Finding Neverland

“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.  

# 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

Five hours later, destination Lamayuru arrived. Lamayuru was the quintessential Himalayan village, nestled in the slopes of a picturesque valley, uninhabited and detached from any form of urban connect. The forced digital detox was a blessing as we sat by the fire, warming our fingers with teacups and staring into space. Sleep came early and instantly. 

 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.