Meghalaya: A Place of Beauty and Misunderstanding

The Enchantment of Meghalaya

If Emily Brontë had ever set foot in Meghalaya, she might have found it reminiscent of the wild, windswept moors depicted in her novel Wuthering Heights — enchanting, romantic, and quietly powerful.

In the realm of Victorian literature, where locations often embody deep emotions and memories, Meghalaya emerges as a living entity — more than just a backdrop, it is an experience that profoundly influences those who traverse its paths. It is not merely a hill city; it embodies a landscape of emotions, calm yet vibrant, distant yet warmly inviting.

For me, Meghalaya transcends being just a geographical name; it represents my first love, leaving an indelible mark on my spirit. It’s the kind of love that lingers long after you depart.

Having spent over six years studying in Shillong and exploring various parts of Meghalaya, I can confidently assert that it is among the most hospitable, warm, and serene places I have encountered.

From the modest roadside Kong’s cha-jadoh dukaan that offered warmth in every bite to the kind-hearted “Baa” who patiently waited in the cab until we reached our hostel safely during late nights, Shillong’s kindness has always been subtle, consistent, and profoundly human.

Shopkeepers not only sold souvenirs but also shared rich stories of their culture and traditions, transforming each purchase into a lesson in heritage. Our canteen’s Kong didn’t just serve meals; she imparted lessons on how to honor food.

I often joked with friends that while I might feel uneasy walking alone at night in cities like Delhi or Bengaluru, I never experienced such fear in Shillong. The city possesses a quiet confidence, a natural allure that doesn’t demand attention but instead offers solace in its tranquility. It doesn’t strive to impress; it simply welcomes you.

Thus, when news emerged about the disappearance — and subsequent murder — of a tourist from Indore in Sohra, and “Shillong” began trending for unfortunate reasons, many familiar with the region were taken aback.

Not only by the tragedy itself but also by the swift public condemnation of the entire state of Meghalaya and its inhabitants. It seemed as if one tragic event had rewritten the narrative of an entire region. As if crime could only occur in places like Indore, Delhi, or New York, but when it happens in the Northeast, it becomes a reflection on the entire area.

The internet quickly transformed into a loud, impatient jury. Within hours of the incident, misinformation spread across social media. Comment sections turned toxic. Anonymous users called for boycotts of the state. National news outlets, often guilty of portraying the Northeast as a curiosity rather than an integral part of the country, followed suit with narratives leaning more towards speculation than fact.

However, let’s take a moment to reflect — this situation is not solely about one location or one crime. It highlights a broader trend of how we, as a society, are too quick to judge what we do not fully comprehend.

When violence erupts in major cities, no one blames the entire population or dismisses the cultural identity of those areas. Yet, when it comes to Meghalaya or any state in the Northeast, such courtesy is seldom extended.

The reality is that Meghalaya — like any other region in India — is multifaceted. Yes, it has customs and traditions that may be unfamiliar to outsiders. However, complexity does not equate to hostility. Acknowledging a region’s culture is not merely polite; it is fundamental decency. In return, Meghalaya has historically welcomed individuals from around the globe, provided they approach with both curiosity and respect.

The people are known not for violence but for their hospitality. The landscape is not hostile but breathtaking. The culture is not insular — it is proudly unique, enriching the experience for all.

What poses a true danger is not Meghalaya itself, but the way our collective biases ignite at the slightest provocation. This rush to judgment, this eagerness to reduce a nuanced community to a sensational headline, inflicts more long-term damage than any single act of crime.

Therefore, let’s reconsider the questions we pose. Instead of asking, “Is Meghalaya safe?” — a question rooted in ignorance — perhaps we should inquire, “Why are we so quick to doubt what we do not understand?”

Because regions like Meghalaya — much like Brontë’s moors — do not lose their beauty or essence due to one dark incident. However, the manner in which we discuss, judge, and report on them shapes the narrative the world perceives next.

And Meghalaya deserves a narrative far better than this.