There are places you travel to for fun. There are places you go to for photos. And then there’s Meghalaya — a whisper of cloud in the sky, a hush of green on earth, and a lingering kind of calm that stays tucked in your heart long after you’ve left.
I didn’t plan to fall for Meghalaya. It wasn’t on the top of my travel list. Honestly, I only booked it because I had a week off and needed something quiet, somewhere different — someplace not swarming with tourists in wide-brimmed hats and noisy souvenir shops.
But Meghalaya surprised me. And then some.
A Land Named After the Clouds
First things first: the name itself. Meghalaya literally means “the abode of clouds.” Romantic, right? It’s not just poetic — it’s legit. You’ll see clouds drifting lazily across your car windshield. They don’t float above you — they’re with you, around you, hugging your shoulders as you walk. It’s like nature saying, “Relax, I’ve got this.”
And it’s not just the clouds. Everything here — from the waterfall whispers to the pine-scented breezes — is soft, gentle, and incredibly grounding.
Shillong: Music, Markets & Mountain Breezes
You usually start your Meghalaya journey in Shillong. It’s the capital, sure, but don’t expect a chaotic cityscape. Shillong hums to its own tune. Sometimes quite literally — it’s been dubbed the “Rock Capital of India.” The people here breathe music. On any given evening, you might stumble upon an impromptu guitar session in a café, or a local band jamming in a garage-style space.
But Shillong isn’t just about music. It’s a city where grandmothers still sell pickled bamboo shoots at street corners, where school kids carry guitar cases, and where clouds play hide-and-seek with the hills.
The Ward’s Lake, Police Bazaar, Elephant Falls — they’re all worth your time. But what makes Shillong special isn’t just what you see; it’s what you feel when you’re there.
Cherrapunji & Sohra: Rain’s Forever Home
Rain in most places is a spoiler. In Meghalaya, it’s the show.
Cherrapunji (also called Sohra) used to hold the world record for the highest rainfall. And when it rains here, it doesn’t just drizzle — it pours emotion. You sit in a bamboo hut, tea steaming in your hand, and the rain falls like a song written in another language — one you don’t fully understand but still deeply feel.
The living root bridges here? Unreal. They’re not just bridges — they’re nature’s architecture. Trees bending down to meet each other halfway, roots woven over decades by local hands. Walking across them feels sacred.
If you’re booking one of those all-included meghalaya holiday packages, make sure it has at least two days around Cherrapunji. Trust me, you won’t want to rush this part.
Mawlynnong: Cleanest Village and Quietest Soul
Mawlynnong is a name that shows up often on those “must visit” lists — usually followed by a proud tag: “Asia’s cleanest village.” And yes, it lives up to the title. But it’s so much more than that.
It’s quiet. Too quiet, maybe. You’ll hear your own thoughts louder than usual.
Walk the cobbled paths lined with bamboo dustbins. Watch kids run to school in perfectly ironed uniforms. Chat with someone’s grandma sitting on her porch peeling jackfruit. It feels untouched, but not frozen. The village breathes change, yet holds tight to its roots.
It’s like stepping into someone’s memory — not yours, but a warm one you’ve been allowed to borrow.
Dawki: Where Rivers Reflect the Sky
Imagine a river so clear, the boat looks like it’s flying. That’s Dawki. Google it if you haven’t seen the pictures. Then go. Because no image — no matter how HD — can capture what it feels like to sit in that boat, water invisible beneath you, sky mirrored around you, the wind sighing in your hair.
The river flows between India and Bangladesh, and the little border town of Dawki is surprisingly friendly and calm. Locals wave. Kids play cricket. Fishermen sing old Khasi songs.
It’s the kind of place where you take off your shoes just to dip your feet and somehow end up sitting there for hours, doing absolutely nothing — and loving it.
Food in Meghalaya: Warm, Simple, Soulful
Let’s talk food — because in the hills, food hits different. It’s not about spice bombs or Instagram-worthy plating. It’s about soul. Meghalaya’s cuisine is earthy and deeply satisfying.
Try jadoh — a pork and rice dish that’s got just the right amount of comfort. Then there’s tungrymbai, a fermented soybean delicacy that might challenge your palate but reward you richly. Wash it down with red tea, no milk, just warmth.
Cafés in Shillong offer Western fusions with local twists — think banana flower burgers and millet pancakes. And roadside stalls serve freshly fried momos, chutney optional but recommended.
Every bite feels like home — even if it’s not yours.
Culture: Where Every Story Is Sung, Not Spoken
The people of Meghalaya — mostly Khasis, Garos, and Jaintias — carry their culture like a well-worn shawl: not flashy, but woven with pride. They’re matrilineal, which means property and family lineage pass through the mother. Women are respected. Celebrated.
Their festivals? Full of drums, dance, and a kind of rhythm you feel in your chest. Wangala, Shad Suk Mynsiem — even if you don’t understand the rituals, you’ll feel the pulse.
Buy handmade crafts. Talk to locals. Learn three Khasi words. It’s not just about seeing Meghalaya — it’s about letting it see you too.
Travel Without the Tiring Parts
Now, if planning’s not your thing (or you just want to kick back and let someone else handle the logistics), there are plenty of curated meghalaya tour package options that cover the best bits without overwhelming you. From boutique stays and transport to guided walks and offbeat trails, some packages really understand the spirit of Meghalaya — not just its itinerary.
But make sure you’re not just doing a checklist. Meghalaya’s best moments happen when you’re not looking for them.
Weather & When to Go (Spoiler: Anytime’s Good)
There’s no wrong time for Meghalaya, just different flavors.
- Winter (Nov–Feb): Clear skies, chilly nights, perfect for cozy fires and star-gazing.
- Summer (Mar–May): Pleasant and green, with fewer tourists.
- Monsoon (June–Sep): For the brave and poetic. Rain is constant but beautiful. Great for waterfall lovers and soul searchers.
Carry layers. Carry an umbrella. And don’t forget your curiosity.
How to Get There and Around
Reaching Meghalaya usually starts with flying into Guwahati, Assam. From there, Shillong is about a 3–4 hour scenic drive. The road winds past hills, lakes, and roadside tea stalls — not bad for a start, right?
Once in Meghalaya, you’ll need a car to get around. Taxis, self-drive rentals, or chauffeur-driven jeeps are available. Public transport exists but isn’t ideal for exploration.
Don’t rush it. Every curve in the road hides a new view.
Where to Stay: Rustic, Luxe, or Both
Meghalaya doesn’t believe in tall towers or glassy resorts. Most accommodations are homestays, cottages, or boutique hotels tucked into the hills. Wake up to birds, sip tea on wooden decks, and sleep to the sound of soft rain tapping the roof.
Try staying in different places — Shillong, Cherrapunji, Mawlynnong. Each corner of the state has its own personality, and your stay should reflect that.
Travel Tips from Someone Who’s Been
- Pack light but smart. Think layers, good shoes, a poncho maybe. Forget heels.
- Cash helps. ATMs are sparse in the rural parts.
- Local sim or offline maps. Signal can vanish at the worst (or best?) times.
- Be respectful. Culture matters. Ask before taking photos of people or homes.
- Take it slow. Meghalaya rewards the wanderer, not the sprinter.
The One Thing No One Tells You
Here’s the thing no brochure, blog, or travel agent tells you: Meghalaya feels personal. Like it was built just for you. Like the hills knew you were coming. Like the rain paused just for your arrival.
It’s a state, yes. A destination. A trip.
But it’s also a feeling. One that slips into your bones and makes a quiet little home there.
Final Thoughts: Leaving, But Not Really
When you leave Meghalaya, you’ll take your photos and memories, sure. But you’ll also leave a piece of yourself behind — on a bridge woven by roots, in a forest dripping with dew, in a melody sung by a street guitarist in Shillong.
And when life gets noisy again, when city lights blind and deadlines tighten their grip — close your eyes.
The clouds will return. The hills will hum. And for a moment, you’ll be back.