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The call of the mountains

Photos: Seema Sanghi

At HomeIn Ladakh

We ascend with the trucks: fuel trucks, food trucks and army trucks. Sheep, goats and pine forests appear. Also marijuana, growing wildly — perhaps a good explanation for the number of foreign tourists in Manali, our first night’s stop.

We choose to feast on bright red cherries instead. We’re headed to Ladakh — to see it through the eyes of the locals.

The higher we soar, the deeper the snow gets. The journey takes us up and over the world’s second highest motorable pass, Taglang La at 5,360 metres, and into the valley of Ladakh.

Colourful prayer flags, mani stones (rocks carved with sacred inscriptions), chortens (stupors), and walls and walls of solidly placed rocks greet the eye.

After almost three days of travel, we’re in Leh — a densely housed town of about 30,000 people, set 3,500 meters above sea level. Flat roofed whitewashed houses are clustered together in a labyrinth of alleyways and the nine-storey Leh palace dominates the city perched on the mountainside high above.

We are staying with the Namgyal family, five km outside Leh in Saboo village. Ama-le (mother) in her woollen goncha (robe) and Rinchen (her daughter in-law) greet us with big smiles and the word ‘Jule!’, meaning ‘welcome’, ‘hello’ and ‘thank you’ in Ladakhi (a very useful word to learn indeed!).

Though I’ve never met them before, I feel like I am at home. The house is huge and traditional: made of mud, stone and homemade bricks.

The rooms include eight bedrooms, a central open-air foyer and the pride of the house — the prayer room. Covered with pictures, the room holds various family treasures — Buddha statues, a big drum strung up from the ceiling, and walls painted in a traditional Tibetan Buddhist manner.

I wake with the village. The farmers are working on their fields. The Namgyals grow barley, alfalfa, wheat and vegetables such as turnips, potatoes, carrots and peas.

Snowmelt is shared by the villagers for irrigation, as they take turns diverting it into their fields by simply shifting rocks or moving piles of earth with a spade, to make the water flow gracefully through small canals onto their seedlings.

The cows are being milked and fed. Traditional Ladakhi hats are being stitched by Tashi Punsok, the father of the household. And, monks chant in the house to treat the baby’s eye infection.

I choose to help in the kitchen, giggling with the ladies while preparing food for at least 15 people per night.

Although Ladakhi food is simple, it takes a lot of time to prepare, especially the Tibetan-inspired dishes. However, time never seems an issue, and sometimes we sit down to a dinner of skyu or momos (wheat-based dishes with vegetables) at 10 p.m. Till then, there’s Ladakhi tea, soldja, famous for its infusion of green tea, butter and salt, all churned in a long cylindrical contraption onomatopoeically called gurgur.

For many in Leh, summer is for tourists. Both Indian and foreign tourists have flocked to the region since it opened its doors to outsiders in 1974.

Taking advantage of the many daily flights into Leh, the tourists number 18,000 per year, mostly between June and September. The road to Ladakh is closed for eight months of the year, and when it opens, the businesses are ready.

Hotels and internet cafes are reopened. So are restaurants, serving a spectacular array of cuisine: Israeli, Korean, Mexican, German, traditional Ladakhi dishes, and even ‘real espresso’ to keep the Europeans from getting grumpy. Though if they’re perfectly honest, the Ladakhis still enjoy the months when they have Leh to themselves.

Trekking guides, Jigmeth Wangchok, 25, and Ziaul Hassan, 24, say that they prefer winter when everyone is free to roam around and play cards.

Summer means that everyone gets busy and has no time for anyone else.

Ladakh is not only about magnificently high snow-capped mountains or luminous blue skies. It is not only about icy cold snowmelt rivers or 12-storey ancient Buddhist monasteries.

Ladakh is special because of its people. Their smiles are as tall as their mountains and generosity as deep as the snow.

Part of me, selfishly, does not want to tell people about how amazing Ladakh is. I don’t want it to get busier and dirtier. Or, its people to lose their contentment with the simple life.

On the other hand, all the people that I met in Leh, trekking guides, hotel owners, waiters at restaurants, all asked me to tell people about their business. So here I am, but shhh, don’t tell anyone else, ok?

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