Shimla, Snowfall And The Great "Bas 5 Minute Dur Hai" Conspiracy

The Winter Weekend We Never Saw Coming

Some trips are planned with spreadsheets, hotel comparisons, leave approvals, budget discussions and a level of seriousness that makes the whole thing feel like a government project.

And then there are trips like this Shimla one.

Planned on a Thursday. Started on a Saturday. Hotel not booked. Snowfall uncertain. Confidence unnecessarily high.

Basically, all the ingredients required for a story that people continue laughing about years later.

This was shortly after we had shifted to Noida. We were still settling into the city, still figuring out routes, routines, grocery shops, and the emotional trauma of North Indian traffic. One evening, a few of my husband’s colleagues came home. I had already met one of them several times before, so the gathering felt easy and familiar.

Everyone was sitting, talking, laughing, and then suddenly one colleague said the sentence that changes many peaceful weekends forever:

“Let’s go to Shimla this weekend.”

Now, this is the kind of sentence that sounds casual only for the first three seconds. After that, your brain starts calculating packing, car, weather, distance, hotel, money, food, and whether you are mentally ready to leave your blanket in February.

Most people were not interested. Some had plans. Some were tired. Some were probably wiser than us.

But eventually four people said yes: me, my husband, his colleague, and his colleague’s wife.

And just like that, our Shimla trip was born.

The Plan That Took Five Minutes To Become Serious

It was around Thursday when the idea came up, and the plan was for Saturday. There was no long discussion, no travel group poll, no “let’s think and decide.” Everyone was excited immediately, which is usually the first warning sign that common sense has left the group.

The couple decided to come and stay at our home on Friday night so we could leave early the next morning. That part felt very responsible. We packed quickly, discussed routes, checked the weather again and again, and kept hearing the same exciting rumor: Shimla was receiving snowfall.

Now, for someone who has never seen live snowfall, this is not a small thing.

You may act normal outside, but inside your brain, a full Bollywood snow sequence has already started. You imagine yourself standing under falling snowflakes, smiling calmly, looking like a person from a winter postcard.

Reality, of course, usually shows you slipping somewhere, holding your nose because it is freezing, and asking someone to click one more photo because the previous one made you look like you were fighting the weather.

Still, the excitement was real.

Leaving Noida Before Sunrise

We left around 5 AM on Saturday.

The city was still sleepy, the roads were quieter than usual, and that early-morning road-trip feeling was everywhere. Bags in the car. Jackets ready. Snacks somewhere nearby. Sleepy faces pretending to be energetic.

My husband drove full of the journey. I always feel road trips have their own rhythm. In the beginning, everyone is excited and talks nonstop. Then slowly people start becoming quiet. Someone sleeps. Someone looks outside. Someone opens snacks even though breakfast has not officially happened yet.

The distance from Noida to Shimla is roughly 370 to 400 km depending on the exact route and starting point, so it is not a tiny drive. But because the plan was fresh and our hopes were directly connected to snowfall, even the long journey felt exciting.

It was the first week of February, and the cold kept increasing as we moved closer to the hills.

The Snow We Almost Missed

As we finally started reaching Shimla, we saw snow.

Snow on rooftops.

Snow on parked cars.

Snow on terraces.

Snow gathered beside the roads like someone had sprinkled white powder over the whole town.

For a few minutes, all of us became very happy. This was the first time I was seeing so much snow around me in real life. It looked beautiful, calm and unreal.

But then the second feeling arrived.

Disappointment.

Because yes, there was snow everywhere, but the actual snowfall had already happened. We had missed the live moment. The roads, roofs and cars were covered, but the sky was silent.

And honestly, when you have been imagining snowflakes falling from the sky for two days, leftover snow feels a little like reaching a party after the music has stopped.

Still, we kept hope. Maybe the weather would change. Maybe Shimla would be kind. Maybe, just maybe, we would still get lucky.

A Cafe, A Window And Our First Live Snowfall

At this point, we were hungry. Also, please remember one important detail: we had not booked a hotel.

Because apparently we had decided to treat a snowfall weekend in Shimla like a casual movie plan.

So before starting the hotel hunt, we stopped at a cafe to eat. It was cold outside, so we sat indoors. The cafe also had an open terrace area, but at that moment warmth and food were bigger priorities than scenery.

We ordered food, settled down, relaxed a little, and for the first time since morning, everyone felt properly comfortable.

And then suddenly, while sitting there, we turned around.

Snowflakes were falling from the sky.

Actual live snowfall.

For a second, nobody behaved like a mature adult. All three of us who had never seen snowfall before immediately forgot food, tiredness, cold and basic dignity.

My husband had already experienced snowfall during his childhood in Barkot, Uttarkashi, so he was calmer. But for me, his colleague, and his colleague’s wife, this was pure magic.

We rushed outside to the terrace. The cold air hit our faces, snowflakes landed on our jackets, our hair, our hands, and everything suddenly felt cinematic in the most honest way.

It was not heavy dramatic snowfall. It was soft, gentle and beautiful. The kind that makes you stop talking for a moment.

Then of course we started clicking pictures like people who had discovered evidence of a miracle.

Some photos were good. Some were blurry. Some were just open-mouth excitement. But every single one felt special because the moment itself was special.

That was the exact moment Shimla officially welcomed us.

The Great Shimla Hotel Hunt

After lunch and snowfall excitement, reality returned with full force.

We still needed a hotel.

And that is when we understood what happens when you reach Shimla on a weekend during fresh snowfall without booking anything in advance.

Every hotel was full.

We called one hotel. Full.

Second hotel. Full.

Third hotel. Full.

Some people said rooms were available and then suddenly the price became so high that we started wondering whether the room came with ownership rights.

Meanwhile, it started raining.

So now we were in a cold city, on crowded roads, with snowfall tourists everywhere, rain falling, phones in hand, calling hotel after hotel, and slowly realizing that spontaneous travel is beautiful mainly after it becomes a memory.

At that moment, it felt like a suspense thriller.

Will they find a hotel?

Will they sleep in the car?

Will someone finally admit that booking earlier was a good idea?

After many calls, many rejections, and a lot of driving around, we finally found one hotel.

It felt like victory.

Expensive victory, but victory.

Our Expensive Room And Its Decorative Heater

The hotel was expensive, but by that time our bargaining power had almost died. The rooms were decent, the view was good, and we were too tired to act picky.

But reaching the room was an adventure of its own.

First stairs.

Then lift.

Then more stairs.

By the time we reached the room, it felt like the hotel had quietly included a mountain expedition in the room tariff.

The hotel had also promised heaters.

Now, technically, there was a heater.

Emotionally, spiritually and thermally, there was no heater.

It existed in the room like a decorative item. It made a small effort, but the cold was clearly more experienced in this fight.

We remained cold. We wore layers. We complained. We laughed. We accepted our fate.

Still, we rested for a while because the day was not over. Mall Road was waiting.

The Mall Road Mystery

After resting for some time, we asked the hotel staff a very simple question.

“How far is Mall Road?”

The answer came immediately.

“Bas 5 minute.”

Beautiful. Simple. Reassuring.

We started walking.

After around five minutes, Mall Road was nowhere in sight. So naturally, we asked another person.

“Bhaiya, Mall Road kitna door hai?”

He said, with complete confidence:

“Bas 5 minute.”

Okay. Maybe the first five minutes were warm-up minutes. We continued walking.

Another stretch passed. Still no Mall Road. We asked someone else.

Same answer.

“Bas 5 minute.”

At this point, I became suspicious.

I am now convinced that every mountain resident receives formal training in saying “bas 5 minute dur hai” regardless of the actual distance.

Maybe there is a secret mountain orientation program.

Day one: Welcome to the hills.

Day two: How to walk on slopes without dying.

Day three: If any tourist asks distance, say “bas 5 minute.”

Because in Shimla, five minutes is not a unit of time. It is a lifestyle. It is encouragement. It is emotional support. It is a polite way of saying, “Keep walking, you will understand later.”

We continued walking because what else could we do? Turn back? After so many five minutes? Impossible. At that point, the journey had become personal.

The Stairs Incident

Then came the stairs.

Not normal stairs.

Giant mountain stairs.

The kind of stairs that look at you and quietly ask, “How much do you really want Mall Road?”

Three of us started climbing normally, like people who respected oxygen.

But one woman in our group decided speed was the solution. She looked at those stairs and apparently thought, “Let me finish this quickly.”

So she sprinted upward.

And honestly, for a few seconds, it looked impressive.

She reached first.

Then immediately looked like she might faint.

Then actually fainted.

We somehow caught her and made her sit. Everyone became alert. My husband ran down to get water and then ran back up the stairs.

By the time he reached us, he also looked like he was about to faint.

So now we had two patients.

One original patient.

One rescue-operation patient.

This is exactly the kind of scene that feels stressful for two minutes and hilarious for the rest of your life.

We made everyone sit, drink water, breathe normally, and agree that nobody would sprint on mountain stairs again unless chased by actual danger.

The Temple That Gave The Evening A Pause

After resting for a while and recovering from our Olympic-level stair incident, we resumed walking.

Soon, we discovered a temple.

It was beautifully located, with peaceful surroundings and lovely views. After all the cold, walking, confusion, hotel drama and stair comedy, the temple felt like a pause button.

We sat there quietly for some time.

No one was rushing. No one was calculating distance. No one was asking “kitna door hai?” because frankly, we had lost faith in all answers.

The calmness felt really nice.

Sometimes trips are like that. One moment you are laughing at complete chaos, and the next moment you are sitting quietly somewhere, looking at the hills, feeling grateful that the plan happened at all.

The Return Of The Five-Minute People

After leaving the temple, we again made the mistake of asking someone how far Mall Road was.

The answer, of course, was waiting for us like destiny.

“Bas 5 minute.”

At that moment, our group collectively lost all faith in distance estimates.

We decided we would not ask anyone again. If Mall Road wanted us, it would reveal itself when the time was right.

We walked silently for a while, united by betrayal.

And then, finally, after many versions of five minutes, Mall Road appeared.

Finally Reaching Mall Road

Mall Road felt rewarding, maybe because we had suffered enough to deserve it.

The evening atmosphere was beautiful. The lights were glowing, shops were open, people were walking around in jackets and caps, cafes looked warm from outside, and the cold made everything feel even more alive.

There is something special about hill-station evenings. The air feels sharper, conversations feel lighter, and even random walking feels like an activity.

We clicked pictures, roamed around, looked at shops, sat for a while, ate food, and simply enjoyed being there.

After the long drive, snowfall excitement, hotel stress, heater betrayal, five-minute conspiracy and stair incident, Mall Road felt like the happy reward at the end of a chaotic chapter.

[IMAGE_08]

Prompt: Shimla Mall Road in winter evening with lights, cafes, shops, warm jackets and tourists walking, cinematic realistic travel photography, 16:9, high quality, no text

Caption: Mall Road finally appeared, and somehow the struggle made it feel even better.

Alt: Shimla Mall Road on a cold winter evening with lights and visitors.

The Momo Disaster

On the way back, we bought momos.

Now, in my mind, mountain momos had a certain reputation. Cold weather. Hot momos. Steam. Chutney. Happiness. A perfect ending.

That was the expectation.

Reality was something else.

Those were honestly the worst momos of my life.

I do not say this lightly. I respect momos. I believe in momos. I have forgiven many average momos in my life because the emotion behind momos is usually pure.

But these momos betrayed us.

They looked normal from outside, which made the betrayal worse. It was like they knew exactly how to build trust before disappointing everyone.

We ate them because we had paid for them, and also because cold weather makes people emotionally weak. But mentally, I registered the complaint permanently.

Back To The Hotel, Finally

After all this, we returned to the hotel.

By then we were tired in the best possible way. The kind of tired where your legs hurt, your face is cold, your phone gallery is full, and your mind keeps replaying the day in small scenes.

We had dinner, talked, laughed about everything that had happened, and settled into the room.

The heater was still not doing anything revolutionary, but at that point even complaining required energy.

So we accepted the cold, wrapped ourselves properly, and let the day end.

And honestly, what a day it had been.

Why This Shimla Trip Stayed With Me

When I think about this Shimla trip now, I do not remember it like a perfect vacation.

I remember it like a story.

The sudden Thursday plan.

Leaving Noida at 5 AM.

Seeing snow on rooftops and feeling both happy and slightly disappointed.

Turning around inside a cafe and suddenly seeing live snowfall.

Searching for hotels in the rain like we were solving a survival puzzle.

The heater that existed mostly for emotional support.

The endless “bas 5 minute” replies.

The stairs.

The two patients.

The temple.

Mall Road finally appearing like a reward.

And those tragic momos.

Sometimes the most memorable trips are not the ones planned perfectly. They are the ones that happen suddenly, make you adjust constantly, and leave you with stories that become funnier every time you retell them.

This Shimla trip was exactly that.

Unplanned. Cold. Funny. Slightly exhausting. Beautiful in the middle of all its chaos.

And yes, the next day’s adventure was already waiting for us.

But that first day had already given us enough memories to prove one thing clearly:

A trip planned only two days in advance can sometimes stay with you for years.