I am just back from mountains after a dizzy twelve day sojourn. At the high altitudes of 11, 15, 17 and 18 thousand feet I felt breathless and enormously hapless yet given a chance to go back I would grab it unconditionally, so strong is the lure of mountains for me. Is it even normal or do I have a vagabond gene. It may be my constant conditioning of moving from place to place with my father and then with my husband. Both had transferable jobs. 

One needs to travel to see how divided are our people. For us Kashmir is one state but Kasmiris feel a lot of angst against Ladakhis for having taken away their tourists. After Kargil war and the motion picture Three Idiots all tourists go to Ladakh; earlier they loved Srinagar and Pahalgam. Peaceful Ladakh, home to ancient monasteries, only attracted international Buddhist travelers but now any traveler worth his salt must visit Ladakh. Tourism has grown rapidly and within the six months when the roads are accessible millions throng on the banks of serene Pangong.

To cater to swelling tourism there has been atrocious unplanned mushrooming of substandard hotels, guesthouses and home-stays. Kashmiris, more aware and smarter due to longer exposure have unscrupulously grabbed almost all the business in Ladakh and pushed the simple Ladakhis to the periphery. One would think growing business would bring greater opportunity and happiness to all but it has deepened the schism, divided the people and caused animosity and jealousy among them. One would also think that the long suffering terrorism ravaged people would be automatically united but I was sad to see how they both mutually hated each other. 

Then we also heard the gory tales of torture of the common people by the army. This is bound to happen because the innocent also get caught for the crime of their brethren. I love Kashmir so much and I am deeply perturbed with these new insights and am bound to find an amicable solution.    

Leh: A Revelation

An incessantly gnawing worm of a road trip to Leh, Ladakh had been growing in my salubrious mind space ever since Katha di had described her adventurous journey to me eight years ago. The persistent desire had been incubating quietly. I had made the proposal to my family several times but the genuine scare of high altitudes got the proposal declined. A quick air journey was upheld as a practical alternative but even that eluded. So the dismal feeling that this may never happen had crept in and spread its scrawny spider legs. 

In May when Delhi heat was terrorizing, from Canada, floated a friend’s query whether I was interested in a road trip to Leh and I jumped at the possibility. With no follow up I thought it was just a passing fancy. May be an intellectual discussion on the bane of travelling to rarefied atmosphere had put her off. But she was at it and had garnered another friend’s assent. To break even she wanted two three people more. She invited my sister and her daughter but they declined. I had complete faith in my Canadian friend. I was sure that if she was at the helm we will go. True to my belief she found another friend of hers who agreed. Perhaps four was economically not ideal but we were game. She applied for leave so that she could reach India on 5th June. We planned a relaxed twelve day trip starting on the 8th June which suited me fine because my sister was coming back from Goa on 7th evening.

Before the tour I had an uneasy churning in my stomach. Various questions bombarded my peace: I am nearly sixty and not agile athletic either – would I be able to make it? If I fell ill I would spoil everyone’s fun. The other ladies were much younger and the youngest was quite stubborn. I had never met her but the few conversations that I had on phone were enough to give me restlessness. Would I gel with her? One friend created a whatsapp group called Leh Dreams on which he posted the flexible itinerary and the costs. All of us posted our questions and suggestions on it. 

On 8th June morning I woke up inebriated with a cocktail of excitement and anxiety to catch a flight to Srinagar. My husband was dropped me at the airport three hours before the flight anticipating heavy rush and long lines due to children’s summer vacation. T3 was pulsating with expectancy but the line was short. I got my boarding pass soon and had to wait for two and a half hours. Finally boarding began and with a sublime smile I entered the plane. I realized that I was flying solo after twenty three years. The realization did not dent my confidence nor my joy.

Though I had a window seat but the wing obscured my vision. That I would not be able to capture meandering serpentine Jhelum and the fields in varying shades of life made me a trifle sad. In my previous flights also I had missed taking pictures of the many yellows of the mustard fields because my attention was so intensely fixed that I had no will to shift my gaze to take pictures. 

Landing on Srinagar airport I could believe in the fulfillment of my Leh dreams. The overpowering thrill of being in Srinagar was invigorating. At once I wanted to be on the lake but I had to collect my red suitcase from the conveyer belt. I walked briskly and purposely towards the designated belt and found my friend who had just arrived from Amritsar. Seeing a familiar face enhanced my comfort. The red bag took eons to arrive so when I sighted it I was happy and collected it with much alacrity.  

Friend and I went to the hotel because our travel agent had offered to make another trip to pick up the two ladies arriving from Chandigarh. The hotel lobby was overcrowded and a cacophony of buzzing bees. A large group from Maharashtra had just arrived and the manager had not been able to allot them rooms of their choice. The harried manager requested us to sit down for a while. The driver announced that he was going for the afternoon namaz of the last Jumma before Eid. As we sat I saw Kahwa being brought for the Marathi group and asked for it. The manager smiled apologetically and said he was the only one holding fort while all others had gone for namaz. By and by the staff returned and our Kahwa came.

The deep yellow, extra sweet and non fragrant kahwa offered here was a poor caricature of the divine drink I was impatiently looking forward to. After some more patient waiting our driver informed us that we had to go to a different hotel. Our luggage was reloaded and we left for the other hotel. Comparing only the lobby I could see that this was a better hotel. Our welcome drink came soon. This time it was much diluted orange juice. We gulped it down and waited for rooms to be allotted. The extremely handsome and courteous manager came to us and told us that he had upgraded us to a deluxe room. He took us to the room and had our luggage brought there. Then I asked him, “Where is our second room?” He looked askance. So there had been a mistake. He thought that only we two from a party of four had been able to come and so he gave us a better bigger room instead of two rooms. When I asked for the other room he was a bit hesitant. He could not give us one big room and another small room but I explained to him that it suited us perfectly. The gentleman could take the smaller room and we three ladies the bigger one.

The gentleman went to his room to have bath and I decided to catch a few winks before ladies from Chandigarh arrived. Hardly must I have closed my eyes when there was a knock on the door. I jumped to open the door. The two ladies entered. We chatted animatedly over tea and fine tuned our travel agenda.

To avoid the bright sun we set out quite late for Srinagar tour. We started off with the shikara ride. Soon a jewelry seller on another shikara accosted us and enticed us with bracelets, ear danglers and rings which were bought after much haggling. I showed the various landmarks visible from the lake: the Taj Vivanta, Shankaracharya, Hazratbal mosque, the fort and Pari Mahal to freinds. The majestic houseboats, the colorful shikaras, the families of ducks, the floating market and the surrounding mountains presented an incredibly beautiful sight. I divulged that every time I go to Shankaracharya I pray to God to bring me back to lovely Kashmir. 

In both Nishat Bagh and Chashme Shahi the swarna champa trees were laden with fragrant blooms and enamored us. The seasonal flowers added color and beauty. The majestic, nearly five hundred years old Chinar trees provided the link from the inception of these gardens at Jahangir’s behest to now. We lay down and enjoyed the music of running water from fountains. Then washing our faces in the pure and chilly water from Chashme Shahi we felt instantly revived. We took pictures of the setting sun from a high terrace of Nishat Bagh and were tired enough to call it a day. 

Very early next morning my roommates went for a walk. I didn’t want to leave behind all my cash nor risk taking it along so I refrained from going for the walk. I got ready by the time they came back. We were to leave for Kargil after breakfast. Piling up our luggage at the back after folding the rear seats we began our journey and realized that only four people could fit in comfortably. Our excitement grew palpable when we saw that we were traveling along Sindhu River. When I saw the road come down to the level of the river requesting the driver to stop for a while I took off my shoes and socks and ran to dip my feet in water. Friends followed and took pictures. For quite a distance we were on the same level as the river and then continued to go along the river’s course. We did not stop at Sonamarg because the local pony walas surrounded us cajoling us to take a pony ride up to the glacier. I had fallen an innocent pray to these pestering locals just a couple of years back so was smarter now.

A little ahead we stopped for lunch. Maggi was the safest bet. Kahwa was the need of the hour. The accompaniment of mellifluous songs of Kishore Kumar and Rafi made the tough mountain journey quite enjoyable. Passing from Zojila and Drass we reached the site where Kargil war was fought and to commemorate the martyrdom of soldiers a memorial now stands there proudly. An exceptionally tall Indian flag adorns the memorial. We paid our respects to the martyrs and saw the interesting war memorabilia displayed in the museum. Gauging the loftiness of the mountains I tried to visualize the unequal war and offered my tribute to the supreme sacrifice of soldiers.

Going along Sindhu River we reached Kargil. Our hotel here was old, tiny and frugal but our rooms in the new building which had a huge open terrace overlooking the river akin to a jetty were quite smug. Excited like a child I ran to sit on the farthest edge of the jetty, closest to the river. Sitting there and I enjoyed tea and talked to my children. I felt overwhelmed in the proximity of a fast flowing river bound by mountains. From where I sat I saw a beautiful park along the river so I called my friends and we went for a walk in the park. This park was a part of tourists facilitation centre created by J&K tourism development authority. In this complex there was a budget hotel and a charming riverside restaurant with a sit-out laid with bolsters and mattresses for relaxed seating on the floor to enjoy hookas. But we had no time to sit on the lavish floor arrangement and enjoy hookas. We went back to our hotel for dinner. The soup was warm and welcoming. Rest of the food was simple fare, daal and rice. 

We got up early next morning to explore Kargil on foot. We walked quite a distance along the river and discovered a tall slender tree whose tiny seeds burst out to release cotton swabs. Ever since we came to Kargil we found silky cotton bits gathered as graying garbage along the two edges of road where it merged with mud footpath, in the corners of our room and on our clothes and hair. This cotton came from trees with small florets arranged in a two inches long inflorescence resembling a raw green mulberry fruit. When the little florets dried their miniature seeds split to throw out tiny swabs of silky cotton. The whole area was strewn with these cotton balls. We wondered whether the local people used it as cotton or not because these trees were widespread local fauna. After silky cotton wild pink roses caught our attention and we plucked two each to wear in our ears from an abundantly blooming bush. Even though Kargil was associated with war yet we found it as pretty and simple as the wild pink roses with only five petals. The town was still asleep except for the responsible matrons washing, scrubbing and cleaning their balconies and houses. The matrons were strict and didn’t smile frivolously at us. We didn’t find any tea kiosk for the morning cuppa and had to go back to our hotel for it. On the way we admired the river and the land it lovingly irrigated to yield a crop of wheat. The wheat in plains is harvested in March but due to cold climate here the wheat was still velvety shiny green and not ready to be harvested. 

We went to the quaint restaurant above the reception area for tea but smelling omelets and toasted bread we got hungry. Troubled by my stomach’s non co-operation I gave eggs and toasts a complete miss. I asked for curds and cornflakes. Just then a big Bengali group entered and filled the restaurant. We were drowned in animated Bengali conversations first and then in the aroma of alu-dom accompanied by stacks of spotless dainty white loochis. The hunger arousing whiff emanating from alu-dom cooked with generous amount of kacha longka and kalongii evoked nostalgia. In my faltering baby like Bangla I addressed the gentleman who was serving, “Nomoshkar Dada! Ki aamiyo loochi paabe? Aamiyo loochi khete chaii.” I was sure of winning him over. As predicted Dada was all smiles when he brought us the deeply desired loochis and alu-dom. Registering dhonyobad we went back to get ready to travel ahead. 

 We went up the mountain along the river. For a hundred kilometers the pink rose bushes added color to the gradually fading vista. Around lunch time we reached Lamayuru. We took a break here to see the monastery and have lunch. The safest bet was Maggi here and I faithfully stuck to it. A dozen little boys in monks’ maroon and golden yellow uniform were also merrily slurping their soupy Maggi sitting around a table and looked very cute. Their long robes, bald fair heads and red cheeks drew the attention of all the tourists. One old south East Asian lady with translucent parchment skin and an exaggerated hat gave her fancy DSLR Camera to a waiter to click her picture with joyful little monks. She went to the far edge of the long table and inserted herself in the tight group. Telling the monks to say cheese she signaled the waiter to take the picture. This set a trend for all and sundry and by the time all tourists were done with the photo the children were veterans at saying cheese and posing. Not wanting to interrupt their enjoyment of Maggi I refrained. 

Situated on top of the ochre hill the maroon, golden yellow and white monastery at Lamayuru matched the majestic standard of the other monasteries. Capturing the picturesque monastery in our mind and camera we moved ahead.  Poplar trees, slender and tall and some shrubs along the river bank bravely held high the flag of greenery among the arid ochre monochrome. Presently, the mountains emerged from under the cover of foliage and were bare, rugged, rocky and at times muddy and sandy. I had purposely worn red to break the dull monotone. The rocks had taken interesting shapes due to weathering and wind. The one that had me auspiciously arrested was the shape of Ganpati ji. Further on we spotted anthill like shapes. Then there appeared what looked like a cluster of temples with tall spires in a holy city like Benaras or Bhubaneswar. We kept going along the river. The river was frothy and furious mostly but became placid and content also sometimes. The mountains had been cut to create the road and right in front of the car the mountain formed an overhung canopy and we passed from underneath it. Along came a few more of such wondrous canopies. We felt precarious caught in the clasp of stony mountain. The stratified rocks ahead resembled numerous old hardbound files stacked and forgotten in a municipal office. Further they looked as if the stacks had fallen and the files were all haphazardly oriented, some horizontal, some slanting and some vertical. Then the rugged texture changed to resemble old, grainy, wiry, dried, desiccated wood. For kilometers we had been witnessing bare mountains and were now paying greater attention to their shapes and textures. A stray rose bush offered a welcome refrain.  Post lunch I was somnolent but I fought to remain awake so as not to miss the silhouettes being conjured up by the mountains. I knew I would never again make this fabulous journey because it was really tough. On high altitudes of more than ten thousand feet, I encountered breathing difficulty. As a precaution we had taken the blood thinning medicine suggested by the experienced chemist and had also bought a small oxygen cylinder which resembled a can of perfume spray. All of us needed a few puffs of oxygen to aid labored breathing.

I admired the resilience of life when I saw the tiny islands in the river which appeared green due to the growth of moss and small grass. There were cows, goats, sheep, yaks and donkeys grazing on these tiny oases of green grass. All these animals looked very innocent without any streaks of vile wickedness and the same could be interpolated to the human species found here. 

Snow clad mountain peaks peeked from behind the bare rocky mountains. The road was good and we marveled at the tough work done by bro, Border Roads Organization. We reached the famed Gurudwara Patthar Sahib and got down for darshan (seeing) of the holy shrine. Before entering we covered our heads in reverence with the offered scarves. I rolled up my trousers because I knew I would have to walk through ankle deep water to wash my feet before entering the Gurudwara. Inside was a big stone on which one could discern the impression of a head and a body. The story says that Guru Nanak dev was meditating when a rock rolled down the mountain slope and hit him. Due to the momentum his body got indented into the solid rock on collision. However, the impact had no effect on him and his concentration remained unbroken. This miracle motivated his Sikh disciples to make a gurudwara here. Now Indian army maintains the gurudwara with great devotion and care. We received the Kadha Prasad and had hot and sweet masala tea with a rusk in Langar at Gurudwara.

Today’s journey took us to the confluence of Rivers Sindhu and Zaskar and magnetic hills. But being tired we continued the journey to Leh. On reaching Leh our taxi driver tried to locate the hotel that was booked for us. He stopped and asked various people, shop keepers, smart youngsters and even policemen but no one could tell anything about our hotel. While he was doing so I saw a monastery perched high up on a hill shining brilliant as the last rays of the setting sun fell on it. It was an exquisite sight to behold and photograph worthy but we were exhausted and worried about finding our hotel. As my gaze travelled down I detected a beautiful new Church. But I got distracted by huge green boards with names of hotels and guest houses and their directions that Leh Municipality had installed. We scanned three boards from top to bottom with a bout twenty five to thirty names painted on them in a rather small font but to no avail. Seeing us so harassed, a helpful local told the way but we found the road was dug up and had to retrace our progress. Another route was tried without any success. By this time our patience had dried up leaving in its wake severe irritation. This entire quest should have conveyed to us that our hotel was absolutely new. 

It was situated on an uneven mud path far removed from the road. Consequently we were all in terrible humor when we finally climbed the inconveniently high portal of Hotel Khardungla. They should have made one more step but they were waiting for the road to be constructed to raise the level. As we entered the room my friends were even more infuriated because it was large but almost bare except for a double bed. We were three ladies so we needed three beds. When we asked for an additional bed the hotel boys got a very narrow mattress and put it on the floor. This acted as the proverbial oil in the fire. The ladies demanded to talk to the authorities in the hotel as well as our travel operator. We talked to everyone but the issues could not be resolved. According to my friends I displayed brilliant oratory while driving home the point to our tour operator. Having no choice at all and being very tired we agreed to stay there at least for that night. 

Post dinner we went for a stroll to the new L-shaped market plaza being developed for tourists. As we found our way in poorly lit area we came across Gurudwara Daatoon Sahib which was built around a tree from which Guru Nanak Dev had plucked a twig to use as a daatoon. Carefully feeling the dark, uneven path we treaded cautiously to reach the dazzling new market plaza.  The shops displayed alluring local merchandise. We entered the one selling carpets and profusely appreciated the carpets and durries in unique as well as popular designs and motifs. We particularly liked a durri in muted dark shades with geometrical symmetrical pattern. To show genuine interest we asked the prices of different carpets shown to us and discussed the various sizes and their suitability in small pigeon hole flats in modern urban metropolis or their unwieldiness in transportation. We completed the round and went back to rest. 

Next morning we went for a morning walk to get our bearings. We realized that the sleepy peaceful town was trying to prepare itself to accommodate the ever swelling throngs of tourists in a jiffy. It had not grown gradually through an organic process but under quick commercial compulsions. Hectic construction activity was on. The hotels were half baked, the roads dug up and the restaurants were rickety shacks. I felt sorry for the bruised open wounded town in terrible disarray. 

Amidst the grotesque we spotted a quaint oasis and entered the inviting gates of this hotel. My friends wanted to compare the tariff and facilities offered but being sapped of energy I sat down at the reception with a news paper. A pleasant old gentleman came and stood near me. He remarked that I looked drained of color and weak. He said everyone needs time to get acclimatized so I should have rested and not come for a walk. He offered me a cup of tea. I surmised that he was the owner of this hotel. In the glow of customized lemon tea honest conversation flew satin smooth. We discovered that he and I were neighbors in Delhi. When my friends came back after checking the rooms they also partook in the tea service. They made an observation that most business in Leh was in the hands of Kashmiris. This touched a raw painfully throbbing nerve in our host Mr. Wangchuk. He implored me to write about this anomaly on social media as well as in the national dailies. He entrusted me with this responsibility and I promised to fulfill it. After fond goodbyes and hopes of keeping in touch we hurried towards Khardungla Hotel. En route aroma of freshly baking bread filled our hungry spirits and propelled us to buy one from an old dark sooty dilapidated Tandoor. We took it with us when we went to the restaurant for breakfast. I faithfully stayed with my curd and cornflakes while my friends relished the fresh hot bread with butter. 

Next morning, Shey Palace and monastery was our first stop. The climb on the dry dusty muddy path to Shey Palace and monastery was quite taxing though the view from up there was worth the effort. On top one could see the ramparts of the palace and parts of the monastery and looking down, the river serenading with poplars. Breathless I reached the courtyard where two big auspicious lamps stood and strong pleasant incense assailed my senses. I sat down to catch my breath and to take off my shoes. A friendly group returning after darshan came and sat next to me to put on their shoes and we got talking. They filled me in with significant details about our journey ahead because they had been to Nubra Valley and also to Pangong Lake. They suggested that we buy a small oxygen cylinder and carry with us and that we must keep ourselves properly hydrated. We went to Hemis monastery next but we had lunch in its canteen before going in. Inside the monastery was a large sprawling courtyard and there a big group of monks was dancing in a circle on live music of drums and cymbals. I sat there enjoying and comparing their dance moves with Garba dance of Gujarat. Took some pictures and videos and then went inside the monastery for seeing serene Buddha statue. The frescoes were bright and apparently freshly painted. I took a few pictures here also. I found a very angry and destructive deity in sharp contrast to Buddha. I juxtaposed the two pictures together and captioned it Peace and Power. There was a shop and also a museum here but I do not understand the Buddhist symbols and paraphernalia so I sat out and waited for my friends.

Next was Thiksey Monastery but being very tired I gave it a miss and just admired the view from the car.

All set with an oxygen cylinder next morning we left for Nubra Valley. The driver was a young Ladakhi boy full of angst against the Kashmiris which poured out in all his remarks. Otherwise he was quite courteous and particularly worried about my breathlessness. At Khardungla top, on one of the highest motorable road in the world, I felt dizzy. A few puffs of oxygen were helpful. Maggi and Kahwa at Wanderers’ Café at the altitude of 17,982 Feet were also helpful. 

Again we were driving along a river. Surprisingly the span of the river kept expanding gradually to resemble the span of Ganga in Allahabad and Patna. The flattening terrain robbed the river’s speed and ferocity and rendered it languorous and placid. Sand dunes such as we saw in Jaisalmer near the border with Pakistan made a dramatic entry. Along came the double humped long haired short Bactrian camels. Merrymakers were making the most of the desert by indulging in jeep and camel safaris. I was content just to see such interesting changed landforms. Desperately needing to rest after traversing such varied landscapes we drove to our cottages. The pretty cottages were situated in a verdant space with a tiny stream flowing in front. The sound of running water acted as lullaby to swiftly ease us into rest giving slumber. 

An hour of rest rejuvenated us sufficiently. We got up and went for a stroll. But the stroll wasn’t what we hoped for. We had to keep giving way to speeding vehicles bring more and more guests and had to breath in the polluted exhaust of these cars. So we cut short the evening walk and returned to our resort. Ordering ginger lemon tea we sat down on cane chairs in the open area. Music was playing and adding to the pleasant ambience. A large group from Gujarat had emerged out of their cottages and began dancing Garba. We enthusiastically ran to join them. But soon I was hot and exhausted so I came back and sat to enjoy their bonhomie. I said three cheers to Anand group because they had made the evening lively. The dinner was good. I thanked the chef and his team for their courteous service. They told us that they had come here from Mandi, Himachal Pradesh, to work during the tourist season lasting six months. After that they would go back home because the resorts here closed down for the long and severe winters. I remembered our driver Musa had told us that when the tourist season here got over he went to Goa to earn his livelihood.

This resort was so pretty and staff so nice that we wanted to stay here one more day. But one friend had to take a flight from Leh for Delhi for his meeting with the rural development minister so we had to return to Leh. On return journey we got down near the sand dunes to walk in the sand and take pictures. The two ladies were fascinated with motor cyclists so they requested a couple of youngsters, engineering students from Haryana, to give them a ride and immensely enjoyed the same.

On reaching Leh we went back to Khardungla hotel. Early next morning one friend went to Delhi and after that only three of us remained. We left for Pangong Lake. When we reached Changla pass at the height of 17000 feet we suffered the usual symptoms of dizziness, headache and difficulty in breathing, though only for a few minutes. I saw a really old Gujarati baa almost fainting and pitied her enormously. I wondered why her family had risked bringing her along.

My friends got samosa and Kahwa for me for lunch and then with anticipation rising high we proceeded towards our lovely destination. The mesmerizing lofty mountains stood proud as we traversed. Just when my head was about to loll with afternoon languidness I glimpsed a striking sapphire gem amidst dull brown mountains. I shrieked with excitement. I asked the driver whether what I had just seen and what was now hidden, was the lake. He nodded matter of factly. He made this trip at least once a week so it was no big deal for him but for us - crazy middle aged women it was a precious prize after an extremely tough journey. Mountains hid it perfectly and we had to cover many a mile before the spectacle manifested again. We wanted to stop the car and run to the jewel like lake but the driver felt we should first keep our luggage in our cottages and then may be after a cup of tea we should go to the lake and to the popular Three Idiots Spot. 

The cottages here were just functional and plain and were disappointingly far removed from the lake, contrary to my imagination of being very close to the lake. When I whined about it the driver told me about the Government order to keep 200 feet area around the lake free. I commended the Government for this concern and did not complain. But I saw some tents that were pitched very close to the lake and again experienced some heartburn. The chef paid us a courtesy visit and offered us tea and pakoras (potato and onion fritters). We freshened up a bit and went to the restaurant for tea. Blaring Bhojpuri songs enveloped us disclosing the region the chef came from which instantly warmed me up towards him. Our four year stay at Patna made all Biharis my kin. I asked him about his home while simultaneously declaring my allegiance to Patna. He said he was from Ranchi. This rang a familiar ring. A few other chefs in the shacks (restaurants) were also from Ranchi. This was both good and bad. Good because of the national integration it wrought and bad because lack of employment drove people so far from home. Here in Ladakh the employment was only for six months and then these people would have to go back or go to places like Goa, like driver Musa, for earning their daily bread.

A tad sad we gobbled up vegetable fritters and tea and left for the lake. Musa drove along the lake. It was exhilarating to look at the peaceful shiny clear changing blue and violet hues of the lake from the car but we wanted to get into the lake. We asked Musa to stop but he didn’t. Again when we came to a neat spot we asked him to let us get down. He explained that he was taking us to the Three Idiots’ spot. We laughed at his seriousness and commitment to showcase the best and said we love the lake and could wait no longer to touch it. So finding another clean spot we got down and ran into the lake like giggly excited teens. We had already taken off our shoes and rolled up our pants. The water was ice-cold. The pebbles under the water were clearly visible and so were my feet. The water refreshed me and all the discomfort of the long hard drive evaporated in an instant. I chose a steady boulder to sit and called out to my friends to join me. I had selected suitable rocks for them also. They sat on the stone and touched the water and recoiled from its chill. We took photographs and sat there for a while. 

Then we allowed Musa to take us where he wanted to take us. We laughed uncontrollably on seeing the spot. Three four Three-Idiots-seats were placed at some distance from each other and three four yellow scooters with flour grinder attached were parked between the seats. Along with the scooters for ready reference were placed large screen shots of Kareena as a resplendent bride wearing a helmet and riding the yellow scooty. As we went closer we saw Kareena-like bridal costumes in different sizes and color combinations on hangers, available on rent, should one chose to recreate the Kareena moment. Many women of all sizes and ages were getting themselves photographed in Kareena outfits. The outfits were tailored very ingeniously to cover only the front and could be tied with strings behind to fit all sizes without any embarrassment being suffered even by the fattest of the species. We laughed and realized that laughing was a very tough exercise at this altitude. 

Festively dressed and colorfully decorated yaks and donkeys were also available for those who wanted to take pictures with the animals of Ladakh.  We wanted to see the sun set reflecting its beauteous pink, orange, saffron, vermillion, crimson, red magenta and maroons but the sun coyly hid behind the mountains without causing much furor. Long after the sunset also there was sufficient light even though it was a moon less night. We were at the lake till hunger drove us food-ward. In the restaurant we were inundated with Marathi though the gentleman at the head of the table and most prominently visible was unmistakably Bengally. Having lived and loved both Bombay and Kolkata I felt free to intrude upon them to understand the nexus between Bengal and Maharashtra. They were happy to include us in their boisterous conversation and explained about the Bengally and Marathi college sweet hearts’ marriage. With much admiration they disclosed about the Marathi girl knowing more Bengally than her beau because of her devotion to him and also that she had learnt to cook Benaglly cuisine to perfection. The men introduced us to their wives and girlfriends and told us that these girls were so fond of dancing that even now when they were all very tired they would get up and dance if “Ghoomar” song from Padmavat was played.

Finally we retired for the night. We had to grapple with stinky and profusely dusty dirty quits. The quilts had a noxious reek and it pervaded every nook of our tiny cottage. Wanting not to miss the sunrise I got up early but the sun became visible only when it had risen high above the mountains and its blinding bright golden rays entered our cottage as pink glow through the tiny window with the pink curtain. We went and knocked loudly on the kitchen door. It took us more than two three attempts before we could wake up the chef and other staff. After the maiden failed attempt we strolled in the area proximal to cottages. We met two other early risers and tea aficionados. These boys were from Chandigarh who like us had taken a relaxed road trip from Chandigarh to Manali to Leh. They had reached Pangong on the seventh day and we on the sixth. The boys said they were very homesick and wished to be at home with their parents now. My mother’s heart went out to them at once and even more so when they told me that their third friend was laid sick and asthmatic. We consoled them and my two friends cheered them announcing that they were also from Chandigarh. They exchanged notes about their residential addresses and felt happy with people from their neighborhood. After breakfast we wanted to walk to the lake but the sun was already threatening hot and the passage difficult so we asked Musa to drive along the lake and he took us to the famous Three Idiots point again. 

Seeing the seats again in bright sun we were tempted for a photograph. We paid fifty rupees to sit on the seat and be clicked by the very old plentifully wrinkled professional photographer. I doubted his steady hold on the camera but he was good and knew his art. Running down into the lake was a mandatory ritual. Few more photos and we had to say goodbye to the colossal magnificent lake.

The way back was as enticing as before and offered us a chance to revise and capture those scenes which had remained unphotographed. Back to Changla, a few rejuvenating oxygen puffs, Maggi and Kahwa and back to Leh. We entered Leh with much uncertainty about where to stay because Manager Javed had rudely told my friends not to come back to Hotel Khardungla from Pangong. He had told them to go to Hotel Antelope. So we asked Musa to ask his boss Akbar where to drop us. Akbar didn’t know any better. We asked elusive Irfan. He said he would confirm in a few minutes and from previous experience we knew that his few minutes always stretched to a few hours. So I called the Ladakhi Air Force Officer to ask if we could stay in the Air Force guest house. He said we could so I told Musa to take us to Air Force station. Irfan had not yet told us where to go. The uncertainty, the afternoon heat, the raging dust storm and waiting in the car without air conditioner with windows tightly shut had succeeded in giving me a headache of scary dimensions. At that moment I just wanted to get out of the veritable tandoor that our car had become and stand under a shower. That is what I did on reaching the guest house and bit by bit the overpowering headache ebbed out. 

Then we went out for a stroll after the sand storm subsided. We had home like food in the dining room of our suite and retired happily. Next day was a Saturday and we were invited to a brunch in the officers’ mess. So we got ready with care. At the appointed time we walked to the venue and made an impressive entry. We were welcomed by the officers and their wives and enjoyed the special fare. Young wives excitedly shared their knowledge of Leh market for buying Pashmina. An afternoon trip to the market was planned by my friends. I stayed back, relaxed and read Anton Chekhov’s “Three Sisters” and grew a new admiration for him. I wanted to read Cherry Orchard but didn’t have time.

Next day we left for Sonamarg. Bilal, the new driver came to take us back. We wanted to see Alchi Monastery en route but Bilal was scared that ‘they’ will come and break the windscreen of his car. We did not understand who would do so and why. But then Bilal explained that taxis with JK01 number were allowed to go there but JK07 were not allowed. After much struggle we understood the driver’s predicament because his number plate had JK07. This brought to the fore the animosity between Kashmiris and Ladakhis. On our insistence, taking the big risk he took us to Alchi. The walk to the monastery was very interesting because on both sides were shops selling curios and ethnic Ladakhi jewelry with turquoise blue stones (phiroza). I loved looking at the animal motifs and colored stone embedded ear danglers, bracelets, rings, necklaces, ladies’ bags, hair clips and anklets. It was surprising to see a more than thousand year old monastery so well preserved. The wooden sculpture and the mellow frescoes on the wall were very beautiful and graceful. Indus River flowing gurgling behind added to the enigmatic charm. 

My friends wanted to come back here again and stay for longer durations so they went to check out a home-stay. It was a big house surrounded by a well laid out garden. Dahlias and other seasonal flowers had been planted in the beds but had not come to bloom as yet. On the entrance to their house was a huge healthy rose bush bearing an abundance of big roses in the brightest and loveliest pink blush. I got my picture taken with this well nurtured rose plant. The structure of the three floored house was made of wood and steel though the walls were plastered with cement. The house was carpeted from wall to wall. We sat on low seating in their kitchen and relished sweet creamy tea they offered us in pretty mugs with bright floral patterns. They had a pretty red lacquer finish bowl lying invitingly on a low table in the tea-kitchen filled with Jowar and wheat sattu which one could mix to a thick paste by pouring a little tea and eat. They opened a big packet of multi grain biscuits for us to have with tea. The man of the house had retired from army and did farming during less cold months. After tea they showed us their big kitchen where food was cooked for the family and guests. This kitchen was very large and airy had very big cauldrons and cooking vessels stacked neatly. They had about four pressure cookers of differing sizes. The women cooked Thupka, the wholesome soup and daal and rice. We tasted their rotis which were thick and soft being made from risen flour.

The driver was frantically calling us because we had taken very long, nearly two hours instead of one. We hurried back to the car ignoring the lovely merchandise on display. We continued our journey to Sonamarg with the windscreen intact. We passed through Kargil, located our hotel but did not stop there, did not stop at the Martyr’s Memorial also. We stopped at Drass for a cup of tea. Sindhu River gave us company all along but it kept changing its appearance from lazy laid back to frenzied and ferocious to mild and benign. The mountains had changed from nude to dressed in fancy foliage. On the slopes were white flowers in phallic shaped inflorescences. A little ahead there were yellow flowers which resembled the inflorescence of fennel seeds or carrot flowers. The pink rose bushes and yellow and white also reappeared. We witnessed huge aggregation of sheep. So large were the groups that we surmised they must belong to the community rather than a single owner. There were ponies also along with goats and sheep and cows also and all lived in harmony on large slopes with fresh green grass which must have grown when snow melted. 

The sun sat. Bilal had been repeatedly instructed to drive slow on the curves. He had been checked so often during the day that when a friend got down to shot pictures, tongue in cheek, he commented, “Ye madam to Kashmiri aurat ki tarah khatarnaq hai!” prompting us to ask, “How do you know?” and without batting an eyelid he answered, “My wife is Kashmiri.” He himself was Ladakhi. He requested me to sit in front seat, “Madam, aap aagey baithiye. Aap matured hai.” So I sat in front. 

The mountains were rocky and bare. The river flowing along disappeared, having sunk into a deep gorge. The road forked into two roads, one going up and one down. Bilal chose the lower one saying there would be traffic jam on the upper road. The moonless night was dark. The canyon took on dangerous proportions. The road was muddy, uneven and very narrow. One side was the rough unrelenting mountain and on the other side was the cavernous yawning ravine. It was raining so the muddy road was slushy and treacherously slippery. Big glaring pits rocked the car dangerously. Suddenly the headlights fell on a huge animal. These were two animals, a big bear and its baby. But I had seen them for a mere flicker and was not even able to discern that there were two of them. This path was so precarious that we sat tight, breathing without even slight movement fearing it might distract the driver. I feel I did not even bat an eyelid. I continuously recited Gayatri Mantra, silently innumerable times. As the sky grew darker the mountains became scarier and ominous. We were all concentrating on the little tract of the road which got illuminated with the headlights and meter by meter we covered the fifty kilometers to Sonamarg. When the street lights became visible we heaved a sigh of relief and so did Bilal.  We had reached our hotel Divine Inn alive. Bilal was to take us to Srinagar next morning but for now it was dinner and sleep. The hotel was clean and comfortable. The staff was very courteous almost everywhere we had stayed. 

Next morning with the hotel wifi I was able to get in touch with my children and called everyone at home. Devdar covered mountains looked glamorous in the first rays of the morning sun. The green meadows which we had seen in many films looked fresh, lush and enchanting having been washed with rain yesterday. After having breakfast and shooting pictures we left Sonamarg. 

We were sentimental because our lovely trip was coming to a close. Silently admiring the river cavorting playfully with mountains and boulders we covered the 95 kilometer distance in less than two hours. Bilal dropped us at Hotel Royal Arabia and said goodbye. This was where we began our eventful enjoyable journey and this was where we had come back. We wanted to relish Kashmiri Vazvaan so finding out that Mughal Darbar served the best Vazvaan in town we went there. Vazvaan was comprised of many mutton dishes which were all very rich and we could barely finish even though we had ordered one serving meant for only one person. As we were about to leave the woman sitting behind got talking to us. She was surprised that we were traveling minus our husbands and children. She congratulated us on our independence. She said she admired our guts. She was herself a teacher and was happy to know that we were also teachers. When she learnt that we had come here for Vazvaan she said we must taste vazvaan cooked in Kashmiri homes rather than a restaurant. Rhetorically I asked, “How would that be possible?” So she invited us to her house in September to attend a family wedding and partake in the vazvaan. We just nodded in a non-committal way but she became very insistent and said we should not disappoint her. Exchanging phone numbers we took leave from her. 

I showed my friends Ahdoos and suggested that we go there for Phirni and Kahwa. Our obsession for Pashmina took us to the state emporium. My friends loved the old restored building which housed the state emporium and spent a lot of time there looking at Pashmina and other things. We bought stuff that interested us because it was our last evening in Srinagar. I took them to the old wooden bridge on Jhelum River called the Zero Bridge. To complete our J and K experience we heard two gun shots on the wooden bridge just as we had crossed it and while going back across it we smelled heavy odor of sulphur when we passed the spot where the gun shots were fired.  

Next day was the last day of our trip and ideally I would have spent it walking along the Dal Lake but we had an ugly unresolved argument with our tour operator and all our time got wasted. Before noon we left for the airport because everyone had told us that we would have to go through security check thrice and there could be a queue every time. After security check we all sat together and relaxed. We wanted to have pictures of all three of us together so we requested a gentleman to take our pictures. On reaching Delhi the pilot announced the outside temperature to be 40 degree Celsius and I was back on the hot terra.