My recent visit to Parvathamalai stirred a deep reflection on how profoundly social media can reshape our world—sometimes for the better, but often at a cost.
I first set foot on this sacred hill in 2016. Almost a decade later, in February 2025, I returned, only to find a place transformed almost beyond recognition. Back then, the quaint village of Thenmathimangalam—nestled at the base of the hill—had just a handful of shops. It exuded a rustic charm, untouched and serene. I still remember sipping a cup of tea made with rich, creamy milk. As someone who rarely drinks tea or coffee, I surprised myself by having a second cup.
The memories from that first visit remain vivid and dear. (You can still read my 2016 blog post on Parvathamalai for a glimpse of that time.)
The Winds of Change
Change, as we know, is inevitable. But some changes leave a sense of loss that’s hard to reconcile with. My recent trip to Parvathamalai was one such experience.
Thenmathimangalam is now dotted with numerous shops and hotels, driven by the growing popularity of the temple. A newly laid road has made the area more accessible, and autorickshaws now shuttle devotees directly to the base of the hill. Along the way, commercial establishments—lodges, eateries, and souvenir stalls—have mushroomed, especially to serve the weekend influx.
Back in 2016, my college friend and I wandered around cluelessly, searching for the way up. There was only a narrow, dusty trail leading us forward. We were greeted by the crow of roosters at dawn. Today, those natural sounds have been replaced—sadly—by the relentless honking of vehicles.
While chatting with a local shopkeeper, I couldn’t help but ask, “Anna, how did this rapid commercialization happen?” His answer was simple in one word: “YouTube, Thambi.”
It was a moment of realization. As we scroll endlessly through YouTube videos, Instagram reels, and Facebook stories, we don’t always recognize the ripple effects of our digital choices. Content virality brings awareness, yes—but it also brings exploitation.
Booming Economy, Bleeding Ecology
Real estate prices have soared. Locals benefit financially from tourism. The state collects an entry fee of ₹10 from each visitor. In theory, this revenue could support better infrastructure. But the visible damage to the environment tells a different story.
The raw, natural beauty that once defined Parvathamalai is now compromised. Though plastic screening is conducted at the entrance, it’s ironic—and frustrating—that shops lining the hill sell food items in plastic wrappers. As a result, the slopes are littered with garbage, tarnishing the once-pristine surroundings.
I still remember the taste of freshly prepared paniyaram, a beloved regional delicacy. It’s now nearly extinct—replaced by packaged biscuits, soft drinks, and water bottles.
Devotion Without Responsibility
It’s disheartening that most devotees behave irresponsibly. Chanting “Om Namah Shivaya” with great fervor, they simultaneously leave behind heaps of plastic. What use is devotion if it’s not accompanied by mindfulness toward the very nature that nurtures this sacred space?
Despite periodic clean-up drives by NGOs and volunteers, the damage is overwhelming. Plastics have found their way into places you’d never imagine—some irretrievable.
A Call for Consciousness
This blog might sound like a lament, but it is grounded in reality. The situation is dire, and if we don’t act now, the ecological and cultural sanctity of Parvathamalai may never recover.
Change starts with us. If you’re planning a visit, go as a pilgrim, not a consumer. Let’s strive to be more aware, more respectful, and more responsible. Only then can we hope to preserve the spirit of Parvathamalai for generations to come.
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