By Kulbhushan Kain
There are journeys that show you landscapes, and then there are journeys that reveal something far more enduring – the quiet, invisible threads that bind people across geographies. My recent travels through Gujarat and Rajasthan were meant to be about forts, history, and cuisine. And indeed, both states offered all of that in abundance: magnificent palaces standing like sentinels of time, a culinary heritage that is both rich and deeply rooted, and a citizenry that is courteous, dignified, and deeply respectful of law and order.
Yet, what stayed with me long after the journey ended was something else entirely – the unmistakable, almost comforting presence of people from Uttarakhand.
This is not a new observation for me. Over the years, my travels – whether within India or abroad -have repeatedly brought me face to face with ‘Uttarakhandis’, in places I least expected. I recall my time in Dubai, where a visit to Haldirams in Al Barsha would often turn into a nostalgic exchange. The manager there, Mr Bhandari, hailed from Uttarakhand, and he once told me with quiet pride that many of his staff shared the same roots. In another restaurant in Jumeirah, a young server -warm, attentive, and unfailingly polite turned out to be from the hills as well.
Even in Derbyshire, England, I encountered a chef whose story felt almost uncanny. Not only was he from Uttarakhand, but from Dehradun – and more remarkably, from Clement Town, a locality I myself call home. It was one of those rare moments when geography collapses, and the world suddenly feels very small, very intimate.
But it was during this recent journey through western India that the pattern revealed itself with striking clarity.
At a heritage property in Udaipur, I found that the front office was staffed almost entirely by young professionals from the Kumaon region. They were articulate, composed, and carried themselves with a quiet confidence that spoke of good education and upbringing. In Gujarat, at a resort nestled amidst history and wilderness, the head chef – a young man from Tehri Garhwal – conversed effortlessly in English, his culinary skills matched by his professionalism.
And then there were the moments that truly surprised me. In the vast, almost surreal expanse of the Little Rann of Kutch, where one expects only solitude and salt plains stretching endlessly into the horizon, I met a front office executive who had studied in Dehradun. Though she belonged to Meghalaya, her years in the Doon Valley had clearly shaped her personality — poised, courteous, and quietly efficient.
In Patan, at a well-known establishment, I met the general manager, Mr Rana, a native of Gangotri. Here he was, far removed from the icy origins of the Ganga, managing operations with a calm assurance that comes only from experience and inner discipline.
By now, these encounters had begun to form a pattern—one that was too consistent to dismiss as coincidence. Time and again, in kitchens, in reception areas, in management roles, and in service positions, Uttarakhandis seemed to be quietly excelling. I have made it a habit, wherever I travel, to ask a simple question when I am served well: “Where are you from?” And more often than not, the answer comes back – “Uttarakhand”.
But there is another question I often ask them, one that goes beyond profession and touches something more personal, “Do you miss home?”
The response, almost without exception, carries a pause. A slight smile. And then an honesty that is both simple and profound.
“Yes, sir… very much.”
No one who lives away from home is ever entirely at ease. And this is perhaps even truer for those who come from the hills of Uttarakhand. The mountains have a way of shaping not just your surroundings, but your rhythm of life. The quiet, the clean air, the unhurried pace, the familiarity of faces, the deep sense of belonging – these are not easily replaced by the bustle of cities or the demands of the hospitality industry.
Many of them speak of the peace they have left behind. Of mornings that begin not with traffic, but with silence. Of evenings where time slows down instead of speeding up. There is, in their voices, a certain longing – not dramatic, not overstated, but steady and unmistakable.
And yet, they stay on, because, as life often reminds us, one cannot have everything. One cannot, as the saying goes, have one’s cake and eat it too. The opportunities that allow them to grow, to earn, to support their families, and to see the world – these sometimes lie away from home. And so they make that quiet compromise, carrying their roots within them even as they build their futures elsewhere.
Perhaps this is what lends them their distinctive character in the world of hospitality. There is humility, because they come from places where life is simple. There is resilience, because the hills demand it. And there is a genuine warmth in their service, because they understand what it means to care – for people, for relationships, for dignity.
It is also worth noting that places like Dehradun have long been centres of good education, producing generations of individuals who are articulate, disciplined, and adaptable. When these qualities combine with the cultural grounding of the hills, the result is a workforce that is both capable and deeply human.
What is remarkable is that even as they assimilate into different cultures and cuisines, they retain a quiet pride in where they come from. Whether it is preparing a local dish in Rajasthan, managing a restaurant in Gujarat, or serving guests in a distant country, there is always a part of Uttarakhand present, unspoken, but deeply felt.
As I look back on my journey, I realise that while the landscapes of Gujarat and Rajasthan were unforgettable, it was these human connections that gave the experience its true depth. The presence of Uttarakhandis – steady, sincere, and quietly excellent – was like an invisible thread running through the journey, binding distant places with a sense of familiarity.
Uttarakhand, it seems, does not remain confined to its mountains. It travels-through its people, their work, and their spirit.
And wherever it goes, it leaves behind something of itself: a certain grace, a certain honesty, and a quiet excellence that does not seek attention, yet never goes unnoticed.
In the end, one comes away with a simple realization-one that is both personal and universal.
You may leave Uttarakhand.
But Uttarakhand never really leaves you.
(Kulbhushan Kain is an award winning educationist with more than 4 decades of working in schools in India and abroad. He is a prolific writer who loves cricket, travelling and
cooking. He can be reached at kulbhushan.kain@gmail.com)
