I Once Wanted to Leave, But Northeast India Never Left Me

There was a time I’d sit by the window and wonder what life looked like beyond the hills I grew up in.

Not because I didn’t love home. But because I thought the world I wanted to live in was somewhere far away from here.

Sabroom, my little hometown in South Tripura, was quiet, Peaceful. Tucked in a corner of the country so distant that most maps didn’t bother highlighting it. Nothing much happened here. At least, that’s what I thought back then.

And when you’re young, still figuring out who you are, still learning how to dream, silence can sometimes feel like a cage.

So I told myself, Maybe I need to leave to become someone.

Always planning an escape

When I think back to those years, I remember how much of my energy went into dreaming of somewhere else.

Not out of anger or resentment, just curiosity, maybe a little restlessness.

I wanted to travel. To explore. To meet new people. I wanted to know how the world looked beyond these borders and what it felt like to be part of something bigger than my hometown.

Even when I stayed in the Northeast, my thoughts were already elsewhere.

But here’s the thing- no matter how far I went, this land came with me. It showed up in the way I smiled at strangers. In the way I found peace in quiet moments. In the way I never learned how to rush.

Losing the map and finding something else

When I started traveling seriously, I wasn’t looking for home. I was looking for movement. For fresh air. For unknown towns.

But slowly, I started noticing a shift after 2 years.

I didn’t want fast anymore. I didn’t want flashy. I wanted places where people still said hello when they passed by. Places where the stories lived in kitchens and courtyards, not in headlines.

And then, one day, I found myself in a village called Chug, in the West Kameng district of Arunachal Pradesh.

I had planned to stay for a night or two, pitch my tent, and move on.

But something about that place held me.

Chug changed something in me

When I got to Chug, I didn’t know anyone. But that didn’t matter.

Someone offered me tea before they even asked my name. Someone else helped me carry my bag. Before I knew it, I was sleeping under a wooden roof, wrapped in a blanket that smelled like firewood and time.

Days passed. I forgot my plan to leave.

I followed the kids as they ran barefoot across fields. I watched women cook with recipes passed down generations. I sat with elders who spoke of the spirits that lived in the clouds and the gods that protected their cattle.

Nobody cared what I did for a living. They cared if I had eaten. They made space for me without asking for anything in return.

That village didn’t just give me a bed. It gave me back a part of myself I didn’t know I had lost.

I always thought leaving was brave

Turns out, staying can be brave too.

For so long, I believed that home was too small for my dreams. But maybe I never looked closely enough. Maybe I was measuring meaning by how far I could go instead of how deeply I could stay.

The Northeast isn’t one story. It’s thousands. Spoken in hundreds of languages, sung in every river, carried by every wind.

These aren’t touristy tales. They’re lived realities. They’re stories rooted in resilience, love, land, and laughter.

They don’t always ask for attention. But they deserve to be heard.

Why I started Tales of Northeast

Tales of Northeast wasn’t born as a business plan.

It started with a feeling.

A feeling that there were too many stories still unheard. Too many people whose wisdom never made it to travel blogs. Too many songs that never got recorded.

So I began this journey- to document, to share, and most importantly, to listen.

This isn’t about turning Northeast India into a product. It’s about honoring it. It’s about creating space for voices that have been left out. For stories that deserve to be told, not because they’re glamorous, but because they’re real.

I want to create a bridge for travelers who want to experience something genuine, and for local communities who want their truths respected.

Walking slower, seeing clearer

I still travel. I still go to new places. But my pace has changed.

I no longer chase to tick checklists, rather I looking for connection.

And when people ask me what kind of trips we offer at Tales of Northeast, I tell them these aren’t just itineraries. These are experiences that allow you to sit in someone’s home, eat food from their garden, and share stories that don’t always have a neat ending.

We don’t believe in rushing. We believe in staying long enough for a place to remember your name.

The stories that gave me back my voice

Somewhere along the way, I stopped trying to prove myself to the world. The Northeast taught me that.

It taught me that life doesn’t always have to be loud to be meaningful. That value doesn’t come from visibility. That purpose often whispers instead of shouts.

In every village I’ve stayed, I’ve found a reason to slow down. In every story I’ve heard, I’ve found pieces of myself.

And in the land I once wanted to leave, I found the roots that hold me steady.

The truth is I never really left

Yes, there were days I wanted to go. Yes, there were times I thought I needed to be anywhere but here.

But now I see it differently.

The Northeast never stopped being home. Even when I tried to walk away, it quietly followed me. It shaped how I see the world. It gave me the patience to listen and the courage to care.

It never asked me to stay. But it’s always been waiting.

If you’re still reading

Maybe you’re someone who once wanted to leave home too. Maybe you’re still figuring out where you belong.

I hope this reminds you that sometimes the places we grow up in hold more magic than we think. And sometimes, the stories we’re meant to tell are the ones closest to us.

Tales of Northeast isn’t just my journey. It’s a way of saying let’s travel differently. Let’s travel with open eyes, open hearts, and open ears.

Come, stay a little longer.

Let the Northeast surprise you.

Let it change you.