What A Walk Through Almora’s Forests Taught Me About Kumaon

Did you know pine needles have nuts inside them, which you can break open and have? They taste somewhere between cashew and almond, and their texture depends on ripeness and moisture. For me, it was a first, in Almora, Uttarakhand. Walking through the pine forests with the clear blue sky above, I could feel my city-bred sense of self slowly dissolve. What would have been another practice of slow travel, remembered through a gallery of aesthetic pictures, soon assumed a different dimension when I began to notice the plants around me. I was accompanied by Pushkar Negi, co-founder of Kot Kailash, a 100-year-old Kumaoni home-turned-homestay.

The Stories Hidden In Almora’s Forest Plants

“Did you know how Almora got its name?” he asked. I did not. Thus, he introduced me to the Kilmora plant. As I was travelling in October, it only had leaves, but during its blooming season, around April–May, it has berries that are widely consumed by the local people. People who collected the plant were called Bhilmori or Kilmori, which over time shifted to Almori and eventually gave the town its name, Almora.

While the Kilmora was growing on the edge of a mountain slope, nearer to my feet were green, longish leaves that I would have completely overlooked if Negi had not pointed out that they were Van Ki Ajwain, or Himalayan wild thyme. The strong aroma of these wild herbs was exactly that of ajwain, and I learnt that they help with metabolism and are a local favourite after a heavy meal. Later that evening, I tried tea made from these leaves, and it did taste quite refreshing.

The snow-capped Himalayan peaks had made themselves visible, and Nanda Devi and Trishul, among others, were shining in the sun. I rushed to a higher rock to take a photograph. This rock and some other trees in the region had a green, mossy growth. They were none other than patthar ke phool, or stone flower, sometimes also referred to as rock moss or pearl lichen.

“This is a natural AQI scale, it only grows in places with very little pollution. It does not have any taste of its own, but we use it to enhance the taste of dishes, especially non-vegetarian ones. Use it with khade masale and see the magic,” Negi said. Although referred to as a flower, it is actually an edible lichen.

Looking Beyond The Trees

I had taken a walk along that track every morning to see the sunrise since I arrived in Almora, but never could I have known there was so much knowledge and utility in the plants around me. My curiosity was piqued, and how. If you are spotting plants on a walk in the Himalayas, you cannot miss the birds. As I was discussing with Negi how the names of these species in the local language needed better preservation, another localite joined our conversation — a Himalayan woodpecker. Its reverberating call made us listen quietly for some time. But the silence was broken by nine (yes, I counted) white-throated thrushes, which joyfully joined the lower half of the tree’s branches. They sang loudly, in chorus, as if in a rush to finish all their conversations before flying off again.

While I was busy looking at the birds, Negi walked a bit further ahead and was tasting the leaves of a certain plant to see which one was better. As I walked up to him, he introduced me to charmari, known in English as oxalis or wood sorrel. Three heart-shaped leaflets formed one compound leaf, and the taste was lemony, with a sharp sourness at first while leaving a sweet aftertaste. I loved it, and throughout the rest of the day, I kept spotting these plants and trying their leaves.

A Taste Of Kumaon, Shared At Home

It was my last day in Almora, and I was invited to Negi’s home for a traditional Kumaoni lunch. It was about a half-hour drive from Kot Kailash — a drive mostly through the forests, where we chanced upon a fox crossing the road as well. This was the same road where a leopard had been spotted with its cubs the previous night — not an uncommon sight in the region.

As I reached Negi’s house, I saw a big fruit hanging from a tree at the entrance. This was Uttarakhand’s famous kakri, or mountain cucumber. Soon, I was invited to have a piece of it, marinated in another local speciality, Pahari pisyu lon, or garlic green salt. I sat down with Negi’s mother, who was grinding some of the salt on a silbatta, or grinding stone, to observe the process closely. Fresh garlic, coriander, ginger, green chillies and roasted cumin are ground with rock salt until the entire mix becomes a golden powder, ready for consumption. A common way of consuming kakri was in Kumaoni raita, made with curd, yellow mustard and a generous helping of the cucumber.

I was humbled to be able to learn about Kumaoni food and ingredients right in someone’s home, as I was left reflecting on how distant my own relationship with the natural world is. We spent some time in the courtyard as Negi told me about all the plants that grew in his garden — chillies, lemon, hemp, radish, finger millet, asparagus and, of course, kakri. This was also the grass-cutting season, and we met many village women who were preparing for the coming winter.

“In the month of Ashwin, our society becomes almost matriarchal. As women become busy cutting grass, men get them all their essentials in the field,” Negi said.

The Forests That Sustain Uttarakhand

Then it was time for lunch. On our plates were portions of rajma, known locally as simi, and laai and gaaba (stems and leaves of yam) ki saag, or a leafy vegetable. Along with that were rice and the kakri raita. Each item tasted like home, and the saag was my personal favourite, which I could not get enough of. By the end, my stomach was full, but my heart was craving more. This craving was not just for the food, but for the sheer delight of sharing so much warmth and love, which is rare for someone living on her own in Delhi.

The meal was followed by another walk through the village and the pine forest. Owing to the lower elevation of this place, the Greater Himalayas were not visible from here. But I could do without that distraction, rather happily, as I soaked in the smell and sound of the forest. I continued to try the oxalis wherever I could find it and pick pine needles to look for nuts inside them.

“The snowy Himalayas are like a garment, an ornament around the neck of Uttarakhand. But these forests, which cover 70 per cent of our land, sustain us,” Negi said with a smile.

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