Tourism Without Limits
By Nicholas Jason Iangrai
A week ago, I came across an Instagram reel shared by the proprietor of a local tour company. He wrote: “We do not usually disclose the location of any place that is new or not known to many people. There are several places we explore ourselves, but we often choose not to post pictures, make reels, or create content simply to gain followers or likes. This is because, even if you do not reveal the exact location, once a reel of a place goes up on the internet, within a few weeks or months you will see so-called influencers, waterfall chasers, and travellers rushing to these spots.”
It was refreshing to read this because it provoked a thought I’ve carried with me for a long time. Too often, a hidden spot remains pristine until it blows up on Instagram. Then, almost overnight, footfalls multiply and what was once a serene corner becomes crowded, polluted, and in danger of losing the very essence that made it special.
Tourism undeniably brings jobs and income. As a labour-intensive service industry, it has opened opportunities for guides, home-stay owners, and local food and beverage operators, among countless others who rely on visitors for their livelihoods. Especially in our state, where the sector has a significant impact on the economy, tourist arrivals have steadily increased over time, but as with any fast-growing sector, the question we must ask is: at what cost?
The Meghalaya Tourism Policy 2023 itself recognises this fragility. Its very first core guiding principle is Sustainable and Responsible Tourism, which explicitly acknowledges that Meghalaya lies in the Indo-Burma biodiversity hotspot and therefore requires thoughtful care. Under this, the Policy speaks of respecting the carrying capacity of destinations. The UN World Tourism Organization defines this as “the maximum number of people that may visit a tourist destination at the same time, without causing destruction of the physical, economic, and socio-cultural environment, and without an unacceptable decrease in the quality of visitors’ satisfaction.”
Yet despite this principle being laid down, what we see on the ground is often the opposite: places are being pushed beyond their natural limits. In many cases, it has been the Dorbar Shnong and community members who have had to step in by regulating entry, setting fees, or even temporarily closing areas to protect them.
A striking example is the canyon-like rock formations at Mawrah village in Khat-ar Shnong Laitkroh block. The spot exploded last year in popularity after Instagram reels showcased its dramatic landscape. Within weeks, the village decided to temporarily restrict entry simply to give the land a chance to breathe and to deliberate on safeguards for the future. It was a firm reminder that while social media may create instant fame, it rarely accounts for long-term sustainability.
This concern was also raised by Emica Nongkynrih in a letter to the editor (The Shillong Times, August 26, 2025). She questioned whether the government, while promoting tourism through festivals, ropeways, skywalks and other attractions, has considered the strain this puts on our infrastructure and people’s daily lives. Roads in areas like Kenches Trace, Lawsohtun, or Lumparing are already congested. How will they bear the added traffic and parking pressure from projects like the ropeway? As she noted, even a single football match or music show can throw Shillong off balance. Now imagine that on a much larger and permanent scale. The bigger question she posed was whether our infrastructure and planning are moving in tandem with our ambitions, or whether we are rushing ahead blindly.
The issue is not merely ecological. It is also cultural and social. Villages that possess these natural assets are rarely involved in planning how tourism should unfold in their backyards. More often than not, they are left to clean up the mess, both literal and figurative, while outsiders benefit from content creation or short-term business. Many travel agencies, based in the city or even outside the state, operate independently without involving villagers. This sidelines communities from decision-making, leaving them as passive recipients instead of active stakeholders. In reality, villagers should be at the very forefront of tourism, not treated as mere beneficiaries.
Khonoma Village in Nagaland provides the most compelling example. Once known for hunting, it transformed into India’s first “Green Village” through community-driven conservation. This model demonstrates exactly what we need here: community custodianship and ownership. All conservation and tourism activities are carried out by the local community and village institutions formed under the guidance of the Village Council. Bodies such as the Khonoma Youth Organisation and Eco-Tourism Management Committees are actively involved in decision-making, with the authority to even grant certain permissions or impose fines. This shows how a village, by placing itself at the centre of planning, can balance livelihoods with preservation.
This is why the conversation must shift from “eco-tourism” as a fashionable label to actual mechanisms of controlled and restricted tourism. Eco-tourism, when left unchecked, too often becomes a convenient tagline to justify business as usual.
Villagers know their land best—they understand how much it can take, when it needs rest, and what rules are necessary to protect it. Community custodianship, then, is not just about conservation but also about empowerment, ensuring that those who live closest to the land are also its strongest defenders, economically and socially. Meghalaya does not need to look far for proof: Mawlynnong village has successfully managed tourism growth while maintaining its environmental standards, with systematic measures like visitor counters at entrances, rules explained to tourists, and robust waste management.
The state already has the policy framework, successful regional examples, and strong community structures to build on. The path forward lies in trusting communities, so that tourism benefits both the land and local livelihoods, rather than being driven by external promotion at the expense of people and the environment. Initiatives like the Tourist Buddy Scheme, launched by the Tourism Department in 2024, are encouraging in this regard, especially as they engage local youth. Yet their impact will depend on how far communities are truly given the authority to guide tourism, rather than merely participate. The scheme is currently rolling out at select prime locations, but Meghalaya has numerous tourist spots, many of them in remote areas. Scaling it will be challenging, which is why Meghalaya’s future in tourism depends on a community-led approach above all else.
