I was in Ramdhura, a small village near Lava in Kalimpong, for my birthday weekend, on October 4. What was supposed to be a quiet break in the hills turned into a nightmare.

It had been raining since Dashami (October 2), but on the night of October 4, the skies opened up like never before. Thunder rolled through the hills, lightning flashed every few seconds, and rain hit the roof so hard that sleep was impossible. I have never seen rain like that in my life.

By morning, news of landslides started coming in from all over Kalimpong and Darjeeling. Roads were blocked, bridges had collapsed, and people were stranded. We were safe in our homestay, but cut off. The rain showed no sign of stopping.

When it eased a bit on Sunday, we packed up to leave. That’s when the next problem began. Our cab driver cancelled, saying the roads were too risky. The homestay manager offered to “arrange” a vehicle — but at almost double the price.

Thankfully, we knew a few local drivers, and managed to fix a return route, but with a lot of detours, and at a higher cost.

NH10, the main highway to Siliguri, was closed after multiple landslides. We had to take a longer route through Lava and Gurbathang. A journey that takes about two-and-a-half hours stretched to over four. Traffic barely moved. Everywhere we looked, there was damage — trees torn from the roots, roads washed away, piles of mud and stones on every turn.

At one point, our car had to stop as workers cleared debris from a slide. At all major tourist spots, we could see people standing by the roadside, waiting for vehicles that would take them somewhere closer to Siliguri. Some tourists were walking with their luggage, hoping to find a ride.

We kept checking updates on our phones. Reports said many people had died in landslides across the hills. NH10 was cut off at multiple points. Parts of Darjeeling were also without power. The roads to Kalimpong were blocked, and bridges over rivers like Balason had given way.

It was a long, tense drive down to the plains. The rain slowed us again and again. When we finally reached Siliguri by evening, we were exhausted but grateful. We had seen the hills break apart — and realised how fragile life up there is.

For me, it was supposed to be a birthday spent in peace and quiet. Instead, it turned into a weekend I will never forget. The mountains are beautiful, but they are also fragile. What I saw in Kalimpong was nature’s warning — loud, clear and terrifying.