How Shillong Became the “Scotland of the East”?

There are certain nicknames that feel so natural you almost forget to ask where they came from and the title of Shillong, “Scotland of the East,” is one of them. For decades, travellers, researchers, and locals have repeated the phrase, but the story behind it is more layered than a simple comparison of landscapes. It blends historical encounters, colonial impressions, and the region’s own cultural temperament—creating a nickname that has endured long after the context that coined it has faded.

Most historians trace the origin of the phrase to British officers who travelled through the Khasi Hills in the 19th century. When they first reached the plateau where modern Shillong stands, they were struck by its cool climate, rolling green slopes, and mist-heavy mornings. Many compared the scenery to the Scottish Highlands they had left behind. The British Indian administration later established Shillong as the capital of the Chief Commissioner’s Province of Assam in 1874, and that early association with Scotland became part of how they promoted the new hill station—as a familiar, temperate refuge for Europeans living in the subcontinent.

But the nickname was not just the product of a nostalgic colonial imagination. Shillong’s geography genuinely stood apart from the tropics surrounding it. At 4,900 feet above sea level, the city offered a climate that hovered between mild and cool throughout the year. The hills around it, especially Mylliem and Laitkor ridges, created a sense of enclosure similar to the valley towns of northern Britain. The monsoon, instead of being harsh, wrapped the place in drifting fog and soft rain that felt strangely European to the British settlers. This natural setting, combined with the availability of open land, encouraged them to build cottages, churches, and administrative buildings in architectural styles borrowed directly from home. Many of these structures still stand today, giving parts of Shillong an aesthetic continuity with the British hill stations of the Himalayan belt.

Over time, the name gained a life beyond its colonial roots. Visitors who came without any British connection also saw what made the analogy fit: the emerald meadows of Upper Shillong, the cloud-covered ridges that frame every horizon, and the lakes that appear unexpectedly in the valleys. Ward’s Lake, which was originally built for British officers, became a quiet picnic spot for locals, while the sweeping views from Shillong Peak gave generations of travellers a sense of the city’s amphitheatre-like geography.

Yet what anchors the nickname today is not nostalgia but identity. Shillong is a crossroads of indigenous culture—particularly Khasi and Jaintia traditions—and modern urban energy. The city blends music, literature, and community life with an unhurried pace shaped by its climate. The cool air encourages outdoor gatherings; the rainy months cultivate introspection; the terrain itself shapes how people move, build, and socialise. The comparison to Scotland becomes less literal and more symbolic: it signals a place where nature and culture coexist with a certain quiet dignity.

In many ways, Shillong never needed to be “like Scotland” to get recognition. But the nickname acts as a bridge—an entry point that allows outsiders to imagine a style of landscape and atmosphere before they experience it firsthand. Once they do, the comparison feels insufficient. Behind the borrowed title is a city with its own character, enriched by its hills, its history, and its people—distinct enough to fill the phrase with new meaning across generations