JULEY!
Stuck in a traffic jam on the way to work. Bumper to bumper we clog the street. Driver ahead of me honks. So does the long line of drivers behind me. A shrill, jarring chorus. The sun burns a hole in the summer sky. We sweat and swear and keep up the cacophony. Theatre of chaos. Our early morning commute.
Later in the day under the blazing noon sun I trudge along to the railway reservation office. Every counter is packed, lines spill past the door into the courtyard. A lifetime or two will pass before I get to the indifferent clerk at the counter window.
Evening dishes out a sense of déjà vu. The sequel to the morning's traffic jam plays out when I drive home from work. We are stuck. As we were in the morning. A seething sea of humanity. Wishing with all its heart and tired soul that we could just move along.
And so it goes…
The summer sun shows no mercy. Mercury rising. The week drags on. Another day of dust storms and exhaust fumes. Another jam. I close my eyes against the day's scorching brightness. And wish I could get away from it all.
Remember the Queen number 'I Want it All?' Somebody should rework that one. For our time. Back in Queen's heyday, they wanted it all. And wanted it right then. In our time, we want to get away. And we want it now. In this summer of our discontent. Can't wait for another season. Can't look for another reason (Song writers please note)
Just as I am about to abandon all hope, I hear a friend is planning a trip to Ladakh. Land of lamas and legend. Magic wafting over the mountains. Sinuous streams, brilliant blue skies. Vast vistas of open space without a trace of the human race.Bye bye sun. Hello snow. Before you can say global warming, my bags are packed. And we are off, driving across the Leh-Manali road from Jammu.
We give ourselves three days to make it to Leh. The drive is a roller coaster ride. The road is a revelation. Impossible curves and hairpin bends wind across the mountains. At some points, the road simply disappears into a stream, a heap of stones or solid blocks of ice.
"Why drive when you can fly?" asks a mystified friend. A road trip has its own charm." We voyagers explain to the philistine as the jeep scales another mountain and comes to a halt at Rohtang Pass.
I brush aside a stream of touts who offer me skates, snow car rides and a photo op with a couple of domesticated yaks. The place is crawling with honeymooners who grab all of the above offers with a vengeance. "Remember Kerouac's road trip, The Motorcycle Diaries?" May be literature and film will remind my cynical friend of the romance of road travel. "But what's left to discover in this globalised world? No more Shangri Las for you to stumble on," my friend insists. "Even if you did, everybody there probably drinks diet coke and watches Desperate Housewives!"
Our conversation ends abruptly when my cell phone signal fades away as we drive away from Rohtang. By evening we are at Manali. After an exhausted night's stop we hit the road again the next morning.
It's a long day's drive to Jespa, a few kilometers ahead of Keylong. Keylong is the district headquarters of Lahaul and Spiti. The road to Jespa twists and turns and offers us dizzying visions of nature's splendour.
The sky is a bright, burning blue. Mountains tower over the road; gurgling streams trail along the valley below it. Except for an occasional truck or jeep passing by, there are few traces of civilization here. The silence is not just an absence of noise. It embraces you like a faithful companion, inspiring introspection. Your thoughts are free to take flight on its wings. They meander on love, life, past, present, future….
Jespa boasts of a guest house nestled literally in the heart of the mountains. The view from my room is spectacular. Mountains loom like somber sentinels just a few yards away, a clear stream glistens in the moon's silver sheen. There is something humbling about such unadulterated beauty. I bend my head in reverence to whatever power has created this perfection.
The guest house is plunged in darkness courtesy a two-day long power failure. Candles bathe the rooms and narrow corridors in their mellow glow. My cell phone is silent. The receptionist warns me that signals will not be back till we get to Upshi the next evening. This is bad news. Much as I appreciate the blessing of solitude, I hate the thought of spending the next 24 hours without conversations with friends. A day without inane text messages about lamas and Ladakh from people who have been bombarding me with witticisms since I set out. 24 hours without nagging reminders from my parents about the dangers of driving on mountain roads. I realize how much I appreciate the human race, warts and all. The conveniences of civilization take on a new appeal now. I swear I will treat them with all due respect from now on!
Once we start our drive towards Leh the next day, the landscape becomes desolate. For hours, we don't see a single soul on the road. Mountains stand watch, tall and silent as the road winds ahead. We feel like explorers making our way through virgin territory. When I spot a small group of workers on the wayside, I grab my camera and click their pictures. "People," I shout in amazement. There is an inexplicable pleasure in seeing fellow humans after such desolation.
The wind howls like a wild animal as we roll up the windows. Wispy snow flakes float in the air. The mountains peaks are covered in snow, they glint, pure white against the sky. The mountains continue without end, some grey and ashen, some reddish brown. Then there are tall ranges of sand which look like stupas carved by the wind. Towards evening we spot a herd of yaks dotting a flat plain we drive by. A hostile herdsman watches us without blinking from the wayside. His tent, pitched in the heart of the plain, is a grey speck in its vastness.
As we near Leh, tall green poplars break the monotony of the mountains ranges. After being starved of greenery for so long, my eyes feast on the trees. Gompas (Buddhist monasteries) rest on tall hillocks across the landscape. Their walls are painted a deep maroon, prayer flags flutter from rooftops in the breeze. Leh city welcomes us with bright white chortens and shrines housing intricately decorated prayer wheels. A chorten is the Tibetan version of the Indian stupa. It guards all Ladakhi villages. In it rests the remains of holy men, prayer scrolls, offerings to gods. The mountains are a constant presence, they watch over Leh city from all directions.
In summer, the weather gods are kind to Ladakh. Poplars and willow trees are covered with emerald green leaves. Wild rose bushes burst into bloom. Delicate pink roses cling to their stalks. Ladakhis tend their gardens religiously. Flowers, which last only for a few months, are nurtured like children. In winter, the trees are stripped bare. Icy cold winds howl in the bleakness, the flowers fade away. The harsh weather and the rugged landscape put human endurance to a tough test.
Despite the daily battle for survival, Ladakhis are generally a friendly people. On the streets, you are greeted with a smile and a cheerful juley. Juley is an expansive word. It can mean hello, goodbye, thank you and welcome, depending on the context. When I got lost on the streets, I was greeted with the word and given patient directions. When I thanked my guides, they would respond with Juley (welcome)!
One morning, when I take a walk up the narrow, winding alleys of the old city in Leh, an elderly homeowner invites me to his home for a cup of tea. He tells me that houses in the old city were built as early as in the 16th century. But they fell into ruin over the years due to lack of maintenance. Tibetan Heritage Conservation Fund, a non-governmental organization is now working to restore these houses. Water supply and sewerage, two thorny issues which were driving residents of the old city are also being tackled by the NGO.
House owners are grateful for their efforts. Many of them had given up all hope of spending the autumn of their lives in their family homes. They have happily returned to the old city with their children and grandchildren.
During my week-long stay, I meet many others who are passionate about improving the life of their community. Padma Dolma, a young gynecologist at the only civil hospital in Leh, is a dynamo of energy. On a busy day, around 150 patients walk into her consulting room. Some of them are heavily pregnant women flown in from remote areas of Ladakh by army choppers. Many of her patients still place their faith in the power of aamchi (traditional) medicine. She has to tread the thin line between their faith and the rationale of modern medicine every day.
SECMOL, headed by Sonam Wangchuk, runs Leh's only alternate school. The campus is located 18 km away from the city. Students are involved in every aspect of its day-to- day functioning. The campus makes use of solar energy and spring water harvesting. Students help to maintain two greenhouses which grow vegetables through the summer and winter. Living and learning in an environment close to nature makes school an enjoyable experience for students, many of who belong to remote parts of the Land of High Mountain Passes.
Chewang Norphel, a retired civil engineer, has revolutionized the Ladakhi farmer's life. Growing up in Skarra, a tiny village on Leh's outskirts, Norphel believed water was a magical word. Norphel's family, like other farmers in the area, depended entirely on snow melts from natural glaciers to irrigate their fields. When Norphel joined the state rural development department, he heard desperate pleas for water from every Ladakhi village he visited. The sprightly 70-year-old evolved an innovative project. In 1987, he constructed the first 'artificial glacier' at Phoktse Pho.
Norphel's artifical glaciers trap and freeze water at the start of winter. Water from a stream or river is diverted along a large wall of rocks built at the foot of a mountain. This water is channeled through pipes to an area which is protected from the glare of the mountain sun. The water accumulates and as the temperature drops, it freezes to form sheets of ice. In summer, this ice melts at the start of the sowing season. The water is diverted to fields, freeing farmers from their bondage to natural glaciers.
I am amazed by the energy, passion and innovative skills of these individuals. On a daily basis, they find new ways to tackle the challenges nature poses to life in their rugged terrain.
On my last day in Leh, I visit a monastery snuggled next to the ancient Leh Palace. Prayer flags flutter in the chilly evening breeze as a Lama unlocks the doors of the shrine. The offering bowls have been filled, the lamps lit. A benign Buddha smiles.
"Would you like some tea?" The friendly Lama asks after I pay my respects at the shrine.
The tea is sweet and milky and an excellent antidote for the cold. After finishing my cup, I thank him and say goodbye.Always be happy," he says with a twinkle in his eyes. Maroon robes flutter lightly in the breeze. "And make others happy." .
Journeys take you to distant lands. You savour new tastes, watch spectacular sunsets, walk across unfamiliar alleyways under dazzling night skies littered with stars. If you are lucky, you get to discover places that are never marked on maps. Their winding roads guide you to the soul of a place, their hearts always beat in tune to the pulse of their people.
Maybe the magic of the unknown has lost its sheen in globalised times. But even in our homogenized global village, there are still some paths left which take us closer to the essence of things.
They leave us wiser. About others. About ourselves.
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
The greatest love story ever told
What will he wear tonight? He turns his wardrobe upside down. None of his clothes seem good enough for this special occasion. This night like no other… He has to be dressed right for it. Nothing but the best will do. He picks his beige shirt and lays it out on the bed. His movements are carefully calibrated. They have the grandeur of a man dressing for an emperor's coronation or a saint's canonization. He wavers between his blue shirt and the beige one for many agonizing moments. Beige looks good on him. This, he has learnt from first hand experience. Every time he wears beige to office, female colleagues shower him with compliments. He has calculated – based on empirical data – that he always gets an invite (or more) to office parties and weekend getaways on days he dresses in beige. Blue, on the other hand, isn't much good in moving him up the social ladder. It lags behind on the popularity charts.
Blue used to be his favourite colour. It reminds him of the ocean, of summer skies and school holidays he spent with his parents at quaint hill stations and sea side resorts. On the first day of their holiday, he would take off for a swim as soon as they had unpacked their suitcases. Bobbing up and down on the turquoise waters, he would watch fluffy clouds scurrying across bright blue skies. Drowning in the blue he forgot the monotony of school, meals that tasted like sawdust, served three times a day with clockwork precision. He inhaled the cool sea breeze as the waves rocked his body to their rhythm. Blue skies, blue seas, the promise of freedom, eternity...
He picks the beige shirt. His personal likes and dislikes are of no consequence. Its what the world thinks that counts. You have no choice in these matters. You wear what the world approves of. You say what the world wants to hear. You dress in the right clothes, you are in. You say the right words, doors that matter open magically before you. Everything – your wardrobe, your address, the car you drive, the cell phone you flaunt, the airline you fly – is passed through the scanner. One wrong choice, one uncool brand and you are a social pariah the next day. It's a tough game, so you play by the rules. Do whatever it takes to make your way in. And keep your place in the inner circle.
He finds a maroon silk tie to go with the shirt. A dash of colour to pep up the sedate beige. He wears the shirt, feels the freshly starched linen brush against his skin. Tie knotted neatly, he takes a peek at the mirror. He scrutinizes his reflection from every possible angle, tilts his face a bit to let the light accentuate his sharp cheekbones. His shirt is a snug fit, his trousers are ironed to perfection. Satisfied with the dress rehearsal, he heads for the shower. The imported marble floor gleams white, he steps into the shower cabinet and directs a jet of warm water on to his body. The bathroom made a massive dent in his pocket when he was setting up house. The budget the architect drew up for the bathroom could have fed a small country for a decade. The fat grand total at the bottom of the page set off his asthma and kept him hooked to his inhaler for about 15 minutes.
Jabbing the air with his manicured hands, the architect explained why what could be seen as an extravagance was in fact a basic necessity. "If your bathroom doesn't make a style statement," he cleared his throat. "I have to be frank…its all in the loo now. This is the space designed to impress your business associates, your clients. Your social circle's going to drool over it. You are going to love it" It didn't take much persuasion for him to cave in and give the go ahead.
Fresh from the shower, he wears the clothes he has meticulously laid out on the king size bed (Italian, imported, naturally). The house is quiet. The maid and the cook have left, the driver is on leave, down with the flu. He punches the sleek black remote control, sets the temperature for the air conditioner in the bed room. He leaves it on. The room must be cooled just right when he gets back. No point sweating it out. He walks past the giant LCD television screen in the living room, heads towards the front door. Burglar alarm set (state of the art, made in Germany, thank you very much), he steps out of the house. The car 's (Infiniti G 35 Sedan) idling in the garage, but it's just a couple of blocks and he decides he'll walk it for a change."
He finds a maroon silk tie to go with the shirt. A dash of colour to pep up the sedate beige. He wears the shirt, feels the freshly starched linen brush against his skin. Tie knotted neatly, he takes a peek at the mirror. He scrutinizes his reflection from every possible angle, tilts his face a bit to let the light accentuate his sharp cheekbones. His shirt is a snug fit, his trousers are ironed to perfection. Satisfied with the dress rehearsal, he heads for the shower.
The imported marble floor gleams white, he steps into the shower cabinet and directs a jet of warm water on to his body. The bathroom made a massive dent in his pocket when he was setting up house. The budget the architect drew up for the bathroom could have fed a small country for a decade. The fat grand total at the bottom of the page set off his asthma and kept him hooked to his inhaler for about 15 minutes.
Jabbing the air with his manicured hands, the architect explained why what could be seen as extravagance was in fact a basic necessity. "If your bathroom doesn't make a style statement," he cleared his throat. "I have to be frank…its all in the loo now. This is the space designed to impress your business associates, your clients. Your social circle's going to drool over it. You are going to love it"
It didn't take much persuasion for him to cave in and give the go ahead.
Fresh from the shower, he wears the clothes he has meticulously laid out on the king size bed (Italian, imported, naturally). The house is quiet. The maid and the cook have left, the driver is on leave, down with the flu.
He punches the sleek black remote control, sets the temperature for the air conditioner in the bed room. He leaves it on. The room must be cooled just right when he gets back. No point sweating it out. He walks past the giant LCD television screen in the living room, heads towards the front door. Burglar alarm set (state of the art, made in Germany, thank you very much), he steps out of the house. The car 's (Infiniti G 35 Sedan) idling in the garage, but it's just a couple of blocks and he decides he'll walk it for a change.
In the night sky, stars glint like shards of glass. A perfectly rounded full moon glides from behind a cloud. He doesn't waste his time admiring the moon and its extravagant beauty, he needs to get to his destination as fast as he can. Out of breath, his excited heart pounding like a drum, he turns the corner and walks into the neon lit brilliance of fifth avenue.
There is a huge crowd outside the tall glass windows of the store. Everybody is dressed for the occasion. Some have remembered to bring placards which welcome the new phone to the universe in bright, bold letters. He could have brought one too, but wearing his heart on his sleeve was never his style. He merges with the crowd and like devotees awaiting the messiah, they begin their vigil. Tomorrow, when the glass doors of the store slide open at daybreak, the new phone will be theirs. He will become one of the chosen few to own this mind blowing, sophisticated gadget. One wave of his credit card and the sleek phone will rest in the palm of his eager hand. To have and to hold. Till death or defunct batteries do us part. He wills his heart to be still. This night too must pass…
(PS: In June 2007, after months of hype, Apple released the iPhone in 164 retail stores across the United States. The gadget is a cell phone, iPod media player and wireless web device. Crowds reportedly held all night vigils outside stores in anticipation of the day the phone went on sale. Ripples of excitement permeated to all corners of the globe. The internet went berserk with bloggers who couldn't stop raving about the new gadget. They affectionately nicknamed it the 'Jesus phone' in view of the fact that it appears to be a miracle. Eager customers world wide are said to be waiting breathlessly for the company to release the phone in their countries. )
Blue used to be his favourite colour. It reminds him of the ocean, of summer skies and school holidays he spent with his parents at quaint hill stations and sea side resorts. On the first day of their holiday, he would take off for a swim as soon as they had unpacked their suitcases. Bobbing up and down on the turquoise waters, he would watch fluffy clouds scurrying across bright blue skies. Drowning in the blue he forgot the monotony of school, meals that tasted like sawdust, served three times a day with clockwork precision. He inhaled the cool sea breeze as the waves rocked his body to their rhythm. Blue skies, blue seas, the promise of freedom, eternity...
He picks the beige shirt. His personal likes and dislikes are of no consequence. Its what the world thinks that counts. You have no choice in these matters. You wear what the world approves of. You say what the world wants to hear. You dress in the right clothes, you are in. You say the right words, doors that matter open magically before you. Everything – your wardrobe, your address, the car you drive, the cell phone you flaunt, the airline you fly – is passed through the scanner. One wrong choice, one uncool brand and you are a social pariah the next day. It's a tough game, so you play by the rules. Do whatever it takes to make your way in. And keep your place in the inner circle.
He finds a maroon silk tie to go with the shirt. A dash of colour to pep up the sedate beige. He wears the shirt, feels the freshly starched linen brush against his skin. Tie knotted neatly, he takes a peek at the mirror. He scrutinizes his reflection from every possible angle, tilts his face a bit to let the light accentuate his sharp cheekbones. His shirt is a snug fit, his trousers are ironed to perfection. Satisfied with the dress rehearsal, he heads for the shower. The imported marble floor gleams white, he steps into the shower cabinet and directs a jet of warm water on to his body. The bathroom made a massive dent in his pocket when he was setting up house. The budget the architect drew up for the bathroom could have fed a small country for a decade. The fat grand total at the bottom of the page set off his asthma and kept him hooked to his inhaler for about 15 minutes.
Jabbing the air with his manicured hands, the architect explained why what could be seen as an extravagance was in fact a basic necessity. "If your bathroom doesn't make a style statement," he cleared his throat. "I have to be frank…its all in the loo now. This is the space designed to impress your business associates, your clients. Your social circle's going to drool over it. You are going to love it" It didn't take much persuasion for him to cave in and give the go ahead.
Fresh from the shower, he wears the clothes he has meticulously laid out on the king size bed (Italian, imported, naturally). The house is quiet. The maid and the cook have left, the driver is on leave, down with the flu. He punches the sleek black remote control, sets the temperature for the air conditioner in the bed room. He leaves it on. The room must be cooled just right when he gets back. No point sweating it out. He walks past the giant LCD television screen in the living room, heads towards the front door. Burglar alarm set (state of the art, made in Germany, thank you very much), he steps out of the house. The car 's (Infiniti G 35 Sedan) idling in the garage, but it's just a couple of blocks and he decides he'll walk it for a change."
He finds a maroon silk tie to go with the shirt. A dash of colour to pep up the sedate beige. He wears the shirt, feels the freshly starched linen brush against his skin. Tie knotted neatly, he takes a peek at the mirror. He scrutinizes his reflection from every possible angle, tilts his face a bit to let the light accentuate his sharp cheekbones. His shirt is a snug fit, his trousers are ironed to perfection. Satisfied with the dress rehearsal, he heads for the shower.
The imported marble floor gleams white, he steps into the shower cabinet and directs a jet of warm water on to his body. The bathroom made a massive dent in his pocket when he was setting up house. The budget the architect drew up for the bathroom could have fed a small country for a decade. The fat grand total at the bottom of the page set off his asthma and kept him hooked to his inhaler for about 15 minutes.
Jabbing the air with his manicured hands, the architect explained why what could be seen as extravagance was in fact a basic necessity. "If your bathroom doesn't make a style statement," he cleared his throat. "I have to be frank…its all in the loo now. This is the space designed to impress your business associates, your clients. Your social circle's going to drool over it. You are going to love it"
It didn't take much persuasion for him to cave in and give the go ahead.
Fresh from the shower, he wears the clothes he has meticulously laid out on the king size bed (Italian, imported, naturally). The house is quiet. The maid and the cook have left, the driver is on leave, down with the flu.
He punches the sleek black remote control, sets the temperature for the air conditioner in the bed room. He leaves it on. The room must be cooled just right when he gets back. No point sweating it out. He walks past the giant LCD television screen in the living room, heads towards the front door. Burglar alarm set (state of the art, made in Germany, thank you very much), he steps out of the house. The car 's (Infiniti G 35 Sedan) idling in the garage, but it's just a couple of blocks and he decides he'll walk it for a change.
In the night sky, stars glint like shards of glass. A perfectly rounded full moon glides from behind a cloud. He doesn't waste his time admiring the moon and its extravagant beauty, he needs to get to his destination as fast as he can. Out of breath, his excited heart pounding like a drum, he turns the corner and walks into the neon lit brilliance of fifth avenue.
There is a huge crowd outside the tall glass windows of the store. Everybody is dressed for the occasion. Some have remembered to bring placards which welcome the new phone to the universe in bright, bold letters. He could have brought one too, but wearing his heart on his sleeve was never his style. He merges with the crowd and like devotees awaiting the messiah, they begin their vigil. Tomorrow, when the glass doors of the store slide open at daybreak, the new phone will be theirs. He will become one of the chosen few to own this mind blowing, sophisticated gadget. One wave of his credit card and the sleek phone will rest in the palm of his eager hand. To have and to hold. Till death or defunct batteries do us part. He wills his heart to be still. This night too must pass…
(PS: In June 2007, after months of hype, Apple released the iPhone in 164 retail stores across the United States. The gadget is a cell phone, iPod media player and wireless web device. Crowds reportedly held all night vigils outside stores in anticipation of the day the phone went on sale. Ripples of excitement permeated to all corners of the globe. The internet went berserk with bloggers who couldn't stop raving about the new gadget. They affectionately nicknamed it the 'Jesus phone' in view of the fact that it appears to be a miracle. Eager customers world wide are said to be waiting breathlessly for the company to release the phone in their countries. )
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