Imagine the picture of a man wrapped in a bright red patterned shawl. In the middle of miles and miles of grassland, with the wind blowing against his shawl against the backdrop of the setting sun. A huge huge sun at that. This is my picture of the Masai Mara which I carried back with me, despite the many animals that we saw.
A trip to the African safari was a long held dream. With one child being an active animal enthusiast (from observing to eating them!) another who is the exact opposite, and a husband who loathes travelling long stretches, I had almost decided that this would be a trip to be put on my bucket list for my sixties.
But as the saying goes, “All the power in the Universe cannot change your destiny”, I was meant to go, whether I did plan it or not! A chance conversation with a friend snowballed into a plan, and before we knew it we were off!
The long drive from Nairobi to Masai through the rift valley was not one of my most pleasant rides (and that’s putting it politely), but the beauty more than makes up for it. Miles and miles of vast plains with golden grass gleaming in the morning sunlight makes for pleasant viewing.
Masai mara(Kenya) and the Serengiti (a part of Tanzania), are the the same stretch of game reserve divided by man made borders. And though Masai feels so very huge(1510 km square), it actually is a very small part of what Serengiti is (14750 km square)!
The animal sightings are obviously amazing as is the landscape. But what really struck me was the way the animals treated you. They may be used to seeing visitors gape at them and point millions of cameras at their face, but their attitude towards us is something at another level. They see through us and walk by majestically as if the jeeps around them are non existent. They are so close that you can look at them in the eye, but they do not seem to care. Humans put in their place. Check!
In the beginning of the journey, a solitary wildebeest would make us pick our cameras and go berserk, till we saw the crossing. This will be one of the most spectacular sights of my life time. The migration is the most stunning display of animal behaviour where about 1.5 million wildebeest and thousands of zebras cross the River Mara to enter the Serengeti, and then the other way round. This happens based on the availability of water and grass, and the wildebeest follow their instincts in getting to a place where there is plenty of both.
In the process of migrating, they have to cross the Mara river. The zebras are apparently the scouts. Being the smarter ones of the lot, they gauge the best point to cross. Then, as if by telepathy, this gets conveyed to the herd and a few brave ones decide to take the plunge to cross. And then, the herd follows.
By herd, I mean at least tens of thousands of them. You can almost feel their anxiety of making it safely to the other side, without being eaten up by the huge nile crocodiles, or pushed around by lazy hippos or by sly lions waiting for their chance.
Though it is the way of nature, it was heart breaking to see a young lion successfully preying on a wildebeest. The others, half way through the crossing, frantically looked for ways to protect their young and flee, and eventually found their way out. The rest of the herd, realised their folly, stopped and went their way. Grazing. Waiting. Looking. For another day and time to reach a place of bountiful.
Probably in their own way, giving us life’s lessons that a lot of times, things are not what we want them to be. Adjust, move on and repeat. Without missing a beat.
The first thing that zaps you in Zanzibar is the color of the sea. I had never really understood the meaning of the color “azure” before I saw the sea in Zanzibar. Clear waters, creamy (I mean it) white sands and a cool breeze despite the tropical sunshine, make it a surreal, heavenly experience. It turns you into a delectable kind of lazy, where you just want to sway in your hammock, listening to the gentle rolling of the waves, gazing at the blue blue sea and sip on ice cold lemonade for hours on end. When you tire of this (if ever), you can take long walks dipping your feet in the softness of the sand, watching colorful starfish lying around like gems on the sea floor. Such is the mesmerizing beauty of Zanzibar.
But when you step out of the beach side and walk into the old town of Zanzibar, you come face to face with the sordid past of the same paradise – slavery.
Zanzibar is a derivative from the Persian “Zengibar”, which meant the “black skinned coast”. Racism does run deep into the past! The coast was first ruled by the Portuguese and then taken over by the Sultan of Oman. As it was the thoroughfare between Africa and the European and Asian coast, it gained the reputation of being the best port for slave trade, along with ivory and spices.
The slaves were bought because of their poverty or just captured from villages at a whim, from all over the African countryside and brought to slave market at Zanzibar. They were brought on dhows (small ships), with the least bit of concern for their health or hunger. Once they landed, they were stuffed into small cellars with barely any light and a small vent in the middle of the room for their toilet needs. They were shackled to chains so as to prevent their escape. About half the people, including the women and children died of starvation, exhaustion, ill health or torture, by the time they reached the market. For the fortunate (or supremely unfortunate)few who lived, they were tied to poles and whipped in front of the merchants to assess their mettle of tolerating suffering. The slave who could withstand the maximum amount of pain was bought by the highest bidder!
((The cellar for slaves (about 75 people were stuffed into this space) with a vent in the middle for defecation, and the chains to which they were bound. The roof was so low that they had to crouch all the time)).
It was only in 1873, that through the immense efforts of David Livingstone, a British missionary and physician, that slave trade formally ended. The irony of this story is that David Livingstone, was sent to Zanzibar with the express mission of converting the population to Christianity, and was considered a failure and a bad leader for his poor performance. Rightfully so, as he managed to convert a sum total of ONE person!
But it turns out that he became a bigger hero, because he loved the people of the land better. He befriended two Africans, Chuma and Susi, who traveled with him everywhere.He loved Africa so much that, he advised Chuma and Susi to bury his heart in Africa and send only his body back to England for burial. Which they did.
The slave museum stands at the heart of the Old Stone Town, at the actual site of the slave market. You cannot help but get the heebie jeebies, just remembering the fact that you are walking in a place where so many helpless, unfortunate people were heartlessly ill treated by fellow humans, who were supposedly civilized.
Yuval Noah Harari, writes in his book Homo Deus, that we, should consider ourselves lucky to live in a time when peace is taken for granted (at least in a lot of places on the planet). Just two centuries ago, war, upheavals, uprisings, revolutions and injustice were the norm of the day. Peace just happened in between.
Zanzibar is a place which reminds you of that. Though the beauty is unmatched, it is in stark contrast to the suffering of so many, because of mankind’s greed and one upmanship.
I would like to start with a disclaimer akin to the one which appears before any movies starts. I did not start the blog as a religious or mythological exercise. Having said so, there are times when you travel, the history of the place or a quirky story attached to it, adds a special flavor to the monument you are visiting. Rather than looking at it through the eyes of a “been there, done that” traveler, adding a dash of mythology, I feel, increases the aura of the place!
So the story goes…..
There was a terrible demon called Banasura who was troubling everyone on Earth. He performed intense penance and asked for immortality from Brahma. When Brahma expressed his inability to grant such a boon, he instead asked Banasura to choose a manner of his death. Banasura wished that if he had to die, he would do so only at the hands of a virgin.
With a sense of over confidence regarding his own immortality, he started harassing the people even worse than before. Unable to bear the pain, people appealed to Lord Vishnu to help them. On the God’s command, they performed a yagna so powerful that the Goddess Parashakti agreed to come down to the earth as Punyakshi to annihilate the demon.
Punyakshi was a woman of extraordinary intelligence and capabilities. She lived in the Southern parts of India long long ago. She had such immense power of perception that she was considered as an oracle by the society. Akin to how Mirabai worshiped Krishna, Punyakshi developed a deep love for Lord Shiva and resolved to marry him and none other.
While meditating in Mount Kailash, the Lord came to know of her devotion and was moved. He started his journey down south to meet this courageous young woman and marry her. When the news of this reached the people around, they were worried because they would lose their mentor and guide when she went back with Shiva. The devas and Narada were scared that if the wedding would take place, then there would be no one to kill Banasura. Hence, they tried hard to dissuade Shiva from reaching Punyakshi. But Shiva and Punyakshi were determined.
So, the Chieftain of the village, asked for an impossible kind of bride price- a sugarcane stick without the rings, a betel leaf without veins and a coconut without eyes. As nothing was impossible for Shiva, he could materialize all the three without a bat of an eyelid.
Becoming even more desperate, Narada plotted. He scheduled the marriage to happen before sunrise, citing that if the cock crows, then the time would be inauspicious for their union. Punyakshi, secure in the belief that Shiva would definitely reach her, prepared for the wedding with happiness and anticipation. But the elders of the village, egged by Narada, conspired against them and lit a hill of camphor on fire. The blaze was so bright that the village rooster confused it to be daybreak and crowed ahead of time.
Punyakshi got so upset that Shiva had failed her,that she left the place and went to the southernmost part of the land and stood there heartbroken and crying. She is now called the Goddess Kanyakumari, who waits eternally in the place, which bears her name. Learning this, Banasura tried proposing marriage to her. When she refused, he tried to force her hand resulting in a fierce battle, which ultimately killed Banasura. Peace prevailed on Earth.
Meanwhile, Shiva, who was equally upset about his failure, drove himself into a state of despair. He climbed the Vellaingiri mountains and meditated for a long length of time before retreating back to Mount Kailash.
These mountains are now aptly called “South Kailash”.
Sometimes, it is difficult to ascertain where fact ends and fiction begins. There are so many such stories in our mythology which tread the delicate balance, and add to the mystery. Many are convinced that at the heart of a mythological story is an event that occurred very very long ago. Hence, in Hindu mythology, these texts are called “Itihasas”, or history.
For me, knowing a story and visiting the place have a special charm of its own. Just imagining a land hundreds if not thousand years ago, where Gods and supposedly immortal creatures existed gives me goose bumps.
Visiting the Vellaingiri mountains was one such feeling. Compounded by the magnificent, awe inspiring and majestic bust of Shiva (or Adi yogi, as he is called there), right in the middle of a circular mountain range, green, lush and covered with clouds.
Just before daybreak, when you see the thick grey clouds, heavy with rain, passing silently behind the huge bust of Shiva, sway involuntarily to the rhythmic chants emerging from a small temple close by, hear the howling wind and feel the light drizzle of rain on your face when you look up at the statue, the feeling is surreal.
This is one of those moments where time seems to stand still and you feel one with nature and its elements. Fact or fiction, travel surely gives you such near perfect moments to enjoy!
Most times, high expectations lead to an anticlimactic downfall. I can safely say that a visit to Petra is not one of those. Infact, it surpasses your expectations and quite literally takes your breath away. Whenever I saw pictures of the famous treasury, I assumed that Petra started and ended there. I did not realize that it is an actual city whose ruins are quite well preserved and akin to Hampi. It showcases the glorious civilization of Nabatheans and their mastery in carving out huge monoliths out of rockfaces.
Apart from feasting my eyes on beautiful haunting canyons and gorges, huge stark stone tombs, and the multi hued desert landscapes, it was there that I realized that I was an ignoramus in the history department and a snob about twenty first century state of the art life style.
The Nabateans seem to have enjoyed the same pleasures that we do as far back the First century BCE on a much grander scale! I can only imagine the sense of awe that Johann Ludwig Burckhardt, the Swiss explorer felt, when he first laid his sights on the magnificence of Petra.
Petra was founded in the first century BCE by an Arabian tribe called the Nabateans, who made Raqmu (an older name for today’s Petra) their capital.
The entrance to Petra is through a two kilometer long trek through a canyon. Apparently the canyon was formed by a geological fault, split by tectonic forces and then later on smoothed by water. The Nabatheans made canals through these formations for the flow of water into the city. They also built a dam!
The treasury or the ‘Al Khazneh’ is undoubtedly one of the best sites of Petra. At the end of the trek, when you are getting slightly tired of seeing endless bends in the canyon, you suddenly get a glimpse of the treasury. And it is massive. There are a lot of stories about why the treasury was built. Some say that it was used by the bandits to store looted treasure, some others believe that it was a mausoleum, a few feel it depict the calendar, some more believe that the Egyptian Pharaoh used it to store his treasure and the last one goes that it was built for its wow value. The Nabateans apparently wanted to stun anyone who entered Petra with their brilliance and grandeur. They sure did succeed on that one.
There are multiple trails through which one can explore the city, and we chose one which led to the monastery. For this we walked into the city which was home to more than 20000 people. The city starts with multiple tombs. Each family had a tomb where in the dead could be preserved. Like a home for the dead family members!
Beyond these are the royal tombs, which are more intricate and carved in detail.
Then on is the royal street with buildings and palaces on both sides (most of which were ruined during the earthquakes).
Then comes the climb to the monastery. Winding stone steps with canyons as far as the eye can see. Each boulder with a character of its own, tall, bent and moulded by natural forces for more than 2000 years. They appear to be silently witnessing our ordeal of huffing and puffing through the climb!
The monastery at the top is the highest point in Petra. A café, a chill breeze and an almost replica of the treasury welcome us to the top. It almost seemed like the ostentaniousness got replaced by piousness as the Nabateans trekked upwards!
After a cup of sweet mint tea, we trek back, taking with us the memories of what we saw, and wondering how we could possibly explain all that we saw to our family and do justice to its beauty.
I remembered reading a quote by Ibn Batuta which goes “Travelling- it leaves you speechless, then turns you into a story teller”. Petra does that to you!
On a hot sweltering afternoon, at the end of our trip to Gokarn, my travel weary bones and a near empty growling stomach made me google the nearest food joint. The search coughed up a few names, among which a French sounding “Chez Christophe” showed up as the closest. We put on the GPS and followed the lady obediently only to end up in a small village with a handful of houses. We had lost our way!
Feeling hopeless, but hungry, we got down and walked up to a group of people asking for the restaurant. The “Krishnappanna hotla?, gottu, ille munde hogi, sigatte!” (Oh Krishnappa’s hotel? It’s right beyond here, just keep going) of the skinny man in a lungi made us feel all the more hopeless. Where was the French guy, we wondered. Or had he sold the hotel to an Indian counterpart? Unfortunately, there seemed to be no place around which could serve a near decent meal, so we decided on taking up the man’s offer to go in search of Krishnappa.
We got off the road, and started walking in through the lanes between the thatched roof houses, separated from each other by makeshift bramble walls. On the narrow foot roads where we had to walk single file, we were occasionally mauled by hens and growling dogs who were disturbed out of their afternoon siesta.
Often in the center of the hustle and the bustle of the cities, the silence of the village in the afternoon seemed eerie at first. But then we began to take in the sights. Of the villagers working their way through their chores, contentedly, house after house.
One backyard had a lady who had set up an outdoor makeshift stove which contained a pot full of bubbling fragrant curry, while she on the other side, was cutting up fresh fish to put into the pot. There were a few cats purring on the side, waiting for any stray morsel coming their way. She stopped, surprised to see us, then waved us on, when we asked her about the hotel.
Another house had a small porch lined up with parrots of a vibrant green, which were being fed by a grandfather and his grandson. The grandfather was explaining something to the child, who was excitedly nodding his head.
A sudden spread of green burst forth, between the houses, where a lone farmer was quietly going about his work. Walking through a stretch of field which was ripe with the produce of sweet potatoes, cowpeas, beans and marigolds made for a great experience for the kids.
A blonde guy was lying peacefully on his hammock humming a small tune, in a hut with graffiti painted walls. But strangely, he did not seem out of place in the middle of a typically Indian village. He blended well with the peace it was emanating.
It was a trek to remember. The peace, the quiet and the sense of zen that prevailed, all but made us forget what we were there for. It felt as though we could go on and on. We felt the “ichigyo zammai” that afternoon. This basically means,(in Japanese) finding happiness in concentrating on the small pleasures of life, one at a time. Without distraction. Without the hurry that we might run out of time.
Our pace slowed, we breathed the air more deeply and even the kids quietly walked down the road. Just experiencing. And assimilating the awesome feeling into our beings. For once, I stopped clicking photographs like a woman on a mission, and just looked around.
At the end of the road was a beautiful beach, unspoiled and clean. And finally Krishnappa’s hotel (which was actually Christophe’s café by the way). And that, was an even more pleasurable experience.
The place is a shack which is probably frequented more at night, and hence was completely ours at that time. The floor is covered with mattresses and cushions, which serve as seating. You can sit and stare at the endless expanse of the sea and hear the rhythmic sound of the waves. A wooden swing sways for the breeze as you munch on yum French food.
We finally found the right, motorable road to reach the place. But decided to walk back the same way we came. For the pleasure of walking down the road, which taught us the happiness of just being. Sometimes, you have to lose your way to find it!
Our capital city,has always evoked in me a picture of the mughal grandeur. Of beautiful landscaped gardens, old bungalows, relics of the bygone era sprinkled between the buildings of today and a huge dollop of history to go with it.
That Delhi has got a Nirbhaya side to it, horrible summers, the famous, or rather infamous Delhi belly and reports about being one of the unsafe cities in India, dents the halo a bit. But in my opinion, it still manages to rise above this.
It is said that Delhi is a city which has been rebuilt eight times! Each time it got looted and destroyed, it rose again like a phoenix from the ashes. For someone who has gone through so much gore, the city looked calm and composed when we visited it in the winter.
Apart from the amazing monuments which I never get bored of seeing repeatedly, this time through, I had the oppurtunity of tasting some of the most mouthwatering food that I have had in recent times.
The famous Moolchand paranthas.
I have no idea whether the Moolchand metro station got named after the paranthewalla or vice versa, but any which way, it’s a good thing, as it is easy to find. Sometimes, when you keep your expectations high, the actual food can be a big let down. We had heard so much about this joint that somewhere in the corner of my mind, I had expected it to be a let down. Especially when I saw what the size of the joint. The only encouraging sign was the number of people queing up near the counter. By the time I reached the counter to place the order, the aroma of the paranthas and the heat of the tawa was making me really hungry.And what a meal it proved to be! Each parantha we tasted was amazing. The food is served on very simple plates with a satchet of amul butter and a side salad of onions and mint. But each morsel is a bite of heaven! The best among the lot being the paneer onion one, and the weirdest was badam parantha. Do try!
The daulat ka chaat.
Long long ago, in an old book called “Endless feasts”, which is a collection of food essays, I had read a bit by celebrity chef Madhur Jaffrey about her childhood in Delhi. She reminiscied the taste of daulat ka chaat sold by an old lady in the cold Delhi winters.Years later, I read about it in another book called “Kheer, Korma and Kismet”.The author had traced the people who make this and explained the arduous process of its making.
This chaat is unique for two reasons. One it is sweet, and two, it is only available in the winters. Apparentely, it is made by whisking sweetened milk for long hours on full moon nights and allowing it to ferment on the roof of old houses in Chandni chowk for the dew to settle on it. It is then layered with saffron and silver warq and served with a topping of pistachhios,kurchan and powdered sugar.
Armed with loads of roadside shopping(chandni chowk is indeed irresistible, just like it always was for Shahjahan’s daughter, for whom it was built—though horribly crowded), and two kids, I ploughed on trying to find alleys where I could find this treasure.
Right in the center of a crowded intersection, I found it. The morsel was so light and so incredibly fluffy,that it would have given any masterchef a complex. It tastes sweet, light and crunchy at the same time.It is so light, that the afternoon heat is enough to collapse it! And delicious. No. Other. Word.can explain it. So, now you know which season to visit Delhi in!
Chur chur naan.
The name itself was so funny, that it caught my attention. The naan was anything but chur chur (which means “little” in kannada!).It consists of bread with various stuffings of vegetables, paneer and kheema, fresh out of the tandoor and crushed to serve. Usually, it is served with dal and a salad and dollops of butter on top. A cholesterol attack, no doubt, but worth every penny. You really wouldn’t mind having a heart attack after this!!:)
This ever green dish, which seems to be the staple of Delhi, I tasted , on our way to Agra. The kulche are fried and served with a curry of chickpeas. On a cold winter morning, when you are shivering under your warmest clothes, this is guaranteed to put a smile on your face. The Taj seems more beautiful on a tummy filled with this breakfast!
The flavoured matka lassis.
I always associated lassi with the Punjab. But Delhi has special matka lassis.Having cold lassi in cold weather has a charm of its own. Especially when the lassi come in multiple flavours. From plain sugared and strawberry to exotic ones like litchi, blueberry and kiwi, served in mud pots, and topped with a sprig of mint. Forgive me for the horrible pic. It is difficult to concentrate on a good angle when all you can think of is the taste!
On the road leading to Jamma masjid, there are many shops which sell chaat and actually make you scared of the Delhi belly.The surroundings are so filthy and crowded, that you are left wondering whether you made the right choice. Each and every shop selling chaat seemed to have a huge crowd around it. This bolstered our confidence to wade our way through the crowd and eat! As they say, victory goes to those who persevere. The dahi ballas, the alu tikki, fruit chaat, the ram laddoo and of course the gol gappa were mouth watering and thankfully safe on the tummy!
Many of these foods may have had their origin in one of the eight cities that Delhi was before. And been concieved and executed by the khansamas of the royal kitchen. And through the chaos and the destruction, they survived to make Delhi what it is today. Fascinating, steeped in history and amazingly delicious!
Visiting a rainforest has always been on my wish list. One of my childhood fantasies (fueled by Robin Cook’s Congo), was to discover something unique and useful, like some magic herb or a new species of animal, watching giant man eating plants in their gory splendor, living off fresh forest produce, finding beautiful waterfalls and living in handmade tree houses or old forgotten log cabins. Sort of Tarzan, Anaconda and Robinhood rolled into one. Of course as age and logic grew, (or so I would like to assume, atleast in the case of logic), the fantasies sobered down to real ones of camping in the wilds keeping as much distance as possible from the reptile species!
Most of these ideas used to float around in my brain when we would be travelling between destinations and all that was available to see out the car or bus window would be dark, unpenetrable forests for miles on end. Those were times when cars had rudimentary stereos, buses were basic and we did not have the luxury of earphones!
Travelling from Mangalore to Shimoga entailed crossing the Western ghats from Agumbe. This was one leg of the journey which was considered with a bit of apprehension. We would make sure to climb down the mountains when there was broad daylight, and kids would be asked to sit quiet for the fear of disturbing the driver. We would suddenly see some animals in the wild, darting across the road in a blink and you miss kind of way, probably as startled by us, as we were of them. Over years of deforestation, the stretch became infamous more for the Naxal movement rather than the wild animals crossing our paths.
As kids, the half hour journey down the ghats would seem twice as long and scary. This was probably why I failed to appreciate the wonder existing right before my eyes, all the while fantasizing about something way beyond.
Now the forests are threadbare, and there seem to be noisy people and plastic strewn around everywhere. But come monsoon, every year, the Western ghats become a sight of abundant lush green beauty. I now understand at least a bit of the anxiety with which the environmentalists rue the the loss the natural habitats. To lose such beauty to deforestation seems a crime deserving life imprisonment. And paradoxically, this makes Agumbe more beautiful for me. I feel that I should savor its beauty for as long as we allow it to be, and try in any possible way to help preserve a gem existing literally in our backyards before we lose it forever.
Agumbe is a small village nestled in the midst of the Western ghats in Shimoga district of Karnataka. Till recently, it owned the unique distinction of being called the “Chirapunji of the south”, because it received the highest rainfall in the whole of South India. A title it seems to be fast losing, due to declining rainfall in this region.
The forest is home to about 150 species of frogs and 85 of snakes (who knew there were so many types) and still counting. Apart from these, it is home to other animals like monkeys, langurs , hornbills, leopards and flying lizards.
The village has a rustic charm and seems to be stuck in a time warp, only broken by the addition of kurkure packets of varied colors hanging from most tiny shops! This charm made for its choice as the famous “Malgudi” in R.K.Narayan’s famous serial Malgudi days.
This time, when I got a chance to go to Mangalore, I was prepared. To enjoy the green and the charm that is Agumbe. And enjoy I did. I now wish for a log cabin in Agumbe, where I am doing some ecological conservation work. Me and my day dreams!
Three months after I took a trip to Ladakh, I had a serious case of nostalgia over the weekend. I have discovered that after any holiday, there are a few special things which stick around in my mind. The rest of the memories slowly, lazily, fade away leaving behind these interesting bits and pieces which turn into symbols of that holiday. Sort of, like watching the highlights of a cricket match and remembering only that exact ball and wicket that led to the win!
So also, in the case of our holiday to Ladakh, where well wishers fed us with stories about the difficult terrain and people dying because of the all too famous mountain sickness! When we actually reached, half scared half excited, it was an anticlimax. We found the place welcoming, beautiful, safe, chilly (which was welcome because it was blistering hot back home) and luckily, experienced very little ill health or wooziness!
Seven days disappeared before we knew it, and the land and its people embraced us so warmly that we felt a wee little bit Ladakhi at heart, by the time we returned. Though remote in a lot of ways and sans the most traditional (pun intended) forms of entertainment like malls, fast internet and cinemas, we happened to have most fun exploring Ladakh and learning her ways like….
The ladakhi are known to be a very friendly race and the friendship starts with a “Julley”, which is a blanket term for “Hi, Whats up?, How are you doing ?, How’s life ?” and anything else that falls into the category of a greeting. The meaning is circumstance based, rather than rigid. So simple, yet so beautiful. Importantly, easy for us toursists, who find it difficult to run our tongues around difficult, lispy tibetian words. Learn one word, and work miracles as a conversation starter! In a span of seven days, I said ‘Julley’ more times than I did ‘Namaste’ in the past year of my life! To the driver, our guide,the shopkeeper, the vendor on the road, my tour mates(till the novelty wore off) and to any stranger! No one found it strange and returned the greeting with grace and a warm smile!
This made me want to try harder to learn some more, and ended up with “Thuk che che”, which is thank you. Not much more! The people and the language make a nice contrast, as the language sounds harsh but the people look friendly!
The unpredictable weather.
There is a saying in ladakhi which goes “Never trust a vendor’s promise, a girl’s mind and the ladakhi weather- all three change colors fast”. Though the feminist in me wants to snip off the “girl” part, I can mostly agree on the other two! Especially the weather! You never know what to wear when you tour Ladakh. I browsed through books and websites telling me what to carry, before I packed. Half of my luggage was filled with sweaters and caps of various sizes and shapes- one for little cold, one for moderate and one for really cold! Armed with this arsenal, I felt pretty confident that I could conquer the weather and its whimsies! Little did I know that the weather would beat me to it! What started off as a warm day suddenly turned very windy, and vice versa. Heck, just walking out from direct sunlight into the shade would lower the temperature by significant degrees! Well, to make the long story short, I landed up wearing atleast three layers of clothing and repeatedly peeling them off or putting them on – and looking a minimum of three sizes too big in all the photographs! I learnt the hard way that “layering” only looks good in fashion magazines and is not meant for mere mortals like us!
The funky Tees
Well, one of the most important assignments on any trip is the shopping for the extended family that we have left behind in the pursuit of satisfying our travel lust! Aargh,the apparent selfishness of this act makes me want to buy some more, to appease them and beg forgiveness!
T shirts with “My mom/brother/uncle…went to so and so place and only got me this t shirt” which were cute about a century ago, never much appealed to me. But Leh has something unique to offer in this respect. The market place is strewn with shops which actually embroider funky stuff on to t shirts of different sizes! Their savvies lie in the fact that they take orders by the day and deliver them the next, with the embroidery that you want! No prizes for guessing what I got for my entire family!
Through the week, there was not one time that I saw people wearing anything made of gold. The traditional tibetian jewellery uses silver, wood, bronze and bark inlaid with semi precious stones, corals and beads. From roadside flea markets to shops which store the more valuable pieces, we saw some of the most exquisite craftmanship. Turquoise, which is found in the mountain ranges of Tibet- is one of the most common stone used- in the making of filigree ornaments, earrings, necklaces, and jewellery boxes with intricate inlay.
The experience of shopping in stores is also unique. Most traders are nostalgic Kashmiris, who have difficulty in adjusting their mindscape to the barrenness of Leh after growing up in the lush pastures of Kashmir. They work for six months of the tourist season and migrate back home for the winters.
Once the trader realizes that the buyer is serious, he offers hot kahwa and a chat, till the customer finishes deliberating. By the time you are through with the free kahwa, the hole in your pocket is threatening to grow to enormous proportions!
The whole brouhaha about altitude sickness.
Exactly opposite to Voldemort and in equal proportion, is the scare about Mountain sickness. For the uninitiated,’ Acute mountain sickness’ is a syndrome caused by the thinning oxygen levels in the atmosphere when at high altitudes. The symptoms range anything from shortness of breath to no breath at all! It takes some amount of acclimatizing to withstand it.
Now, before we set foot into Ladakh, the travel company gave us so many pointers to start diuretics (as a preventive measure) that we started to wonder if the pharmaceutical company was working hand in glove with the travel one, to promote their product. Each one of us had atleast three strips of the drug!
Then came the pro travelers with horror stories of people dying on the trip.
Followed by the Leh airport authorities- who play the symptoms and warning signs of mountain sickness on a loop,religiously, on loudspeakers , in between flight announcements.
We almost developed psychological breathlessness, because we thought that we had live up to their expectations!
Jokes apart, yes, mountain sickness did exist. We got exhausted faster and found ourselves gasping for breath after climbing a single flight of stairs,but that was about it. Over two days, we managed to conquer most of it.
The trick is to drink a lot of water, pop in the diuretic and take as many toilet breaks as you want into basic but functional pit toilets, with your breath held and eyes closed ! A feat which you will no doubt learn over time! After all, necessity is the mother of invention.
Ladakh in many ways, is not the ideal luxury destination for a break. It is harsh, barren and basic. But when the holiday includes fresh mountain air (though scantily), clear skies with a gazillion stars and the company of amazing friends, the whole holiday becomes priceless.
These are my memories from Ladakh. Have you learnt anything fun there?
It is that time of the year again. This morning, I opened my eyes my eyes to heavy grey skies. Granted that the monsoon has officially entered India about a month ago. But just like a painting whose beauty cannot be appreciated at the beginning, and develops gradually over time, so also the monsoon!
After one wave of heavy rains, its fury had abated for sometime. Giving room for the green to bloom.
I feel that the rains have moods and feelings. And so also, the place where it rains. For example, I have experienced the rain in London. (Thinking about it, that’s the only country apart from India,where I have experienced the rain). London looks gloomy, upset and sort of ill when it rains. As if it is in a surly mood.
But in India, it is a different story. The rain positively makes everything bloom. And glow. And happy. And Vibrant. I could go on. The green seems to materialize from anywhere and everywhere. Like the cracks between the road and in the walls of dilapidated buildings. Like the green layer of moss that grows on the zinc sheet roofing. Entwined, on the electric poles. On the barks of half dead rotting tree trunks.
Different shades of green. Literally like a “habba” as they say in kannada. A festival of sorts. Celebrating the arrival of the rains.
Granted that persistent rains have some associated nuisance value too. Especially in a city.Think dirty pavements, dengue ridden puddles, the wet smell of clothes which refuse to dry and muddy footprints on your just mopped floor.
But just getting out of the city, you experience a seachange in the way you enjoy the rain. Pristine green countryside, green expanse of farms and fields extending into the horizon and waterfalls abound.
All you feel like is to cycle to some place far far away, settle down under some random tree, listen to good music and watch the rain kiss the earth. Bliss!
It’s been over a month since I went to Ladakh, but its spell does not seem to show signs of abating anytime soon. The minute I get some time on my own, I end up closing my eyes and reliving its beauty.Dragging the memories out from the crevices of my brain and savouring it, repeatedly,like a cow chewing cud! Ladakh is a phenomenally photogenic place. Even the most basic camera can capture frames so amazing that you end with a false sense of pride as a photographer. Sharing with you, a few of my favorite sights.
The view of the Sangam.
The sight of the River Indus converging with the River Zanskar is breathtaking. The Indus coming from China,a bright turquoise green ribbon, abruptly merges with the muddy brown of the Zanskar. Every sangam that I have seen has been replete with a temple, priests and is invariably polluted. What makes this sangam special, is that it is free of all trappings. Absolutely. There is nothing around save a small building which doubles up as a canteen and a ticket counter for rafting.
Each and every view during the one hour rafting.
Though most people sign up for the more exciting and adventurous wild water rafting, I totally recommend the slower variety. Just gliding over the Zanskar listening to the rhythmic splish splash of the oars, gazing at the huge mountains, maneuvering the sharp turns between the crevices of the mountains and experiencing the otherwise absolute silence is an unforgettable experience.
Descending from the Khardungla Pass, is a place akin to the mythical Shangri-La. You are suddenly witness to a valley which is breathtakingly beautiful and full of natural treasures as well as manmade ones! The grey sand dunes of Nubra are home to the Bactrian camels (or the double humped ones) which were a part of the famous Silk Route.
The accommodation at Nubra is given in luxury tents. Having never camped before, this makes for an interesting experience, though the tents were actually more luxurious than many hotels! What makes the stay great is the view that greets you at any time of the day or night. The view of the huge hundred foot Buddha atop the mountains or the view of a million stars in the inky black of the night, it seems as though you are caught in some wonderful dream which you do not ever want to wake up from.
The Diskit monastery.
The travel brochures often show a picture of the Diskit monastery covered in snow. What they do not show is the fact that the monastery is perched atop a huge cliff edge,which seems near impossible to climb up on.And appears quite forbidding. As though the monks meant for us mere mortals, to stay away from its hallowed portals. Home to thousands of monks,it also gives a view of the huge Future Buddha who can be seen in his full splendor right across from its windows. What a sight it must be to wake up to!
Already, tourism in Ladakh has increased exponentially over the years. Unfortunately, the concept of responsible tourism has not. Hope people visiting this pristine land realize the importance of leaving it exactly the way it is, for others to enjoy its beauty!