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I recently watched a video of a woman in New Zealand stopping at an unmanned vegetable stall along a quiet national highway. She picked what she needed, placed her money in a box, and drove away. No shopkeeper. No CCTV. Just trust.
At the end of the video, she mentioned something that caught my attention — she said a similar culture of honesty exists in India too, in a small state in the Northeast. That state was Mizoram.
During 2015-16, I had a chance to visit Mizoram. I flew into Lengpui Airport from Kolkata, after a long day that had started early morning in Delhi. Tired from the journey, I went straight to my hotel in Aizawl.
Being from the Northeast myself, I knew the sun sets early here. My hotel room was unusually quiet. Assuming everything outside had shut down for the evening, I stepped out for dinner around 6:30-6:45 pm.
What I found was completely unexpected. The streets were alive with traffic, shops were open, and life was moving smoothly. But what truly amazed me was something else — people were barely honking their horns. Everyone followed traffic rules calmly and patiently. It was nothing like the noisy, chaotic traffic I was used to seeing in other parts of India.
Even more striking — two-wheelers were parked along the roadside with the keys still in the ignition. No fear. No locks. Just complete trust in the people around them.
The next morning, I set out for Serchhip, a small town in the Serchhip district, located about 888 metres above sea level. A young Mizo friend accompanied me, and we travelled in a shared Sumo cab.
Along the way, the cab driver casually mentioned that we had just crossed the Tropic of Cancer. For the locals, it was nothing special — just another part of the daily route. For me, it was a moment I wished I had photographed. I made a mental note to capture it on the way back.
Midway through the journey, we stopped at a small roadside restaurant for refreshments. Since I don’t drink tea or coffee, I waited outside the restaurant and enjoying the surrounding beauty, keeping an eye on the cab and my belongings — a laptop and a few bags. I was in an unfamiliar place and, naturally, I was being cautious.
From where I stood, I noticed a woman walking to our cab a few times and then going back inside. I didn’t think much of it at first, assuming she was another passenger. A little while later, everyone was ready to leave, and we continued towards Serchhip.
After about 10 to 15 minutes on the road, I reached for my water bottle — the one I had left half-finished on the front seat. It was missing. Then I noticed all the bottles in the cab had been neatly placed back and refilled with fresh water.
I turned to my local friend, puzzled. He smiled and explained — the restaurant owner had quietly collected all the half-finished water bottles during the break, refilled them with fresh water, and placed them back. No charge. No announcement. It was simply something she did for every traveller who stopped by.
I am not sure if this culture prevails everywhere in Mizoram, but I have noticed it wherever I had been during this short span of 3-4 days.
This is a place where people trust strangers with their keys, where a restaurant owner refills your water without being asked, and where daily life runs on quiet honesty rather than rules and restrictions.
Mizoram’s culture may seem very strange to outsiders, but it holds a unique charm. Beyond the stunning hilly terrain, visitors should come to Mizoram not only to witness nature’s beauty but also to experience the honesty of the Mizo people. Their sincerity and warmth are truly remarkable.
That, more than anything, is what I carried back with me from Mizoram.
Palash Baruah is a Researcher at Delhi
Views expressed are the author’s own and don’t necessarily reflect those of Down To Earth
