The Dishonest Deal Cutter

Sonamarg was our first pit-stop in the lush-green Kashmir valley. There we met a typical dishonest salesman trying to get us to stay in his houseboat in Srinagar. His introduction went like this "Hi, Im Shaukat. People call me Shauk. They find Shaukat to be too long!"

He pushed his houseboat deal aggressively, using all kinds of lies known to salesmen. He painted this picture of something close to a moonlit dinner outside the Taj Mahal and called it his houseboat experience.

Joy was irked that Shauk was trying to compete with him for the crown of most-dishonest-deal-cutter, so he pulled out one out of his bag of tricks.

Joy said "I have a party of 6 coming down from Canada next month... I need to find a good houseboat to suggest to them..." and just to add some more fuel to the fire, " they know nothing about Srinagar, so they need to be guided fully (they can be taken for a big ride with no real effort)... also, they're high-end tourists (lots of meat to be devoured)... so I was just thinking.. " and Shauk couldn't hide his excitement... he started promising more goodies in his houseboat, I guess the Taj Mahal analogy is only meant for deprived Indian travellers like us. Respect for us ragged, budget travellers had never been so good. While Shauk was licking his lips at the potential gold mine, we got a good deal, and Shauk even went wrong with simple addition to charge us some 150 less, even as he joked about how math and shauk aren't the best of friends.

We joked that Joy would write a best-selling book in the future, titled "How to rip a guy off... and make him feel good about it!"

We rode to Srinagar and while we were looking out for Shauk's dad to receive us on the road leading to Nigeen Lake, we were approached by this gentleman who seemed a little too eager to guide us to our houseboat. He took us to this houseboat claiming that he was shauk's brother. Then he proposed some deal which didn't match the one we'd struck with shauk. Over the next 20 mins his relationship with shauk went like this - "My own dear little brother... he's a close cousin... uncle... distant relative... friend... dishonest guy... cheat... he's a liar! fraud! don't listen to him!! come to me, for the best houseboats in the whole of Srinagar..."

We screamed at him, and found our way to Shauk's houseboat... while it wasn't exactly Taj Mahal's floating cousin, I must say that it was beautiful. The intricate wood work inside the houseboat looked majestic, and the room itself was nice and spacious. I was impressed to find a bathtub there, but I realised later that it didn't have a plug to shut the hole, so it was merely an oversized wash-basin.

As we came out and sat on the wooden slats which form the pathway to the houseboat, we got our first glimpse of the beauty of Srinagar's waters. We were to explore them more later, but it was a stunning first sight. Things were so relaxed over there that it's hard to believe that Srinagar is the heart of a massive terrorist battlefield. So we sat there, with our feet dangling above the water, excited at the prospect of exploring Srinagar.

The Second Coldest Stat

We’d only heard of Drass as a militant-infested district of Kashmir. What we didn’t know was the fact that Drass is the second coldest inhabited place on earth. There is a signboard stating “Drass… 2nd coldest… -65 C… Jan 1995” welcoming us to the town. Joy spent an hour, filming and photographing the stat-board from all possible angles. I think that stat is going to be the highlight of his doc film. Given that Drass is not particularly high up, it’s hard to imagine that -40 C is common during the winters. The place has a gloomy look to it, with dark clouds hovering above and a certain dampness in the air at all times.

That was the last of the cold nights. We woke up early, and found that the bathroom had a glass window the size of a door. While the idea of having a good, panoramic view is appreciated, they forget that the view is two-way. Anyway, the view happened to be that of Tiger Hill – the strategic peak that India lost and recaptured during the Kargil War.

While at the cramped hotel in Drass, we met a Brit who suffered from a colonial hangover. He passed generalized nasty comments demeaning advertising professionals, which annoyed Gopal. He never missed an opportunity to point out how everything (eg : Royal Enfield) is from Briton and that nothing has changed after independence. We felt enraged and sincerely prayed that he meets with an accident, hopefully in some godforsaken place like that old abandoned road near Lamayuru.

Negative thoughts aside, fresh snow is a treat to the eyes. It looks like someone strewed fine white talcum dust from top. So, early next morning, as we rode on to Zojila pass, we ogled at the dark peaks capped with fresh snow. I remember mocking at the name Zojila during 8th class geography classes. Never did I dream that I’d land there someday. Being a damp day, we rode on slush and loose earth, but crossing Zojila (~13,000 ft) was a piece of cake compared to the high passes of Ladakh.

We halted at an army check post, and the wonderfully polite chaps invited us for tea. Hot chai in a steel tumbler was the perfect antidote to the numbing cold that had bothered us all morning. As we looked down at the valley, we saw thousands of little tents littered all over, for the Amarnath Yatra. The army guys were shocked that, having traveled so far, we didn’t intend to check out the Amarnath Yatra. Joy threw this don’t-you-know-I’m-interested-in-stats look, not making an effort to hide his disgust at the idea. I tried explaining how we’d been thru so much emptiness and sheer natural beauty in Ladakh, that we were really not interested in crowded places of religious interest. But my struggles with Hindi meant that Gopal had to come to my rescue and he mentioned some non-existing train, which we had to catch two days later.

As we rode downhill, the road improved rapidly, and before we knew it, the roads were 30-40 feet wide, neatly laid… and swarming with steely-eyed army jawans holding AK-47s. Welcome to Kashmir.

Under Enemy Observation

Jammu & Kashmir can be divided into the Islamic east– Kashmir, and the Buddhist west– Ladakh. The little town of Mulbekh is the divide between the two halves. This is where Buddhism ends and Islam begins.

The next town on our path was Kargil. What is essentially a quiet, dreary village became synonymous with the war with Pakistan in 1999. The ultra-wide, neatly done road (there is usually just one road going thru these villages) contrasts sharply with the diminutive character of the village. It's funny how it took a full-scale war to spur development.

We could feel our proximity to the Line Of Control with Pakistan. Heavily armed guards are present on every road, bridge or any mentionable form of infrastructure. It took us 30 mins to get a chance to make phone calls from a public telephone – the place was swarming with army guys. Oh, and they hate cameras in these places.

Next up was the LoC. Those were some of the most amazing hours of the trip. Beas (or Sindh?) thundered right next to the road, and on the other side of the river was Pakistan – nay, Pakistan Occupied Kashmir. The road bisected the slopes studded with bunkers and artillery pointed skywards. There was an unmistakable air of aggression and tension.

Just to make us feel at ease, a signboard read "You are now under enemy observation". Notice the word 'enemy'. Not too far from here, we have guys who play cricket, meet up occasionally to boost the Indo-Pak bhai-bhai sentiment, develop feel-good Confidence-Building-Measures… bullshit! Hypocrisy is the name of the game… absolutely nobody has the balls to speak out the truth sans all the sugar-coating and diplomatic gas. The media feeds us deceptive stories and loads of lies that comfortably shield us from reality. Kids coming for surgeries, musicians, actors, cricketers, diplomats, politicians giving out well-rehearsed lines… it's all such a messy farce. The mutual distrust is thick in the air. Infiltration is clear and present, and it's a very real danger to our country. The fear and suspicion in the eyes of the army men is unmissable. How can we shamelessly accept these lies when our army men live and die in fear?

The worst part is that there isn't a hint of an end to the terror, and to the problem itself. Men are going to die, suffer deep mental scars due to the perpetual fear and suspicion, Pak Generals will be extended warm receptions and taken to the Taj Mahal, not long after orchestrating a bloody war which claimed thousands of lives, Indian Ministers will meekly cry at the need for an end to terrorist camps in Pak, shamelessly begging for some western power to help them clean their mess, cricketers will play series after series after series and hog media-space like they were building peace-bridges and laugh all the way to the bank… and people just sit back and watch on… oh, and where is my pop-corn?

The Baby Factory

That was the scene for our tea-break... oh, and the tea only cost us 5 bucks each - no additional costs for the 'happening'-quotient of the place.

Towards the end of that evening ride to Lamayuru, which is a beautiful monastery-village in the middle of absolutely nowhere, having crossed nothing but one stray cow for 50 kms, we realized that we’d taken the old, abandoned road. We didn’t really mind the long route, it was just another excuse to ride on. The surrounding dark peaks looked like chocolate brownies, and the stratified layers of earth on the slopes kindled memories of those long-forgotten geography classes spent snoring away to glory… sedimentation and all that.

We crossed the first house of the village late that night, and suddenly there was the house-woman chasing us, announcing ‘100 ruppees for a room! Just 100 ruppees!” She actually ran behind us, begging for us to turn back and consider her offer for a room. That was 100 for 3 of us, and they even offered 3 different rooms for the 3 of us to make ourselves comfortable in. Joy was thrilled at the prospect of staying at a place for just 33.33 per head. It gave him a bigger kick than all the beauty that Ladakh could throw at him.

The House went from being the flourishing first tourist place on the old road, to the impoverished fag end of the new road to Lamayuru. It’s amazing how an infrastructure improvement like a new road can affect the lives of some people. The extreme poverty was instantly recognisable.

The Man of the House ran a baby factory. He had kids of all ages and sizes, and the economic compulsions to stop production didn’t seem to bother him much. The eldest of them was a really cute girl, not more than 10 yrs old. She practically did all the work, never once complaining or showing as much as a hint of a frown. Her dad just sat in one corner, smoking away, while her mum was perennially occupied in taking care of all the babies. We were deeply affected by the life of that little girl… such responsibility and maturity at such a young age. I felt really bad for all the kids. They didn’t make any of the choices that led to their state of poverty. They’re paying up for someone else’s irresponsibility. I don’t know if they will ever have an opportunity to get out of the rut, but I dearly hope there is a way out for these kids.

The Nastiest Ride

The ride back from Panamik to Leh was one of the toughest of the entire trip.The intense heat from the sun melts the mountains of snow by the roadside, and by the time we reached there in the evening, the World's Highest Road had morphed into the World's Nastiest.

It was deja vu from our ride on the World's Second Highest Road... lack of energy, fatigue, beaten up bodies, icy water in the boots, stiff icy winds, piles of loose rock and a gushing stream on top to ride on... it was all that and worse. I can't quite explain how it felt. Disorientation is too soft a word. We shut everything out of our heads. It was just survival. We didn't think that we were on a trip, doing all these wonderful things... everything seemed trivial. The scenery whizzed past us like a blur. I only remember the soft yellow light from the setting sun reflecting off the surrounding snow slopes and giving us the most beautiful, softest natural yellow lighting imaginable.

This time, we didn't stop to feel the World's Highest Whatever, we didn't give out our widest grins to the camera - heck, we couldn't even hold a camera in our hands. Fingers, toes, cheeks, nose, ears - everything was frozen numb. We just wanted to reach Leh. Alive. Nothing else mattered. There could've been a fortune lying nearby, or the hottest babe on earth parked by the side of the road, and we couldn't have cared less. We had our horse-blinds on.

When we reached the first army camp on the climb down from Khardung La, we didn't need to think before barging into the canteen. Our instincts completely over-ruled our minds that evening. The warmth inside that four-walled confinement cannot be explained. It was the warmest warmth we had ever experienced. We didn't keep count of the number of parathas, omelets and chais we downed... Joy was extremely displeased when he was served an omelet when he'd asked for a half-boil (a.k.a bull's eye). We were just grateful that someone is nice enough to feed us at 18,000 ft., but Joy is so used to blemishless customer-service in the tea-shops in Aynavaram and Vikkivakkam that he couldn't hide his irritation with the omelet. He held it as if it were a dead rat and said "If he doesn't have the knowledge to make a half-boil, he should admit it! How can he do this to me?" For Gopal and me, it was just an excuse to down another omelet. Joy never ate anything that day. I think he has enough reserves of everything to hibernate through a Siberian winter.

So we rode on, engulfed by pitch darkess, with only our headlamps glowing for as far as our eyes could see. I'll never forget that ride. I sat tight behind Joy, holding on to dear life as he showed off his dare-devil night-riding skills.I think he felt like he was riding a bike in some video game... he'd push the limits, take sharp, reckless turns... like if something went wrong, he could press 'Esc' and select 'New Game' or 'Restart'. During one of the innumerous bends, Joy slanted the bike so hard that the enfield's foot-rest hit the road and the bike jerked violently... madness. I bet if anything had gone wrong that night, we'd have been pretty darn close to The End.

But we survived to tell the story... and reached Leh late that night. After much struggle, we found a decent room, ate like we'd not seen food for a week and crashed like we'd not slept since we were born. We were just happy to be alive, and fortunate for all the little things that made the trip happen. We're just lucky. We don't even realise how much.

Kids remain kids.

After our organic food-fest at Hunder, we paid a visit to a gompa (monastery) at this nearby village called Diskit. The highlight of this monastery is the carefully preserved fore-arm of some ancient Mongol invader who was slayed in that Gompa.

Joy spent half a video-tape filming that monastery. I think it's going to be the highlight of his documentary film. I bet he got every deity covered in every possible angle... he stopped short of thrusting the handycam on the monk's face, demanding a juicy interview. Oh, and I bet he's learning about the preserved arm from this blog.

We rode along to Panamik, which is the northernmost village in India. We went as far north as civilians are allowed to go in this beautiful country. Felt weird when we turned around to head back south. The Siachen glacier was less than 50 kms away. I wish I could go there one day to experience life on the world's highest battlefield. Anyway, I was reminded of Tom Hanks in the movie Forrest Gump... when he reaches the ocean, he turns around and runs to wherever his legs take him. So anyway, that's what we did- we turned around and started our journey back.

While we were there, we met a lot of local kids, waiting for their bus back home from school. There were a bunch of them climbing a tree and playing around... they posed happily for the camera. There was genuine happiness in their eyes. The kids didn't carry backpacks half their own weight, or attend maddening tution classes after school hours like their city-dwelling counterparts. They still played around, with all their innocence intact, growing up nice and slowly, enjoying life to the fullest when it's most fun. I compared that to my crazy school-life in Madras where childhood is ruined by pressure, expectations and maddening constraints imposed on the young minds. Why can't we just let the kids be kids?

Go organic!

We left the dunes and rode into darkness known as a village called Hunder. Guided by the omnipresent Indian Army, after losing our way many times, we were very lucky to find a clean, small room in the middle of the wilderness.

The negotiation for the room-price went like this... The chinky owner said "Rs.400... take it or leave it." Joy simply said "But we're Indians." "Ok, 300 it is."

Besides the stunning scenery wherever we looked, we were also served completely organic food for dinner. No pesticides, no fertilizers, no junk. I never knew greens and salads tasted so good! Spurred on by the cold, Gopal and I hogged like we'd not eaten for a week. It was like a proper home-made dinner (not my home, of course).

Joy, I think, is allergic to green food. Actually, he's allergic to anything that is not deep fried, golden brown or deep red in colour, preferably with a visible coating of oil of some sort. He scoffed at the idea of organic food, and chose to starve instead. His ability to go hungry and remain his energetic self is amazing. He'd skip 3 meals on the trot, in extreme cold, and the next day, under the burning mid-day sun, he'd break his fast with potato-fries or chips.

This place we stayed at was so self-contained... they had diverted a part of the stream bordering the house, to flow through the garden... there was fresh (cold) running water at all times. The next morning we had Ladakhi bread with lots of butter and honey. Brilliant again. Honestly, organic food tastes infinitely better... it's addictive. Living in the cities, I don't think we realise what we're missing.


A Bactrian camel...


















How about this for a sunrise...

More Nubra

No, this aint Rajasthan...

Subra in Nubra

After bidding goodbye to the-highest-everything (from telephone tower to toilets), we left Khardung La. Riding down-hill under the early afternoon sun, admiring the walls of snow adjoining the road, little did we know what it held in store for us during the ride back the next evening... anyway, that comes later.

We had our by-now-accustomed dose of icy water flooding the boots, and mini-snow-slides blocking the road... the sun was out, and we were getting our skin burnt and toes frozen at the same time. Someone said (jokingly, perhaps) that Leh might be the only place where you could suffer a frost-bite and sun-stroke at the same time. So we were rather pleased to settle for skin-burn and frozen toes.

The check-posts on either side of Khardung La are called North and South Pullu. Our permits were checked, and we had tea while our dripping socks and boots were left to sunbathe.

We rode on, thoroughly enjoying the late-afternoon ride under the sun... the road was very good and empty. We passed by this village called Khalsar where heard the army test-firing its artillery... we could see clouds of dust rising from not far away. The walls adjoining the road had been used for target-practice once upon a time, so they looked heavily cratered, reminding me of the battlefields in movies like Lakshya.

We were riding alongside the Shey river which had these sandy beaches for boundaries. We rode on, to find more sand, and suddenly there were rocks and pebbles scattered in little sand-dunes on either side of the road for as far as our eyes could see! Welcome to Nubra!

Nubra Valley is the northern-most part of India. It also happens to be a proper sandy desert at 10,000 feet! There are sand dunes, Bactrian camels (with the double-hump) and even wild horses! We'd never seen anything like it before. We opened up the throttle so that we could reach the bigger dunes in time for sunset.

While Gopal and I raced into the desert like mad men, with the camera and the handycam, Joy sat not far from the road, soaking in the 'northern-most' stat, completely calm and impassive, as if he was sitting in the corner tea-shop in downtown Villivakkam.

We walked in for a kilometer, without realising it, and then we panned around to see the stunning beauty that surrounded us. We had the sand-dunes stretching out till the road, beyond which, the massive Martian mountain slopes take over. As we admired the out-ofthis-world rock-formations, out of nowhere, a waterfall gushes out of the cliff. Amazing. Further down on either side of the brown slopes, the snow-capped peaks reflect the golden evening sun. Just when we thought nature couldn't throw anything more at us, we were greeted by a little stream - a few metres wide - bang in the middle of the desert, with little thorny shrubs and slightly bigger trees crowding up to form a wide patch of greenery. Oh, and the dry bed of an oasis, which looked like a gorgeous set tiles. Oh, wait, there was also an ocean on one side, with a beautiful beach, with hippos surfing... ok, just kidding!

It was a sensory overdose. Just when we'd think that we'd seen it all, something amazing would come and sweep us off our feet... that was like the underlying theme of the trip.

We were surprised and delighted to find a group of (four) wild horses crossing the stream. Because there is nowhere to hide, we approached them slowly, but obviously couldn't help getting noticed. They became alert, slowly moving out of the water as we got closer. I removed my boots and crossed the stream, which had the softest bed of sand imaginable. The sand seeped in between my toes, giving this heavenly sensation, and my feet would sink close to a foot into the sand. It was scary at times.

So I crossed the stream, and ran after horses... my stupid brain didn't realise that I was no Jesse Owens, or that the horses were no Joys. So I ran, with my lungs pleading for more air, until my head started spinning and stars appeared in front of my eyes... sometimes I'd be within filming distance of the horses, trying to get the handycam out, with my hands shaking unsteadily, only to see the horses jog away in effortless two-metre strides... turning back every now and then to tease me. The horses would prance around to dry their feet - boy! Was that spectacular or what! I just stood there, holding the handycam, my mouth wide open.

They looked so serene and beautiful in the wild. I can't believe people bring every animal on earth into zoos.. they should just let them be. It's like my neighbour trying to teach her dog how to shake hands with people... and screaming at it if the poor thing can't understand what's happening.

Anyway, back to Nubra... my knee, which was bruised at Khardung La that afternoon, was throbbing with pain, and my lungs were threatening to burst out... the horses had gained too much distance and I suddenly realised that the sun was setting fast... it was close to 7:30 in the evening and I was a good 2 kms from the road. I crossed a dozen sand-dunes, to catch up with Gopal, who got some awesome photos... unfortunately, I haven't got them scanned yet, so I can't upload the slr snaps as of now. Anyway, Gopal gave his by-now-customary 2 min accented speech, on desert ecosystems. We joked around, made fun of Joy, whom we'd not seen for a couple of hours then. As we trekked back, sliding down the dunes and hopping over the brittle tiles of the Oasis bed, we felt like we'd experienced something special that day. It was, in a way, like our first picnic in school. All the excitement, the sense of discovery, the fulfillment ... it all came back.

The sun was almost down, it was past 8 when we shared our experiences with Joy, squatting in the middle of the road, pondering over our new-found benchmark for the 'lonely planet'. So we took out the guidebook, cranked the pulsar alive and switched on the headlamps. As I read out the section under 'Hunder' and 'Diskit', we sat there, with darkness engulfing us rapidly, wondering where to crash for the night in that godforsaken place.