“Travel leaves marks on your memory, on your consciousness, on your
heart, and on your body. You take something with you. Hopefully, you leave something good behind.”
-Anthony Bourdain.
-Anthony Bourdain.
# Traveller
confession # 1:
I am a
stereotypical traveller who had Ladakh on my to-do lists for eons. I perused
tons of travel magazines and websites, drawing out the ultimate travel plan
with friends, for the millionth time, only to see it flop, again. I
romanticized my journey, a vivid picture in my mind’s eye, with a backpack and
DSLR in tow. I practiced my pose for the monumental photograph on Khardung La,colourful prayer flags fluttering in the
background and the sun bouncing off the snow. It was perfect. In June 2013,when
I finally did set foot in Ladakh,’ little Tibet’ as its fondly described, my
stomach churned and the chilly wind caused my heart to tremble. Nothing can
ever prepare you for the experience in Ladakh I realized.
As a
novice traveller, it would be expected of me to describe Ladakh, one of the
biggest, but sparsely populated provinces of Jammu and Kashmir in many
superlatives. Breathtaking, mind-blowing and beautiful are some that come to
mind. But being a tourist who visited it for only 8 days I run the risk of noticing
only the slick and shallow surface and not the truth beneath. I am too
pre-occupied clicking pictures of the snow and desperately hunting for momos.
Yet it’s the aura of the place, the subduing power of nature that makes every visitor,
be it a tourist or a seasoned army jawaan to want to tell his Ladakh story.
Thereby here is mine.
 |
| The town of Leh |
While many would recommend the arduous 29-hour
journey from Delhi to Leh, as a way to ease oneself through the difficult
terrain and also breathe in it’s splendor, we decided to take the easier option
of flying in. As the flight ascended
from Delhi, the smog and skyscraper filled skyline dramatically metamorphosed
into snow capped peaks that looked like little dollops of Vanilla ice cream.
Mountains, clouds, and snow stretched out for miles, and I had my first
insight; that I was now in the protection and the complete mercy of the
gigantic Himalayas.
The small and quaint Leh airport cut a very
scenic picture. It’s thick eclectic population and curious mix of Buddhism and
strong military presence; one of the many paradoxes of Ladakh struck me first.
Huge billboards welcomed the visitor with a gentle admonishment about the
possible onset of Altitude Sickness. “Don’t exert too much, just sleep. But
don’t sleep too much also,” mumbled our driver as he drove us to our abode for
the next few days,‘Hotel Asia’. “Don’t have a bath today madam. Your body need
to get used to the place,” the manager now joined in warning us. Reading the
bewildered expressions on our faces he then rambled for the next five minutes
giving a crash course; which sounded almost Zen-like, on the importance of
‘just being’ and acclimatizing to the conditions.
Traveller confession #2
Humility. Pack it with you. Consume lots of it. I
have been victim to cruel travel sickness on numerous occasions. Thus having
read tons of literature on altitude sickness, I packed a bag, short of being
called a mini pharmacy with packets of glucose and dry fruits to fuel the body
and a list of dos and don’t. Upon arrival, as expected altitude sickness
claimed its first victim; surprisingly the seemingly robust and athletic
husband. His face shrunk, and his body dwindled to a bout of vomiting. The man
who lived amongst and climbed the ‘Rockies’ for years, who was supremely confident
of being unaffected fell prey, while the sickly doctor’s child that I was sat
beside massaging his back, with a smirk. The dearth of oxygen, the elixir of
life, (something that we take for granted) is a very prominent and telling sign
in Ladakh. Climbing five stairs left me panting. Headaches were frequent and
piercing. Knees grew weak and an uneasy discomfort rumbled in the stomach.
Sudden pangs of anxiety about growing old and falling sick kept me awake. “
Don’t panic, you will only use up more oxygen” had joked the friendly and mild
mannered waiter while helping us with our luggage. “Stay calm and breathe in”.
He sounded like one of those ‘keep calm ‘posters. We lapped up the delicious
and hot lunch and retired early to bed. “The human body is a miracle, and
should never be underestimated," I said to myself the next day. My fragile
and weary body had recalibrated itself to the paucity in oxygen and I was ready
for our adventure. It's good to be prepared, but no amount of preparation can
foresee what is to beckon in Ladakh. Be modest and be ready.
 |
| Shanti Stupa,Leh |
Ladakh has
been touted as a tourism hot spot in the recent years. However its meteoric
rise to this status is not a result of government propagation or benevolence
but due to a movie that scorched 100 crores n the box office,’3 Idiots’. Prior
to the release of the movie the tourists were largely Europeans with a streak
of adventure, interest in Buddhism and oblivious to military and insurgent
activity in Jammu and Kashmir. Thanks to the climax sequence of ‘ 3 Idiots’
with Aamir Khan flying a kite near a jaw droppingly beautiful lake and a Kareena
Kapoor riding towards him in all her wedding finery, Ladakh had been put back
on the map. Since then, the locals informed us that there has been a steady
influx of domestic tourists. “We used to feel sad that our country people were
ignorant of this place, “ said a shopkeeper.
The truth is bitter and manifested itself when were introduced as
“Indians” wherever went. The recent downward trends in the world economy and
subsequent spiraling air tickets are a cause for concern again. “ It’s cheaper
to fly to London than to Ladakh,” chuckled Tashi, our extremely affable driver
and companion for the next eight days.
Dotted
with monasteries and prayer wheels every two kilometers, Ladakh is the seat of
Buddhism. Buddha statues punctuated every street corner and incredibly
photogenic prayer flags, (meant to ward off evil) uniformly decorated every
building in the province. Buddhism, as a way of life seemed unobtrusive and
extremely inclusive, with a pronounced emphasis on education; one of the very
admirable facets of the religion. Tara, the female incarnate of Buddha was
revered more than Siddhartha himself and every Buddhist shrine we visited had a
school attached, that encouraged tourists to take a tour. The little boys in
their maroon and yellow robes and matching indigenous 'red crocs' were trained
to welcome their visitors with refreshing black tea and answers to all possible
questions about their school and the education system. While some schools like
‘The Druck White Lotus’ has already received celebrity attention and
invitations for volunteering, thanks to ‘3 idiots’ once again, there were
numerous smaller institutions that required both monetary and volunteer help.
Some of the boys enamored by the gadgets and typical tourist like excitement
and ignorance that we exuded offered to take us to their classrooms. At the end
of the tour they were ready with their poses for the eventual photographs with
the 'exotic natives’, a habit perhaps acquired by incessant requests.
Though aptly christened Little Tibet, my quest
for eating thukpas and dim sums came to a grinding a halt when the hotel
manager later that day informed us that we would be served only North Indian
food, but according to our palette and on request. A few car journeys later,
Tashi, who often moonlighted as our tour guide explained the reason behind our disappointment.
Fearing possible violence, capture and persecution, most Tibetans had fled down
to the other states and safer parts of the country. Such an irony that to eat
Tibetan food we would have to go back to where we came from, Delhi.
Tall,
muscular, floppy hair, flashy local 'ray-ban' permanently perched on the
bridges of his nose, and an insatiable capacity for enthusiasm, Tashi won over
everybody; passerby’s, tourists, roadside vendors and certainly pretty Ladakh
girls with his high pitched “Juley, Juley”. Juley is 'hello’ in Ladakhi and as
per custom must be uttered twice in succession. The people of Ladakh, with
their sun burnt rose-tinted cheeks had an overall sunny disposition and were
very amicable. Every question and every pesky doubt was welcomed with a smile
and a battery of stories. Tashi hailed from a small village in interior Ladakh
and like many others came to Leh to work as a contract driver during the peak
season (June-Oct). Post October, when the entire region shut down due to the intense
and paralyzing winter, most people migrated to Delhi and Himachal Pradesh to
make a living while others kept themselves busy by volunteering with the
Army. The Army performed the rescue act
during the next 6 months by airdropping food five times a day. The admiration
and respect for the Indian Army was evident amongst the people of Ladakh
whenever they spoke. Army checkpoints at regular injunctions provided relief to
the tourists as well by offering medical aid and oxygen handys around the
clock. We could not leave Ladakh without our chests swelling in pride for our army
personnel.
Lamayuru:
The first
of our long road-trips began with the drive to Lamayuru. Lamayuru in Tibetan
meant 'moonscape’ and stayed true to its name. The landscape was sandy, with
undulating golden hillocks and crater like projections that formed a stark
contrast to the clear blue sky. Being a cold desert, the mornings were dry and
the sunlight harsh; making our eyes squint and develop a throbbing headache that
I wanted to sleep over. (it was almost impossible to travel in Ladakh without a
pair of sunglasses).Sweat shirts and fancy winter wear made an appearance only
in the night.
 |
| The Indus |
An icy
blue river, lucent and voluminous meandered along a rocky pathway, following us
through the entire drive. Observing the sense of awe on my face, Tashi in a
rather perfunctory manner announced that it was the 'Indus’.
The Indus!!From squiggling a tiny blue line
during a geography exam to actually witnessing the origin of the river on whose
bed our civilization took root and has given India it's name, was a moment that
I was left painfully bereft of any adjectives to describe how I felt. Sensing
my epiphany Tashi stopped the car at the next bend and jumped out. He urged us
to follow him as he ran down the slope towards the river. The water was pristine and freezing cold.
While some of us sat on the rocks immersed in silent reflection, the others
threw pebbles and watched them skid off the surface of the water. Before leaving, I made sure I collected few
pebbles, softened by years of river erosion. These were memorabilia that I
would cherish forever. “ We can do river rafting madam,” Tashi said, joyous
with the enthusiasm we had exhibited. Later that evening we did raft through
the river with several other families. It was exhilarating, despite the noisy kids;
the cool breeze ruffling the hair and water currents pulling us rookie rafters
hither and thither. But nothing could compete with the quiet moments spent on
the banks of the Indus, feet wading in the ice-cold water. It felt like a
subliminal connect with the bygones.
 |
| Lamayuru Moonsacpe |
Khardung-La
Next on the itinerary was the much-recommended
Khardung-la, the highest motorable pass in the world. We braced ourselves for
the long and impending journey. What befell was a terribly rocky and steep
drive up the mountains with a fast diminishing oxygen supply and dipping temperature.
We could neither sit nor sleep through the dizziness thanks to the road or the
lack of one. As the snow came closer, we added layers to our clothing. Perched
at the tip, sitting pretty, was a huge bright signage, partially covered by
clean, soft snow that read ' Welcome to Khardung la, you are now 18'0000 feet
above sea-level.’ That sight called for some frenzied picture taking! Its
customary to warm our stomachs with some mouth-watering, piping hot maggi, at
the highest restaurant in the world they said, and we did. Boy, that was amazing. 
Traveller confession #3
Visiting Ladakh is not like visiting the Niagara Falls,
a wonder that you admire from a safe distance, as a mute spectator, marveling
at the miracle that nature and casually move on. At Ladakh, you are in her territory;
you are but a tiny part in her mighty ecosystem, a speck in her existence. She
serenades you and yet subdues you. You feel small, insignificant and powerless.
Being the city dweller, I craved for the straight roads, the beauty of its
flatness and how kind it was to my back. Weary of hours and hours of travel
there were days when I dreamt of my bed and my bathroom. I longed for a giant
crane that would pick me up from Leh and airdrop me into my little home in
Bangalore, where I could crawl under the contours of my quilt and sleep
forever. I, the slave of the Internet longed for the familiar pattering of my
keyboard and the red notifications on my phone. There were days when I felt
lost and wanted to be found.
Pangong Lake
Soon the never-ending stretches of sandy hillocks
with grooves of melted snow set against cloudless skies got monotonous. Just
when we were longing for a distraction, a bright drop of teal emerged from the
edge of the horizon. Blue in its truest form and purest hue; arose the infamous
Pangong Lake. Pangong Lake formed the backdrop for the climax sequence in ‘3 Idiots’
where the friends discover Aamir Khan as the Tibetan ‘Phunsukh Wangdoo’. Shared
between India (20%) and China (80%) the massive expanse of a lake seemed to
contain every shade of blue and is a photographer's muse. International boundaries
blurred and made no sense as we sat mesmerized by the surreal and the
incredibly powerful and calming influence of the water. Tents were pitched out
for us to stay, replete with all the basic amenities and an excellent plumbing
system in place. The night was spent snuggled beneath several folds of woolen
blankets even as winds threatened to blow the tents away.
Traveller Confession # 4
India may be the largest democracy in the world.
We may have withstood several trials of conflict and adversity. We may take
pride in our unity despite the diversity. However a moment of truth dawns when
we witness the great two: Cricket and Bollywood and its indomitable power and
ability to bind people.
Great
conversation starters, any discussion about cricket and Bollywood made people happy,
share anecdotes and discuss their views feverishly. Tashi sang all the songs on
radio verbatim and insisted on taking us on an extensive tour of all the sites
where 'Jab tak hai jaan' was shot, and seemed eternally grateful to the makers
of '3 Idiots'. Katrina Kaif was his dream girl and he boasted of the lone
theatre that Leh had. Before leaving he made sure he copied the Bollywood song
collection from our iPods. With Bollywood around, the other passion of India
can certainly not be far behind.
170 kms across another mountain range and we were
famished and sleepy. But just as we were driving past a suspension bridge,
spots of bright yellow flickered at the distance. A cricket match was in progress.
Eleven 'No 7 jersey clad Dhoni’s' were battling it out with eleven other KKR
lookalikes at 12,000 feet above sea level, in the middle of the Karakoram
Range! We the three beleaguered CSK fans were ecstatic. After talking to a few
locals, we concluded that Ladakh is a haven of Dhoni fans. They adored the
small town boy turned world icon and confessed that they not only revered his
helicopter shot and cool head but wanted to emulate his road to success. It was
our moment of pride, CSK has fans from Kashmir to Kanyakumari we rejoiced. 
An overnight stay at Nubra Valley, a pit stop at
an Army museum and several walks through the Leh markets later it was time to
bid adieu. As the trip
progressed Tashi evolved into a friend. He dropped us back at the Leh Airport
with promises to visit us and have a plate of Idly and sambhar whenever he made
his dream trip down south. The elusive
trip to Ladakh was over. It was hard to believe.
Traveller
Confession # 5
Walking through
the cobbled pathways, scanning for beaded Tibetan jewellery in the neighborhood
flea markets, gulping a cup of masala chai, and gazing at the towering Himalayas,
watching little children in sweaters pick apricots off the sidewalk, playing with
the unusually furry dogs; feeling the wind dabbing your face with freshness and
early morning chill.
Traversing across Ladakh is an uplifting
experience both literally and figuratively. You understand your body. You
appreciate it, measure its constraints and push your boundaries. You learn to
live with nature. Perhaps the dearth of communication and endless open space
make it easy for the mind to ponder and mediate on the simplicity of life.
Ladakh is not just a check mark on a 'to-do' list to be stashed away ,or a
flashy Facebook upload, but valuable life lesson. This travel is not always pretty,
always comfortable. It hurts. It's overpowering. But that’s okay. It’s a
journey that changes you.
There is no such place as far away.
