Sentuk- A Friend

I cannot be called an 'animal lover' in any strict sense- or at least how the word is usually interpreted-I do not have any space in my life for pets. I think pets - other people's pets-are best ignored, left alone. I don't remember ever having petted a 'pet', and have, so far, successfully and determinedly resisted my daughter's persistent efforts to get a pet home- a camel, a rabbit, dogs, cats....my strong preferance for animals is in the wild, and my attitude to domesticated animals is pragmatic.

So, it came as a complete surprise to me to take fancy to Sentuk-the pet dog in the guest home in Leh. I think my initial interest was piqued when the hosts were surprised at Sentuk's geniality and courtesy in my presence-Sentuk was known in the neighborhood to be ill tempered, ferocious and entirely hostile to all outsiders -he was barely civil to his owners, resisting efforts to be fondled, refusing invitation to a warm kitchen, or extra left over food.

Initially Sentuk and I acknowledged each other, just politely...I would call out "Hey Sentuk" to which he gave a tiny single wag of his tail, a minimal baring of his mouth in a short smile. However, quickly this relationship became a full fledged friendship. Sentuk would be sitting at his usual place on the terrace, overlooking the road with passing people, dogs, yaks, donkeys and the great mountains beyond. When I neared and opened the gate, he would give a short happy laugh-bark and rush down the stairs at full speed. He always went for my gloves first-a short game that we played where he would prance around trying to nip them off my hands; I sometimes let him win and then he would loose interest in the glove and return back to continue a game with me. I would by now be sitting on a little bench outside, removing my shoes, to enter the home, when he would nuzzle and furrow into me to lie with his head on my lap. I accepted this fondly, for a little bit, before saying " enough Sentuk" and get up. I would wonder at my truly surprising, almost shocking, acceptance of Sentuk's affection- was it because I was away from my family for so long? was it that lack of affection in my life, so far from home? but no, I wasn't missing anyone or anything-in fact, I was happy, content. I knew even then, it was Sentuk who was different, a kindred spirit, a new found friend - and just accepted him as such.

Different Directions: Art

Hills: Inspired by Ladakh




Brahma: Creator

Prithvi: Earth

Pangong Tso

Unreal colors, stunning clarity and perfect backdrop of barren hills make Pangong Tso , a long, brackish, high altitude lake in eastern Ladakh a perfect getaway from the bustle of Leh.

Random Photos from Leh

Zanskar

It’s with time, and also age, that I have slowly come to realize the irresistible draw, for me, of all things unknown, uncertain, and unattainable. Zanskar has, over last many years, epitomized all of these, a place hypnotically fixating my dream world, the one place - in the entire world - that I had to try and reach - at any cost. Lying between the Karakorum ranges of Ladakh and the Himalayan ranges to the south, rare travel writers to this region have hailed it with impossibly seductive superlatives such as "remote -est", "wild-est", "most-inaccessible" etc. fuelling my growing obsession to roam in its wilderness, get lost in its vast emptiness, to reach some of its luminescent gompas - on craggy cliffs, dark caverns, all always in impossibly difficult-to-reach places.

I took a train to Delhi and flew in to Leh, with a hope that I might be amongst the last lucky few to make it to Zanskar this year. Travel agents in Leh were cautious, expressing concern and warning, about the already extreme cold, unpredictability of weather, accessibility across passes-but yes, private buses were still plying across, occasionally, and people of the region were very busy stocking up for the 6-8 winter months ahead when Zanskar would be cut off from the rest of the world - so there still was hope.

I booked myself on the very first bus leaving Leh after my arrival, in two days time. My plans were fluid because the territory was unknown. Locals advised a return before end of October to avoid the high risk of getting stranded for an uncertain duration in Zanskar. I allowed myself about ten days for the trip. The entire journey between Leh and Padum (capital of Zanskar) would take about 36 hours with a brief night halt in Kargil.

What followed was an extraordinary journey into realms of the yet unknown - landscapes that pushed my boundaries of defined beauty, vastness, isolation, a feeling of being in a place not many had traversed before - and therefore little effected by outside intrusion. I traversed high passes, saw amazing glaciers, crossed high altitude pastures with herds of yaks, goats, and sheep. Little square houses of mud, timber and hay clustered to form villages. All villages were presided by gompas, with lamas who were revered deeply and with a faith that was unshakable. Butter lamps lit humblest home; incense and prayers mingled at the break of dawn - chanted at extremely low, guttural human scale. I met a people with few resources, little comfort, and no luxuries, and yet lacking for nothing vital - people with enormous hearts, open minds and a kind of hospitality only heard of in myths. I stayed with hosts who insisted and took me home, fed me, provided a comforting bed in intense, bitter cold and refused all payment - saying it was their duty towards guests to their region. I ate my best food in Zanskar, wild vegetables and herbs gathered from the hills in summer months and dried for winter use; crusty but soft breads with hints of cinnamon, dunked in yak butter, frothy gud-gud chai, mok-mok that literally disappeared in one's mouth, and pava with yak-yogurt mixed with a zesty chutney of wild fennel, garlic, dried coriander and red chilies.

I also attended a wedding at Sheela with all night festivities of dance, music, plenty of food and chang that kept on flowing. Food was a rich vegetable soup, Thuppa, and roti with Alu subji served in hand. People who had brought their cups got served chang in their cups, the others cupped their hands and drank...and this was feast to rejoice over, partake in - gratefully-nothing more was known, therefore nothing more was expected. All had cleaned up for the festivities, with turquoise, silver, and if nothing, bits of tinsel pinned to their attires, caps. Religious ceremonies consisted of deep, sonorous chanting with drums and cymbals, to the very many little dough figurines - that were destroyed at the end of it all-again emphasizing the impermanence of all things - people, ties.

Padum consisted of a one long dusty street with a scattering of shops and food places -most of which had already closed for the winter. Except for the hours around 9am and 3pm, when local buses plied to nearby villages, this street invariably appeared empty on both sides, unless there was a little donkey passing through. Kids rode these donkeys, often backwards to great amounts of laughter. In the week I stayed in Zanskar no bus arrived or left the valley for the outside world. My days passed in long walks, long rests, long sitting arounds - just looking.

I walked up the cave gompa at Zongkul, saw antiquated murals of Sani, was served tea on the terrace of Karsha gompa overlooking sweeping landscape of snowcapped peaks, and Zanskar river. I took a motorcycle ride to the incredible Stongde gompa and was introduced to the basic techniques of thangka paintings and visited the remote Bardan gompa perched precariously on a vertical cliff, presided over by a single young lama, all alone in that great wilderness.

I returned exactly ten days later, taking the first bus that arrived for Leh. There are many places I did not get to, sights I did not see - I wanted to savor life’s delights, slowly, deliberately, and I knew already I would return -one day.

A Return to Ladakh: First Impressions

My first impression, from my first visit to Ladakh, still remains etched with vivid clarity. I remember landing within the pages of unreally beautiful, hardbound glossies of sharp clarity, unbelievable colors, and unimaginable scale - awed, dwarfed, a tiny meaningless speck of life crawling over vast pages of ungraspable reality. First shades of spring were appearing on an otherwise icy, barren landscape- first flowering tufts of early apricots, faint neon green highlights on grey twigs of trees, rich colors in coffee, plum, jade of boulders, hills, against seamless circle of white peaks around. I was ready to be reborn.

My second return caught me unawares - summer had set into the valley- crystal streams in turquoise gurgled, emerald ferns frothed from every nook, clumps of wild lavender swathed the land, rose bushes burst with a million blossoms in white, pink and gold, green barley fields were heavy with grains and swayed in silvery waves to a flirting, languorous breeze - warm sun melted my icy, hard core - I rejoiced in my rebirth, laughed with the entire creation, saw the world anew-for I was-eternal and integral to all around me.

My return to Ladakh this time was a seeking:

"Buddham Sharanam Gachami"

I seek shelter in Buddha - the cognisant Buddha within, for the quiet wisdom of the inner to be revealed. Not to revel in any rebirth, or playfully participate in any maya theatre, but for solace of an inner silent solitude, a retreat to 'just be'-no books, no music, no computer, no telephone, and no attachments - no lover, no friend, no children, no need to nurture, nourish, create, fulfill, no need to be anyone, anything, but me, just me, to watch, wonder, ponder, and if possible, shed even that, words, thoughts, action - just cognisance - an awareness without filter of culture, history, identity or dreams, desires, plans for future.

I discovered a Ladakh of antique gold, beaten silver, burnished copper under deep, clear cobalt skies - Indus and Zanskar now coursed in old green to fresh blue turquoise, through a land spent and now cloaked in gold, brown-gold, trees aflame in orange, yellow, red - torches towards heavens that poured gold dust down. Scarlett apples weighed down boughs, baskets of apricots, walnuts spilled down in marketplaces, wild jeera was being harvested from hills. Endless cups of gud-gud chai (salty yak butter tea) was now drunk at every home, tea shop, gompa - warm, nourishing, consoling- accumulating reserves for the lean, harsh season ahead. I wandered in restful quietness, walking miles within this miracle, finally realising that in birth and this awareness, 'I have been graced!'

A Return to Ladakh: The Leaving

On Train To Delhi

I seek
anonymity
a brief respite
from captivity
of relationships
true and strong
its freedom
that I long
to be a flotsam

riding tides of time

in silent awareness
of universal
rhythms and rhymes
insignificance
is what I crave
for this alone
the world I brave!

She Ran After Me: a child woman in her night shirt, knotted hair, large shimmery eyes, forlorn and yet remembering to smile; her feet were bare as she skimmed besides the car, trying to hold on to my hand, as she said,"goodbye" in the darkness of the night. "I love you, Mama"is a refrain she repeated, now and again, imprinting it on my heart what I was leaving behind, and raising questions, "why?"

I am still haunted by my daughter's face, as I now speed away on rail, in flight, towards vast emptiness, to a beckoning isolation, asking "why I need to leave behind one me, to seek an inner me?"