Traveling for the first time through the hills of Himachal, you are obviously taken in by the endless rows of pines and cedars at arm's length of your window and the filtered sunlight playing peek-a-boo through the pendulous leaves. The view you wake up to, of the flaky, misty, green wrapped, unabating line graph like the Himalayas makes an as good as it gets combo, with the steaming morning coffee. For me, however, traveling through the hilly roads, as precarious as it may sound is equally enchanting as sitting back by your hotel window/ terrace and enjoying your favorite novel in that picturesque setting.
The reason behind me engaging in activities of legwork such as that is of course fuelled by an urge of exploration that most regular বাঙালি tourists possess by birth. Another reason is the people of the hills.
চ্যাপ্টা ঠোঁটের ভালাবাসা
খুদে চোখে কত আশা
যখন তখন সাদা কুয়াশা
খুদে চোখে কত আশা
যখন তখন সাদা কুয়াশা
sings Anjan Dutt, without further reading too much into the anatomical aspect of the lyrics, at risk of sounding racist in today's hypersensitive social media world, I would add that you fall in love with the people of the hills every day, in new ways.
I wish I had the ability to express in words, the kind of feeling evoked, every time I spotted a side road as we traversed back and forth through the hills. There is a strange feeling of guilt owing to leaving that road unexplored.
Who knows where it leads to?
To a quaint little cottage?
where a greying lady awaits.
She would offer you tea,
A toothless smile,
A trove of tales of greener times.
Romanticism aside, most would probably lead to overcrowded bustees. The sea of grey shanties, mitigated occasionally by the colorful ribbon flags and of course giggles busy, rosy children. The men and women of the hills have a tough life, be kind and if possible give a little more, those modest smiles deserve a lot. 
As your car travels through the roads and you are all geared up for the next stop, the mornings of the hills present you with another picture too. It is of the school going children. All of them, smartly dressed in their cardigans of bright shades and hair neatly brushed or braided. Some hold their mother's hand, some cling and blush behind their fathers as your eyes meet. You will duly notice the wishful eyes of theirs, perhaps for one of these tourist cars to stop and give them a lift to the far away school, too tired they are of waiting for a vehicle since the sun rose, the firm-jawed parents know otherwise. We never stop.
I saw her sitting on the steps of a shop which had its shutters down. She had her legs crossed and the zaris of the ill-fitting saree, a total mismatch to the dazed and innocent face peeking through the pallu. I had caught a glimpse of it only once, in a moment of carelessness on her part, when she had got too much immersed in staring at the high flying saffron flag ( awaiting liberalization perhaps! ) and the palm on which her chin rested had given away. It was a refreshing moment for me as we stood in queue jostling for space and minding our shoes atop a hillock with a temple. I do not know whether she belonged to those hills or some distant plain. I saw her sitting there, eyes searching for a faraway escapade and hands mimicking perhaps the daily practice of rounding the ball of flour. Her hands clasped and unclasped as she made one invisible roti after another. I knew she was just another taken for granted, woman of the house, in Incredible India.
Traveling through the hills, you will get two distinct experiences, as the day draws to an end. Just as the sun is about to set, most people are seen going clickety-click and entrapping the afterglow in various devices. And just as the sun vanishes suddenly, there descends a sudden quietness, left unbroken even by the Punjabi rap songs, which seem distant. People start complaining about the perils of snaking through hilly roads at night and how dangerous the 'other side' looks. These talks continue till the lights of approaching destination is spotted and no, Google Maps does not help in snoozing the panic button. 
Seating on the front seat and not at the wheel of the car provided an interesting perspective for me as we traversed along the long and winding darkness. Looking out through your window, you have two views now for the journey, that of the illuminated path and the obscurity of something like a penumbra immediately next to it. The driver, of course, keeps his eyes set to the illuminated path and you keep switching between the two. The illuminated path provides you comfort, safety and assures you a smooth journey to your destination. The longer you stare at it, the more mysterious and inviting the shadows look. You realize that the illuminated path is only a small part of your road now and the darkness envelopes you from all directions. The desire to reach out and take a closer look at, whether the trees and rocky walls look as beautiful as they were during the day is tremendous. The mist hanging in the air of the hills, come soon after, making the darkness even more inviting. The temptation to move on and become one with that darkness and mist is strangely satisfying, like a dream sequence by Dali or Buñuel. 
Although you do not need to worry much, as the honking cars, break off your trance time and again. Getting lost in the hills, however, remains a pursuable hobby!
