“Traveling- it leaves you speechless, then turns you into a storyteller"- Ibn Battuta
Let me tell you some stories.
Let me tell you some stories.
Mustafa
It was the first day of our Ladakh ride, so to speak. We had just barely managed to spill ourselves over the Zoji-La Pass. We had waited for the army to blast a road through the mountains, when that hadn’t worked, we took a small, military only road that would help us bypass the blasting work. We ploughed through slush, tiptoed over needle sharp rocks and even ‘made our own roads’ on the way. By the time we reached the pass the weather took a turn for the worse. Rain, sleet and wind. Not a good combination!
So, cold and miserable, somehow we spilled into the valley that lay beyond. It is a pity that we couldn’t truly appreciate the beauty of the place because of our misery. Such magnificent desolation. Pillars of mountains on both sides and a lush green carpet connecting them.
The army-men who gave us shelter from the rain confirmed that Drass had no rain, so we decided to push on as soon as there was a break in the rain. We set out on the winding road again, but the rain caught up again in less than a couple of kilometers. We spotted a lonely stall on the side of the road. Across the road was the ruin of what looked like a village.
The owner of the stall waved us in. He made us take of our gloves and put them over the stove to dry them off. He then gave us piping hot tea, some puri and watery, but hot Maggi. The only way I can describe that serving is that it was the best supper I ever had. Nothing has ever come close to it. Ever.
When we finally came back to our senses, recovered from the cold chill, Mustafa, the stall owner started telling us his story. The place we were standing at was the ground zero for the Kargil war. When the war began, the army asked them to pack a bedroll and get on the truck that would take them to Sonmarg. When the war ended, the army put them back in the truck with a new bedroll and stove and dropped them back to what remained of their village.
And here he is now, piecing together every rupee so that he can re-build his home that he will never be able to build again.
So, cold and miserable, somehow we spilled into the valley that lay beyond. It is a pity that we couldn’t truly appreciate the beauty of the place because of our misery. Such magnificent desolation. Pillars of mountains on both sides and a lush green carpet connecting them.
The army-men who gave us shelter from the rain confirmed that Drass had no rain, so we decided to push on as soon as there was a break in the rain. We set out on the winding road again, but the rain caught up again in less than a couple of kilometers. We spotted a lonely stall on the side of the road. Across the road was the ruin of what looked like a village.
The owner of the stall waved us in. He made us take of our gloves and put them over the stove to dry them off. He then gave us piping hot tea, some puri and watery, but hot Maggi. The only way I can describe that serving is that it was the best supper I ever had. Nothing has ever come close to it. Ever.
When we finally came back to our senses, recovered from the cold chill, Mustafa, the stall owner started telling us his story. The place we were standing at was the ground zero for the Kargil war. When the war began, the army asked them to pack a bedroll and get on the truck that would take them to Sonmarg. When the war ended, the army put them back in the truck with a new bedroll and stove and dropped them back to what remained of their village.
And here he is now, piecing together every rupee so that he can re-build his home that he will never be able to build again.
The Inedible Dosa
When we set out towards Manali after a week’s stay at Leh, we decided to stop at an army canteen that is famous for making the best Dosa at the highest altitude. So we rode into the camp, parked our bikes and walked into the canteen, or restaurant? The place is run by army-men, so it’s a strange feeling. It’s not the usual Shanti-Sagar experience. Once we took our place, a man in the army greens came to take our orders. This. This is one of the most unsettling experiences you can ever go through. These men give up every comfort of life and family to serve the nation’s borders and then they are taking Dosa orders from us. I just sat squirming in the seat as the Dosa was prepared. The Dosa came in the hands of the same ‘waiter’. Forcing the Dosa down my throat was an ordeal, there was a constant churning in the stomach making me feel sick. And then came the bill, in the hands of the same person. Do you pay, do you tip? Do you understand what I am saying?
Two Puris and a Potato
The shaming for the day wasn’t completed yet. Riding out, we reached Tanglang-la. A magnificent mountain pass. Pity that the pass roads were still under construction. So we had to ascend and descend on non-existent roads or ride on the first base layers of what will become future roads. While rumbling on the half made roads we came across tents of the workers. The Workers were holding to puri’s and some potatoes in their hands. That was lunch. Further ahead they were bathing in the melting glacier water. This was at 14000 ft. Where we barely wanted to stop because of the lack of oxygen. And here we were complaining about the quality of the roads, or the lack of them…
Travelling does leave you speechless, then it does turn you into a storyteller. But most importantly, it brings perspective. Mustafa is rebuilding his life by feeding travelers, cheerfully. Army men are serving us Dosa’s. And laborers are threading together an existence in the harshest of terrains to build roads for us. All of this – why? So that people like us can ride through the ‘toughest terrains in the world’ and pompously declare it as the achievement of a lifetime.
So I guess what I am saying is that, the world is what it is. The social stratification is unjust. But it is what it is. If a man can be cheerful about his life after being devastated by war, rest assured, you can live through the 'mountains' of work you have. If an army man can serve you Dosa’s and if people can work in the harshest of conditions so that people can enjoy an adventure in the same place, you can drop the air of entitlement you carry. Appreciate the small things in life and respect the opportunities given to you. You might have no idea what some people must have given up to get you into this comfortable place.
Travelling does leave you speechless, then it does turn you into a storyteller. But most importantly, it brings perspective. Mustafa is rebuilding his life by feeding travelers, cheerfully. Army men are serving us Dosa’s. And laborers are threading together an existence in the harshest of terrains to build roads for us. All of this – why? So that people like us can ride through the ‘toughest terrains in the world’ and pompously declare it as the achievement of a lifetime.
So I guess what I am saying is that, the world is what it is. The social stratification is unjust. But it is what it is. If a man can be cheerful about his life after being devastated by war, rest assured, you can live through the 'mountains' of work you have. If an army man can serve you Dosa’s and if people can work in the harshest of conditions so that people can enjoy an adventure in the same place, you can drop the air of entitlement you carry. Appreciate the small things in life and respect the opportunities given to you. You might have no idea what some people must have given up to get you into this comfortable place.
