Aizawl's quiet magic

There’s something quietly magical about watching Aizawl rise before you — a city sprawled across the rolling hills like a mosaic of beautifully colourful houses and winding roads. As the plane dips through the clouds, the lush green folds of Mizoram appear, and you realise you’ve entered a different India — one that hums with serenity, where the rhythm of life is slow, measured, and deeply respectful of the land it stands on. 

Crisp mountain air

For someone entering the North East for the first time, Aizawl feels like an awakening. The air is cool and clean, scented with rain-soaked earth and pine. The hills are alive with gentle movement. Children walking to school, shopkeepers arranging fresh produce, and elders dressed impeccably for Sunday morning mass.

Life here seems to unfold with grace. Even the traffic, which in most Indian cities is a cacophony, moves in an astonishingly disciplined flow. Cars stop for pedestrians. People wait their turn patiently. There’s no honking, no chaos. It feels almost surreal — as if the city collectively decided that kindness and order are more powerful than speed. While waiting for hours in Bengaluru’s traffic, surrounded by angry drivers hurling curses, it feels like a curse at the end of the workday. However, the same wait time in Mizoram is eerily peaceful, accompanied by gorgeous orange, pink, and purple sunsets.

The people of Aizawl are some of the warmest you will ever meet. Their hospitality isn’t loud or exaggerated; it’s genuine and heartfelt. A simple smile, a polite nod, a soft-spoken ‘Ka lawm e’ (thank you) — these gestures carry the weight of sincerity. You’re struck by how deeply rooted the sense of community is. Churches dot every corner, not as symbols of dominance, but as places where people gather to sing, talk, and support one another. Sundays are sacred — the entire city slows down to rest, worship, and reconnect. In a world that never stops, Aizawl reminds you that stillness is also a form of beauty.

The city itself is a fascinating blend of tradition and modernity. Bamboo houses cling to steep hillsides beside cafés serving a mix of Korean foods and local delicacies, such as Chow Satui Leih and Bawngsa Chek.

From Aizawl Peak, the view is breathtaking — a sea of lights against the dark green valleys, each twinkle representing a home, a life, a story. A camera could never do justice to the beauty that lies before it. I’m told the people of Mizoram aren’t fond of elaborate meals — no lavishly set dinner tables or spice-laden foods.

While the Mizo might not show great interest in their food, there’s one aspect of daily life where they do not compromise. Fashion, this remains loud and clear the moment you enter Aizawl. The city is dotted with boutiques and thrift stores on every corner. While the everyday outfits are simple but chic, the Sunday outfits, especially curated for Church, will leave you in awe.

Development dilemma

Yet, as the initial awe settles, a subtle guilt creeps in. You can’t help but notice the cracks — the uneven roads, the limited infrastructure, the absence of industries that fuel the mainland. There’s a simplicity that feels both beautiful and heartbreaking. The North East, rich in culture and natural beauty, has long been left behind in India’s grand narrative of development. You wonder why the land that gives so much remains neglected, why its people must work twice as hard to be seen and heard.

Aizawl makes you question what development truly means. Here, people live with less but seem to possess more — more warmth, more patience, more respect for one another. As you prepare to leave, you realise that this city, perched on its green hills, teaches you that progress without compassion is no progress at all.