We decided to move back to Uttarakhand because we originally belonged to this region. My ancestors were Indo-Tibetan traders. If not for the Indo-China war, I could have been a trader too. But time had scripted a different story for our generation.
Even though I belong here, we hardly had any land holdings. The land that was clearly in our name was inhabitable, and the land that was habitable was not in our possession. I discussed this with my father, and he suggested that we avoid disturbing any existing possession, as it would only lead to claims and counterclaims. Moreover, such small parcels of land were suitable for habitation but not for farming—the very reason we wanted to move back.
The only option left was to buy a piece of land for our relocation. However, the cost was a major deterrent. The exorbitant land prices scared us. That’s when I told a friend, who deals in property, to look for land that was away from the main road and had no Himalayan view. This brief suddenly opened new doors for us. Decent chunks of land were available in multiple places at affordable prices. How remote these places were can be judged by the fact that, while visiting one such land, our car broke down permanently while driving on a kuchcha road. We had to sell the car for scrap.
As we looked forward to a new life, we stumbled upon a common rural problem—all the land on sale was abandoned but jointly owned by multiple stakeholders. In the absence of family partition, there were numerous major and minor stakeholders for even a small piece of land. Getting them all together and reaching an agreement was tough. For example, one stakeholder, whose share was worth only ₹25,000, lived comfortably in Bombay. For him, selling his stake was not even worth the effort. At that time, the power of attorney for land sales was not allowed, so every parcel of land we liked ultimately slipped through our fingers due to stakeholder conflicts.
This went on for two years. We were sick and tired. We started wondering if we were chasing an impossible dream.
Some of my well-off friends, who owned large parcels of land, offered us a lease. Their families, though no longer living there, were unwilling to sell their ancestral property. We knew that leasing was not an option for us. In utter frustration, I chose to rant on social media. I wrote:
“Those who have land in the mountains are never coming back. And those who want to come back do not have the land. What an irony!”
As I was writing this, some of my college mates were having a party in Gurgaon. A friend there read my message and shared how frustrated I was with the whole situation. By this time, we had already left Gurgaon and were living in Haldwani, preparing for our final move.
Incidentally, a college senior at that party was also from the hills. He owned land in his name and wanted to sell—but he was not in a hurry. He was looking for someone familiar, as this was his native village, and he hoped that one day he would return to his roots. So they called me. I knew him from before—he was four years my senior in college. He told me the location, the price, and asked me to take a look at it. His only condition was that he would not sell the land in parts.
The very next day, we reached the place. The land had been abandoned for over a decade. Wild grass had taken over. It was far from the main road, and even a bike couldn’t reach the site. In the middle of the land stood an old Tun tree—a variety of red cedar, also referred to as Indian Mahogany. It felt as if the tree had been waiting for us.
My friend’s grandfather had once tilled this land and experimented with agriculture. He had grown vegetables, pulses, cereals, and herbs. After him, the land was left unattended. We felt as though the land was calling us to inherit and revive it. Deepti fell in love with the Tun tree. I liked the remoteness of the land and the fact that two sides of the property were bordered by Van Panchayat (community forest), the third side was unlikely to be developed, and the fourth side was inhabited. This meant that colonizers wouldn’t be able to disturb our peace easily.
We had finally found our little corner in this big, busy world.
The land was larger than what we had originally planned for, so our budget went haywire. Even today, we occasionally feel the financial aftershocks of that decision, but it remains one of the best choices we ever made. What’s even more interesting is that our kids love this place and call it their home. After traveling the world, this is the place they want to settle down in – in their native place!
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