![\"I](\"https:\/\/static.toiimg.com\/thumb\/msid-131336239,imgsize-189822,width-400,height-225,resizemode-4\/homestay-in-sikkim-ai-generated.jpg\" "\\"Homestay")
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\nMy first trip to Sikkim happened a few years ago, in the middle of February. I still remember stepping out into that mountain air and immediately feeling like my lungs were confused. Coming from Delhi, I was used to dust, traffic, smoke, and the general feeling that your respiratory system is constantly fighting for survival. Sikkim\u2019s air, on the other hand, felt so clean and sharp that it almost hurt my chest.Everything about the state felt strangely perfect. The roads were spotless. Locals didn\u2019t honk unless absolutely necessary. Nobody seemed interested in creating chaos for attention. Marketplaces would be packed with tourists and residents alike, yet there was this quiet rhythm to everything. Even the busiest places felt calm. And then there was Mount Kanchenjunga \u2014 always there in the background, towering over everything like a silent god watching the state go about its day.I was completely sold on Sikkim within days.Then I visited Pelling in West Sikkim.<\/p>\n Mount Kanchenjunga<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n Now, I\u2019m one of those people who firmly believes that some trips are better without plans. I know seasoned travellers hate hearing that. \u201cResearch properly,\u201d they say. \u201cBook everything in advance.\u201d Maybe they\u2019re right. But sometimes, some of the best travel stories happen because you didn\u2019t plan anything at all.Or the worst ones.I reached Pelling on an absurdly beautiful afternoon. If you\u2019ve been there, you\u2019ll know this already: no matter where you stand, Kanchenjunga somehow follows you. From roads, caf\u00e9s, balconies, random street corners \u2014 the mountain is everywhere. It almost feels staged.My taxi driver, who had unofficially promoted himself to guide, insisted he knew \u201ca perfect quiet place\u201d for me to stay. Naturally, I agreed immediately, and till date I regret nothing.The homestay was far from the touristy parts of Pelling. We drove deeper into a forested stretch, farther away from shops, crowds, and civilisation. The paved road disappeared at some point and turned into a rough gravel track. Dense trees surrounded us on both sides. Mobile network vanished.<\/p>\n A trail inside a forest – AI generated<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n Then suddenly, we reached a clearing.Right in the middle of the forest stood the prettiest little cottage-style guesthouse I had ever seen. Prayer flags fluttered all around the property, white against the dark green forest backdrop. Smoke curled gently out of a kitchen chimney somewhere. The place looked like something out of a film.\u201cThis is beautiful,\u201d I remember thinking.And honestly, it really was.To my surprise, there were already a few travellers staying there. We exchanged the usual traveller small talk within minutes of meeting \u2014 where are you from, how long are you staying, have you been to Gangtok yet, etc. Someone handed me a tumbler of local chhang<\/span>, the traditional millet beer that Sikkim somehow manages to make both comforting and dangerous at the same time.The evening became unexpectedly wonderful.As night fell, the cold intensified rapidly. Mountain nights arrive early anyway, but February in West Sikkim felt particularly unforgiving. Soon, all of us were gathered around a bonfire outside, wrapped in jackets and shawls, drinking more chhang than we probably should have. Dinner was simple but incredible \u2014 organic vegetables, warm rice, local curries, all cooked fresh.By 8 pm, everyone was ready to sleep.Yes. 8 pm.Hill stations operate on old people’s timing.I went to my room feeling pleasantly exhausted. The room itself looked cozy enough \u2014 wooden interiors, thick curtains, a room heater already switched on. I changed quickly and crawled under two heavy blankets expecting instant comfort.It never came.An hour passed, and I was still freezing.Not regular cold. Not \u201cwinter in Delhi\u201d cold. This was the kind of cold that seeps into your bones and quietly settles there. I could feel it in my hands, my feet, even my jaw. Eventually, I called the reception and asked for another blanket and an extra blower heater.<\/p>\n Remote location in Sikkim<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n A caretaker arrived, handed me both without much conversation, and left.Now buried under layers like a human burrito, I finally relaxed a little. By then it was close to 11 pm. Sleep still refused to arrive, so I called a friend back home in Delhi.About fifteen minutes into the call, I heard it. A soft knocking sound. From the window. I stopped speaking immediately. \u201cWhat happened?\u201d my friend asked.Before I could answer, the sound came again. Not loud. Just\u2026 deliberate. Like someone lightly tapping the glass.I screamed.My friend screamed because I screamed.We immediately began doing what every rational human does at night in a remote forest \u2014 aggressively convincing ourselves it was definitely just wind.Maybe a branch. Maybe loose wood. Maybe literally anything else. We continued talking, though now both of us were extremely alert. Then came the second sound.Outside my room, clear as day, something dragged across the ground.A plastic chair.If you\u2019re Indian, you know the exact sound a plastic Neelkamal chair makes when someone drags it instead of lifting it. That awful scraping noise. Long. Slow. Impossible to mistake.That\u2019s exactly what I heard. Not once. Continuously.At first, I was annoyed more than scared.\u201cWhy is this caretaker rearranging furniture at midnight?\u201d I whispered into the phone.But the sound kept going. Slow scrape. Pause. Slow scrape again. It did not sound random. It did not sound like wind.And by this point, I was fully awake. The alcohol had worn off hours ago. I was mid-conversation with another person. I wasn\u2019t dreaming. I wasn\u2019t half-asleep.I don\u2019t remember when I finally passed out, but morning arrived with sunlight, birdsong, and me feeling deeply irritated. Mostly because the room heater had been useless.I walked downstairs for breakfast determined to complain about the freezing room. The other travellers from the adjacent room were already seated outside enjoying tea.\u201cDid you guys sleep properly last night?\u201d I asked casually. \u201cMy room was unbelievably cold.\u201dThey looked confused.\u201cWhat are you talking about?\u201d one of them said. \u201cOur room was warm. We used just one blanket each.\u201d I remember going quiet immediately.Then I brought up the chair.\u201cAlso, why was the caretaker dragging chairs around so late at night?\u201dBoth of them stared at me blankly.\u201cWe were awake till late,\u201d one replied slowly. \u201cOur window was open. We didn\u2019t hear anything.\u201dSomething in my stomach dropped. I didn\u2019t say much after that.Even today, years later, people have their own explanations for that night. Some say old wooden cottages make strange sounds in extreme cold. Others say high altitudes, isolation, alcohol, silence, and imagination can create powerful illusions.Maybe. But I know what I heard.And to this day, whenever someone tells me ghost stories from the mountains, I don\u2019t laugh as confidently as I used to.<\/div>\n![\"Mount](\"https:\/\/static.toiimg.com\/photo\/msid-131339874\/mount-kanchenjunga.jpg\" "\\"Mount")
<\/p>\n![\"A](\"https:\/\/static.toiimg.com\/photo\/msid-131339883\/a-trail-inside-a-forest-ai-generated.jpg\" "\\"A")
<\/p>\n![\"Remote](\"https:\/\/static.toiimg.com\/photo\/msid-131339893\/remote-location-in-sikkim.jpg\" "\\"Remote")
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