I’ll be honest—when I first planned my trip to Cherrapunji, it wasn’t because I was chasing monsoon magic or poetic misty mornings. I just wanted a break. Somewhere green, somewhere quiet. But what do I get? It was a downpour of beauty—literally and figuratively.
Cherrapunji, tucked deep in the East Khasi Hills of Meghalaya, is one of the wettest places on Earth. It doesn’t just rain there. It feels like the clouds melt. And if you’re someone who finds peace in the sound of rain tapping on leaves and rooftops, this little town will wrap you up like a monsoon-scented blanket.
The First Splash: Arriving in Cherrapunji
The road to Cherrapunji from Shillong is a journey in itself. You drive through cloud-wrapped cliffs and winding roads with sudden glimpses of green valleys that seem too good to be real. I still remember my cab driver chuckling when I said I hoped it wouldn’t rain that day. “Madam, this is Cherrapunji,” he said. “Rain is the weather forecast.” Touché.
As we entered town, the landscape changed—it was like stepping into a storybook soaked in watercolor. Every leaf was glossier, every tree greener. It didn’t take long for the rain to make its presence known—slow at first, then steadily persistent, the kind that makes you forget time.
Monsoon Isn’t a Season Here—It’s a Way of Life
The rain in Cherrapunji isn’t inconvenient; it’s intimate. It doesn’t just pour from the sky—it rises from the ground in misty swirls, clings to your skin, seeps into your socks (okay, not everything is poetic), and somehow becomes your companion.
Locals go about their day as if it’s just another Tuesday. Umbrellas are as common as handshakes. I asked a shopkeeper if he ever got tired of the rain. He smiled and said, “When it doesn’t come, that’s when we worry.” That’s the kind of relationship they have with nature here—respectful, grounded, and oddly comforting.
Living Root Bridges and Rain-Drenched Trails
Now, let’s talk about the living root bridges. You haven’t really seen Cherrapunji until you’ve stood on one of these handwoven natural marvels. These bridges are not just tourist spots; they’re proof of human resilience and harmony with nature.
I remember the trek down to the Double Decker Living Root Bridge in Nongriat. Over 3,000 steps—yep, I counted for the first 200 before I gave up. My thighs screamed, my raincoat stuck to my back, and my shoes had officially become wet socks with soles. But when I finally reached the bridge, soaked to the bone and slightly breathless, it was worth it.
There it was: vines twisted by time, roots braided by generations of hands, all standing firm over a frothing stream below. The rain had painted every stone, every leaf, every inch of the trail with this surreal, glistening magic. And somehow, in that moment, I didn’t mind my soggy feet at all.
Savoring Local Flavors (and Getting Out of the Rain for a Bit)
There’s something about warm food when it’s pouring outside. I popped into a local eatery—nothing fancy, just a small family-run place where the menu was verbal and the smiles were generous.
Hot rice, a bowl of tungrymbai (fermented soybean chutney—not for everyone, but I found it oddly addictive), and the ever-reliable jadoh (a Khasi pork and rice dish). All of it hit different with raindrops tapping the window beside me.
If you go, don’t leave without trying a steaming cup of local red tea—it’s earthy, strong, and pairs perfectly with a rainy afternoon and a wandering mind.
Chasing Waterfalls… in the Rain? Absolutely.
You’d think seeing waterfalls during a rainstorm would be a bad idea. But in Cherrapunji, it’s kind of the point. The falls here are alive during the monsoon—roaring, overflowing, and unapologetically dramatic.
Nohkalikai Falls, one of India’s tallest, looks like something out of a dream. I stood at the viewpoint with my camera wrapped in a plastic bag, my hoodie soaking through, watching the water crash down into the gorge below. It’s one of those places where you feel small, in the best way.
Seven Sisters Falls is another stunner, especially when the rain adds to its volume. There’s this moment when the clouds part just enough for you to see all seven streams falling like silver threads through the green cliffs—and then, just as quickly, they vanish again.
Some Honest Truths (a.k.a. Things I Wish I Knew Before Going)
Let’s not romanticize everything—traveling in Cherrapunji during monsoon does have its practical downsides.
You will get wet. Even with a raincoat and an umbrella, water finds a way.
Your clothes won’t dry. Ever. Pack extra socks. Seriously.
The network can be patchy. But honestly? That’s part of the charm.
Leech season is real if you’re trekking. Long socks and salt are your friends.
But despite all that—or maybe because of it—this place gets under your skin. The kind of raw, unfiltered beauty that you don’t just see—you feel.
Final Thoughts: Let the Rain In
Cherrapunji in the rain isn’t for everyone. If you’re the kind who needs crisp blue skies and predictable weather, this place might test your patience. But if you’re open to letting go, to letting nature set the pace, it rewards you in ways you didn’t know you needed.
For me, it wasn’t just a trip. It was a reminder to slow down, to listen—to the rain, to the silence between storms, and to myself.
So, if you’re ever looking for a place where the sky kisses the earth in silver drops, where the green never fades, and where getting drenched might just cleanse more than your skin—go to Cherrapunji. Let the rain in.
You might just come back lighter.
