybe that’s what this entire ride was leading to.

Because this journey wasn’t easy —

Unpredictable weather, endless hills, sharp turns, mud trails, thick fog…

and days where even finding a place to sleep felt like a challenge.

But somewhere in all that discomfort…

the real journey happened.

What I got from this ride… goes far beyond kilometers —

More than just riding, I gained real bike experience — understanding roads, terrains, and my own limits.

I lived through different cultures, met all kinds of people, and saw how diverse yet connected everything is.

Food wasn’t just food — it was a journey in itself…

from street flavors to tribal kitchens — a huge exposure to real food culture.

Even a simple roadside litti chokha in Bihar felt completely different — raw, authentic, and deeply satisfying.

I learned minimalist living — how little you actually need to keep moving.

I witnessed tribal life closely — their simplicity, strength, and raw truth.

For the first time, I faced extreme cold… snow, minus temperatures — and discovered a different version of myself.

Along the way, a few strangers became friends for a lifetime.

Some people taught me things I didn’t even know I needed to learn… and they’re still teaching me.

And then… experiencing a monk’s life closely — understanding silence, discipline, and a different path of existence.

Somewhere on this journey, without even planning it, I completed my Char Dham after visiting Jagannath Puri —

something that feels bigger than the ride itself.

Maybe I missed counting a few things…

but not a single moment was lost.

This 1.5-month ride wasn’t just travel —

It was a lifetime experience.

Raw landscapes, diverse cultures, soulful food, kind strangers…

and roads that never seemed to end.

Grateful for every mile. Every challenge. Every lesson.

And now…

this silence within me —

but now… not to stop, only to set out on another journey.

Life is a journey — enjoy the ride..

NORTH EAST — WHERE INDIA FEELS DIFFERENT