When The Road Beckons

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“Sinned have those who choose to ignore the call of their conscience.
Blind are those who accept what
they are told. I defied all rules when I walked my way. Threw at the
wind my inhibitions and learnt to be myself.”
−Anonymous
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Praises for the Book
‘ When the Road Beckons’ , the name in itself brings the curiosity to
read it. The Author is successful to make the reader realize the main
aspects , and fears of his/her life. Each chapter in this book had a very
great impact. As a reader it’s really important to be connected to the
story throughout , and the author managed this very well. After reading
this book , a person will start having so positive vibes all around . I
loved the way author connected each and every part of his journey to
every lesson he had learnt from it .
---Dhwani
This books talks about the art of living the journey of our life, which
we often tend to forget in the race of life. I really liked how beautifully
the author described finding his true self in the course of his journey.
This book surely brings a new perspective to life for me, i could feel
each and every emotion and could relate myself to many instances. “
the enemy is fear. We think it is hate, but it is fear.” Must read. Would
recommend it to everyone.
--- Parul
The author has put his experience in the form of words. At certain
points the book connects and at others it inspires. It starts with a
motorcycle journey but travels through the life. When The Road
Beckons would for sure push you to take up your own journey.
---Vikas
A story from the heart of a go-getter The author has been

candid about
his real-life experiences which connect you to the story....
---Dev
When the Road Beckons’is a must for anyone who wants to embark
on a creative or entrepreneurial journey. The insights that the book
gives is something I very much relate with when I started my company.
It is a very thought provoking book that helps you find answers to those
questions that stops you from achieving what your heart desires.
--- Puneet
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When The Road Beckons
Sometimes you don’t choose your journey;
the journey chooses you.
Ravi Manoram
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When the Road Beckons
Copyright © Ravi Manoram ISBN: 978-93-5235-244-9
First paperback edition: 2015 Reprint: 2019
Publisher: Ravman Books
The right of Ravi Manoram to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted
by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copy- right, Designs and Patents
Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in
retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the
publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.
Typeset, cover and interior design by www.raghavgirdhar.com
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Contents
Praises for the Book .................................................................................... 3
When The Road Beckons .......................................................................... 5
Author’s Note ................................................................................................. 8
How To Get The Best Out Of This Book .............................................. 9
An Ode To ‘When The Road Beckons ............................................... 10
Prologue ........................................................................................................ 12
On The Highway ........................................................................................ 16
The Virgin Drive ........................................................................................ 23
Smitten By Heaven ................................................................................... 36
Vengeance And Defeat ............................................................................ 40
Conquest Of Zozila .................................................................................... 49
Broken Roads, Broken Souls ................................................................ 58
Godly And Death ...................................................................................... 191
Numb ............................................................................................................ 199
Fearless ....................................................................................................... 206
Flow And Passion .................................................................................... 214
Leh’ed ........................................................................................................... 223
Introspection ............................................................................................ 236
Highest Motorable Road In The World .......................................... 243
Rebellion ..................................................................................................... 253
Break Free .................................................................................................. 257
Yogi ............................................................................................................... 265
Happie .......................................................................................................... 273
Art .................................................................................................................. 283
Pangong....................................................................................................... 289
Excellence................................................................................................... 292
Love............................................................................................................... 294
Buddha ........................................................................................................ 300
Enlightenment .......................................................................................... 307
Matrix ........................................................................................................... 331
Moments ..................................................................................................... 341
God ................................................................................................................ 344
Rohtang La ................................................................................................. 354
Conundrum................................................................................................ 363
Mother ......................................................................................................... 369
Delhi.............................................................................................................. 375
Decision ....................................................................................................... 378
Just Ride ...................................................................................................... 381
Epilogue ...................................................................................................... 383
Links ............................................................................................................. 384
A note on the Author ............................................................................. 385
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Author’s Note
‘When the Road Beckons’ has been written using the notes taken
during the journey and relying on my memory. I have changed the
names of individuals and modified other identifying details to
preserve anonymity and privacy. Some of the events have been
recreated, restructured and even dramatized for artistic and thematic
purposes while some events have been omitted. However, these
omissions and recreations have had no profound impact on either the
veracity or the substance of the story ‘in essence’ and the locations and
chronology of the events remain true.
Every effort has been made to trace or contact all copyright holders.
I would be pleased to make any omission or rectify any mistakes
brought to my attention at the earliest opportunity.
Do mail me the details of any errors that you come across in the
book.
Your feedback and comment on the book would really be
appreciated.
Ravi Manoram
www.ravimanoram.com
mail@ravimanoram.com
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How To Get The Best Out Of This Book
‘When the Road Beckons.’ is atypical of the books that you might
have come across. This is not a definitive work of art; nor is it a book on
philosophy. Neither it is an entertaining fiction nor is it a standard
nonfiction book. This book is a journey; and a journey of discovery. I
wish there was a genre of books called ‘discovery’, but, unfortunately,
there isn’t. A journey does not make sense until and unless it is
completed. Thus, reading this book is like being on a journey, and when
you have completed the journey, you will know that you have arrived.
So come with me, and be a part of this journey. And let the journey take
you to that one person about whom we are all always eager to know
and discover.
The chapters in this book are arranged in a chronological order and
the book is written in a way that gives its readers an evocative
experience. So let the days unfold and let the journey take you to a
whole new level of a newfound experience.
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An Ode To ‘When The Road Beckons
I’m alive but I feel no life,
When the sun goes down, the darkness arrives,
tearing my heart with a knife.
I have debts I remind myself,

To my parents, my peers,
to the divine himself;
I can’t reclaim what I never owned,
For Life, it’s not mine,
but a loan I’m told.
Lonesome I sit in a crowded room;

There’re many, but I’m in a cocoon.
Like a puppet, I smile and greet,
But I’m surely unknown to those I meet.
A hush prevails, and it lingers longer,
For the abyss, it’s growing stronger.
Empty as I am despite everything I need,

Devoid of passion and purpose in my deed.
There is a lull on the surface and a storm within.
A boy awaits, to be heard, to be seen.
Devoid of form, of life, of sight;
I wait for death to end my plight.
Listen to the voice, when she beckons,

With the sound of her lullabies, your soul awakens.
Take the road, the heart echoes,
Follow the wind wherever it blows.
I drive through the wilderness of the mountain;

My heart and mind open like a fountain.
The journey guides my soul,

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Devoid of judgements, hatred or control.
The wind, the sun, the rivers, the trees,
In their beauty, the soul foresees.
Don’t carry the past, nor fear the future,

Embrace the present with all your vigor.
Follow your heart and embrace the light,
However uncertain seems your foresight.
The Now is the past of tomorrow,

The future is born from its shadow.
I embrace that what my soul reckons.
Tread I must, when the Road Beckons.
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Prologue
An SUV screeched to a halt and a window rolled down slowly as a
pair of eyes gleamed at me. In the glare of the light of the vehicle
passing by, the blade of the sharp, heavy dagger shone and this froze
the two approaching men in their footsteps. When the light flashed
again, the two men were startled to see a beast walking towards them
with the blade shining brightly in his left hand. It was only a matter of
seconds before they turned back and ran speedily towards their SUV.
“Start the car and let’s get the fuckin’ outta here” one of them shouted.
At first the engine teased them, but it finally caught on and the driver
got the car going in time as the beast swung the blade but narrowly
missed the rear of the speeding car. One mighty blow of this khukri
could separate a wolf’s neck from its body, and here, these people were
only humans.
“Bastards,” the beast yelled and returned to his seat on the
pavement. It was the same pavement which was used by a thousand
feet during the day, but in the peace of the night, it was his throne. He
didn’t mind whether it was clean or not. All he cared for was that he be
left in peace.
A few sips from the bottle calmed the beast and it went into a deep
slumber, while I, the human self, regained my total self. It was still a few
minutes before the bells of midnight rang. It was supposed to be a one-
off experience, but over a period of time it had become a ritual. Every
now and then, when the city would sneak into the arms of darkness, I
would sneak out of my home and drive around like a bat that had lost
its direction and purpose. Somehow, I found a sadistic pleasure in doing
things that didn’t make sense than things that were supposed to. The
aimless time I spent proved more soothing to my soul than the hours
spent in the classroom trying to build a career. It was more than an
excursion. It was my moment of escape, an attempt to run away from
the very decisions that I had made for myself and which had led me into
a dungeon.
At times, I would drive through places where any reasonable man
would fear to go even during the day. At other times, I would just
surrender to the beats of the unruly music of a night club. The music
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played till the wee hours as no rules applied here. They didn’t even
exist in the official records.
The DJ spun the disc and the music pumped through the speakers and I
lost myself in the alcohol that got refilled in my glass after every shot I
took. In between, I would rest in the warmth of the arms that comforted
me. Alas! They were the arms of the women whose face I hardly
reckoned, whose names I hardly knew, and they were those whom I
hardly even wanted to know.
But today, I had chosen the pavement with a forest behind my back.
The gleaming lights of the vehicles that passed by on the highway
would accompany me now and then. Otherwise, I was left in peace,
undisturbed in my alone-ness, as the cool breeze took the sweat away
from my forehead and tossed my hair from one side to another. I just
sat there sipping my whiskey laden cola.
I made love. Oh yes, I wasn’t bereaved of it. But calling it love wasn’t
right for me. As the hormones aroused the beast in me, it always hurt
someone or the other. It wasn’t to my liking, but somehow, I enjoyed it
because the beast enjoyed it. I never loved any of my women. Thus, I
never liked calling it making love. It was a simple act of fulfillment of
my carnal desires; the desires on which the beast fed upon and thus
dwelled within me. I just fucked. And every act of love-less-love making
made the beast even more ferocious. Most of the times, the women
never came back to me, but those who came liked it rough and loved me
even more.
A light gleamed again and I saw a truck approaching from a distance.
I sprang to my feet and was almost ready to jump on the road when
suddenly something stopped me. The truck passed by, honking at me
madly, perhaps its driver must have sensed the act of impunity that I
was about to resort to. I retreaded to my seat as I watched the tail lights
of the truck disappear into the darkness. Ironically, an evil grin surfaced
on my face. Death seemed liberating to me for life had proved to have
only chained me to the gallows of unknown fears. Every day, I always
felt there was a sword dangling over my head. Rather than dying every
day, the idea of ending it all at once and for all did not seem to be bad at
all. Life had become worthless to me and I least feared losing it.
Suddenly the phone sprang to life humming a beautiful tune of a
Spanish guitar. An unknown number had chosen to invade my private
moment with myself. I slid the red button on the screen forbidding the
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outside world
from contacting me. But the phone rang again. This time, out of
curiosity, I answered.
“What do you want? “I yelled at the speaker even before I wanted to
know who it was.
“Am I talking to Ravi?” inquired a voice trembling, unable to place
the words articulately.
“Whom do you think you have called if it’s not me?” I yelled again. It
was precisely this kind of a language which I had developed against the
world which seemed to have always pushed me back.
“Oh, it’s me Akash man, how have you been?” came a reply, cautious
but trying to make its way to my heart.
“Akash who?” I asked and then with a jibe I added,” Or has the
mighty Akash (or sky) decided to descend upon the Earth to just talk to
me?”
“No, no sir. It’s me, Akash, I was your junior in college. Remember?”
he said
Finally, I remembered his face.
“So how come you remembered to call me today? We haven’t talked
in years. “I asked.
“Äah sir, I just called you up to know whether the Ladakh trip is on,”
he said.
“What Ladakh trip brother, I don’t remember talking to anyone
about this,” I said trying hard to recall.
“A few months back, you had posted a few videos of Ladakh on
Facebook and mentioned that you were looking for partners to join you
on a bike trip to Ladakh. Well, here we are, a few of us, who wish to be a
part of that trip. So, what say?” he said.
“Äah yes, yes, Why not?” I said as I remembered the post I had put
up on Facebook. ” Well I haven’t found anyone yet, but I would be glad
to team up with you guys,” I said, albeit unsure of what I was saying.
“That would be great,” he said excitingly, “Let’s meet sometime and
we can discuss the itinerary and then plan the whole thing.”
“Sure man,” I said and then disconnected.
I sat there staring in the darkness and into the abyss of nothingness
that surrounded me, trying to think of what had just happened.
‘Ladakh,’ he had said, ‘Ladakh.’ The journey was going to be on a
motorbike and I had just promised to go with his group. Wow. I had just
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freakin’ promised him to be on a freakin’ bike trip to the highest
motorable roads in the world, a place that was scarcely inhabited by
humans, a place that was not reachable by road for four months in a
year, a place where the oxygen level dropped to such a low point that
breathing itself became difficult. And I was going to go to such a place
on a motorbike. But the alluring natural beauty had made many a
human brave all the difficulties and go on a bike trip and return
triumphant. They had returned happily, and found the experience a
transformative one, even life changing; one that they would cherish for
their entire life. Ladakh was the kind of a place eerie enough to turn
your feet stone cold, yet so alluring that it would make you break all
barriers to even want to breathe in its inspiring beauty.
Just a few minutes ago, I wanted to throw myself in front of a
speeding truck. In that case, I thought, why not risk it all for an
adventure? A grin flashed on my face at that moment and my heart
started thumping. Adren- aline rushed through my veins. A moment of
life erupted in me, making me vivacious, invigorated, animated and
stimulated. I let out a loud shrill as my body gathered to unite in its
echo. Once again, I knew I had a purpose, one that I couldn’t
rationalize or reason right now. All I knew was that I had to be in
Ladakh, that too on my beloved, my 350cc Royal Enfield Thunderbird
motorcycle.
I sat there for a while longer finishing my drink even though it
seemed to have little effect on me now. I just sat there thinking,
thinking about everything or maybe nothing...and as I did so, a few tears
rolled down my cheek, and yet, I couldn’t cry. At that moment, my
whole life seemed to revolve around me and the pain of the yesteryears
saddened me, agonized me, but still I couldn’t cry. The thought of this
trip had suddenly gained such a huge momentum that I couldn’t deter
myself from going on it. After a while, I gathered myself up and got on
my Thunderbird and decided to return home. After a few hours, I had
an internship to attend to and for which I had to drive down to the
office which took almost ninety minutes from my place. But as I rode
back home, my head and heart were tuned to only one anthem, one that
belonged to Ladakh.
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DAY 1
On The Highway
“The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.”
— Lao Tzu
“
At the stroke of the midnight hour, when the world sleeps, India will
awake to life and freedom. A moment comes, which rarely comes in
history, when we step out from the old to the new, when an age ends
and when the soul of a nature, long suppressed, finds utterance.”--
With these words, Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru, the first
prime minister of a free India, started his maiden speech when he
addressed the nation. But as he did so, he might have hardly realized
the grave error that he was committing; for, at the stroke of midnight,
half of the world would actually be awake or in the process of waking
up. The error might seem forgivable, but I was left bemused to think
whether he committed the same error of judgment when he let
Pakistan be carved out of India and let Jinnah become its first prime
minister! An error, the price for which India continues to pay up to this
day and would continue to do so for more time to come. An error that
could have been avoided; if only Panditjee didn’t stick vehemently to
his desire for becoming the first prime minister of this country.
But today, at the stroke of midnight, as I lay on my bed twisting and
turning sleeplessly, a glorious event was about to happen in my life. At
the stroke of midnight, when the old day would give way to the new,
9th of Junewas going to be born, and it was this day when I would start
my journey to Ladakh. It was not an event as fascinating as the birth of
independent India, my country, my motherland; whom I had chosen to
love with all my heart despite all the misgivings of its political leaders.
Yet, it was a defining moment for me, for this was the moment when I,
along with two other people, would embark on a journey that inspired
me as well as intimidated me at the same time. It was going to be a
tough and arduous journey, one of a kind on which I had never been
before. I was a city kid, never went beyond the comforts of good roads
that had a divider, red lights at every crossing, and was relatively safer
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than the roads of the countryside. And the mountains, aah, the
mountains! I had been to the mountains as a kid but only on a bus. A
journey on a motorbike was something I had never even considered till
a year ago.
When the heart pumps more blood than what the veins can carry,
seducing oneself to sleep is nearly impossible; a fact I was coming to
terms with right now. I kept twisting and turning when the alarm clock
sprang to life coaxing me to do the same and making me jump out of my
bed. On other days, it woke up the neighbors in my building but me, and
then I would be woken up by their diatribes and banging on my door.
It was already four o’clock and in an hour Aki and Raj would arrive
at my doorstep. I rushed to wash and get ready. And when I returned, I
started shoving everything into the four bags I had planned to take with
me. I ensured that all the necessary items like motorbike papers and
identification cards, credit and debit cards, medicines, camera, laptop,
bungee cords, biking gear and clothes were all in. Beyond these items, I
just shoved everything I could lay my hands on, caring little for what
got left behind. After a while, Aki arrived knocking at the door, and
together we took the luggage down to tie them on the panniers I had
gotten installed on the rear side of my bike. Soon Raj arrived on his
motorbike.
“All set?” he asked and the two of us nodded in agreement. And then
we gathered in a circle, put our hands one on top of the other, said a
little prayer and decided to start our journey. I sat on my bike and
started the engine and the Thunderbird roared. But as soon as I gave it
a little throttle and the bike moved ahead, it got unbalanced and almost
fell to the ground. The load on the rear side was far more than what I
had anticipated. I got off to take a deep breath and with renewed
courage I got on again and using more strength on the handle I gave a
little throttle and the bike moved ahead and I managed to balance it.
However, I could feel a visible strain on my hands. Luckily, barely after
a few kilometers, we stopped at a petrol pump station where I could
give some rest to my hands. After our tanks and petrol cans (attached to
the panniers) had been filled to the brink, we resumed our journey.
After battling the woeful traffic of Delhi, we were soon on the highways
and out of sight of the metropolitan city. We were now moving towards
Karnal. Driving on the highways proved to be more comfortable and
enjoyable and once Thunderbird caught its rhythm and pace; it was
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easier to handle her 200 kgs weight along with almost 50kgs of weight
at its rear end. The highway had far lesser traffic and the tall buildings
and crowded spaces were replaced by open green fields whose
fragrance filled our nostrils and ignited our hearts with joy. After about
a couple of hours of riding, we took a break at a roadside diner. At first
paranthas (chapattis in which potatoes are stuffed) with a large chunk
of butter on top, was served. We were in the state of Haryana where the
paranthas had to be massive with a big chunk of butter on top. I could
barely eat one. Soon the tea arrived and I eagerly took a sip. It tasted
different but excellent. It was made from buffalo’s milk. We still liked it.
We would have liked anything as long as it did not remind us of the city.
Everything was different, albeit, for the better. Soon we were back on
our bikes and on the road. The number of vehicles was increasing now.
Every now and then one of them would slow down to greet us, or
maybe just watch us in bewilderment as to what we -three guys- were
up to, carrying an enormous load on the rear end of our bikes and
wearing fancy riding gears. I drove a Royal Enfield Thunderbird while
Aki was on a Pulsar 220cc and Raj drove a Hero Honda 150cc. We were
cheered and encouraged by many while some of them came over to
con- firm whether we were going to Ladakh. After all, we were on the
route to the Mecca for bikers: Ladakh. The feeling of a trip finally began
to sink in and what invigorated us the most was when we were cheered
by a group of students on a college bus. It fired us from within, sending
a renewed determination and strength for the journey. We drove in a
single file, often led by the one who wanted to speed up for a while. Aki
was a short, stout guy and had just finished college a few days before
this trip. He was soon going to join the great Indian workforce and this
Ladakh trip was the graduation gift he had chosen for himself. Raj was a
post graduate in Media studies, but unlike his education, he had joined
his father’s business. This Ladakh trip was his gift before the Indian D-
day arrived, i.e., marriage. And then there was me. I was in the middle
of my MBA program and had no rhyme or reason as to why I was going
to Ladakh on a motorbike except for the fact that it had become an
undeniable purpose of my life for the moment. The calling had grown so
strong that it had robbed me of my sleep for nights and had turned into
an obsession. Since the time Akash had called me a month ago, I cared
for nothing else but to be on this trip. We met a couple of times, but
over the days his friends dropped out of the trip and so did he. The only
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plausible reason other than those he gave was the one that is usually
unstated: fear. I was left stranded to find new partners. When I could
find no one among my peers, I turned to online forums where I met Raj
and Aki. And today, for entirely different reasons, we were together,
riding to Ladakh.
By now I was getting attuned to the overall weight that I was riding
with. My hands ached, but the more I rode, the more they gained
strength. Soon, Thunderbird and I became united in our spirits to roll
on an adventure and together we went, leaving behind motels and gas
stations, trees, and the fields. From cities to towns to suburbs, we
crossed all of them. Aah, the Thunderbird from the Royal Enfield
Family, it was love at first sight when I first saw her. Just a year ago, I
was looking for a new bike to replace my old one and this red shining
beauty wasn’t even in the list of my consid- erations. While jumping
from showroom to showroom test riding every bike model on my list; I
saw this beastly beauty standing out from a Royal Enfield showroom. I
couldn’t restrain myself from taking a test ride. I took the test ride, and
the next thing I know is that I had booked the motorbike after paying an
advance. It was out of budget for me but in the next few days, with the
help of friends and family, I came up with the money and I took the bike
home. The very next day I took her on a cruise across the city and had
clocked about 100 km in on that very day. If it hadn’t been for the
Thunderbird, I wouldn’t have even contemplated this trip. After about
four hours of riding, we reached Ambala and took a lunch break. The
air-conditioned restaurant brought us some respite from the heat
outside and after a short rest we were back on the road.
After a while, we entered Punjab, the land of five rivers but that
which received modest rainfall. By now the sun was almost overhead
lashing out its beams upon us. It had grown terribly hot forcing us to
frequently stop and refill our dehydrating bodies with liquids. But then,
another problem began to emerge. Each one of us started following our
own rhythm. Aki would take off and be out of sight while Raj would
linger far behind. I was left in the middle and faced with the task of
coordinating between the two. Even before we started our journey, we
had decided to ensure we were always going to be together. But I chose
to ignore this anomaly and blamed it on the scorching heat. From cities
to towns to open fields, one by one we passed each of them as we drove
for miles, stopping intermittently to replete our bodies with fluids
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when finally we were greeted by a cold breeze. After a while, we
reached Pathankot where we got our first glimpse of the mountains. We
found a good hotel and checked in. After a debilitating journey, we had
to do the cumbersome task of carrying our luggage to the room on the
second floor. It had a double bed and we had asked for an extra
mattress. We had decided to take turns to sleep on the mattress on the
floor and this would help us save a lot of money by not booking an
additional room. After we washed and freshened up, we went out for a
quick dinner and returned soon to crash on our beds. Riding for almost
twelve hours and covering a distance of 500km had left our body
crumbling and our minds numb. Soon, sleep had seduced me into her
arms and I was lost in the world of dreams.
‘Have you gone mad?’ cried my father when I told him about my bike
trip to Ladakh. ‘Have you totally lost it?’ he continued, ‘Why in the
world would you want to go to Ladakh that too driving on a motorbike?
It is inscrutable to me.
How was I going to convince him? The truth was I had no rational
explanation even for myself and so could not offer him any. It was a
calling, I had to go. Somehow it meant life and death to me.
“Why in the world do you have to do this? What are you going to get
out of this? Don’t you care for your family and your loved ones?” The
tirade of questions was being fired upon me and I felt like being
interrogated like a criminal and my crime was that I wanted to go on a
bike trip to Ladakh.
“I don’t know dad,’ I cried, it’s just that I have to do it. ‘I have no
rational explanation for the same. Maybe you can assume it’s a holiday
break that I am asking for, I have had a hell of a time here and I just
need a break right now. Maybe it’s incomprehensible to you but it
makes sense to me.”
“Then take a flight or a bus and go to a nearby hill station and if
Ladakh means so much to you then take a flight and go there. I don’t
want to hear about this bike business anymore.”
“I am sorry dad, but that’s not going to happen. The bike is going
with me. And please don’t call it a bike, it’s my precious Thunderbird.
Call it a Thunderbird.”
“Oh yeah. So that’s why you bought that damn thing. I knew
something like this would happen when you were pressurizing me for
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this motorcycle beast. I shouldn’t have let you buy this machine in the
first place itself. Tell me, why take so much risk, who else in your
college is going on this trip?” “That is not decided yet. I have just made
up my mind. I will ask others.
I don’t know the risk and all, but I have to do this. And I don’t care
anyone from my college decides to go with me or not. My life is not
bound by the greater deeds or purpose of the society in general or my
peers in particular. I have to go on this trip even if it means I have to go
alone.”
“See that’s the problem, you always want to do something that no
one else is doing. You only want to achieve different things for reasons I
have never been able to understand. You just risk anything and
everything and go ahead with your plans. You don’t just listen to………”
“How many people have become truly successful in their lives; you
know; like Dhirubhai or Bill Gates or Jobs for that matter?” I cut him
short with my illogical to logical to illogical reasoning. I had to defend
Ladakh. Tell me one thing: out of every batch in a business school, how
many are able to reach great heights in life. Why should I be looking at
others when I have to take a decision that is very much personal? I do
care for everything and everyone in life. But why should that put chains
on my legs or influence the decisions of my life? I am going to go to
Ladakh whatever happens. Now it’s up to you whether you wish to
support me or not. If you support me, my journey could be a little
smoother, organized and well prepared. Otherwise, I will do it my way.
In any case, I am going on my Thunderbird to Ladakh.” I ended my one
way argument and hung up.
It wasn’t a blackmail. I meant every word I had said. For no rhyme or
reason, for no rational justifications, Ladakh meant a lot to me. I didn’t
know what it would be like; I didn’t know what the reward at the end
was. I didn’t know why the goal had to be achieved. But my heart said I
was going to Ladakh and that was it. Perhaps this was the first time I
was going to do something that was purely an emotional decision,
lacking any logic. After a couple of days, my father finally gave in to my
decision with the only pre-condition that I would not be going alone but
with a team; a condition I ultimately agreed to. And today here we
were, Raj, Aki and I at Pathankot, at the foothills of the Himalayas ready
to begin our ride to the mountains tomorrow.
21
22
DAY 2
The Virgin Drive

“In order for one to learn the important lessons of life, one must first overcome a fear
each
day.”
— Ralph Waldo Emerson
My eyes opened to the greeting rays of the sun. For a moment, I felt I
was dead. My limbs were numb and the muscles had hardened. It was
just the first day. We had many miles to cover and the mountains had
not even started. With great difficulty, I struggled out of the bed and
then woke up the other weary duo as well. We were soon ready and
downstairs packing and tying up our luggage on our bikes. After the
trysts and tribulations with the luggage tying ceremony, which almost
took about an hour, we were on our bikes and riding towards the
mountains. Our next destination was Srinagar, approximately 360 km
from Pathankot. Though my face grinned with confidence, inside, I
knew my heart was fighting a battle with fear and anxiety. Never
before, had I self-driven on the mountains. This was my virgin drive to
the high terrains. And on this maiden journey, I had preposterously
chosen to drive on a motorbike to Ladakh. There were two routes to
Leh, the capital of the Ladakh region. One was via Srinagar and the
other was via Manali. In any case, what people did was they went via
one of the ways and came back via the other. We had chosen to go to
Leh via Srinagar and return via Manali.
A ride to Leh was not just another ride. It was, in fact, the mother of
all rides, that took you to the highest motorable roads in the world. The
treacherous terrain of Ladakh was laden with perils unfound in any
other region. With altitude came the problem of Acute Mountain
Sickness (AMS), a medical condition that emanated due to the lack of
oxygen in the air. And this was trouble for us as well as for our
machines. And of course, with greater heights you have narrower roads
and deeper gorges. The thought of ill-maintained roads that we were
going to drive on soon was not helping either.
We were out of the city and driving towards the border of Punjab.
23
But in between I lost my way and got separated from the other two. Aki
and Raj had zoomed ahead and one wrong turn took me to one of the
villages. After a while, I got to know I was on the wrong trail and had to
revert to the initial point and then with the help of locals, I was on my
way to the border. Ahead, I found Aki and Raj waiting for me. I was
nervous, shaking. The journey was just beginning and this was a bad
omen. I reminded them of what we had decided even before coming on
this trip, that we would not separate from one another. Aki tried
turning the tables on me, but I turned to him and said, “Don’t feed on
my fear!” I just hoped he would get the message. On the way to
Pathankot, he was the one who disappeared. Being left behind and
separated from the group was not part of the dangers I had planned to
face ahead.
But now, together we drove and from Samba, we took a short cut
that would lead us straight to Udhampur, a small town in the state of
Jammu and Kashmir. This shortcut would save us around 40km.
Whatever I knew about Ladakh was second-hand knowledge that I had
gained from the internet. And now on the road, everything seemed new
and alien to me. I then realized there was a lot of difference between
knowledge of something and the experience of the same thing. We were
ascending higher and higher now. We would be on acclivity and then on
declivity, as if we were riding on the back of a blue whale. We realized
soon that the short cut was a bad idea. It was ill-maintained, steep,
potholed and at many places had broken roads. My hands found it
difficult to cope up with stress from the handle of the bike, and
sometimes, I feared that my bike would slip backward and tumble
down into the gorge below. My beastly beauty was too big to handle
and I landed in a pothole quite often than not. The gorge below kept
deepening and my fear of landing in it kept increasing. Out of fear, I
would end up driving in the middle of the road, and at one of the blind
turns; I narrowly missed colliding with a jeep that was coming from the
opposite direction. A Lake came by, and we decided to take a break
there. We got the much needed chance to chill out in the serene
ambiance of the lake. I was literally sweating. “I can’t do this,” I told
myself. Suddenly the thought to return to Delhi flashed through my
mind and I was reminded of the words of a man whom I had met at an
adventure store.
“So have you signed your will before going on this trip?” he asked,
24
mocking my naivety and ill-preparedness.
“What do you mean?”I retorted with an angry look, but I knew I
couldn’t disagree with him completely.
“Dude, you have no freakin’ riding experience, have never went out
of the city, don’t have a good budget for the right gear and have planned
an enormous trip across the highest and the most treacherous roads of
the world. Are you fuckin’ insane? What were you smoking when you
thought of this trip?”
“I was.... I am I don’t know. I just have to go. Many things, a great
many tasks, have been achieved in the first attempt, why shouldn’t I
try at something myself,” I replied stammering, trying to make sense
with whatever came to my mind.
“Do as you wish. What can I say? ,” with these words he walked away
leaving me stranded in my ambivalent state of confusion.
His words had now returned to haunt me. We had barely been 25-
30km in the mountains and the journey ahead seemed undoable.
Raj came to my rescue.
“Hey man, can I talk to you for a minute. You are doing it all wrong
man” he said. “What do you mean?” I asked quite intrigued. “Mountain
roads are unlike the straight roads with dividers that you find in Delhi.
Here the roads are going to be narrow and the width of the roads is
going to vary given the difficulties of construction, in which you have to
blast down the sides of the mountains to make a road. Not only the
width is going to vary but also going to decrease with altitude. Since
there are no dividers, you must stick to your lane. This is the untold
rule of the mountains because every turn is a blind one, and the driver
on one side can only hope that the
one on the opposite side is in his or her respective lane as he or she
would be in his,” he said.
He had been in the mountains more than me, and what he said made
sense because just a few minutes ago, a jeep had almost rammed into
me. After a few minutes of rest, we resumed our journey. The moments
I spent at the lake watching its beauty that brought many tourists to
bask in it helped me become mentally prepared. After a prolonged,
painful and bumpy ride, we managed to reach Udhampur. Aah,
Udhampur, a small town which was quite infamous for terrorist related
activities and it had a huge Army base camp. The place had an eerie
feeling. Yesterday we had planned to reach Udhampur before night fall
25
and halt here. Now it seemed, it was a good decision to stay in
Pathankot itself. Raj and Aki needed to get their tanks filled. I had
gotten my tank filled in Pathankot itself. Thus, I didn’t need to get petrol
right away. They told me to go ahead and that they would catch up with
me as soon as they got out of the petrol pump station. After all, I was
the one slowing everyone else down and so I agreed with them and
rode ahead. From Udhampur, we were on the well maintained Jammu-
Srinagar Highway, which made riding comfortable. I drove merrily
enjoying the changing scenery of the beautiful landscape. After crossing
Patnitop, a popular hill station, dark clouds had gathered in the sky and
so I took shelter at a roadside diner. It was then I realized, I had been
driving for quite some time but Raj and Aki had still not caught up. I
couldn’t reach them as there was no signal on my mobile phone. I, thus,
decided to wait in the diner which was run by two Kashmiri brothers.
Whenever I saw local Kashmiris, it frightened me. Like others, these
Kashmiri brothers were also wearing a pheran (an overcoat like
clothes, that is worn from shoulder to the toes to keep the body warm)
and they kept beards. This particular look reminded me of the
terrorists I used to see on the television. What if they were hiding a gun
under that pheran and took it out to shoot me? Why
was I such a pessimist?
“Stop it,” I said to myself and turned towards the brothers and asked.
“Can I get something to eat?”
“Lunch time is over Sir, “one of them replied. “Did he want to kill me
with hunger?,” I thought but then seeing packets of ready to eat Maggi
Noodles hanging I asked, “Can I get these cooked?”
“Sure sir, with or without vegetable?” another one asked. “With
vegetable sounds good. Can you cook two packets for me please and a
cup of tea as well?” I replied to which they nodded in agreement. I
scanned their little shanty that was being run as a diner. Two or three
other customers were sitting in one corner, all sipping tea, staring at
me.
A few drops fell on the road outside forcing me to rush outside to
cover my luggage with polyethylene covers. Outside, another man, who
seemed to be a non-Kashmiri, was strolling. I hailed at him and asked
him to help me cover my luggage. It was a task that needed more than
two hands to get it done quickly and efficiently. There were warm
clothes, my laptop, and other items in the luggage. Rain could have
26
proved disastrous. But this man, this man who seemed to be a non-
Kashmiri and who was perhaps from the plains, whom I had thought to
be my brother as we were both aliens in this land, had outrightly
refused to help me and walked away in the opposite direction. One of
the Kashmiri brothers was outside and watching me, and he came
running towards me.
“What happened Saab?” he asked and then I told him I needed a
helping hand for covering my luggage and that when I asked this other
man, he refused. “Ah don’t worry, I’m here. Tell me what you need”. And
then he helped me untie the entire luggage, wrap up each individual
bag with a cover, and then tie the whole luggage on the pannier and
wrap up the whole thing under a cover. He even brought some extra
ropes from his diner to tighten up some loose ends. This little incident
changed my mind. When I returned to the shop, the Maggi and tea were
ready but my thoughts were fixed on the Kashmiri brothers. The other
men in the shop whom I seemed to distrust earlier now seemed to be
smiling and seemed kind. For once, my fear had subsided. I felt
ashamed that a stranger from a strange land helped me when a person
whom I had thought to be my own betrayed me. I felt guilty for
assuming that these strangers were terrorists. I felt that I had wronged
them by judging them under the baggage of perception that I carried.
The rain now outpoured like water from a hosepipe while I enjoyed my
Maggi and tea. The meal tasted nice, beautiful in fact, because I had
stopped judging. I stopped judging anything, be it the Maggi, the tea, the
people around me. These Kashmiris in their pherans were simple,
loving, mountain people. Their resemblance to those terrorists who
intended to destroy in the name of their community had little to do with
them. Sometimes they were coaxed and manipulated by the politicians,
but in their entirety, they all cared for the same simple things of life:
love, happiness, and brotherhood.
The rain had stopped and I started getting ready to leave. There
were still no signs of Raj and Aki and there was no network on my
phone. I was faced with the dilemma to either wait for them or to move
on. But I had no clue where they were. They might be ahead of me or
behind me. I couldn’t reach them in any way. Then I decided that I must
at least reach Srinagar before nightfall and before I could take any
decision about going further or returning. Stopping in any other town
before arriving at Srinagar didn’t seem like a good idea. I thanked the
27
Kashmiri brothers and decided to drive ahead. The traffic had once
again increased and everyone seemed to be in a rush. I honked madly
as I made my way through. The most irritating vehicles were the
smoke spewing trucks which went slowly, refusing to give way to other
overtaking vehicles. One such truck crossed all limits and its smoke was
proving to be unbearable. I decided to overtake it even though it was
precarious as there was a lot of traffic on both sides of the road and if I
didn’t overtake soon enough I could be in danger. As I was doing so, a
passenger jeep also came parallel to me and then the truck, the Jeep and
I were in parallel blocking the entire road. It was more than precarious
now, it was freaking moribund. Luckily a jeep that was coming from the
opposite direction apprehended the danger and it stopped where it
was. Sensing the danger, the truck driver quickly slowed down and I
took a sharp cut to the left and so did the driver of the jeep. But the jeep
sped away soon enough leaving me visibly shaken. For a moment, I felt I
was in a transient state between life and death. This experience taught
me a good lesson about what it meant to drive safely in the mountains;
one that books and tutoring cannot actually teach.
Experiential learning was something I had understood during my
college days. Those were the days when I started to experiment with
things which were not those which I was supposed to do but which I
wanted to do. And let me tell you- this experiential learning stuff
doesn’t come easily. Let me begin with an example. What do we do
during our school days? We would do what our parents, our teachers at
school, and religion asked us to do. Soon we would be doing what are
peers in our social circles would tell us or influence us to do.
Somewhere or the other there is some kind of an induced learning from
an external entity. We are always being taught by someone and that is
how we learn and then choose our befitting course of action. Our
knowledge, derived from a secondary source, is passed on to us like
written codes of instructions to follow. We are like machines and are
meant to follow a certain way and that there was a particular code of
conduct necessary to survive in a society. But imagine yourself to be a
child and that you were going to learn how to ride a bicycle. Could
someone give you some written or verbal instructions to ride the
bicycle or could you do so by memorizing and becoming ‘expert’ in
handling the instructions on riding bicycles, if at all they even existed?
The answer is a certain No. At most, you can be taught the rules of the
28
roads but you can never be taught how to ride a bicycle. Unless we get
on the bike; unless we fall off it and then get up to try again; unless we
let ourselves out of the control of our very own mind that has been fed
with so much information and let our instincts guide us; we can never
learn to ride a bicycle or even a motorbike for that matter. We fall again
and again, make mistakes in the process but continue to learn from it.
And in the process we learn to ride. Now try passing on this learning to
someone as instructions. You know you can’t and the person must learn
to ride a bicycle by actually riding it. The person must learn to
experience the ride, he or she must experience the seat touching their
bottom, the strain in the leg and hands, and the need for the right
balance that must be given to the bicycle with the help of our body
weight so that it remains upright. Until and unless one did not get down
to riding, one couldn’t actually learn to ride. This learning is very, very
individualistic to each of us, and though the process might look the
same to a pair of untrained eyes, it’s very much different at a very
intrinsic level. You learn to ride the bicycle in a way that is your own
and you could have done it in only this way. This is experiential
learning: something you learn through the experience of doing it. You
are guided only by your own instincts. This is the purest form of
learning because you get the first-hand knowledge derived only from
your experience. You feel as if the universe is speaking to you through
your instincts, and as such, experiences are always real and can never
lie. But quite often we tend to ignore this form of learning, the kind of
learning you get through experience. And this is because it is hard to
create a process out of it. It is even more difficult to rationalize or
theorize it. And, what is more difficult to do is to put this thing on a
shelf to sell like any other product or service. We continue to feed
ourselves with information through induced learning and other
secondary sources. But thorough learning can happen only when
academic learning meets experience through action, ie, putting our
knowledge to use as well as being open to be taught from the unknown,
undefined sources we come across in our lives. Then only we
understand the implication, scope and limitation of our academic
learning and become more ready for experiences. Experiential learning
is the kind of learning that ties you to the womb of the earth and
somewhere from that undefined, unknown source; these experiences
enlighten your subconscious mind.
29
Soon I was driving on a declivity which was comfortable though I
was still experiencing some difficulty in handling the heavy bike going
down as its momentum increased on a slope. Secondly, you have to
check the speed limit lest you should fly off the road and down into the
gorge. But going down the slope had one definite advantage, you saved
on fuel as the bike would propel ahead on its own momentum.
After another 40 km or so I reached Ramban, the central point on
the Jammu-Srinagar highway, and from here onwards I drove beside
the beautiful Chenab River which flowed through the valley below.
Ramban was at 3800 feet and had a scenic beauty. But it started
drizzling again and I couldn’t click any photographs. The road was wet
and the traffic had eased. I couldn’t understand why there weren’t
many vehicles on the road. I thought of halting somewhere, but it
seemed that the rain had decided not to stop and so even I refused to
bow down to the whims of the weather Gods and continued to move
ahead. I was worried about the whereabouts of Raj and Akki but I could
do nothing about it. After about an hour of driving at a speed that
varied between 15km/hr and 25 km/hr, I reached a bridge before
which a temple was built on the left-hand side and on the right, the
other side of the road, were a few shops. I decided to halt there for a
while as I was quite surprised to see a temple in a Muslim dominated
area. Muslim kids played on its pavement and it was guarded by a
Muslim policeman.
“Where are you coming from?” asked one of the kids who was
staring at a strange looking man on a strange looking bike with luggage
tied strangely at its rear.
“Delhi,” I replied as I smiled at the cute kids. Delhi, the capital of
India and the center of power in the country, had its own impact in the
rural hinterland.
Another kid insisted that I have a cup of tea from one of the shops
from the other side. Though I had put on a raincoat, I was still wet and
cold. And so I agreed readily. The kid hopped off to the other side while
I turned to the constable who also seemed to be eager to have a chat. I
then shouted out loud across to the kid who had gone to bring tea to
return with two cups of tea, one for the constable as well. This made the
constable smile and ease down.
I walked up to him to talk to him as he stood near the bridge. Down
in the valley below, I could see the Chenab flowing in its brownish
30
avatar, fresh from the water of the rains and carried a lot of mud from
the probable landslides as well. The drizzle had stopped, leaving behind
the cold and the cloudy sky accompanied by an eerie feeling of dullness
in the air.
I then turned towards the constable. He was a fine, middle-aged
man, handsomely built like the men of the mountains and carried an
automatic rifle.
“Is this the only road to Srinagar from Jammu?”I asked. “Yes it is,” he
replied, “But Srinagar is a long way from here. So are you coming all the
way from Delhi on your motorbike?” he asked. It seemed that the
Thunderbird got more people talking than I did. But I didn’t mind it at
all.
“Yes, yes. We halted at Pathankot yesterday and the plan is to reach
Sri- nagar today. And after a day’s break, we will be heading towards
Ladakh,” I replied and then asked, “If you don’t mind me asking, how
come there is a temple here near the bridge?” I was unable to hide my
curiosity knowing full well that the he was a Muslim and the nameplate
on his chest ascer- tained that.
“This temple protects the bridge. Each time it was destroyed, there
was a landslide in this region and people died. Hence everyone respects
this temple,” he replied and pointed me towards a massive steel mesh
that was lined up on the other side to protect the bridge and the road
from the wiz- ened, old, creeky, rocks that overlooked from the top. It
seemed that they were almost going to roll over anytime. It was
frightening.
“You are in Khooni Nallah(bloody gorge) area right now that extends
for about 30-35 km. There have been many landslides in this region
because of which many people have died. You should not have been
driving in this area while it is raining. The rain loosens the rocks at the
top and then landslides happen,” he told me while I listened to him in
horror. No wonder I couldn’t find any vehicle when I was wriggling
through the roads at a slow speed. I then walked to the bridge to have a
look at it, and there the inscriptions on the side clearly described the
bridge as the ‘Khooni Nallah’ and a sign board read out some
precautionary measures. I clicked some pictures with the constable and
the children and after some time I decided to resume my journey. The
rain had stopped and I wanted to get out of the bloody gorge before the
weather Gods decided otherwise. But before I continued my journey, I
31
took one last glance at the constable, the children and their parents
running the shops across the road. A pitiful remorse for the Kash- miris
came over me. These poor innocent people had to face the wrath not
only of the corrupt politicians and the system, but also of the Nature.
Did they care whether Kashmir went to India or Pakistan or actually
managesd to become a free country? Making it through the next day
was a ferocious challenge in itself, and within those twenty-four hours,
ensuring two square meals for themselves and their family in these
harsh mountains was an accomplishment in itself.
One after another, I crossed the mountains before I reached Banihal,
a town that seemed to have better economics and livelihood and was
buzzing with activities. Suddenly I heard my phone ring. Aah, finally
there was network on my mobile phone which had stayed idle for quite
some time now. I picked up the phone and found Aki o the other side.
“Where are you man?” he asked, “I hope you have not returned to
Pathankot.”
“No man. I am actually in Banihal and would soon be crossing the
Jawahar Tunnel,” I replied and asked, “Where are you guys?”
“You actually made it Banihal on your own! Wow! Awesome man!
Well, we are at Ramban and will be crossing Khooni Nallah region
soon,” he said surprised. And then Raj took over the phone, “ Hey man,
you okay? Did I hear correctly? Banihal? Great man! We got fuckin’ late
man. Aki’s brakes had failed and he didn’t have an extra pair. I thought
we had decided to be prepared before coming here. Anyway, luckily,
one of the mechanics had additional disk brakes and he saved the day.”
“Aah sorry to hear that man. And it’s nice that the problem got fixed.
I hope his bike is okay. He ought to have carried an extra pair of brake
pads. And ya, this is one of the reasons I always said that we must stick
together and ride. You don’t know when disaster strikes. Had it been
any other mechanical failure it would have been my 32bhp
Thunderbird pulling his bike,” I replied with a certain pride. “Ya man,
you are right. Listen I have been to Srinagar before. After crossing the
Jawahar Tunnel, there is a viewpoint which comes on the left-hand side.
Wait for us there, we’ll catch up. Have fun, see you soon bro.” he said
and hung up.
I then got back on the road. After a short while, I was before the
majestic Jawahar Tunnel and stopped in front of it to fully immerse in
its awe. Jawa- har Tunnel is one of the finest examples of human
32
engineering. It cut short the journey to Srinagar by at least five hours
and kept the road running throughout the year. Otherwise, one had to
go all the way through Banihal Pass, which made the journey a
treacherous one and often undoable during winters. The tunnel was
heavily guarded by the Indian Army due to the imminent threat of
terrorist attacks.
Soon, I was riding inside the tunnel and found it dark and damp as it
was lit by only a few bulbs. I felt an eerie chill in my bones and I could
feel the mighty mountains over my head. If only the mountains above
decided to cave in and leave me trapped inside this dark and damp
tunnel! The thought was laden with sarcasm and fear. After a three km
ride, I was finally out and breathing in fresh air. After riding further, I
found a corner tucked away from the main highway which was buzzing
with tourists and hawkers. I knew the viewpoint had arrived, where I
stopped to wait for the other two to arrive. Serene, bathing in the light
of the setting sun, stood in front of me the entire Kashmir Valley. It was
beautiful. But the setting sun intimidated me as well. It was soon going
to be nightfall and we were far away from Srinagar, almost 110 km. I
immersed myself in the buzzing crowd of tourists and hawkers lest the
woeful thoughts should take over me at this critical moment. After a
couple of hours Raj and Aki arrived and we hugged one another like lost
brothers who were meeting one other after a long time. Soon we were
back on the road and now descending towards the Kashmir Valley.
By the time we descended down to the valley, it was night. We only
made a brief stoppage at a gas station and were back on the road. This
time, to my surprise, Aki stuck with the group driving behind the two of
us like a disciplined kid. At first, I had the notion that maybe because of
our separation Aki was sticking with the group, but slowly and
gradually it dawned upon me that he was actually frightened of the
darkness. And in such a situation, I was the one left to lead the pack. I
drove slowly and this irritated Raj who started coaxing me to drive
faster. This, in turn, annoyed me. So I slowed down and told him to lead
the pack. For a while, he drove at 70km/hr or maybe higher, and it was
wonderful and all, but when the overtaking cars and buses from the
other side started jumping into our lane, his speed automatically
decreased. And it was not long before he slowed down and started
riding behind me. After this incident, no one coaxed me to drive faster.
Slowly and steadily, tearing through the darkness, we reached
33
Srinagar and rested only when we saw the Dal Lake; the lifeline of
Srinagar and the most beautiful thing for which Srinagar is renowned
for. For a moment we stood in silence, embracing its beauty, as the far
stretched lake shone beautifully in the light of the moon, with star-like
bulbs of the house boats twinkling in the darkness. Far away, the
silhouette of the mountains were visible, as if it stood there, like a jaded
lover, waiting to meet its beautiful princess- the lake; knowing fully
well that it could never happen.
The hotels near the Dal Lake had no empty rooms so we detoured to
Khayyam Road where we got a decent guest house at a fair price.
In two days, we had covered almost 850 km on the road, and for the
first time, I had driven into the mountains, had my own adventure or
should I say misadventure, and was lying on a bed in one of the most
beautiful cities in the world: Srinagar- often called ‘the heaven on
Earth’. My body bellowed its pain but my heart was calm and content
and my mind lost in the bliss of nothingness. For two days, the beast
had not surfaced and I wondered whether these dichotomous selves of
me were uniting as one. While my mind pondered over questions
whose answers I could not muster, I slowly and gradually drifted into
the bliss of sleep.
For the past one year, life had become boring and dull. There was no
sense of being alive left in me. Everywhere crude enthusiasm was
stamped down by the rules of conformity. MBA started and ended with
classes and the routine had begun to bore me to death. Even waking up
early and reaching classes at nine o’clock seemed to be a Herculean
task. There seemed to be no motivation. I used to spend most of the
mornings in the canteen as I couldn’t make it to the class on time and
the teachers would shut the door on my face. The miserable feeling of
doing something routinely and studying something which you didn’t
like was lurking back again. Somehow the formal education system
made even those subjects dull which I would love to explore on my
own. I was broken, disheartened and disillusioned. I had begun hating
everything. Can you imagine being thrown out of the class because you
didn’t have a goddamn calculator? And what do you have to calculate:
some simple mathematics and nothing very complicated. More so,
every cell phone came with a calculator. So the need for carrying a
calculator to the class didn’t make sense to me. And I ended up outside
the class every time because something that did not seem logically
34
relevant was something which was very difficult for me to follow.
I was happy that one year of MBA had ended. But then internship
was equally annoying. Crunching numbers and data on the computer all
day was something I was really not looking forward to. Once again, I
was caught in the web of doing what you are ‘told to do’ in the
corporate world. You could be completely ignored by your colleagues
and severely penalized for having your own thoughts on a project or
your own voice on matters, especially when you are just a junior. This
made me rethink about life in the corporate world. Why wasn’t I happy?
If I look at people in India at large, I see joblessness and sheer poverty.
After my MBA, I would be in a better position than 95% of the Indians. I
could be a rupee millionaire instantly. But why wasn’t my inner
happiness matching the bright statistical prospects of my future life?
What was I missing? What did I want?
35
DAY 3
Smitten By Heaven
“The moon stays bright when it doesn’t avoid the night.”
— Rumi
We up woke startled by a persisted loud banging on the door. I got up

and opened it only to find the bewildered guest house owner. It was
almost noon and not a sound came from our room. This had got him
worried. He then sighed with relief when he found the three of us in the
room with our eyes wide open staring angrily at him. After all, he had
interrupted our divine sleep. Two days of riding had broken our bodies
and sleep was the only medicine that was going to free them from all
the things that made it ache. Today was a rest day in Srinagar, so we got
ready to wash up and hit the city and paint the town red. We went out
to check our bikes and see how they had taken to the mountains. To our
surprise, they did quite well, except for Aki’s Pulsar, which had a flat
tire. Luckily he had tubeless tires that managed to bring us till Srinagar
and while he was gone to get it fixed, we were joined by the guesthouse
owner’s son and after a while by his friend. When Aki returned, the five
us decided to go together on an excursion through the city.
Kashmir was a remarkably beautiful city. The Dal Lake was its
central lifeline and the whole city was spread around it. It was a vast
valley, and if you were to be air dropped here, you might mistakenly
think of yourself to be in the plains. We drove around the Dal Lake
where the cold, gushing
36
winds kissed you on your cheeks. At a far distance you could see a
long- tailed Shikhara float merrily beautiful, beautiful it looked. We
then went to
different nooks and corners of the city gauging its way of life. Old
Kashmir, Kashmir University, army camps, we saw it all. It felt homely
to be on your own bike and drive around. The city was beautiful, but it
was vehemently dominated by old traditions where modernity was still
in its infancy. The women peeked at us through their burqas while
some of the men with skull caps scorned at us. Those who had
embraced modernity brought a new wave of freshness. There were
women who managed to shun the burqa in this ultra Islamic state of
India and those who did, ensured that anyone who had a glimpse of a
Kashmiri beauty would preserve the memories for a lifetime. We then
went to Nishat Bagh, a Mughal Garden. The garden was still maintained
with its royal aura intact, as it was during the times when the Badshahs
and their begums walked on the paths of the garden. The vast
mesmerizing varieties of flowers sent the photographer in me clicking.
The garden had some acclivity over the slope of a mountain on which it
was created, so we climbed higher from where a glimpse of the Dal
Lake was transcending. I felt as if right before our eyes was a Van
Gogh’s painting come alive. The sun was about to set behind the vast
lake as the shikharas criss-crossed in their slow and rhythmic pace.
Birds flew across the sky to return to their humble abode. The water
looked bluish red, reflecting what the sky looked like at that moment.
Kashmir has aroused passion in everyone who stepped on its soil. From
poets to writers, musicians, and painters, from leaders like Indira
Gandhi to many others, Kashmir was a calling and the city’s charms can
never be forgotten by anyone who walked its lanes. We then went for a
ride on the beautiful shikharas. The setting sun, the cold, humming,
breeze of the mountains, aah, it was a very serene and beautiful
experience. The boatman rowed the beautiful canoe sitting at one end,
singing a folklore and telling us a few stories from Kashmir’s past. A
Fresh breeze of the mountains blew past kissing my forehead and
taking me back into the reminiscence of the beautiful of days of the
yester years. Memories that were forgotten, memories that were buried
deep in my subconscious mind began to erupt. And the face of the girl
37
with whom I had first fallen in love flashed through my mind. I started
muttering the words of the poems I had written a long time ago. I came
looking for something new, yet the mountains took me back to the days
of the old. But it was all for the good, for those were the days that were
pristine, devoid of corruption and greed, devoid of hatred and jealousy
and devoid of competition and failure. Those were the days when you
just lived in the moment, the moment that you had, the present that
stood all around you, and nothing else mattered. You lay your head in
your mother’s lap and she would stroke your forehead telling you a
little story till you fell asleep. She made you feel safe, devoid of worries,
worries of the past and present and her care was all that mattered, and
you wished that such moments never ended.
I returned from retrospection when Raj nudged me to look at the
buzzing life on the lake. Indeed, there were shops and houses on boats
and the ladies of the houses made dinner on these lifeboats. Some sort
of vegetation grew on the lake too, and if the boatman was to be
believed, some people never left the lake for months, maybe years. The
lake had a life of its own, beyond what the roads and bricks and
mortars could define.
Till a few days ago, I was sitting in a cubicle that was fed with air
from a mechanical device and crunching numbers on a computer
screen, And today I sat in a canoe, right in the womb of nature and was
listening to the breeze, breathing in this abundance of beauty, and
watching life as it happened. At first a drop or two, and then a small
stream of tears began rolling down my cheeks, these were not just
tears, but tears of content. I was overwhelmed by emotions that I felt
only as a child.
We went ashore where Shabir and Aamir, our dear Kashmiri friends
waited for us. On seeing them I couldn’t control my emotions and
blurted out, “You guys are the luckiest people in the world to be living
in such a beautiful city for which I would willingly give a limb away if I
had to.” They agreed to the part that the city was beautiful, but they had
their own reser- vations about life in the valley. The very thought of life
here brought sadness to their faces. They told us stories of the days
when terrorist activities were at its peak in the valley. They would not
go to school or colleges, and had to stay behind doors. No tourist would
come to the city out of fear which crippled the economy as tourism was
38
the main source of income here. During those ugly days of the surrogate
war, they would have little or no money and the city would be cut off
from everything, including supplies of basic needs. They survived on
boiled meat and potatoes or whatever little they could grow in their
gardens or lay their hands on. The meat would often taste stale because
it would be smuggled and brought to the valley after many days. It was
a trying time for the people of Srinagar. The ones living in the city didn’t
support terrorists nor followed their ideology. Only on the outskirts
and in the rural areas, the terrorists found sympathizers. I wondered
when peace would prevail. If Jannat existed, then it certainly was
Kashmir. I told them emphatically that at least the time was good right
now and that they should make the best use of it while it lasted. We
decided to have a small get together, a feast sort of, in honor of and love
for Kashmir. Shabir and I took off to the city on our bikes. We went to
local diners which sold kebabs with the original Kashmiri taste and
aroma intact. The night made Srinagar even more seductive. We had a
grand feast. We talked and laughed and shared our stories. Amir
entertained us with his rap songs and all of us clapped and drank to it.
The food was lovely, the weather was lovely, the city was lovely and the
mountains were lovely. Oh, one just needed to be in Srinagar to
experience love.
The night was a beautiful one and I slept like a baby, as I used to do,
happily in the lap of my mother.
39
DAY 4
Vengeance And Defeat

“You may encounter many defeats, but you must not be defeated. In fact, it may be
necessary to encounter the defeats, so you can know who you are, what you can rise
from, how you
can still come out of it.”
— Maya Angelou
We got up early hoping for an early start to Kargil, our next stop to Leh.
But as we were not able to find a mechanic yesterday, we spent
the first half of our day getting our bikes fixed and then after a short
visit to the house of an old friend of mine who studied with me in Delhi;
we were back on the road. We were supercharged but anxious at the
same time. The real ride on the mountains was going to only begin.
Now, it was already two o’clock in the afternoon. That was bad news, as
that meant we might not be able to make it to Kargil. We started our
journey and were now on the outskirts of Srinagar and traversing a
village. Scores of women, mostly teenagers passed by, perhaps
returning from school. They were all covered in burqas. Such religious
orthodoxy antagonized me every time I came across it. Burqa was the
worst slap on the dignity of a woman. Every individual had the right to
freedom of expression. Even my Hindu religion was not devoid of such
misplaced customs. The women in the villages hid behind the loose end
of their sarees covering their entire face each time they had to appear
before men. The Kuran or the Gita never preached anything like that
and yet such customs persisted. It might take centuries before such
customs got eradicated; they were like an evil disease, worse than polio
and for that matter even AIDS. And as we drove further, another visual
made me even more furious; a man crossed the street wearing a
Pakistani cricket team’s T-shirt. The separatists left no stone unturned
in brainwashing the Kashmiri youths. But the ones to really be blamed
had died a long time ago. It was during the tenure of Pandit Jawahar Lal
Nehru that Article 370 was implemented in the state. No other state in
the country enjoys this privilege, only if it could be called a privilege.
What Article 370 did was that it gave a special status to Jammu and
40
Kashmir by virtue of which many Indian laws that are central to the
nation could not be applied here and Non Kashmiris could not settle
here or buy properties. While, in principle, it might sound nice that this
law would protect the heritage of Kashmir and help preserve the
mountains. But what it actually did was it inhibited the integration of
the state with the rest of the nation. Investments never came to the
valley and the population entirely depended on the government. The
state politics remained a personal property of the Abdullah Family and
development never happened. Jammu and Kashmir started lagging
behind other states and there were dire poverty and unemployment
which fanned resentment in the hearts of the people. Eyeing an
opportunity, the separatists fuelled the idea of separation from India
and with the help of Pakistan, unleashed a chain of terrorist activities in
the state. This terrorism slowly began spilling over other parts of the
country and soon the entire country was under its vicious grip. Another
fallout of the separatist movements was the genocide of the local
Kashmiri Hindu Brahmin population who had to flee to other parts of
the country. Oh did I mention that the state can actually be divided into
three regions; Jammu, Kashmir, and Ladakh. Jammu has a sizeable
Hindu population; Kashmir largely consists of Muslims while the
Ladakh region has a fair mix of Muslims and Buddhists. The separatist
movement was mostly intense in the Kashmir valley.
When the state govt. failed to contain the situation, the Army was
called in and they were given special powers under the Armed Forces
Special Powers Act(AFSPA) which meant the state govt. and local police
couldn’t question the Army’s activities in the state. It was like a 007
kind of a thing. They could carry out search activities at any time
without any warrants. Now when such a power is given, some misuses
are bound to happen. The army can be rough in its ways of tackling
issues without thinking about social or political consequences. In
search of terrorists, they would barge into anyone’s house based on the
information they had or pick up anyone for inquiry. Sometimes these
actions would be based on incorrect information, but the separatists
would use these opportunities to make the people believe that it was
deliberately done to target Kashmiris. These surrogate wars further
depleted the economy which caused further resentment and the
separatists used this to their advantage to fuel the agitation against the
41
Indian Union even further. The separatists would also paint the picture
of India as a Hindu nation and since Kashmiris were mostly Muslims;
the separatists would tell them that it was unfair for the Raja of
Kashmir during independence to make it a part of India. Religion
became their biggest weapon. In reality, these separatist leaders
worked at the behest of the Intelligence Agency of Pakistan, the ISI.
Thus, under the garb of Free Kashmir they subtly fuelled the idea of
Kashmir joining Pakistan. Now Pakistan had its own agenda. It was
always eyeing Kashmir. More so when Bangladesh became independent
and India helped her achieve it ( Of course the Bangladeshis primarily
wanted independence in the first place); the Pakistanis grew even more
agitated and promulgated terrorist activities in Jammu and Kashmir by
supplying arms, ammunitions, and funding. Lashkar E Taiyyaba (LeT)
became a world known terrorist organization which the US finally
acknowledged and banned it after one of the biggest terrorist attacks,
the 911 attacks, on the World Trade Center. Till 911, Uncle Sam played
a dubious role on issues concerning terrorism by choosing to name
those organizations which acted against its interest as terrorist ones
and omitting those which were terrorist ones but did not act against its
interest. Post 911, Uncle Sam changed its stand and it agreed that
terrorism was terrorism be it against any country.
But today, the state was achieving normalcy. The separatists were
losing their voice. The govt. was taking developmental initiatives in the
state and the army had indeed started putting up a humane face.
Tourism was back and the state was witnessing prosperity once again.
The voice of dissonance was dying and the state was getting what had
been due to her. Given the current situation of Pakistan and the
instability it faced within its region, its voice was losing grounds in the
region. The army had started participating in civil activities and had
increased development activities in the state as well. Sonamarg, the
beautiful hill station, was one such example of the initiatives of the
Army.
Beautiful landscapes replaced human settlements and the acclivity
grew even steeper and steeper. Srinagar was at 5200feet, Sonamarg,
our next destination, was at 9200 feet and we were ascending almost
4000 feet in just 80 km. What bothered me more was that Aki had again
shot off speedily leaving Raj and me to linger behind. I thought the ride
42
till Srinagar would have trained me to drive in the mountains. But with
every km I went further towards Ladakh, riding became tougher. I was
in pain and fear and yet in such a moment, Aki had chosen to abandon
the group and race ahead. At every turn, I hoped he would appear
somewhere waiting, but that didn’t happen. I was already furious about
what I saw in the village and Aki’s act of selfish pleasure was adding
fuel to the fire. And finally it happened, the thing that I had dreaded the
most: the beast was back and I could feel its presence. Slowly and
gradually it overpowered me, leaving me numb. The laughter had
turned to a weary and dreaded look. “I will teach him what it means to
be selfish” I mumbled these words to myself. I felt offended. I had the
heaviest bike and the strongest one. It was the only one of the three on
which a pannier could be attached. I carried the heaviest luggage, which
included the air pump, mechanical parts and other necessary stuff that
were needed. I felt as if Aki treated us like mules, as if we were there,
just there, in case he needed us, in case something happened. I felt sorry
and furious for myself at the same time; sorry because I carried the
burden of inexperience and was proving to be the weakest link in the
chain; furious because both of them knew that I was the one who
planned everything and got the team together, I was the one who
managed everything, and I was the one on whom both could depend,
and yet I was the one who was being treated unfairly. Aki had tasted
failure in the past when he tried to conquer Ladakh via the Manali route
but had to give up after a failed attempt to cross the Rohtang Pass. He
knew he could not do this journey alone, and yet he cared less for the
people who were with him right now. They knew that I was a rock and
would stand by them in every hour of need but what they didn’t know
was that besides me there was a beast, and the beast had returned
seething with anger. And now it sought revenge. Aki’s call came on my
mobile phone, but I ignored it. Raj didn’t have a phone. After a while, his
calls didn’t come as there was no more mobile network available. Raj
and I kept moving ahead. Dusk was arriving. After some time, we
reached Sonamarg where Raj wanted to search for Aki. Sonamarg
wasn’t even a town. It was a sort of a small army colony that developed
into a tourist spot. Searching for Aki would not have been difficult. But I
turned towards Raj glaringly and said, “Fuck him. Let him get a taste of
his own medicine.” I guess Raj must have sensed the beast. He was
43
equally annoyed with Aki as well. So we decided not to halt at
Sonamarg but move to Baaltal, a small camping area about 20 km far
from Baaltal. Raj once again insisted on finding Aki, but he stopped
when he saw me glaring at him. “I told you, leave that bastard behind,” I
growled at him. He got back on his seat and I could see the fear written
all over his face. He had to make a choice between Aki and me. I guess
given the spur of the moment, it wasn’t a difficult task and he chose to
follow me. We began driving towards Baaltal but even after an hour’s
drive we found no camping grounds. Raj wanted to return to Sonamarg,
but I insisted that we must move ahead. After a while, the lovely tarmac
road gave way to the broken road and we found ourselves at the end of
a long line of trucks ahead of us that stood still. We started criss-
crossing the trucks and kept moving ahead. With every foot that we
covered, with every truck that we left behind, the road became steeper,
narrower and slushier. Raj got frightened and again requested to
return, but once again, I forced him to move ahead. We kept climbing
higher and higher. The gorge below looked deeper and more
frightening than ever. The air turned cold too. Darkness had already
wrapped the mountains in her arms. A group of truck drivers stood by
chatting amongst themselves when they stopped us. “Where are you
guys going on your bikes at this hour,” a Sardarji asked.
“Baaltal,” Raj replied. “How far is it from here?”
“Oh dear, Baaltal is way behind and you have come quite far. Now
where do you want to go ahead,” the Sardarji asked.
“Oh is it? We didn’t see the place,” I said with the politest tone I
could find, clearly irritated at the turbaned man trying to stop us from
going ahead.
“It’s because Baaltal is nothing but a bunch of tents and camps that
the govt. sets up for the pilgrims for the Amarnath Yatra. This is no
pilgrimage season, so no camps, and thus no Baaltal” the Sardarji
retorted, clearly showing his annoyance.
“Oh my, no wonder we didn’t see it,” Raj said anxiously.
“I guess you two should return to Sonamarg as Zozi La lies ahead
and it’s quite dangerous to cross the Pass on bikes during the night.
Very soon it’s going to get extremely cold and you could get stuck in ice-
cold water pits and no help is going to come during the night,” the
Sardarji advised us and I could feel the concern in his voice. We also
44
didn’t see any other bikes on the road along with us.
Raj panicked when he heard what the Sardarji had said, and then he
turned towards me and said “Why the hell can’t you just forgive and
forget. For heaven’s sake, we are here for a fun trip and not a death trip.
I haven’t come here with a death wish.”
“I told you, I am not going to go back and see that bastard’s face
again,” the beast in me replied, “Let him pay for his decisions. If you
want to join him then you can, and you are free to desert me. I am
happy to let you go. I can’t do it now. No, not again. That has always
been me. I always give up and return. I am not going to go back now. ”
I started the engine and gave it a little throttle. The bike moved
ahead. I could see in the rearview mirror that Raj still stood where he
was, his headlamp still shining. The truck drivers stood there silently as
they watched us fight and me leaving.
It must have been eight in the evening. I had crossed a couple of
trucks when I was suddenly stopped by a truck that stood stranded in
the middle of the road leaving no room from either side to go ahead. On
the left of the road was the cliff and on the right was the gorge. But on
the right side of the truck, I felt I could make it through the space that
was left between the truck and the edge of the road. I brought my bike
to the right edge of the road and when I looked below at the gorge, I
shivered with fear. I looked behind; Raj’s headlamp still shone, coaxing
me to retread. I took a deep breath and gave the bike a little throttle. I
moved ahead but stopped at the tail end of the truck. The ground was
visibly wet with little stream- lets criss-crossing the road. I gave the
Thunderbird a little throttle and as it moved I started moonwalking on
my legs as well. So the two of us, the bike and me moved forward, with
the bike in between my legs and I was walking. I could smell the fear in
me. The gorge below was just half a foot away from my right foot.
Slowly and carefully I reached the middle of the truck but then
suddenly something struck the luggage at the back and my bike tilted to
the right and I got unbalanced. In a moment of frenzy I threw my left
hand and luckily, I found something protruding from the truck and I
grabbed it and pushed the bike to the left with my right thigh and
managed to bring the bike to a balanced position. Had I been a second
late, I would have been down into the gorge below where my body
would have turned into sauce. Once again, I moved on my two legs and
45
pushed the bike with my legs. Slowly and gradually I reached the front
end of the truck. I then got off the bike and sat on a rock panting
heavily. By now the truck drivers had come running towards me.
Questions, taunts, and suggestions began to be hurled at me. But I could
hardly understand anything that they said. The Sardarji calmed the
other truck drivers down and came closer to me and said, “Son, it’s time
you returned. There is no point going ahead. It is dangerous and risky.
Rest is up to you.”
“I think I will return” I said as these words fumbled through my
mouth and I looked at him dejectedly. Words found it difficult to find
their way through my throat which had grown sour. The driver whose
truck was parked wrongly in the middle of the road got on it and
parked it ahead closer to the cliff. I then got on my bike and started it.
My heart was beating louder than the engine. This was the closest I had
been to death. I looked in the mirror and found myself shivering, partly
due to the cold, but mostly due to fear. “Once again Ravi tries to go after
a grand success and falls flat on his face,” I found a voice inside me
taunting me. I felt as if the world was mocking at me. For a moment, I
thought of deliberately jumping off the road. I had failed once again;
this time, defeated by the mountains. I had once again given up and it
was time to retread.
I drove back to where Raj still stood, his headlight still shining. When
he saw me, he pounced like a hungry wolf, “What were you thinking?
What’s wrong with you? Did you want to kill yourself there? Why store
so much of hatred against someone? If you wanted to kill yourself, you
could have easily done that in Delhi. Why come all this way? You were
ready to go alone! Break everything. Destroy everything because of one
person. Aki is a kid. He has just graduated. But you are a mature guy.
And yet you behave so naively. And you were willing to leave me
behind as well. How am I going to trust you from now on?”
I listened to him like a child. I was dumb folded. My mind was blank.
I did not know what to say. He asked the truck drivers for a mobile
phone and one of them lent him. He then called Aki and told him to
book a room for the three of us and to stand on the road so that we
could spot him. He then turned to me and said, “C’mon, let’s go back to
Sonamarg. Aki would be waiting for us.” And I obeyed him like a child.
46
We thanked the truck drivers for their help and began to retread to
Sonamarg. I felt guilty and ashamed. This time it was I who had almost
jeopardized the journey and had created a wedge in the team. The beast
was nowhere to be seen now. I accepted my mistake and I knew I had
to. In any case, one cannot live a lie and run away from one’s own self.
Only when you accept your mistakes is when you would try to change
them. I may have returned from the jaws of death alive, but it had taken
something away from me: it had taken away the beast who lived within
me. We stopped to discuss once again and I intently listened to Raj. He
tried showing me that anger was illegitimate. But he also admitted that
they secretly mocked me and the way I drove. I had the biggest and the
most powerful bike and yet I drove like a buffoon. We reached
Sonamarg to find Aki standing on the road as he waved his hand at us.
We got off our rides and went inside a restaurant. We ordered food. Aki
came over to say sorry. But I chose to remain quiet. I wasn’t sure about
my mental or emotional state. Raj took him outside where they had
some discussions and then returned. We finished our dinner. Aki had
booked a tent instead of a room. We then drove with the tent owner to
the camp site. We unpacked and went inside the blankets. It was still
quite cold so we took out our sleeping bags as well.
Actually I never wanted to abandon Raj. Even though it was foolish, I
really wanted to cross Zozi La and conquer it. And I wanted Raj to come
with me. I sensed fear in him and found that getting induced in me.
Even I was frightened. But the only reason I had come this far was
because I had decided that I would complete this journey no matter
what came in my way. I loathed the idea of returning and I loathed the
words ‘give up.’
I then realized the anger was not just against Aki. The anger was not
about being left behind while they sped off. It was something much
deeper that had gotten embedded in my soul.
The truth was that I was frustrated with life. The decisions I took
and the decisions that I was taking had pushed me further into the
dungeon of abyss. Somehow every achievement that I got in life seemed
to have enslaved me further. I felt the rope tightening around my neck
and suffocating me. The worst part was that I felt I was responsible for
it. I ran for cover, I ran for security, not willing to give up what I had for
what I dreamt for and in the process I created a cage, locked myself in it
47
and threw away the keys. The very security that I created around me
became a noose around my neck, killing me slowly but surely. I could
neither complain as there were no visible scars to show. Every day I
was losing the touch, the touch of life and was slowly being turned into
a morbid body governed by the laws of routine.
The night was torturous. The tent was very uncomfortable. We

spotted a couple of spiders and other insects in the tent and we quickly
killed it. Then poured the rains which made the air freezing cold. The
events of the day still loomed large in my head keeping me drowned in
fear and frustration. The idea of crossing the Zozi La the next day was
frightening. My action and reaction to Aki’s behavior had created a
wedge in the team. I didn’t know what would tomorrow be like nor I
wanted to think about it right now and yet the thoughts wouldn’t leave
me alone.
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DAY 5
Conquest Of Zozila
“When we are tired, we are attacked by ideas we conquered long ago.”
— Friedrich Nietzsche
After getting barely three hours of sleep, I got up at eight in the

morning. The other two were awake as well. We washed, packed and
were ready to go. The sun had chosen to hide behind the clouds and the
valley witnessed consistent drizzling that made the air freezing cold.
We left the camp and after a quick breakfast at a restaurant, we were
ready to go. For the first time, I got to see the mesmerizing beauty of
Sonamarg. Surrounded by snow peaked mountains and large meadows,
the place was serene and picturesque. Far away, the horses grazed in
the meadows. It was one road, one street place, with hotels and
restaurants lined up on both sides of the road. At a little distance away,
there were army barracks. After a while, we were on our way to Zozi La,
on the same route on which we had returned yesterday. My heart
started pounding heavily. The reminiscence of yesterday’s experience
still lingered on. We didn’t talk much as we drove. Zozi La was going to
be our first mountain pass that we were going to cross. It was steep,
cold, and the narrow roads that made the drive precarious. No wonder
the Army, which managed and controlled this area as it was near the
international border, had stipulated time zones for vehicles to cross
from either direction. We met other bikers who were coming from the
other side and all that they had to say was “the worst is over.” For us, it
sounded distressing, as the worst was only going to begin. Soon we
reached the point from where broken roads began. Aki stuck with the
group this time. Perhaps Raj must have inoculated some sense and fear
into him. And in moments of fear, however lame a driver I might be, I
am the one left to lead the pack. And today was no exception.
We kept our speed slow as we moved ahead. We did not find any
truck lined up as they were usually allowed to go in large numbers only
during the night. But we spotted one that had a failed engine. We drove
49
further but at one point I felt sickening. I then realized it was the same
point where I had my brush with death. I hurriedly crossed that stretch
and moved ahead. But after a few more kilometers of riding, we found
ourselves at the end of a huge line of jeeps and mini buses. We criss-
crossed our way to reach the front end of the line where we found out
that there had been a landslide last night and the Army had stopped the
traffic while the road was getting cleared. It was the same last night
when I was considering crossing the Zozi La. Another chill went down
my spines. An army bulldozer was busy clearing the roubles so we got
down from our bikes to walk around. We got to learn about a new
danger of the high altitudes. With an increase in altitude, the landscape
changed as well. Lush green mountains and valleys gave way to naked
black-brownish mountains devoid of any vegetation and forests. They
had only snow to cover their bodies. Thus, this nakedness caused grave
erosion of soil that led to more landslides. When we looked below, we
found the gorge to be so deep that the trees looked like shrubs and
there, amongst them, to our horror, lay a truck that was smashed into
pieces. I wondered what might have happened to the driver. “You could
have been there yesterday,” suddenly a voice from within spoke to me
and I felt another pang of fear stinging me. After waiting for an hour,
the bikers were first permitted to go. The rock, that had chosen to
loosen itself from the top and roll down the slope only to stop on the
road to rest, was now converted into boulders of debris by the
bulldozer. Our tires rolled over the smaller ones and after some time
we were on the other side of the small stretch where the debris lay. But
the broken roads continued as we rode ahead battling the protruding
rocks and the puddles formed by the small streams that were fed by the
melting snow above. After some time, blanketed roads began which
made our journey a little more comfortable.
We ascended higher and higher until the peaks started appearing. Some
of them seemed to be just a few meters away and were as high as our
shoulders. After a few more kilometers, a flat stretch of land
surrounded by snow covered peaks greeted us. Finally, we arrived at a
sign board that said: ‘Zozi La. 11649 feet’. Just a couple of meters away
another sign board read “Welcome to Ladakh”. “This is a nice way to
greet us,” I said, looking at the Ladakh sign board. I thought if the
entrance was laden with such extremities, what the region was going to
50
be like. Zozi La was the gateway to Ladakh from the Srinagar side, and
while crossing Zozi La itself many riders must have turned back. But
when I took off my helmet and had a glimpse of the beauty that
surrounded us, I was left gaping. All that fear, all that pain seemed to
have vanished. Such was the beauty and its impact on me. The sheer
cold, the bumpy ride, and the endless debate between returning and
going forward; it was all worth it, it was all worth for this moment of
joy, and this moment of pristine beauty that stood witness to the love of
Nature. And at that point of time I realized that today I stood at the
point where I had failed to reach yesterday. Today, I had accomplished
what I had abandoned yesterday. And it didn’t feel like being a loser. I
couldn’t figure out what was going on in my mind and heart but at that
moment, I just wanted to immerse myself in the beauty around me. I
just wanted to be happy; I just wanted to feel this joy that had suddenly
erupted in me for a moment, a joy that I found to be strange because I
hardly remembered when I had felt so naturally happy. Even our
happiness, it seemed, was calculated. The beautiful peaks looked like
celestial bodies of nymphs standing in white dresses greeting us,
seducing us, reaching out to us, ready to provide the warmth and love
that we longed for. For a moment, I thanked the truck drivers who
stopped me from coming here, for, in the night, I could have never
experienced such a beautiful moment.
After a while, we decided to descend on the other side. The cold was
getting on to us and we were yet to get used to the weather of the
mountains. Our descent on the other side of Zozi La was as torturous as
the ascent. We drove with the walls of ice on both sides of the road and
some ice lay on the road, making it slippery. The pits of water formed
from the melting ice were cold and deep. If this water entered our
shoes, it could cause some serious problems, some as serious as
hypothermia.
Zozi La was the first mountain pass. There were a dozen more to
come. A mountain pass is a route through a mountain range or over a
ridge. If you were to follow the lowest possible route, a pass is locally
the highest point on that route; a concept similar to local maxima and
local minima in mathematics. You ascended to the highest point on the
route from one valley, crossed the mountain range to descend into
another valley. Sometimes a mountain pass would connect two valleys
51
of the same mountain range.
Finally, we descended to the other side and were driving towards
Drass now, which was almost fifty kilometers away. But these fifty
kilometers were dangerous, albeit in quite a different sense. These fifty
kilometers brought us closest to the border with Pakistan, perhaps
within five kilometers of range and it is said that from one of the peaks
from across the border, the enemy could see us. We quickly moved
from the area as some security officers forbade us to stop and kept
waving their hands to drive through quickly. Zozi La was cold, but now I
felt colder. My body began shivering and my hands were becoming
numb. We had to take refuge in a makeshift cafe that was run by the
local nomads. After a couple of plates of Maggi and cups of tea and a
little warming up, we resumed our journey. After about an hour’s ride, a
sign board greeted us: ‘Drass: the second coldest inhabited place in
the world.’ No wonder we felt as if our buttocks would freeze into ice
cream cupcakes. After a few freezing moments, we decided to go ahead.
The nomads had told us that after a few kilometers of drive from Drass,
we would be greeted by the sunshine. It seemed Drass and Zozi La
hardly got any sunshine throughout the year. After a few more
kilometers sunshine greeted us. Finally, our spirits calmed and our
body felt relieved from the aching cold. By now the bikers who had
started riding from the opposite direction began crossing us. And while
they did so, they waved their hands in victory. The journey till here had
already given us the glimpse of the journey that lay ahead, and these
guys were almost on the verge of completing their journey. No wonder
they felt triumphant. This journey to Ladakh was no less than a war.
On our way to Kargil, we made one important stop, one at that Kargil
War Memorial, a place we had no intention to miss under any
circumstance. As we walked through the gates, the reminiscence of the
days of Kargil War began to come alive. That was the time when the
entire nation sat on the edge of their seat, watching, following every
event of tragedy that unfolded amongst these very mountains and on
this very soil that we were walking upon. It was tragic, but what was
more tragical was the betrayal and treachery of Pakistan.
An army officer guided us and gave us a visual description of the
locations where the battle was fought. The whole battlefield lay in front
of us and we could see the bunkers from where the Pakistani Rangers
52
shot the Indian troops and the peaks that were retrieved later from
their evil clutches. Pakistan and India had an understanding that every
winter they would escalate down and empty the bunkers at the border.
Winters are very harsh making living almost impossible. This continued
for quite a while but in the winters of 1998 and early 1999 Pakistani
soldiers, dressed up as terrorists, occupied the empty bunkers and a
couple of mountain peaks in that area. These bunkers were at a
strategic location from where the National High- way was visible. Their
plan was simple: to cut off Kargil and the remaining regions of Ladakh
while they got a backup from the Pakistani side when the summer
arrived. In May, when the Indian Army came back to the region they
were fired at. Many soldiers died. The National Highway was cut off. But
our brave soldiers freed every bunker and every mountain peak from
the hold of the enemies. The Pakistani General and their Prime Minister
later acknowledged that the terrorists who died were actually Pakistani
soldiers and asked for their bodies to be sent back to Pakistan and to
their families. We won the war, but many brave hearts died.
Remembering the war brought tears to our eyes. It’s because of these
soldiers that we are able to sleep without any worry in our homes.
The truth is that Pakistan is sworn to enmity with India for eternity.
In 1947, India got its freedom from the British rule and Pakistan was
carved out from it as a separate independent entity. Along with them, a
lot of princely states got their freedom as well. Due to the efforts of
Sardar Patel, who was the then Home Minister, most of these princely
states joined India. Raja Hari Singh, the king of Jammu and Kashmir,
was no exception. India was a nation of principles where justice,
freedom, and secularism were its pillars on which its democracy was
built. Pakistan achieved its nationhood on the agenda of Jinnah’s desire
to be the prime minister and on religious grounds, thus becoming an
Islamic state. It was clearly destined to fail. The
princely states preferred to join a secular India rather than a
fundamentalist Pakistan. Now when Raja Hari Singh signed the Treaty
of Accession with India, Pakistan felt betrayed and waged war against
India in which it was defeated. Burning in the fire of humiliation and
hatred for a long time, Paki- stan again tried to raise its fangs in 1965
when it waged another war with India and was again defeated. When
Bangladesh achieved its independence in 1971, Pakistan again attacked
53
India but fell to its knees promising not to wage wars concerning any
border issues. Their hatred continues to this day. And in 1999, they
once again began their covert operations which led to the Kargil war in
which they were once again defeated. The purpose of their covert
operations was simple: they wanted to engulf the Ladakh region in the
separatist movement along with Kashmir but they failed miserably and
were hardly able to even get to a breathing space of Kargil. Kargil was
also our next destination and we needed to move as soon as possible.
The journey to Kargil was smooth, marred only by the frequent
stops made by Aki and Raj to take photos in flimsy poses. When they
began stopping quite too frequently, it annoyed me and so, I started
driving without stopping to wait for them anymore. When I reached
quite far, I saw them speeding up, trying to cover up the gap between
us. We reached Kargil at dusk after a considerable delay, but to my
dismay, we were turned down at the Jammu and Kashmir guest house,
leaving us with the only expensive option at a private guest house
where we unpacked and then went for a stroll around the town. At
about 9000 feet, Kargil was a small but an important district town.
During the past, travelers on the Silk Route would rest in Kargil when it
was an important business center as well. While we strolled around the
town, we met a bunch of guys who were from the plains below and
were working on the Hydro Power Project in the town.
“You must be lucky to be working in such a beautiful place,” I told
them. They took my words with a pinch of salt and gave a stingy reply
in return, “Wait till you have to live for months here. There is neither a
single theater
here nor a proper entertainment avenue.”
Perhaps they were looking for city like amenities in this mountain
won- derland and thus failed to appreciate what this place actually
offered. There was so much to explore, so much to learn and only if they
opened their minds and hearts and not just their eyes, ears and nostrils;
they would have so much fun and adventure that they would forget
about any man-made entertainment avenues that they were seeking.
But somehow we humans only tend to survive for another day and in
that process we do not live at all, only drag our bodies through decades
of existence. And here lies the biggest difference between the journeys
that you choose and work towards and journeys which are thrust upon
54
you. We drove all the way from Delhi to Kargil and loved every bit of
what we saw, while these guys had been posted here forcibly and thus
failed to appreciate the importance and beauty of what they had all
around them. We bid them goodbye and continued our stroll. The town
did have some shades of an eerie feeling though. After a while, we were
famished and started looking for a restaurant. After giving the pricey
ones a miss, we found a small eatery being run by a bearded man. As we
took to seat, he asked us in a grumpy tone, “So have you decided what
to eat?” “But we haven’t seen the menu!” I protested to which he smiled
and pointed to a small blackboard on the wall on which two dishes
were mentioned, ‘Rajma (Red beans)-Rice and Curry-Rice.’ Well then,
there was nothing much to ponder upon and so we ordered a plate of
rajma-rice for each of us. From Kargil, two routes bifurcated, one went
to Leh and the other to Padum in Suru and Zanskar Valley. Padum was
not as popular as Leh amongst travelers. It was a 234 km route to
Padum, mostly off road and the area was thinly populated. The road to
Padum was ill-maintained and without tarmac. This meant driving on
rocks, and boulders and sand and mud and that would reduce our
average speed below 20km/hr. It almost took two days to cover these
234 km. But the things that we had heard about the awe-inspiring
beauty of Padum enticed us to include Padum in our itinerary. But
something slowly and gradually had changed. We hadn’t anticipated the
difficulties we faced on our way to Kargil. These 600 km of riding in the
mountains proved more difficult than what we had anticipated. The
hostile terrain of Zozi La, the freezing cold of Drass and the little wedge
that had developed among us in the team had broken our spirits. Suru
and Zanskar valley was beautiful, no doubt, and those who had been
there went gaga over it on the internet. But right now, completing the
journey itself and returning to Delhi seemed to be a tough one. We were
frightened and our faith in one another was on the brink of extinction.
Something was not right. Everything seemed to be not right. Though
returning to Pathankot was out of the question, a smoother journey
from now onwards seemed to have become a priority. And then it
happened. “Guys, so what about Padum trip tomorrow?” asked Raj as if
he read my mind, “I think we should keep that for next time and head to
Leh instead. Neither I nor my bike can take it any further,” he added,
raising his hands, yielding in front of the whims of the mountains. Aki
55
was still unsure, but given that my relationship with him had soured, he
found an opportunity to side with Raj. I still wanted to go, but I was in a
dilemma. I was yielding, but I was stilling giving it a fight. I argued
against their withdrawal, but my words seemed to be falling on deaf
ears. Alone, it was impossible for me to do the bike trip to Padum. But
what happened next was something we did not fathom. “Why the hell
do you mad youngsters wish to go to that shit valley?” jibed the bearded
man at us, “It’s all barren mountains and barren land,” he continued
”There’s nothing there worth seeing. The roads are dangerous and the
environment is very hostile. There is hardly any oxygen in the air. It’s a
freakin’ death valley. So many people have died there. I don’t know why
you youngsters come here to die.”
And that was it. That was the final blow. That killed it at once. The
spirit of adventure died a sudden death. It blew out the air of
confidence in me, in us. Our doubts became real. When fear clouds your
judgment, every little thing seems monstrous and it abases you, making
you yield. And we three had no chance to stand against this monster
that we had created before us, this fear of the mountains. I yielded to
the demands of the other two. We agreed to go to Leh the next day. We
ate our food in silence. It felt tasteless, as if we were robbed of our
hunger. We sat there with spoonfuls of food going in our mouth
mechanically, while the bearded man continued his monologues about
the pain and difficulties of his life. We ate as if we were at a funeral and
the bearded man was reciting from the Bible, as part of the last rites.
And my thoughts were right. After all three souls had just died. We
were only fuelling our living corpses with rajma-rice so that we could
walk another mile, ride another mile and somehow touch the finish line.
The journey meant only one thing now: to survive and reach home
safely. Life had the same purpose before coming here, survive and
reach the end. Perhaps we humans were born no different than
animals, with a singular purpose of surviving and making it to the end. I
felt belittled, aghast and the stories of past failures began rumbling
down, tormenting me once again. We went back silently to our guest
house and occupied the bed that was big enough to accommodate the
three of us. We did not talk as there was
not much need for a discussion. It was going to be Leh tomorrow.
I hated myself for giving up and changing the course in the middle.
56
Fear had defeated us, at least me and that too once again. I tried taking
solace in the fact that we were at least doing a round trip of Leh, which
was still commendable. But it was to no avail. I remained dejected. This
journey was not just about fun and adventure. I had hoped to find
myself, reignite myself; to find my passion, my strengths, my belief in
myself and, above all, a reason to live again. Now the journey seemed to
be in vain. We managed
to get some sleep only because the night in the tent yesterday had
robbed us of it. The next day was going to be Leh.
57
DAY 6
Broken Roads, Broken Souls

“Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.”
— Maya Angelou
We got up to a lazy start. The sun was up and so we started pacing to

wash and get ready. There was an eerie silence among us, somewhat
inexplicable, but we all knew why it lingered on even till the morning.
We then went to the reception to pay the bills. The owner of the guest
house was at the reception desk. There were a few pamphlets lying on
his table. They were about places to visit around Kargil. I inadvertently
picked up the one on Suru and Zanskar Valley as the picture of the Nun-
Kun peaks, considered the twin brothers, stood out amongst the
photos on the pamphlet.
I couldn’t help but ask the owner,” How are Suru and Zanskar
valleys?” “Oh! It’s beautiful. You have to go there if you are in the
Ladakh region.
It is one of the most beautiful regions of Ladakh. You really have to
see the majestic twins, the Nun-Kun twins, and the beautiful landscape
of Suru and Zanskar,” he said excitedly.
But when we told him that we had canceled our trip to Padum, he
was aghast. He then spoke at length about the two valleys and once
again urged us to go there.
“Let’s go yaar,” Aki said abruptly, much to everyone’s surprise. “Now
that we have come so far, why not have a look and see it for ourselves.
After all, we might not get another chance to come here.”
My eyes suddenly lit up and I said supporting him, “I am the worst
biker of the three of us. If I am willing to go, then all three of us should
give it a try.” “But. ” Raj wanted to go against the decision, but somehow
he stopped
58
too. Perhaps somewhere in the corner of his heart, even his passion
had lit up.
“Let’s go, man,” I said immediately before he had a second thought,
“In case that old bike of yours gives up, we have two other bikes to take
care of the situation. We will figure something out.”
And now, suddenly we were back in the game. My heart was ecstatic
and the joy knew no bounds. Logic said we ought to go to Leh, my heart
said fuck logic and let’s go to the beautiful Suru and Zanskar Valleys. In
the battle between the heart and mind, the heart always wins. And this
time, I chose to listen to my heart.
So we packed and all and then took the luggage down to tie them on
our bikes. We had a quick breakfast and then went to the petrol pump
station to get our tanks and canisters filled. After all for the next 470km
or so, we were not going to see any gas stations.
Soon we were riding to Sankoo, a small town which was 40 km far.
The road till Sankoo was a metalled one and so the drive was smooth.
We took a little diversion from the main route to see the statue of Lord
Buddha that was carved out of a protruding rock from the mountain.
We then returned to have a quick lunch as we anticipated to not finding
an eatery until we reached Padum. Soon we were out of Sankoo and
were heading towards Panikhar. A small stretch of road was being built
and I slipped on the boulders that were laid. Nothing major, but it was
the second fall. The first one was when the bike slid on the way to see
the statue. And as we went further, I slipped on the sand that lay beside
the road. Three times, that was an ill
59
omen. For a moment, I got frightened and thought of returning. But the
thought faded quickly and I lifted my bike up and started riding again.
Soon we entered the Suru Valley and had reached the Panikhar village
where we met a French wanderer who helped us with the directions
towards Padum. The road we drove on was designated as a Highway,
but to even call it a road would be a disgrace to the fraternity of roads.
The untackled, broken or kaccha road was treacherous and torturous. I
maneuvered through the rocks that protruded from underneath and
they hit my silencer every now and then. The ride was bumpy and
fraught with danger. I had no off-roading experience and the luggage
that I carried on my bike made it even worse. I was the worst hit, the
one with the heaviest bike, the one with the heaviest luggage and the
one who was the heaviest. Mostly, four wheels plied on this road and
truthfully speaking, till now we were the only bikers on this route. My
speed was limited to 25 km/hr and after Panikhar, we didn’t find any
human habitations for a very long time. But then there was one bargain
at the end of the ordeal: the mesmerizing landscapes. With every turn
of the mountains, with each kilometer that we went deeper into the
valley, the landscape became more and more beautiful. Never had I
seen something so beautiful, so scenic that you would want to keep
sitting and gazing at. They were spellbinding- even hypnotizing. The
soft humming sound of the air broke the silence of the mountains now
and then and we rode in the lap of nature with nothing but these
beautiful mountains to accompany us. We took frequent breaks to
stretch our legs and straighten our backs. And we didn’t miss on
clicking as many photos as we could.
At about four in the evening, we decided to call it a day and took
shelter in a Jammu and Kashmir guest house near Parkachik Village
where we were glad to see a human habitation. We unpacked and then
decided to take a hike down to the village. Little did I know that this
moment would impact me very deeply. On reaching the village, the
surprise and elation were mutual on both sides. As we walked through
the narrow corridors with houses on both sides, people came out in the
open to greet us. The villagers had a Persian look with mongoloid
features and had visible sun burnt marks on their skin. The people in
the village were very humble and I took a lot of pictures of them and
with them, and they loved smiling to each flash of light that fell upon
them. They lived in small houses built of stones marked by thin lanes. A
number of villagers gathered around us to see us, talk to us, and get
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photos clicked with us. I had never felt this sort of warmth from the
humans for a very long time. After spending more than a decade in the
coldness of metropolitan city, I only met emotionless beings who only
talked business and worked like machines. This was a pleasant change.
We then went to a small shop that offered us Maggi and tea. To our
surprise even in this remote area, he charged us a nominal amount of
fifteen rupees for a plate of Maggi and five rupees for tea. We wanted to
offer more, but the kid in the shop refused to take more money. Imagine
the logistics involved in getting Maggi to this small village. We savored
each bit of it as we found fewer noodles and more love in our plates. We
then talked to the villagers and got to learn a lot about village life from
them.
The village life was really very harsh. They worked between April
and October. From November to March, when winters came, it was
pure hiber- nation for them. During the working months, they would
grow as much food as possible, raise as many cattle as possible and
then dry the food and meat and store them for the hostile winters
during which they would only cook and consume. They even stored
fodder for the animals. During the winters, life was harsh and the
communication was entirely cut off. It would become very difficult to
get any supplies from outside. The roads get covered with five feet of
snow making them totally inaccessible by vehicles or foot. The Suru
River that flowed below would also get completely frozen and that
surprisingly, makes it a mode of travel. The famous Chadar Trek also
takes place over this very river. The villagers also had to face the
danger of wolves, bears and the leopards that came down to the village
to hunt. Sometimes humans were attacked as well. The Army helped
the villagers a lot. They would bring supplies, medicines, and other
necessities during winters and if there was any problem they were
always there for help. The army also employed the local villagers and
sometimes during wars they would employ in plenty. The villagers, too,
were ready to support the army whenever they were needed and
during the Kargil war, they helped the soldiers in taking the supplies to
higher altitudes as they were very well accustomed to work in the
harsh mountains of Ladakh. There was no sign of terrorism or Islamic
fundamentalism in this area. They had a junior school up to class five in
the village but for further studies up to class 12th they had to go to
Panikhar village. Kargil had a college, but most of them never actually
went to college. There was electricity supply but only through
188
generators and that too between 8pm and 11 pm. Though the people in
this area were slowly moving towards machines, they still rode on
mules and ponies and had traditions that were practiced during their
forefathers. I wondered if they understood politics and democracy,
governments, businesses, industries and organizations. I wondered if
they had any idea about Aristotle, Shakespeare, Mozart and Ayn Rand. I
wondered if this lack of knowledge was a good thing and this lack of
knowledge did not make them as corrupt as the people in the
developed societies. They were simple people who were struggling to
live and make it through another year in the village. They cared less for
anything else other than two square meals a day and surviving through
the harsh winters. This in itself was a huge challenge for them. And yet
they showered so much kindness. They did wear poor clothes, but their
hearts were rich. If the roads were developed properly, tourism could
flourish in this beautiful place. The region could witness development
and progress.
But it seemed Ladakh was a place where Nature weighed heavily
over man’s intentions and efforts. It was man’s inability to infiltrate
with his greed that these mountains here managed to keep their virgin
beauty and love intact. No wonder Ladakh attracted so many
wandering tourists from different corners of the world who came
looking for answers to life and love, the answers that could only be
found at places where you are connected to the soul of the universe,
where true intention over deception weighed, where there was a
genuine smile on a face that you came across, where the word ‘deceit’
hadn’t corrupted the human soul and where people helped a complete
stranger simply out of love and empathy without asking for anything in
return. There were so many things I sought but couldn’t find; things
that were not materialistic in nature, things that could not be bought
with money. Something that I could be proud of in my own eyes
without the concern for what people might think.
Questions, many questions, the answers to which I sought but could
never find, questions that had been buried deep in my soul for a long
time began to resurface again. Were these villagers destitute? Were
they really bereft of the comforts of life? These villagers, these poor
villagers, had hearts
made of Gold. Right now, sitting in front of them I felt inadequate. I felt
empty, I felt I had no love, no happiness no soul. I longed for the
warmth they showered. I longed for the care they had shown. I longed
189
to be with them where there was no jealousy, no hatred no dog eat dog
competition but pure human love. How could they be so kind to us and
ask nothing in return? Take it. Take it all. Don’t they want to be rich?
Don’t they want a big house, a big car, and watch movies in a fancy
theater? Take all my money. Cheat me. Loot me. Rob me. Oh God, why
weren’t these poor filthy villagers malignant towards me!
I felt humbled in their presence.
I suddenly woke up from my trance and found everyone staring at
me. Aki suggested that we head back to the guest house. We then
started climbing up after bidding farewell to the ‘rich’ villagers.
“Someday I would come back to spend more time with them,” I said to
myself. Mehboob, the guest house caretaker, had already prepared
dinner and we ate to our appetite that had increased due to the weary
ride. The night was cold, extremely cold. The deathly experience of Zozi
La, two falls along the way and the fear of what lay ahead still loomed in
my head. Today I just wanted to sleep.
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DAY 7
Godly And Death

“Unbeing dead isn’t being alive.”
— E.E. Cummings
The bumpy ride of yesterday had broken our bodies. We woke up

lazily and after washing up, we took our breakfast out in the sun to
have it. Mehboob was kind and caring. It was only June, but the Suru
valley was as cold as ever. The village was already buzzing with
activities and cute little children in their blue cardigans were going to
school that stood just a few meters away from our guest house. I ate
slowly as my hands ached. Every now and then a stinging pain would
erupt from some corner of my body. We still needed to cover 150 km to
reach Padum, but right now another ten kilometers seemed impossible.
I was weary and exhausted. I had never shied away from tough tasks
before. Perhaps the metropolitan lifestyle was proving to be
debilitating. I was ambitious and was always pursuing great ideas that
left my peers in awe of me. But every endeavor I took, I failed in it
miserably. Perhaps, it seemed, I was not cut out to achieve greater
things in life. Perhaps I was bound to live an ordinary life. Perhaps, I
was expecting too much out of life. Oh God! I was going mad. Why was I
expecting so much? Why can’t I just be normal? You know just follow,
like everyone else. Why couldn’t I just conform? Why couldn’t I be
bound by routine?
Why couldn’t I become a machine?
Now these thoughts and these questions started to emerge again. I
had tried to bury them in the past couple of years, but it seemed to have
resur- faced again. Will I ever be able to answer them? Are there any
answers to them? I didn’t know.
Suddenly Raj snapped me back from my oblivious self, “ C’mon man.
We need to hurry. Heloooo are you there?”
“Aah! Sorry, I was just thinking, contemplating in fact.” I said trying
to escape any question that might follow and hurried to the room to get
the luggage out.
Once again, we started preparing for the journey. We mounted our
luggage, filled the motorbike tanks with petrol from our canisters and
filled air in the tires. Checking the tire pressure now and then was
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important as low pressure could break the joints of the tubes and one
could end up with a puncture. It’s quite difficult to decide what is the
right pressure, but once you have gained some riding experience, the
bumps that you feel, the pick up that you get; they all tell you whether
the pressure is right or wrong. Luckily, up to this point, my tires had not
failed me at any point.
We paid our bills and left a little extra so that Mehboob could buy
sweets for the village kids. We bid goodbyes to him and some of the
villages who had come to see us off. After a while, we were on the road,
aah the road, the bumpy, back-breaking road. It was hardly a road.
Every now and then we got a glimpse of the Nun-Kun peaks and they
looked beautiful and bigger as we came closer to them. After a while,
Raj and Aki paced ahead while I lingered on from behind like a tortoise.
From all the four directions, we were overlooked by the mountains and
when I shouted, I was greeted back by the echo of my voice. The bumps
on the road grew more now and that added to my morbid fear of not
being able to reach Padum and being left in this wilderness, stranded,
my bike and I, waiting for the wolves to come and devour me; or would
it be the snow leopard; or perhaps the bears would prefer to tear me
apart like a honeycomb. Oh God! What was I thinking? After a while, the
mountains gave way to a flat open land that stretched quite far. I
spotted a few makeshift houses at a distance and knew that Rangdum
had arrived. In my euphoria, I decided to accelerate a bit more. But little
did I realize that the surface below had changed and as I took a right
turn, the sandy surface gave away and bam! I was thrown off the bike as
I fell first on my right elbow and shoulder and then on my knees.
Thankfully, the ground was cushioned due to the sand and my knee
and elbow guards protected me. I was appalled. I lay there for a few
minutes before I could muster the energy to rise up again. As I got back
on my two feet, pain from different parts of the body began to erupt.
But when I saw my bike lying on the ground, that got me worried even
more. I quickly lifted it up and put it on the main stand. The handle bar
was crooked and the right mirror and dipper had sustained bruises. I
quickly straightened the handle and it seemed fine. Except for a little bit
of engine oil that had spilled on the sand, the bike seemed to be fine.
Suddenly I began gasping for air as I felt an unknown pain rise from a
corner of my stomach. After a while, it seemed fine. I got on my bike and
slowly and carefully, drove to where Raj’s and Aki’s bikes were. The
two of them were sitting on chairs in front of a diner. I quickly got down
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and opened the knee and elbow pads to let the blood flow freely. I
shook my body and walked about a little bit. The pain seemed to have
receded now. And when I looked towards the others, I found them
staring at me. “Everything is fine,” I lied to them, caring little for sharing
the little misadventure. They had already ordered lunch and so when
the food arrived, I started taking huge spoonfuls of rice in my mouth.
But barely had I eaten a few spoonfuls I felt satiated and pushed the
plate aside. There was no serious physical injury, but somehow, I was
left aghast. The injuries had mostly been internal, affecting my mind
and heart. I sat on the chair waiting for the other two to finish their
lunch. After some time, the tea arrived. The hot drink proved to be
soothing.
Rangdum looked like a gigantic colosseum surrounded by
mountains. These mountains stood in isolation, each of them had its
own identity, standing in their stark nakedness, brown with shades of
black, with patches of snow on the body and the head, fully immersed in
the snow. They looked just like the sketches we drew as kids in our
kindergarten days. Perhaps, when God was young, he had first created
the Suru and Zanskar Valleys before any other mountains.
The pain seemed to have subsided to a large degree. But that didn’t
matter as long as no harm came to my beloved, my precious
Thunderbird. She stood there, her headlight tilted to left, waiting for me
to come and awaken her from her slumber. I gulped the tea quickly. It
didn’t take long for it to cool down in the strong icy winds that blew in
Rangdum. We sat for a few minutes more and then decided to get ready
to leave. I began adjusting the bungee cords that had loosened due to
the fall but as I did so I felt a pang of fear pierce through me. The words
of the man I met in Delhi returned to haunt me, exhorting me to return.
But now I had come too far and was not willing to give up, especially
when the mountains here became my muse who inspired to keep going
further.
Raj delayed us a little as he took to tightening his chain set and
adjusting some other things in his bike. Or perhaps he was frightened
too, but remained reticent. After a while, we were on the road again.
But this time another dreaded climb was going to arrive; the climb to
the majestic Pensi La top. The La La La’s sent me humming before
coming to the Himalayas, but now the moment I heard a La was going
to arrive, I got fearful. After a short ride on the slippery gravel surface,
the road turned steep and difficult to ride. As we went further, the
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road became steeper, narrower and more unworthy of driving.
Thankfully no other vehicle came from the opposite direction and we
slowly and gradually managed to reach the top. But when we arrived,
we were flabbergasted by the beautiful landscape that surrounded us.
We were left gaping at the gorgeous peaks and they seemed to be
standing parallel to our shoulders. If only our hands were long enough
to stretch and pat the peaks on their head. I found myself humming a
tune that I had been introduced to by a friend just before this journey. It
was Led Zeppelin’s Kashmir song. Every word of that song seemed apt
for the moment. Though the lyricist never visited Ladakh but had he
done so, he would have realized that his words aptly described
something that actually existed. Ladakh was a utopian world come
alive. It was James Hilton’s Shan- gri-La come alive. No matter what
difficulties we faced in reaching here, the beauty that surrounded us
was no less than a paradise, a landscape that inspired happiness in
every heart that experienced the bliss of the moment. My heart erupted
like a volcano and I let out a loud shrill. I damned the bearded man of
the eatery where we had dinner yesterday. “They are just barren
mountains “he had said, “Only death would be waiting for you.” He was
almost right on both accounts, but partly. The mountains were not just
barren; they were a barren beauty, a beauty that was enhanced by its
divine nudity. And for experiencing such a moment, even death would
prove to be a small price to pay. After a while, we decided to descend.
But we were once again stopped. This time by a sight that put us in awe
of what stood in front of us: The Darung Drug Glacier; enormous,
frightening and yet spellbinding. The vast, frozen river lay in between
two mountains that were covered with snow from head to toe and
extended to a far distance. Humanity wouldn’t have been born if there
were no rivers, the harbingers of life. Every ancient civilization was
born on the banks of a river. And here we stood in front of what gave
birth to a river itself, a glacier. And at the foot of the Darung Drung
glacier we saw the Zanskar River taking birth. After a while, we drove
further only to be stopped again by another mesmerizing beauty: The
Parkachik Lake, a half frozen lake at the foot of a dwarf mountain that
was covered with snow from head to toe. The two looked like lovers
who had been torn apart for eternity, but when the sun rose and the
wind stopped still, they met in the reflection of the lake and that told us
of the story of their eternal love. The water sparkled when the rays of
the sun touched the surface of the lake which looked like a girl who
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giggles with excitement when she has first experienced love. Little
marmots ran around the lake, as they coyly stole food from the ground
and ran back to their burrows. After a while, we decided to move again,
albeit reluctantly. Time was of the essence here and it was not on our
side.
While I was descending, the tires slipped and I fell again. Luckily the
speed was slow and no harm came to the bike or me. This was the fifth
one. I became even more cautious and took a long time to descend to
the valley. Raj and Aki had already gone ahead. Little lakes greeted us
and they were surrounded by meadows where horses grazed. I drove
further and found Raj and Aki waiting for me. They seemed to be
frustrated with me as I was slowing down the journey. I wanted to take
rest too, especially after the arduous descent. Instead, I told them to
continue to rest while I drove ahead so that I could make up for the loss
of time. It was past four o’clock and I could feel the pressure of time. I
decided to speed up despite knowing the dangers that came along with
it. I wished they understood this too. My total weight, that included the
bike, the luggage and I was almost equal to both of theirs combined.
Now when you are driving, it’s not the speed that matters. It’s actually
your momentum, where your weight and speed both matter. And the
rate of change in momentum, according to the laws of Physics, is Force.
The greater the force being exerted on the bike, the more difficult and
dangerous it becomes to ride. Now I could do nothing about the total
weight, but if I had to check momentum, I would have to reduce the
speed. Then only I could manage to lower the force that was being
exerted on my hands whenever any precarious situation came and I
would have to brake suddenly. It seemed Raj and Aki did not realize
this. And I never tried to educate them, for I feared I might just sound
ranting. But now even I was bothered by the descending darkness.
There were no signs of houses except for a few that came at long
intervals and once it was dark, driving in such a situation became
precarious. I increased my speed further and kept driving along the tire
tracks and hoped that I wouldn’t slip on them. I arrived at a surface that
had a little acclivity and I couldn’t see what was ahead. And as I was
descending, my bike got caught in a layer of sand and I was thrown off.
But when I fell, I found the bike on top of me and my left leg stuck
underneath it. Luckily, I fell on my left, so the silencer was not on top of
me. For a second, I had lost consciousness. I tried to pull myself out, but
the leg wouldn’t come out. It was stuck and I was struck. I lay there for
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a minute and wished that someone would arrive. But none did. When I
lifted my head and scanned the area, I saw a few boys walking at a
distance. Far away, there was a small village too. Seeing them I started
shouting for help. To my dismay, they couldn’t hear me as the wind was
strong and it carried my voice in the opposite direction. I once again
shouted but to no avail. But I didn’t give up. I then started shouting
continuously. It seems that in the face of death, man had this uncanny
ability to give his best. And so did I. Luckily one of the lads turned his
head and saw me. He alerted the others and they all came running
towards me. They lifted the bike up and put it on its stand and pulled
me up as well. I thought a couple of bones might have broken. Luckily,
nothing happened. I mustered my energy and slowly and gradually got
up on my feet. Thankfully, my riding gear had saved me. I could feel a
massive pain in shoulders and thighs. But what about but my foot, my
left foot. When I looked down, I found that the front area of my left boot
had caved in. My foot was alright. Not a single nail was harmed. I could
walk freely. But for a few scratches here and there I was otherwise fine.
After a few minutes Raj and Aki reached and they were appalled when I
told them what had happened. They helped in straightening the handle
and the leg guard of the bike which were out of place due to the
accident. A little engine oil had spilled on the sand. I pressed the
ignition button and the Thunderbird roared. I checked the headlamp,
the brakes, and a few other things. Everything worked fine.
Thunderbird was tough. I was proud of her.
“I hope you are not hurt,” asked Raj.
“Nah, I’m okay. Just the left shoe’s front end has caved in. You know I
really love these boots. Gave me a macho look you see.”
“Oh, you are concerned about the boots. Be happy that nothing
happened to you. Damn. Okay, we are going to travel together now. Let
this be your first and the last fall.”
“Haah. Its fourth I think. Or maybe fifth. Or sixth”. I had lost count.
“What?”
“Yeah forget it. It’s nothing. Let’s go.”
We thanked the boys and I offered some money to them, but they
blatantly refused to accept. A sincere gratitude was all that they cared
for. This was the sixth fall but was the deadliest one. I had told Raj to
forget about the incident, but I couldn’t do so myself. My confidence
was broken to pieces and it was difficult to join them together. What if I
fell on the right side of my bike and the silencer was on my leg? The hot
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silencer could have seriously damaged my leg. The fear lingered on. I
would cringe at the slightest hint of danger and hit the brakes instantly.
It was getting darker and colder. Padum was still far and the road didn’t
get any better. The criss-crossing streamlet that crossed the road made
driving even worse. They overflowed with water, as a lot of ice of the
mountains melts in the day long sun. At one such streamlet, I got stuck.
I became motionless. My hands grew numb out of fear and couldn’t
accelerate. Raj had to come down and help get the bike out. Water went
inside both our shoes. I got off to catch a breath. After a while, we
resumed our journey. Now it was pitch dark and we drove like lost
souls. Driving on these lonesome roads during the night can be dan-
gerous. If you lost your way, you wouldn’t meet a human soul for 50km
and sometimes for 100 km. Wild animals also venture on the road
during the night. It also gets cold, very cold when the sun sets.
When you drive on the mountains, you are usually on one side of a
mountain. Many bridges come along which take you to the mountain on
the other side of the valley. And then when a bridge arrived in front of
us, it created confusion. Should we go straight or should we take the
bridge?
The fear of a 50km detour was not inspiring. It meant driving for six
hours without any purpose. We just used our instincts and took the
bridge. After some time, a village arrived and our anxiety was put to
rest. We kept riding ahead, hoping to make it in time. We decided to
keep the momentum going and after an extended spell of riding, we
finally reached the gates of our destined city where the sign board read,
‘Welcome to Padum.’ There was joy indeed, but more than that there
was relief. We were happy but not invigorated. These 234 km of riding
between Kargil and Padum was the most physically and emotionally
enduring one. We had reached Padum past nine o’clock which was
quite late for this city. After searching for some time, we found a decent
guest house that matched our needs and we took it. The hotel had a
restaurant as well, and the staff eagerly agreed to make some dinner for
us. But when the food arrived I could hardly eat. Kaif, the guest house
manager, arranged a bottle of vodka for us. We took the bottle to our
room. By now the journey had taken a complete toll on us. My spirit
was at its nadir. Six falls, of which three were serious ones and in one of
them I had almost lost my leg. I felt emasculated and brought to my
knees. I had lost the courage to drive back on that road and return to
Kargil. I began exploring other options. There was no other route from
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Padum so that option was ruled out. I could hire a mini truck or
something that could carry the bike, luggage and me back to Kargil.
What if the bike fell again while returning? What if this time I fell off the
cliff and into the gorge below? The brush with death at Zozi La still
lingered on and now these accidents! In no way, I was going to drive on
that road again. Naah. I was not going to drive on that morbid road
again. I even contemplated on returning to Delhi from Kargil. This much
of adventure was enough for me. I should forget Ladakh and everything.
I had enough of the scenery and the living paintings. It was an end. Now
even I was convinced that this trip was ill-fated. The bearded man of
the eatery was right. This trip was supposed to be an adventure, but
now it was becoming moribund. It is easy to romanticize death, but
when you have to look into its eyes, oh boy, it makes your bones rattle
with fear. I was frightened. I could just not think of anything. I opened
the vodka bottle and this time both Raj and Aki joined me for a drink.
When the heart and mind fails, we turn to vodka for the answers. But
when we look through the transparent glass, we know that our heart
and mind too are devoid of answers, transparent and colourless, just
like the vodka. Tomorrow morning I was going to explore all options
that can help me not ride back. My adventure was over. It was time to
pack up and return.
I had given up.
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DAY 8
Numb
“He is free to evade reality, he is free to unfocus his mind and stumble blindly down
any road he pleases, but not free to avoid the abyss he refuses to see.”
— Ayn Rand
I
I woke up early. My mind was too distressed to have a sound sleep.
Raj and Aki were still fast asleep. Outside, it was bright; perhaps it must
have been around eight. A few cab drivers were washing their cars
outside. So I slipped outside the room without waking up others and
went to talk to them. There were a few trucks there too. I started
enquiring about booking a truck or mini truck that could carry the bike,
the luggage and me to Kargil. The charges were exorbitant; but still it
seemed to be cheaper than death. I told them that I will come back later
and left. In the meanwhile, Raj and Aki were up. “Where were you
man?” asked Aki. “Nothing, nowhere,” I lied, “just taking a stroll outside.
I didn’t feel sleepy.” “Ok good. Let’s get ready and have breakfast. I am
famished,” Raj said, yawning. One by one we washed and got dressed
and then went to the restaurant for a brunch. Kaif joined us too. He
seemed to have developed a particular fondness for us. Bikers do tend
to arouse emotions in people; usually real emotions. Riding a bike is
quite different from riding a car. You get a certain sense of freedom and
control over what you are doing. You are in a constant communion with
the Nature and the car makes you feel that you are in a box and thus
devoids you of that feeling. It’s freedom, freedom of your soul, and your
heart. Perhaps this sense of freedom catches on to people, telling them,
inspiring them to come out of their cocoon, to come out and live, live
like human beings. When the air rubs against your body, you get the
feeling that you are free, and it is this sense of freedom that separates
us from animals and makes us human beings.
“So what do you think Ravi?” Raj asked.
“Think what?” I then realized I wasn’t there, I mean my body was
there but not my mind.
“What’s wrong with you? All okay? You get lost quite too often man.
We were discussing about the places to visit in Padum, and what else
we could do here.”
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“Aah, okay. Listen. You guys go ahead. I think I will rest in the room
today,” hoping that I get my own time to find a truck or anything else to
carry my bike and me back to Kargil.
“No, no. No that’s not gonna happen,” you are coming with us. I know
yesterday has been tough on us, especially you, but you have to come
with us. And Besides us, Kaif has agreed to come too. And if you
remember I left my petrol canister back at the Parkachik guest house so
that I could collect it while returning. So I need to save fuel that’s there
in my bike. Since we are more than two now, we would need two bikes.
So yes, you are coming with us.”
Damn. I thought. He got me there. Raj at least got one lesson right
from his business family, and that was on how to save money. He was
our Uncle Scrooge, miserly as ever.
“Okay, I’ll come. But remember we have to first look for a mechanic,”
I said, to which the others agreed.
At first, I was afraid to even touch my bike. That one thing that was
most dear to me had become an object of fear. But when Kaif nudged
me, I agreed to get on the bike and start it. Kaif sat as my pillion while
Raj and Aki were on another bike. We went to look for a mechanic but,
unfortunately, the town had only two mechanics and both were not
available. We then decided to visit the Karsha monastery.
Padum is a small town which had a single road that divided the city
into two halves. It is a thinly populated mix of Buddhists and Muslims.
During winters, the sole road that connects to Kargil is cut off and they
use the frozen Zanskar river to travel. Far away stood Karsha
Monastery, a very unique one. It was built on the peak of a hill from
whose slope houses protruded. A whole village lived on those slopes
and it had a post office and other amenities as well. We drove to the top
from where a Lama guided us inside the monastery but only after
climbing a large number of stairs. This was our first visit to a monastery
in Ladakh. Inside, there was a beautiful statue dedicated to Lord
Avalokiteshvara, the God with a thousand arms. We found cloaks of the
Lamas, who prayed and they were kept in an imitating pose of a
praying Lama. The murals on the walls were beautiful and they were
interesting relics behind glassed displays. We then prayed there for a
while and for some reason I actually did it seriously. I prayed longer
than usual and it felt beautiful. I was surprised. We descended after a
while and decided to head to the Bardhan Gompa. At one point, a
stream flowed across the road and its water had some force. I suddenly
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blurted: Let’s go back, guys. There is no road.” Realizing my solecism, I
tried to present it as a joke. But no one was laughing.
This time I asked Aki to shoot first. Damn. The way he was looking at
me, I knew he would be the first to ask me to do the same. He
reluctantly agreed. Crossing these streams is tough. The water is cold
and ready to enter your shoes. The boulders on the bed of the stream
are loose and ready to make you slip. Aki managed to cross, not without
losing his balance once in a while. It was my turn now and my body
cringed with fear. I gave the bike a little throttle and drove it to the
middle of the stream and there, I lost my balance. But at that moment,
somehow magically, I put my left and right foot in the water in
successions and managed to cross the stream.
“I thought you were going to fall,” Kaif said, who along with Raj, had
crossed the stream bare foot.
“I know, but I didn’t. And I wouldn’t. “I replied. I could see some
confidence in me. After a while, we reached Bardhan Gompa, which was
built on a large crag overlooking the Tsarap River. A Tibetan Mastiff
was tied at the gate. Thus, we thought it was safer to wait for the Lama,
who was also the caretaker, and when he came, he controlled the dog
and we managed to enter. Inside, the Lama guided us and took us to
different rooms explaining their importance. The Lama was almost of
our age and was happy to share his personal stories as well. This year,
he was going to stay alone in the Gompa, and food and water would be
stored for him to survive and he had to take care of the temple during
winters. It was a brave thing to do. What more a spiritual journey could
one expect? And what was this spiritual journey all about and how did
one define it? What did we exactly get out of spirituality? Again,
questions, more questions.
On our way back to the main city, there was a waterfall near the road
on the other side of the valley. To reach there, we had to take a long
detour and so we skipped it. Instead, we returned to the city. I felt
better after these visits to the monasteries. It opened me up. It seemed I
had become more receptive. And then suddenly, a voice inside me
started talking to me. “Don’t be afraid, it said, “Don’t be afraid.” I didn’t
realize I had crossed the stream in a single throttle. And I didn’t feel any
fear while I was returning. “Hey has the mechanic arrived?” Raj asked
one of the guys standing near
a closed shop. We were all disappointed with the reply. The other
mechanic had also not turned up. But somehow it didn’t matter to me. I
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had to hire a truck to take me and my bike to Kargil, but I just didn’t do
it. Raj and Aki went to the cyber cafe while Kaif went on to take care of
hotel issues. I was left alone. And suddenly I felt something. I felt as if
something was talking to me. I ran to my room and brought down my
tool box. Then I had a look at the silencer, I could feel the way that
something was wrong with it. And yes, its screws had loosened at many
places. I tightened it up. I tightened the brake pads up and checked the
engine oil. It had depleted. I refilled it. I checked the mirror, the
speedometer, the headlamp. I tightened every screw that was loose. I
took out the spark plug and cleaned it up. The handle seemed loose, but
I had no wrench that big to fit in the bolt of the handle. I remembered
seeing a hardware store on the way and so I went there to get one. It
was pricey, but the shopkeeper agreed to lend it to me. That too for
free. All he said was thank you for coming to Padum and asked us to
remember the people of Padum. I took it and returned and then
tightened the handle. I added some oil to all the joints to free them up. I
then started the bike and took a short round and returned. The tires
needed more air, otherwise everything else was fine. It seemed as if the
bike was speaking to me, telling me, where all it ailed her. I returned to
the hardware shop to return the wrench and expressed my gratitude to
the shopkeeper. I then returned to the guest house. Somehow, I wasn’t
my usual self. There was a tension within me, a struggle of its own kind.
I went upstairs and started packing. Raj and Aki appeared.
“Hey, man. A couple of truck drivers approached us to offer their
services to get our bikes transported to Kargil. Do you have anything to
do about it? They are just close by, at one of those makeshift terminals
for commercial vehicle...” Raj said, “Well, if you ask me, not a bad idea.
We all can pool money and do it. Though we are comfortable riding
back to Kargil but you had faced a lot of problems. Maybe you could
hire a mini truck let’s say. And we could contribute partially and you
can return on that truck with your bike at the back of the truck and we
could put our luggage and everything there too.”
“Well yes. Actually, when you guys were sleeping in the morning, I
went around looking for a truck that would carry the bike and me back
to Kargil. But I don’t need that anymore. I have decided to ride back to
Kargil.”
“Oh really. Listen. You had slowed us down yesterday. We don’t
want that to happen tomorrow. We were contemplating on making it to
Kargil tomorrow itself. Even if we reach Panikhar village by dusk,
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reaching Kargil by night won’t be a problem as we get good roads from
Sankoo onwards. But if you slow us down, then we might have to halt
again somewhere, maybe Parkachik Village again.”
“I know thanks. But I have figured it out. Out of 234km, almost 70-75
km is decent, metalled road. So we are left with 165-170 km of bad
road. Even if we drive at 15km/hr, we can make it in 11 hours. And the
70-75 km of good road could be done in say two hours. Let’s keep extra
two hours in hand. So we can reach Kargil in fifteen hours. If we start at
six in the morning, we could make it by nine o’clock to Kargil. And we
saw that the market was still open till that time. So even in the worst
case we can halt in Sankoo or maybe in Panikhar village. We had seen a
couple of guest houses at both the places on the way. And This time,
while returning, since we are on the same route, I guess we won’t be
stopping for too many photo clicking sessions and so we could actually
make it earlier than that; maybe by seven to Kargil. And if we drive
faster, perhaps at an average speed of 20km/hr, we could make it
earlier. So I guess we can return to Kargil in a day.”
“Wow. Now that’s some calculations you have come up with,” Raj
chided, “But that plan sounds good for us. We could do the 234km in
one day. But our primary concern is you. Listen, dude. You have had
five or maybe six freakin’ accidents. And you drive so slow that even if
we had twenty hours in our hands, we couldn’t make it in that time. Are
you out of your mind? We should not have come to Suru and Zanskar
valley in the first place. But you insisted. And you were the one who
faced the wrath of the mountains and delayed us as well. And now you
are not listening again. Take that bloody truck. It’s no time to do a
Rambo. You will delay us and you will again have accidents. And this
time you might not be so lucky.”
“No, I will drive tomorrow. I know I can do it. You guys don’t have to
worry. I will make it in fifteen hours. I just know that I have to do it.”
“ Ya ya. You have to do it. You are one pig-headed asshole you know
that. Stubborn as ever! And who is going to get up at six and leave.
That’s fucking too early man. You want to take us down with you or
what.”
“Who is asking you to? I shall leave at six in the morning. You guys
start much later. It hardly matters. There’s only one route and I am a
slow driver. You guys are fast. You will catch up soon.”
To that Raj could only say one thing, “Well. What can I say? Do as you
like. But we are telling you. We are not going to be responsible if you
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are going to meet any accident. And let’s see if you make it to Kargil by
tomorrow. It will be a feast for my eyes to see you achieve that feat.”
“Well let’s see, “I said quite surprised by Raj’s attitude. I still didn’t
understand why he was being so hostile towards me.
We went for dinner and I chose to eat very light and very plain stuff-
just rice and pulses. “Are you planning to become a monk or what?” Raj
taunted. “Naah. Just that Failure is not an option.” I said. “What do you
mean?” Raj asked quite taken aback. “Nothing,” I said, not quite
understanding myself as to why I said that.
I returned to my room to pack while Raj and Aki decided to roam
around for a while. They were going to do all the packing in the
morning. After all, they were not going to leave at six.
It didn’t make sense. And yet it seemed to be pertinent. A part of me
was reluctant to return to Kargil on a bike. The truck seemed safe. At
least safer than the bike. But then what would happen when I reached
Kargil. The answer was clear. Either I would be going home via
Pathankot and not to Leh or even if I did choose to go to Leh, I
wondered whether I could ride with the same confidence I had when I
had begun on this journey. I didn’t know why but something in me told
me not give up this time. “Do it,” said the voice, “Do or Die.” The fear
existed, but I had to take it head on. I had to do what I had to do. The
message was loud and clear.
Raj and Aki came after an hour or so and we decided to call it a day.
The lights were turned off but sleep continued to evade me. My heart
and mind were at a constant pulse. I was thinking too hard, I was
feeling too much. Why couldn’t I do it? I thought. Why can’t I just ride
back to Kargil? Why can’t I just get anything done? Damn it. Why wasn’t
I successful in anything I did? Why was I a failure in my own eyes? I
always thought intelligence or talent or physical attributes or all of
them had a role to play in one’s success. I was bestowed with all these
qualities. And yet I wasn’t happy? Dyslexics, drop-outs, and poor kids
made it big in their lives. And yet, when I tried, twice I ended up flat on
my face. I couldn’t go back to ‘normal’ now. If only I could go back and
live normally. Each time I tried being normal, I felt being choked by me.
It was such a vegetative state, almost like a coma. I felt I didn’t live at all.
I only ended up counting my days, sometimes for a particular phase to
end, sometimes for a particular phase to arrive. I felt like a ping pong
ball, swinging from one end to another, suspended, goalless. Just
swinging.
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“I have had enough of it,” I shouted as I woke up surprised. The other
two woke up too. “”You okay man?” Aki asked.
“Ya, ya. Ah. Sorry. I thought some insect was in my blanket. Go back
to sleep. Good night.”
But I, myself, couldn’t sleep. Why was this journey important to me?
Why did I have to do it? I could skip it, I could dodge, I could take a
short cut? Who cared? A medal didn’t wait for me when I returned to
Delhi. And yet I had to do it. I felt compelled to do it. All I knew is that I
had to it. All I knew is that I had to be obstinate against fear. But why? I
didn’t know. I just kept thinking. Thinking, I just lay there and kept
thinking.
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DAY 9
Fearless
“Expose yourself to your deepest fear; after that, fear has no power, and the fear of
freedom shrinks and vanishes. You are free.”
— Jim Morrison
I
I woke up at four to begin my day. Or should I say, after a sleepless
night, I left the bed at four. Everything was packed. All I had to do was
wash up and change my dress. Quietly, I got down to doing what I
needed to do. I took the bags outside the room and then down to the
parking space. Aah tying the luggage to the bike took some time. After
that, I started wearing my riding gear. All was set. I went upstairs to
check if I missed anything. Raj was awake. It was almost quarter past
six. “So you are ready to leave eh?” he asked. I nodded. “You guys leave
as soon as possible too. They were better riders than me, but time
wasn’t on their side either. I went out and closed the door and then
reached the parking lot. It was quite early. The dawn was just breaking
and the mountains looked beautiful in its light. I got on the Thunderbird
and pressed the ignition button. It roared. I saw the watch; it was six
thirty. Only half an hour late, yet I was on schedule. Slowly, I brought
the bike on the main road and now, I was driving, driving back to
Kargil. Now my heart didn’t feel anything. I mean, I didn’t feel anxiety or
excitement. I just rode. After a small stretch of metallic road, the
untackled road began. I just kept riding. My speed was slow, but I was
sure. I didn’t stop. I crossed the villages which had come on my way.
The bridge came and I crossed it. I crossed the streamlet where I had
got stuck. There was no water. Apparently, ice doesn’t melt in the night
when it is cold. I just drove. By now it was morning and the sun’s rays
fell on me. It felt a little warmer. A group of local women on ponies
appeared. They were afraid as to where I was going alone. ‘Kargil,
Kargil’ I shouted twice and I moved on. I just kept driving. I then began
to climb the acclivity towards Penzi La. At one turn, my bike slipped
backward. The ground was arid and as no vehicle must have passed till
the morning, so the mud was unsettled. Luckily, I braked in time. I
wanted to get off and rest. But I chose to ride. I kept riding and I crossed
the boulder over which I had slipped. I crossed it. I just kept riding
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when finally, I came to the Darung Drung Glacier. Here I had to stop and
spend some time. I looked at my watch. I had been driving for almost
four hours. I got down in front of the glacier to say a little prayer.
Suddenly I felt a few tears roll down my cheek. I wanted to cry. I hadn’t
cried for a long time. It felt nice. I wiped my tears and stood there for a
while. After a few minutes Raj and Aki arrived. “Oh we left the hotel
after about ninety minutes you did,” Aki said, “And we can see you have
covered quite a distance.” I just smiled. We clicked a few pictures and
then we returned to the road. For a while, we drove together and then
they took off. Once again, I was on my own. After a while, we reached
the Penzi La top. I found them sitting there. “Hey come down. Sit.” Raj
said, “ You have been driving for too long. Take some rest. “I have
plenty of days ahead to rest,” I told him and drove ahead. They followed
but soon overtook me. The declivity from the Penzi La was equally
tough. I reduced my speed further to 10km/hr. But I crossed it safely. I
drove over the gravels and passed the Rangdum monastery. And then I
reached the same eatery we had lunch the last time. They were both
smiling at me. It was almost half-past one in the afternoon. We ate
lunch and sat there for a few more minutes and then I got up to get back
on the road.
“Dude, we have time. Sit for a while,” Raj said.
“I told you we are going to make it to Kargil by today. C’mon guys
let’s go” I said and got on my bike. After a while, Raj and Aki took over
me and sped ahead. I kept riding at my own pace. I wasn’t in a race with
them right now. I was in a race with myself. And I did far better. No
accidents, no falls, and I was able to make it this far. And as I covered
each kilometer, I felt a change in me. A change that was certain. I
became more confident, bolder, and more receptive. I was listening
now; not only to the external sounds, but to everything else. You are
truly listening when you pay attention, and now I paid attention to
everything. It seemed that there was a visible pattern to everything. I
could make it out. I could feel it, see it, hear it. But I was yet to
comprehend it.
Ahead, there was a small stretch where they were building roads
and had just laid fresh boulders on the road. And on the top they were
blasting the mountains to get the boulders. When I reached the stretch,
a man waived a white flag for the people at the top to not to blast and
whistled at them as well. But as soon as I took my bike over the
boulders, I heard a blast at the top and a loud thud a few meters ahead
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of me when a rock came falling. I was appalled. I began shouting
frantically and the men who were working on the road did as well and
we exhorted the people at the top to stop blasting anymore. Stupidity in
this country can surpass all limits you see. And now I was stuck
amongst the loose boulders. The bike had to be literally pushed out of
the stretch. At the other end, I found Aki smiling, waiting for me.
“I thought you were going to fall over those boulders, but you came
out just fine. And you have been driving quite well on these broken
roads. It seems like you have learned off-roading now.”
I smiled but said nothing. When I saw Raj was not there, I asked,
“Where is Raj? Has he taken off ahead?”
“No, he has gone ahead to book a room at the Parkachik guest house.
He isn’t feeling well. Perhaps something from the dinner or maybe the
weather. Don’t know. But we are not going to Kargil today.”
“Damn. But he looked fine. Let’s just finish it off, man. We can stay in
Sankoo today and then leave for Leh the next day.”
“I don’t know man. He’s sick. Let’s go down there and talk to him.”
It was hardly three in the evening. We had plenty of time to make it
Kargil. Anyway, so we drove down to the guest house where we found
that Raj had unpacked all his luggage, changed and inside the blanket.
At first, his eyes didn’t meet mine. But when I asked what was wrong
with him, he only said that his head and stomach was aching. In the
meantime, Mehboob brought a glass of warm water for him to drink
and take medicines.
“You seemed fine man. Are you sure you can’t make it? I mean take
an hour’s rest and then we can leave. We have already come so far!” I
told him. “Dude, I can’t, I told you I have all these aches and all. I told
you at first time itself that we wouldn’t be able to make it to Kargil
today. You were only adamant saying no, no and all that you will make
it today. Let’s rest
here today and then we can leave early morning tomorrow.”
“Dude, that’s fine with me. But just remember, you said that it would
be because of me that we wouldn’t be able to make it to Kargil. Anyway
what can I say? Take rest.”
For all I knew Raj seemed alright. No sign of fever or anything. In
case it was serious, he wouldn’t have left Padum city itself. And now he
couldn’t carry on for another 60-70km or so when good roads would
start. Damn. Mehboob brought me a cup of tea and I took it outside.
Soon it would be sunset. After a while, I unpacked the luggage and
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brought it all in. Then I went for a stroll outside. I greeted some of the
villagers and kept walking ahead. I found a beautiful lonesome spot
overlooking the Suru River and
sat there.
I just hoped that it was not what my heart feared it would be. I had
seen the change in me. He had observed that change in me. The fear
that rooted in me in the last three days was vanishing. I was in a tough
situation to ride, and yet I was riding, I was conquering, I was winning.
They knew the enormity of the total weight I was carrying and the
inexperience that came along as an extra burden. Six falls was good
enough to break any human spirit and here, despite them, I had
returned without a single fall. Raj could see me return to my confident
self, the one I was before coming on this trip. Was he trying to stop me
when I was so close to achieving this goal? If yes then why? For the first
time, I smirked in the face of defeat and fear. In another sixty km, I
would have been triumphant in my own little way. I had driven slowly,
but steadily. Anyone in my situation would have given up. But I didn’t. I
had not only conquered these treacherous roads and the mountains but
also the human spirit; my human spirit. I had conquered fear; my inner
fear. The biggest battle that you can ever fight is the battle with your
inner demons. No politics helps, no advice helps, no friends or family
helps. It’s you and you alone who must face your inner demons. I had
faced the demon of fear all alone. I did not ask for others’ support or
sympathy. And every astute person on the Earth knows that if you
conquer your inner demons you would be the strongest man. It’s the
demons inside us that make us weak; the external ones only scratch the
surface. They only manipulate you through your inner demons and then
they send you bending and falling on your knees. And if you have
conquered your inner demons, there is no weakness left to be
exploited. The outside world only feeds on your fear and when a man is
without fear he remains no ordinary man; a man who has now become
a true Ladakh Rider.
Ladakh rider? Why did I just say that? But it made sense now. It’s
only now that I understood the essence of this journey. Since the very
beginning, I was being coaxed by something or someone unknown. It
came in my dreams, in my thoughts in my vision and almost
everywhere. All it said was that I must go to Ladakh. I began calling this
unknown something as ‘The Force’. I now understood why ‘The Force’
wanted me to come on this journey and made me buy this motorcycle a
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year ago; the agony it made me face during internship, the call it made
through Akash so that I could come on this journey that I had
contemplated almost six months ago. I finally understood the message. I
finally understood the language through which the universe talked to
those who made an effort to listen. I finally understood what it meant to
be a Ladakh rider. I finally understood why everyone who wanted to
take this bike trip had sleepless nights so that they could fulfill their
quest. I finally understood why Ladakh was considered to be the Mecca
for bikers and why coming here was like a pilgrimage. I finally knew I
was the riding warrior. I finally understood that I had become a Ladakh
rider and not just for this ride alone but for the ride of my life.
At every point of my life fear had defeated me. And you know what
the worst part is? I unscrupulously chose only those battles in which I
could win. I was so afraid to lose that I didn’t even try something in
which there was a chance of failure. Amongst many entrance exams for
admission to engineering colleges, I opted for only those in which I
believed I could succeed. This didn’t bother as long as I was considered
a success in the eyes of people. College gave me exposure, ideas and
time to read. And after college, for the first time, I tried to risk doing
something in which I was totally unsure of success. I started my own
entrepreneurial venture but when the financial gains became uncertain
and my day to day life became unbearable, I ran for cover. I feared of
being a complete failure and never being able to return. I could not bear
to lose what life was already offering. I cursed myself for thinking
beyond my limits and decided to return to a life that was considered
‘normal and safe’ like everyone else’s. Thus, I sat for the MBA entrance
exams. I simply rationalized that I could easily be a rupee millionaire
after my MBA. And how many people in India actually earned that kind
of money. In a precarious situation, such arguments prevail over
romanticism and idealism. In a poor, third world country like India,
even a small professional success is celebrated. MBA would give me
that financial and social security, a good job, a good marriage, a good
life, a good house, a good car, a good education, a good old age and then
a good death. And yet this ‘good’ felt like a noose around my neck. The
worst part was that during the one year in my MBA program, I realized
the business potential of my idea which I had abandoned and came to
know about the companies which were making good money in the
same domain. Had I stuck in for a few more years I could have made it,
but I had chickened out. And today after one year of MBA, I saw myself
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in a dungeon and staring at nothing but the abyss. The things that made
life ‘secure’ and ‘safe’ had become the very things that were robbing me
of my desire to live. I was an escapist until this very day. I rather chose
to return to a safe path than to take one more step and fight till the last
breath. This was the first time in which I was all in. Maybe it was the
Buddha of the land; the sagacious, inspiring spirits of the Suru and
Zanskar Valleys that made me choose to ride on the very path that
frightened me. I chose to ride back to Kargil rather than being
transported. It was going to be either on a bike or in a coffin. The future
didn’t matter, the past I had left behind, it was this present moment
that all I cared for. Had I given up in Padum, I would have given up like I
always did in the past. I followed my guts, and my guts and my intuition
led me in this time of uncertainty. I had become a man who could not be
tamed by fear anymore. I had become a Ladakh rider now.
There was uncertainty. There were many unknowns. I was
overwhelmed by the fear of the dangers that would lie ahead if I didn’t
choose a more conventional path. But now I realized how naïve I was.
These dangers were merely froths. All I had to do was burst the bubbles
with the needle of my self-confidence. I had to have faith in myself. If
you asked anyone whether they knew what ‘fear’ and ‘death’ was, they
would reply affirmatively. But I doubt if they actually understood them.
Even I could come up with huge elaborations on ‘fear’ and ‘death’. But
now I realized I had been completely clueless about their true nature.
Knowing was not enough, you had to step into their domain and lick
their cheeks and smirk off in their faces. For the past two days, I was
dying every moment on this journey. And then I realized I had been
dying every moment of my entire life. And it was not death that was
killing me, but it was the fear of death. And today as I rode back through
this very fear, I began to realize how wrong I was. Death and fear were
the two most misunderstood things. Death is actually a liberator. How
could I care for what happened to me when I die? And yet, how much
ever I tried protecting myself from it, I only made my life a living
corpse. And yet, for all I wanted, I could not stop death to come to me
one day. And in fear of that final day I stopped living every day. Fear
needs to be tamed and not be tamed by it. When we tame fear, it guides
us to fear the things that we genuinely need to be afraid of. For
example, a wolf might suddenly jump in front of us and then this fear
would make us act in the right way. On the other hand, an untamed fear
would create a monster out of anything that might make us afraid, even
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if this monster was only a chimera and had no existence. Untamed fear
is like the fear of a five-year-old that goes to bed thinking that there is a
monster under its bed. Untamed fear is the fear of fifteen-year-olds who
think they might be stranded on an empty island if they didn’t bow
down to the wishes of their peers; untamed fear is the fear of dying on a
road trip to Ladakh even before you left your couch and got on the road.
All of us know that we are going to die. And yet this is an idea we are
not willing to accept and always end up fearing death. What if we die
tomorrow? What if I died on this Ladakh trip? And then it dawned on
me that it was not the status in the society that I would regret losing, it
was not the money that I would regret losing, it wasn’t the position in
the corporate that I would regret losing. But if I were to die today or
tomorrow, the only regret I would have is the regret of not doing the
things I really wanted to do. Did I live my life fulfilled, a life that held
meaning for me? What if I had fought and had not compromised? What
if I hadn’t ceded to my fears? Even if I had failed, I would have done so
honorably. These failures would have brought me closer to reality; the
reality of my very own existence in the present and how I could take
myself to the existence that I dreamt of in the future. ‘Good’ is the real
trap between ‘Bad’ and ‘Great.’ The good only has promises and the
notional comforts of securities that begin with the word ‘at least..’, thus
keeping you away from your true happiness and satisfaction. Your
thoughts begin and end with ‘at least’: ‘At least I have a’ At least I have a
monthly salary,’; ‘at least I have a spouse,’ ‘at least I have a house,’ ‘At
least I have a car’. The monthly salary makes you do things that you
hate, the spouse who is still a stranger to you, and the house that
guarantees a roof over your head but takes away your sleep because
you are caught up in a never-ending chain of mortgage payments, the
car that gave you status only ensures that it takes you to the job you
hate and back to your spouse whom you don’t know truly and to your
house that doesn’t give you a good night sleep.
All I had to do was open my heart and listen to the voice, my inner
voice. The voice that told me what is right, what I ought to do. It showed
me the light at the end of the tunnel and all it wanted me to do was
walk, walk and carve my own path in the process.
I had succumbed to defeat even before actually being defeated. My self-
created monster created the doubt in my head and fear in my heart that
fed on my insecurities and forced me to give up. I couldn’t ride well in
the mountains because I became afraid even before the wheels reached
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the first stretch of acclivity. I had to stop being defeated. I had to defeat
that inner monster even before I fought the external ones. This journey
was helping me conquer the mountains, but today I had conquered the
biggest mountain, the one inside my head. Today I managed to forget
what failure meant even before I failed. Today I managed to defeat the
fear of death even before I faced death. The monster had ordered me to
give up the day before yesterday, but the mountains taught me how to
befriend pain, the pain of uncertainty, the pain of being uncomfortable.
The sky had turned dark now but I was lit up inside. I couldn’t resist
a smile, this time, an angelic one. The journey till here was tiring, but I
was full of vigor. I walked back to the guest house where I found
Mehboob laying the plates on the table. The food was served and we sat
at the table.
We were joined by a Gujarati family who was also returning from
Padum. I looked at Raj and just smiled. There is no place for malice
when the heart is filled with love, the love for everything.
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DAY 10
Flow And Passion

“Be like water making its way through cracks. Do not be assertive, but adjust to the
object, and you shall find a way around or through it. If nothing within you stays rigid,
out- ward things will disclose themselves. Empty your mind, be formless. Shapeless, like
water. If you put water into a cup, it becomes the cup. You put water into a bottle and it
becomes the bottle. You put it in a teapot, it becomes the teapot. Now, water can flow or it
can crash. Be
water, my friend.”
— Bruce Lee
The morning sun greeted us through the glass paned windows.

Getting up early was no more a problem now; loading the entire
luggage on the bike was no more a problem now; smiling was no more
a problem now. Every iota of fear was gone. Only adventure lay ahead.
We washed, got ready and went for breakfast. The Gujjus were up as
well and joined us for breakfast. After breakfast, we decided to mount
the luggage on our bikes. The Gujjus watched us with curiosity and
admiration. They couldn’t believe that we were riding with such an
enormous luggage over such a rough road. One of them ran upstairs to
get his handy cam and started recording everything. Once the luggage
mounting ceremony was over, he asked us to give a little introduction
about ourselves which he wanted to record. Oh, we felt like celebrities
and why shouldn’t we feel the same? After all, only a few choose such
trips and only fewer choose a bike trip from Kargil to Padum. So we
were amongst the craziest few who rode to Suru and Zanskar valley.
And we did this on our own terms. So shouldn’t we be celebrities in our
own way and feel happy about it? The only ones who were crazier than
us were those who rode alone completing the journey own their own. If
it were not for the lack of experience and confidence, I would have
come alone too. So would I come to Ladakh the next time? Would I
come alone to Ladakh the next time? It seemed as if the seeds for the
next harvest were already being sowed. But I could not burden myself
with those thoughts and plans right now. We either live in the future
planning or in the past regretting. This present was my moment and I
was going to have every bit of it. I had decided to focus all my emotions
and thoughts on the present. After all our actions in the present shape
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our past that is yet to come and give us hopes for the future of
tomorrow. Before we plan for the future, we must make the present
right. You might not agree, but life is the sum total of the present
moments put together.
A small group of villagers had gathered to bid us goodbye. It was
quite emotional for us. We bid farewell to everyone and started heading
towards the main road to Kargil.
The journey was bumpy, but it didn’t matter now. I enjoyed
everything. My skills with the bike had improved and I was
maneuvering amongst the protruding rocks quite easily and speedily.
Nine days of riding had finally taught me how to be a biker. It had given
me certain strength and experience. I even experimented with alternate
routes near Panikhar after which metalled roads started. At one point, a
huge pit came on the way but I outmaneuvered it quite easily. Aki and
Raj were impressed. At that moment, I realized that my senses were
working in tandem with the rotating wheels of the Thunderbird. My
Thunderbird and I had become one with the sole purpose of conquering
the mountains. The ride and the rider had become one. I understood
the language of my engine while it understood my emotions and we
bonded with each other like lovers. We sped to Kargil like new
butterflies that had just got new wings. The metalled roads were a new
joy to ride on after the back-breaking off roads. Never the less Padum
was a prized journey and every moment in the past few days would
remain embedded in my heart. We stopped briefly at a mechanic’s shop
in Kargil to get our bikes checked. Thankfully no major problems were
found in any of the bikes. After that, we went to a restaurant for a quick
lunch and then were back on the road heading towards Lamayuru, our
next destination which was 110 km from Kargil.
The smooth metalled roads were a welcome change from the bumpy
roads of Suru and Zanskar Valley. But something more had changed. I
was a different man now. Now, I had learned how to be in the flow. You
are in the flow when your mind, body, heart and soul unite for a single
purpose. Then there is no greater purpose than what you are doing in
the present. And for the first time, I experienced flow in my riding. My
attention was at its peak and my senses alert. My body swung
automatically to the rhythm of the bike giving it a proper balance where
found necessary. My feet moved automatically in unison with my hands,
thus balancing the need for braking and accelerating. I maneuvered
the curves perfectly without the need to apply brakes out of
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unnecessary caution. I sensed danger when it came and my mind was
always alert for the vehicles which were overtaking or coming from the
opposite direction. This was all hard work when I had first got on the
roads of the mountains, but now it was fun. At one point, my speed was
somewhere between 70km/hr to 80 km/hr when suddenly a caved
portion of the road appeared in front of me. I swayed my body to the
right and maneuvered the bike narrowly escaped going down the gorge.
Aki and Raj, who were following me, later thanked me for making that
perfect swerve or they would have been down the gorge too. They had
not seen the caved portion of the road.
I had a new found strength and purpose in my driving. I was devoid
of fear and tension of riding. Neither poverty nor wealth can make a
skillful sailor but the storms that he faces at the sea. I had faced my
storms in the Suru and Zanskar valley. I had finally learned the rhythm
of the bike and it had learned the tune of my heart. Together, our joy of
riding had doubled. I was a biker now… indeed.
We crossed Mulbek and Naki La and now were heading towards
Fotu La, the highest point on the Srinagar-Leh highway. Once again,
unfriendly terrain greeted us. This time we had speeding trucks
accompanying us from either direction of the road. But that did not
scare me. They were all a part of the adventure now. I drove steadily
without a dint of nervousness and reached the top. At this point, Raj
couldn’t help but quip,” Oh we are going to miss your stunts which you
exhibited while crossing a mountains pass.”
“Oh really,” I said with a fake surprise, “Well from now on, I think
you guys are in for a permanent disappointment.”
At Fotu La I rode right up to the sign board where it read “Fotu La,
13479 feet, the highest point on the Srinagar-Leh Highway” and there, I
gave out a loud shrill. The eccentric outburst set the onlookers
wondering while it fired me up. For days to follow, that picture became
one of my favorite smithereens of reminiscence.
From the top, our road that we left behind looked like a snake
wrapped around a body. After a while, we began descending. It was
dark now, but we were only a few kilometers away from Lamayuru. But
then at one blind turn, the horns didn’t work. I tried again, it worked
once but it missed again. At every blind turn, a horn becomes a
necessity. And to make it worse, it was dark. Thus, I could not lead the
pack. As for Aki, he was already too afraid of the dark. Thus, Raj was left
to lead the pack while Aki followed. It was fun watching Raj and Aki
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fight over the question of leading the pack. After a few km, I pressed my
horns and surprisingly, it worked fine. But I chose to remain quiet to let
the amusement continue. After all, it was my time to have some fun.
After about ten km or so, Raj stopped and asked Aki to take over but it
proved to be in vain. Aki just couldn’t muster the courage to drive in the
dark leading the pack. So Raj was again back to leading the pack. In this
way, slowly and steadily, the three of us arrived at Lamayuru. And then
I pressed my horns and they honked while they bonked. “Oh seems that
my horns are working,” I said slyly while they twitched their lips in
agony. It was amusing to see them feeling bad as they became an object
of amusement now.
Lamayuru was a cute village built on the acclivity of a mountain.
Luck- ily we found a nice guest house, which was called Druke Guest
House at a decent price and so we didn’t have to go deeper into the
village to look for one. We unpacked and then returned for dinner. We
were famished as we hadn’t eaten anything since we left Kargil. But that
was a night; a night that I would always remember. We talked and
laughed and cheered. We ate like ravenous animals and enjoyed every
moment of it. There was a party being organized in the courtyard of a
building nearby and we got invited too. Aki and I agreed to go while Raj
declined. He was no party guy as he was brought up in quite an
orthodox family. He never showed a wild side.
I was still curious about the reason he chose to come on this journey.
He drank alcohol for the first time and God only knows what all things
he had never done. I looked at him, sighed with pity and then went to
the party with Aki. Aki was on an unfamiliar turf too. Same old orthodox
Indian middle-class upbringing, you know, get an engineering degree
and then get a job. Other than college events he really hadn’t had a ‘true
party’. But he was open to experimentation and so he tagged along. And
as for me, I was a chameleon. I could camouflage myself quite easily and
I never shied away from anything. Even if it be for the first time, I still
managed to carry myself as a pro. One could never guess whether I was
an amateur at the game. But today we were happy for many
inexplicable reasons. The joy of the ride could be felt in the air. The
weather of Lamayuru was delightful and the stars twinkled in the clear
sky. A party with a chance to shake a leg was just the thing needed. It
wasn’t like the dance floors of the clubs in Delhi, never the less the
enthusiasm was no less. A festival had just concluded at the monastery
and this party was organized to mark its end. There was a huge
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gathering and we danced to the tunes of Hindi, English and Ladakhi
songs. We laughed and jumped and danced around. It was fun to be part
of a party at 12000 feet under the open sky with the stars twinkling
over your head. We got special attention and were pulled into different
groups. The crowd was lovely, only till the moment I saw something
lovelier.There danced a girl who swerved in green. She was a girl in
green. Slowly, I moved closer to her. She looked remarkably beautiful;
with white skin, wearing a green jacket and blue jeans with a slight dent
of lipstick over her twirly little lips as she looked from beneath the
puffiness over her eyes. She swayed like a snake and her hair flowed
everywhere. All I was drinking was the ‘Godfather’ Beer. Yeah, God-
damn-father beer. And it tasted crap. But when I saw her, even this
creepy beer tasted excellent. I joined the group of the girl in green. She
seemed to be making everyone go green in love. There were only two
other people in that group; a girl and a guy. And they left to get
something to drink. And the girl in green was alone, and I was alone too,
alone to dance with her.
“So have you danced with a biker before?” I asked. “What? I didn’t
get you.”
It was a ridiculous question, but I had her attention.
“So have you ever danced with a biker before?” I said as I came
closer and spoke in her ear, adding some pepper to my words. She
seemed to be getting the taste of it.
“I thought they only rode on their bikes and the machines were their
girlfriends. So what are you doing here with a human girl, go and dance
with your machine girl.”
Aah amusing. No girl can be more attractive than the one with a
sense of humor.
“Oh, I have been riding her for the last ten days” I quipped, “Tonight
she wants to rest.”
She smiled. The girl in green smiled and her lips twirled. “So what do
you ride?” she asked.
“A Royal Enfield Thunderbird, have you ever seen it?”
“Of course,” she said, “That’s one of my favorites too. My Ex had the
same bike.”
“So where are you coming from?” she then asked. It was her turn to
ask questions.
“Delhi,” I said, “We came by the Srinagar route and from Kargil we
went to the Suru and Zanskar Valleys as well. We are heading to Leh
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now.”
“Nice. I always wanted to go to the Suru and Zanskar Valleys. I have
heard they’re gorgeous, but I have never been there.”
“Yeah, it is. So where are you from?” I asked ensuring the questions
must not end. Slowly, we drifted away from the crowd. I ensured that it
happened. “I am basically from Mulbek and I am visiting my relatives
here. The guest house you see here Druke Guest house, Sonam, the
daughter of the guest house owner is my childhood friend, she brought
me to this party.
But I am in Ladakh for my holidays; I will be back in Delhi too, as I
am studying in Delhi University.”
“Oh nice,” I said, “We are staying in that same guest house,” I said as I
pointed towards it.
“Ahh nice! So what do you do in Delhi?” she asked. She was asking
questions again. Her interest was growing and for the first time her
hand touched mine.
“I am doing my MBA there,” I said and told her about my college.
“I am sure you must be knowing about it,” I said. The sales pitch
must be strong.
“Of course. Wow, that’s great ya, so lucky…” she said, “Even I plan to
sit for the MBA entrance exams next year. Will you guide me?
“Of course!” How could ‘NO’ be an answer?
“But do you think we could go somewhere else and discuss, the
music is too loud in here.”
“Where can we go?” she asked.
“I don’t know. You want to drink something?” I asked
“Ya sure. But Please, I hate that Godfather beer, maybe something
else” she chipped in.
“So what do you want? Vodka? Do we get Vodka here?”
“Go to the shop outside. You should get something better than
Godfather Beer there.”
The lads had only Beer to drink. I walked outside the courtyard and
found a few shops nearby. But no liquor shop. I went to a general store
and asked the man whether there was any shop close by where I could
buy Vodka.
“Oh, sir! You would get it here only,” he said as he gave a wink and
went inside to get a bottle. I was taken aback, but when I inspected the
shop, I realized that it sold everything, almost everything. There were
vegetables, rations, consumer goods and even cigarettes and alcohol.
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“Welcome to Ladakh,” I said to myself amusingly. He returned with a
bottle. God only knows what brand it was. But I took it. I also bought a
couple of aerated drinks and returned to the courtyard. This time the
girl in green was talking to the girl who had left before.
“Hi, meet her, She’s Sonam,” the girl in green introduced us.
“Oh ya ya, I saw you. You are the same biker guys who are staying at
our guest house.”
Fuck yeah! I thought. She remembered. That was good. So she was
the grand old girl of the guest house owner she was talking about.
“So what have you brought?” she asked. “Vodka.”
“Oh, that’s great. Let’s go.”
It would have been foolish for me to ask questions like where, what,
when and all that crap. Sonam’s guy, whose name was Tshering, joined
too. I looked around for Aki, but I couldn’t see him anywhere. Perhaps
he must have gone to bed. At least that was convenient for me to
believe. Together we walked towards our guest house.
Sensing my apprehensions Sonam said, “Don’t worry we are not
going to your room. There are plenty of other rooms which are empty
and today we don’t have too many guests either.”
I just smiled. Things couldn’t get any better.
Sonam took us to the remotest room on the floor. The guest house
had three building blocks but only one floor in each building. Perhaps
there was one more building, the one in which the owner stayed. So we
went inside the room and sat on the bed occupying every corner.
Sonam then went and brought four glasses from the cupboard. Aah, it
seemed, the room had its own purpose. Tshering lit a cigarette and
started making the drinks. Together we drank, smoked, giggled and
talked about music and films and everything. After a while, Sonam
started getting ready to leave.
“Ok guys. We’ll leave you here. We’ll take a different room. See you
in the morning.” She said as she took the four glasses in a polythene bag
and left with Tshering.
But the girl in green was still there… and I was still there. And then
my eyes met hers and she smiled, making me smile.
“So you were going to tell me how to get into a B-school,” she said.
“Of course what do you wanna know,” I said as I moved closer to her.
She smiled and I knew what I had to teach her.
“Everything.” She said and she came closer to me too and her hands
wrapped around my neck. I could feel her body on me. She was warm..
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or was it the vodka…
I moved the hair from her face to get a better look. She looked like a
glass of wine, ready to intoxicate you with her love. Her hair was silken
smooth and skin was soft. We weren’t talking anymore, nor was it the
moment for words. It was time for only love. I pulled her even closer to
me so that I could feel her breath. Our muscles tightened as I kissed her
forehead, and then her cheeks and then as her lips twirled while her
hands caressed my hair, I locked them with mine over them. She tasted
like……Vodka……. I then sat her up and unzipped her jacket; the green
jacket of the girl in green. She wore a black top underneath, and I took
those off too. She then helped me take off my clothes too. But as we did
so, she giggled. I wore a jacket, then a sweater, then a long sweatshirt
then a warm vest and then a vest, “So many clothes,” she chuckled;
“After all it’s the road and the rider. That’s how you ride a bike in
Ladakh,” I said as I tried to unhook her bra. They came off easily. We lay
just like that, half clad in clothes, kissing and caressing. I shivered in the
cold air of Lamayuru and longed for the warmth of her body. She was
like a dip of crispy chips in the cold tomato sauce. All I wanted now was
everything. I laid her on the bed and took her lowers off. She lay like a
naked goddess, her body glowing in the dark night. I caressed her from
her head to toe. Oh, the girls of the mountains. She was firm and
curvaceous too, just like my curvaceous thunderbird. Hell, what was I
thinking?
I lay beside her and kissed her. I then moved to her neck to her
chest, to her breast. She had an exotic aroma…. like a flavor I couldn’t
recall but it added to my hunger; the hunger for love. I kissed and
caressed her breasts; as they hardened. Her soft stomach twitched to
the movement of my lips and she giggled. Her naked beauty resembled
the pristine beauty of the peaks of Zozi La; you know; white, snowy
white. Just like the celestial maidens, this virgin beauty lay in front of
me. It was time to conquer another peak, another La, the La of love. She
got up and pushed me down and climbed over me. “So Mr. Biker it’s
time you were the ride and I the rider,” she chirped, and I completely
understood what she meant. And I wasn’t complaining.
She kissed all over my body, adding to the fervor of the night. Her
hair swayed across my face, just like the gentle breeze of the Ladakhi
air. Our tongues met., she tasted like vodka again, but I could her taste
crispy self as well. She then moved to my chest and started teasing me
on my nipples… even I giggled a little bit…then she started kissing all
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over my body….
“You smell of the mountains,” she said, “…..but it’s kind of nice you
know.
And now it’s time to ride the rider…” She giggled. And I giggled as
well.
Once again, she had to peel off layers of clothes before she was
greeted by a dragon, hissing at her, telling her how much he wanted
her. She fondled with him, caressed him, and the dragon hissed harder.
“So Mr. Biker..… It’s time for the ride…”
She moaned as she climbed over and her eyes shut with ecstasy. A
lightning sensation passed through my body as tears rolled down from
the corner of my eyes. These were the tears of pleasure, divine and pure
pleasure; tears of love; love and contentment. For the first time, I made
love and I loved it. I felt love inside me, as if it washed away my sins and
made me a new person. She bent to kiss me, and she kissed me
everywhere as her breasts caressed my chest, igniting sparks of
passion. And then our bodies cringed in unison, letting out a little shrill
and our hearts rejoiced in the ebullience of the moment as the birds
rejoice with the first drop of rain. She fell on me, her body warm, lit by
the fire passion.
“Oh biker..… this has been the best ride of my life…..” she said as she
lay there. I pulled a blanket over us. But barely an hour had passed and
I was hungry again. I began teasing her and she responded with a smile;
I was not the only one who wanted more. This time she lay on the bed
while I made love to her, and our bodies rubbed against each other like
the clouds which rub themselves against snow peaks and then turn into
flakes of love and shower down as snow. The blanket slid to the floor as
it couldn’t bear the heat of the moment. It was the second dessert; it
took time to finish. Her legs tightened around my waist as both of us
arrived at the final moment of ecstasy. After a while, I pulled up the
blankets and we lay beside each other.
Today I had made love, and it was done with love.
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DAY 11
Leh’ed
“Not all those who wander are lost.”
— J.R.R. Tolkien
The rays of the bright sun woke me up. I lay alone naked under the
blanket. The girl in green was nowhere to be seen. It was almost 8 in
the morning. I heard some noises outside and decided to dress up
quickly. For a moment, I stopped to recollect what had happened and
smiled. But where was she? And then I realized I hadn’t even asked her
name. “Oh, the girl in green, where were you?” I wanted to look around
for her.
But the noises in the gallery were growing louder. “Oh no,” I thought.
“What should I do?” But thankfully the windows were big and without
bars. I opened the windows quietly and slipped outside, and then
carefully shut the windows again. But then I realized I did not clear the
room of the bottles of vodka and the aerated drinks. It didn’t make
sense to go back inside now. So I walked away and landed up in a
garden, where a man in his late forties stopped me. “So how is it going?
Did you like our guest house,” he asked.
” Ya ya it’s fine…, I was just taking a morning walk,” I said trembling.
“So in which room are you staying?
Aah! I had forgotten the room number. I pointed randomly to a
building and said I was staying there.
“It’s not possible,” he said, “You must be staying somewhere else.
That’s our house.” Damn! He was the guest house owner.
“Oh sorry, I seemed to have forgotten. We were three bikers who
checked in last night,” I said.
“Oh ok ok, your building is the other one, you city folks get confused
so easily.” He said and took me to my room. Thankfully the gate was not
locked from inside. I remembered Raj saying that he will leave it
unbolted. I thanked him and went into my room. Luckily, everything
happened smoothly. Raj and Aki were still fast asleep. Raj had taken to
the mattress leaving the bed for the two of us. I bolted the door quietly
and lay on the bed. In a few minutes, even I fell asleep.
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At around eleven o’clock I found Raj shaking me, coaxing me to get
up. We started getting ready. But I decided to skip the shower. I wanted
her perfume to linger on. But where was she, oh my girl in green.
We dressed up and went for lunch and took our seats around the
table. “Hello bikers,” a sweet voice greeted us. I turned around to find
Sonam
standing near the table.
“Hi Ravi how are you?” she greeted as our eyes met.
“Hi!” I said and turned to find Aki and Raj staring at me,
flabbergasted.
I could see questions pouring through their eyes.
“I am fine how are you?” I then greeted her. “Your guest house is
very nice,” I complimented and hoped that the conversation was limited
to a certain formality. I introduced her to the other two. We talked
about general stuff like Ladakh and all and then she left.
“Who was she?” Raj asked.
“Ok, I think we should order some food. I’m famished.” I said in an
attempt to change the topic. I turned towards Raj and said, “Why don’t
you order something nice. I will be back in a minute.” I got up and ran
behind Sonam.
“Sorry for that thing there,” I said to her when I caught up, “I haven’t
told them about last night.”
“What last night? Nothing happened,” she quipped slyly. “Well,
Tsher- ing and I went to a different room. And in the wee hours he ran
off to his friend’s place. He had told his parents he was going to sleep
there.” She tried explaining what happened last night. But I was
interested in something else.
“And what about her? Where is she? I didn’t see her in the morning.”
“Oh, she!” she exclaimed winking at me mischievously. “She came to my
room in the wee hours. But she left early as she had to meet her
mother.” “But where is she now? I asked. I was getting annoyed. I really
wanted to meet her.
“Hmmm. Thinking about her eh. Must have been an unforgettable
night eh” she teased. “Well as a matter of fact she went to her relatives
place in the morning and by now she must be on a bus with her mother,
returning to her home. Well, she’s gone.”
“But…”
“But what… oh yes… she told me to tell you that you are a great guy.”
“But…..”
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“But. Can I have her number?” I enquired.
“Dude this is Ladakh. There is just one network. Only her dad has a
mobile phone.”
“So give me her Delhi number.” “I don’t have it,” she said. “Damn.”
“Hmmmm. Let’s see. Maybe you can do one thing,” she said sensing
the sadness in my eyes, you can give me your details and I will pass it
on to her and ask her to call you.”
“Ya that sounds cool.”
I got a paper and pen from the restaurant’s reception and wrote
down my details on it and gave it to her.
“And ya listen,” I said, “My phone is not working now, tell her to call
me after a few days when I will be in Leh where the network would be
available. Or maybe tell her to call me when she returns to Delhi.” I
sounded desperate. “Ok, I’ll do my best. Don’t worry ya… I’ll surely do
Mr. Biker. Now listen
I have to get some work done… So all the best ya ..for your Ladakh
trip and all ya… I hope you must be enjoying this trip…. Have fun and all
ya….all the best again ya…” she chirped and gave me a wicked wink and
went off.
Suddenly Aki called from behind “Oye the food is here. Come now.”
“Coming!” I shouted as I walked back to the table.
“So how do you know her? And what were you two discussing?” Raj
asked, always the curious case of Benjamin Button.
“Oh, she’s gone.”
“What? Who’s gone?” they asked startled as if they were shocked.
They thought the bikes are gone or something.
“No no, nothing’s gone. I meant she has gone to do some work. You
know, that girl, I mean this girl, Sonam, with whom I was talking to. She
is the guesthouse owner’s daughter. Well ya. I was talking to her about
the Monastery you know. She said we have to visit. It is a very nice
Monastery; very beautiful,” I said coming back to my senses. I was still
thinking about the girl in green.
“Big deal. As if we didn’t know this already,” Aki said reading the lies
in my words. “Anyways let’s finish lunch. We have to get going soon.”
“So did you guys sleep all right?” I asked them.
“I dozed off to sleep,” Raj said and I smiled coyly at his words.
“I was looking for you, but you were gone. So I returned to the room
and went to bed, leaving the door unbolted,” Aki said.
“Oh, I had just gone to take a leak,” I lied, “So did you try the
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Godfather beer?”
“Oh it was crap,” Aki said, “It tasted so damn ugly… the party was
boring as well.”
“You bet. Even I returned after a short while,” I said. Though I
wanted to say more, share more, especially my yesterday night’s
sojourn of bliss. But I refrained. I guess we guys are not much into all
those privy talks unless we are faking it.
In the meanwhile, the guest house owner came by and asked us not
to leave any bottles in the room. “It seems that in one of the rooms
some stupid guest had left his Vodka bottle under the bed and the
cleaner had missed it. It was only when the new guest saw it and we got
to know of it” he said. “Don’t worry sir. We will ensure your room is left
in perfect condition. ” I told him. His words amused me, and when he
left I couldn’t help but laugh about it which was, of course, much to Raj
and Aki’s annoyance.
We finished our lunch and returned to finish packing and bring the
luggage out to be tied to our bikes. I then thought of finding Sonam and
ask her the name of the girl in green. But I couldn’t find her anywhere.
So the girl in green was going to remain the girl in green. And now she
was gone. I just hoped she called.
We then went to check out. The guest house owner was considerate.
We had passed our check out time, but he didn’t ask us for extra
charges. There was no materialism and greed here, at least not the kind
that I had seen before. People were happy and content. It seemed the
harsh terrain taught them how to be humble and happy; something we
couldn’t achieve in our air-conditioned comforts of Delhi. Here people
feared the wild animals and the ferocity of Nature. Man was not afraid
of man. There was harmony. From Zozi La, it was the beginning of
Ladakh, the region of love and harmony. It had the harshest living
conditions, yet one who came here found love, hope, and happiness. I
was beginning to understand. I was learning; learning to be a human.
We mounted the luggage and were back on the road. We detoured to
reach the Lamayuru Gompa. It is said that this Gompa is one of the
largest in the Ladakh region and houses close to four hundred monks.
This Gompa, like all others, was built on a high mountain crag
overlooking a lake which was now dried up. When you walk bare feet
inside the Gompa, you can feel the cold, solid rocks beneath your feet.
The monastery has stood the test of times since the eleventh century
and houses many statues, murals, and ancient relics.
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From the monastery, you get a scenic view of the mountains of
Ladakh. By now I was convinced that every location was carefully
chosen for its scenic beauty before deciding to build a monastery. I
acknowledged that Karsha and Bardan Gompa in Padum had helped me
conquer my fear. Once again, my interest in spirituality and God had
risen. Could I balance these concepts with the scientific temperament
that I had acquired through my education? Somehow I felt that Science
was inadequate and one had to go beyond the limits of rational
thinking. But what could be beyond rational thinking? I was yet to
explore. A rational mind needed a reason for everything. And for lack of
a reason one could give up doing something for which one is
passionate. Rationality also limited us, made us ignore things which
didn’t have a logical conclusion. And yet rational thinking had pulled us
out from the abyss of ignorance. On the other hand, if one were to
achieve creativity, one had to have faith in himself and not be deterred
by rationality. A proper balance was needed. But what was the nature
of the balance? Where and how can I define that balance? How do I
know about its existence? Aah. Once again questions. But now, rather
than complicating me, these questions seemed to be inspiring me. I was
speaking to the universe once again. Something fresh, something
magical happened at these monasteries. I looked at an old Lama sitting
nearby; spinning a wheel which, according to Buddhism, signified the
cycle of life. Our eyes met and he smiled at me. I looked at the statue of
Buddha; he seemed so serene and calm. But suddenly it seemed to
smile at me. I looked at the Lama again; I looked at the Buddha
again….oh God…!
“Oh, brother! Still here? Let’s quickly wind up and get going,” Raj was
yelling at me from the gate.
“Coming,” I said. I looked at the Lama and the Buddha once again;
now none of them were smiling. Both were meditating.
“Hey did you guys see that Lama smiling?” I asked Raj and Aki.
“What Lama?” Aki asked in wonder.
“Never mind,” I said, “Let’s go, we need to reach Leh today.” I didn’t
want to appear like a buffoon in front of them.
We left the monastery behind, and after crossing Lamayuru village,
we were on our way to Leh. My heart still ached for the girl in green,
but I decided to continue the journey. A few km ahead of Lamayuru
stood the moon rocks, a typical dry land that closely resembled the
surface of the moon. Here nature seemed to be busy doing its own art.
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The air and water acted as the medium through which she seemed to be
carving beautiful landscapes on the mountains of Ladakh.
After a while, we started descending and the road became
treacherous. We were driving on the Hangro loops now, a cluster of 18
hair bending loops. After a careful drive, we reached the Indus Valley
and rode parallel to the Indus River. I felt as if I was riding in the
bylanes of History. Indus Valley civilization was amongst the first things
we read about in our His- tory books. The stretch between Khalsi to Leh
offers a lot of sightseeing and places worth visiting. Some of them being
the caves in Saspol, Alchi Monastery, Likir monastery, Basgo Fortress,
etc. Too bad they were not on our itinerary this time. But I promised
myself that I would come visiting again, and it would be as a seeker, as a
monk and not an adventurer on a bike. And yet I felt that this very
journey was teaching me a lot. I sometimes wonder if planned holidays
or trips do any good. We only mark some areas worth visiting without
fully grasping the essence of that particular place. For example, I would
have loved to spend time at the monasteries and talk to people there,
understand Buddhism, inculcate new ideas, understand new cultures,
etc. But it seems like modern day tourism is only an escape from the
mundaneness of routine life, giving us some breath of fresh air and
energy only to return to the same old dog eat dog life. I decided to
return to this mystic land and not leave without fully comprehending
its essence. Ladakh is not only a scenic beauty and a pleasant holiday
destination; but also a sojourn of experience that every seeker must
have.
At places, we would be greeted by school kids who would stretch
their hands out and give us a high-five. And then they would shout
“Julley… Julley”. “Julley” in Ladakhi means ‘hello’ as well as ‘goodbye.’
From Lama- yuru onwards the culture seemed to be completely marked
by Buddhism. Every now and then we would be greeted by a chorten,
white temple like structures with flags all around, built in the memory
and honor of a Lama. There would be pilings of stones beside the road
and near these ‘chortens’. It is considered pious in Tibetan Buddhism to
arrange a pile of stones, one over another, as much as possible. I tried
once but couldn’t balance more than two. It requires an intense effort to
search for the right shaped boulders that would stick and balance one
over another.
But the most amusing moments were when the BRO sign boards
greeted us, each with a funny message that emphasized safe driving.
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Some of them were like these:
‘Be gentle on my curves.’
‘I am curvaceous, be slow.’
‘After whiskey, driving risky.’
‘Drive on horsepower, not on rum power.’
‘Don’t be Gama in the land of Lama.’
‘Don’t gossip. Let him drive.’
‘Be Mr. late not late Mr.’
‘Darling I like you, but not so fast.’
‘If married, divorce speed.’
‘Life is short, don’t make it shorter.’
‘I love you but not so fast.’
It’s a partial list. These sign boards added spice to our journey. BRO
simply rocks.
And then there were moments when we felt as if we were riding
through the clouds. At such an altitude, some of the mountains actually
pierced through them. And at other places these clouds even casted a
shadow on the mountains; creating beautiful motifs on the barren
mountains. Ladakh was indeed the crown of India.
Soon we were on an acclivity that took us to a surface that flattened
like a plateau. It seemed as if the mountain had been flattened with a
hammer. And the roads here were so smooth and beautiful that I
touched a high speed of 95 km/hr for a small stretch till I got my
adrenaline back in control lest any accidents should happen. After a
few km, we arrived at the famous Magnetic Hill where the land is said
to hold magnetic properties that are strong enough to pull a jeep uphill.
At least I felt the magnetic pull on my all metal thunderbird. After a
while, the plateau descended into a valley. It was dangerous and
accidents had happened here. When you are in Ladakh, it is imperative
to respect the laws of the Nature. We stopped at the Gurudwara Patther
Saheb, which was maintained by the Sikh battalion of the Indian Army.
We paid our respects and then continued our journey. Leh was just 20-
25 km away, but we decided to take a tea break. We wanted to savor
the moment before arriving at our divine destination. It was the city of
our dreams and the most important landmark in our journey. We were
back on the road and after another acclivity we reached a higher
ground from where the city was visible. Under the setting sun, it looked
beautiful, enamoring and it beckoned us from afar.
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At first the Army settlements arrived, and then the airport and then
we entered the gates of the city. Leh, the city that had survived for
many centuries and witnessed many dynasties come and go. It had
been a major destination on the trade routes in the past. It was at an
altitude of 11000 feet and was the center of culture and commerce in
the Ladakh region. The Leh airport is considered to be the highest
commercial airport in the world. Leh also held importance as a strategic
location as it was close to the borders with China and Pakistan. As we
drove through the city, swarms of tourists, travelers and bikers greeted
us. Every now and then a Royal Enfield thumped its way waking up the
city and adding to the exuberance all around. On either side of the road
stood scores of shops, restaurants, diners, eateries, hotels and guest
houses. This city thrived on tourism. The atmosphere was magical, it
wouldn’t just make your heart sing, but would make your soul cry with
joy. Oh, Leh, I fell in love with Leh instantaneously. We finally reached
Changspa Lane, the place where we were going to stay. After a long
search, we found a beautiful guest house that matched our budget and
needs. We unpacked and took our belongings to our room which was
on the first floor. It was big with an enormous window that opened to a
portico. We could sit here and chat if we wanted. We quickly washed,
changed and decided to go out. We couldn’t wait to have a feel of
the city. Leh was just magic.
As we walked through the Changspa Lane, I was spellbound by its
colorful charisma. We found people from many cultures. There were
Americans, British, Israelis, Spaniards, French, Canadians, Germans,
Russians, Kore- ans and, of course, our very own Indians. In the days to
follow, I even met someone from New Zealand, Peru, Ecuador and
Tasmania. The last one I didn’t even know was a country. There were
white skins, pink skins, yellow skins, brown skins, black skins and some
skins the color of which I didn’t know. There were green eyes, blue
eyes, dark eyes, black eyes and eyes that were hardly visible. There
were black hair, brown hair, white hair, blonde hair, colored hair and
no hair. From the bubbling twenties to the retired oldies, people of all
ages and ethnicity came here. There were Indian restaurants, Tibetan
Restaurants, restaurants with Hebrew signboards, Korean restau-
rants, Chinese restaurants, Japanese restaurants, and European
restaurants serving continental, Italian and English menu. You could
spend months here eating something new. There were so many
varieties for our eyes to see. I was mesmerized. Leh was not just a city,
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not just a provincial capital; but truly a high commission, one
belonging to the world where every nationality, every culture
descended upon. It was more cosmopolitan than the whole world put
together. Okay, I’m just kidding. And then there were the Hippies, the
ones who fascinated me the most. They were entirely a group of their
own kind that could not be defined by nationality or race or ethnicity.
They were just individuals who sought happiness and love. Hippies; Leh
was also the city of hippies. Hippies, hippy, hipsters, hip; one name that
changed its form down the ages, but their spirit of life remained the
same. Torn clothes, unkempt hair, tattoos and piercings were their
signature style. All lost in their own sweet world.
“Fucking drug addicts” Aki commented in disgust as he watched
them.
“Just look at them, as if they are in a deep slumber. They must have
had a shot just a while ago. Just look at them; lost, careless.”
“Well, on the contrary, ‘hip’ essentially means: awakened, in the
know, cool,” I argued, surprised to find myself defending them.
“Awakened, what the fuck awakened. You mean I should wear funny
stuff, look and act funny and that would make me awakened?”
“Hmmm. So how do you think we should behave or look like, or wear
the clothes for that matter? You mean to say we should be like what our
moms taught us when we were young, or maybe just wear clothes like
our schools taught us. Oh wait, maybe just adhere to what the society
expected us to wear, or behave according to the religious texts, you
know, like how the women hide behind a burqa or the loose end of a
sari. Oh no, we are supposed to be modern right. So maybe just adapt to
the fashion being dictated on the television without even realizing
whether it suited us or not.” “It’s funny when you put it that way. But
what exactly do you mean?” Aki
asked, showing his irritation to the convulsions of my logic.
“Well, look at it this way. Think about the clothes you wanted to
wear, things that you want to see, things that you wanted to feel, the
hair style you want to keep. Think of things that you wanted to do.
Things that made you ‘You’, devoid of any external influence that would
govern you, you and your personal opinion of you would be supreme.
Can you think in that individual capacity? If you can, then you would
understand the hippies.”
“Well… I don’t know,” Aki murmured, stumbling for words. “But then
why do these people dress and wear such stuff?”
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“Well, it’s an act of self-expression in search of their individuality.
Wear what you want, the way you want, bring out your inner thoughts
and expres- sions in your clothes. It’s a rebellion in its own way. A
rebellion not against a country, ruler or dictator; but against
established ideals and orthodox beliefs, those that are forced upon us.
This hippie thing is more like a cultural revo- lution which started in
the 1960s when the youth began to shun established ideals and
scripted lives, and moved towards an alternative society which, unlike
the mainstream society, promised everyone their individuality. They
fought established ideals of materialism and chose love over it. They
were called the flower children. The human spirit must rise beyond the
obvious in order to understand them. And for that one must rebel
against himself and that begins with the expression of your
individuality through the clothes and through the colors that you adorn.
“So, what has all these things got to do with anything? I mean what’s
wrong in college, in school, in the job, in money and as you say it, in
materialism? And what is this individuality that you talk about. I am
Aki, and I am unique. I mean who else looks like me?” Aki said
mockingly. He was apparently baffled. It didn’t make sense to him. He
went to school, came out, went to college and now had a job. The idea
that he was living a scripted life had never occurred to him. Or maybe it
might have, but he had chosen to ignore it. To him, life was a race and
either you win or you ensure the defeat of others. Individuality, self-
expression etc. were concepts alien to him. Raj, on the other hand,
chose to remain quiet. Perhaps he understood everything, but still
remained reticent, and being reticent is something we Indians are
really adept at. You need not agree or disagree. Just remain silent. Let
the issue hang in the air. Soon everything would be forgotten and life
would take its own course. And as for me, I felt as if I were a stateless
being. Was I earth, water or air? I was living in many worlds and my
heart and mind were in constant disagreements. I had knowledge but
no action. Was I a hippie, a hippie who was an engineer and an MBA?
Haah! Everyone would laugh at the idea, even the hippies would. I did
not shun the society, yet I secretly abhorred it. I hated the scripts
handed over to me, yet I failed to write my own script, the script of my
own life. If we were to turn to History, we would find that over
centuries, everything changed; life changed, the ways of living changed.
Now we had industries, cars, faster cars, trains, faster trains, airplanes,
suave houses, fashion, corporate houses and everything else. Heck, we
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even reached Mars and were talking about different solar systems. But
the script still remained the same; the script that bound us all. But how
was I going to explain it to Aki? He could understand, but his heart and
mind were closed. How could I explain it to him when he had already
erected his defense even before he let new ideas penetrate his existing
beliefs? How was I going to explain something that is considered to be
an anathema by people since time immemorial? Even Adam and Eve
doubted whether they should eat the apple. But when they did, their
lives changed. They were now burdened with the conscious of their
being. They put themselves on a script that was entirely different from
the one written by God. Were Adam and Eve the first hippies? Were we
all hippies? Is there a hippie inside every one of us? Is every individual
battle against one’s own boundaries a hippie movement? There seemed
to be a hippie movement going on inside me, I could feel the change, I
could feel the struggle, the fight, and the rebellion. I was breaking the
very pillars on which my house of beliefs stood. The house needed to be
crumbled so that I could breathe in the open air and embrace the
sunshine, the air, the water, the rain, the clouds, the mountains, and life.
“But what about drugs eh?” Aki asked, escalating the situation, “Care
to explain that? These bums are nothing but drug addicts. And you call
them rebels against culture and all. Haah. What a joke man. When you
can’t achieve something, when you lose the race, then you start calling
yourself a rebel and all man. What rubbish.”
I merely smiled. It put him on a back footing. He was calling me to
fight and I chose not to lower myself and wrestle with him in the mud.
“Well, you talk about drugs. Do you have any idea which drug is most
commonly used by them?”
“Pot I suppose.”
“Yup, pot, marijuana, hash or whatever you call it. Do you know that
it does not have even 10% of the harmful effects of cigarette that you
smoke or alcohol that you usually drink?”
“Well. Errr.. Ahem.. I am going to quit soon you know.”
“Don’t worry it’s not about you or your cigarettes. As I was saying,
some psychedelic drugs did find its way in the hippie community. Bu
then judging whether it’s a good or a bad thing is not up to me. They are
banned indeed, but then exploring the reasons behind banning them
opens up a whole new discussion. I can just say more people die of
alcohol and cigarettes than psychedelic drugs. And yet they are not
banned. While some use these drugs for recreational purposes, there
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are others who go to the extreme and harm themselves. Hippies or not,
the ones who harm themselves with drugs are found in all forms and
kinds of societies.”
“See you couldn’t justify and so you are bringing all this recreational
bullshit and all. Oh, these hippies are nothing but weird gypsies. Please
stop taking their sides.”
“First of all I am not taking any side. I am just trying to have a
conversation so that you can understand, I can understand, we can
understand damn it. And what do you mean by right and wrong? How
do you know what is right or wrong? Is there a frame of reference. Is
this Physics? So is something right just because it has been made into a
law? Wait, something must be right because some religion permits it?
Or maybe you believe something to be right just because someone told
you so and you accepted it at face value, even without questioning. Is
killing people right? Then would you crucify all the people of the armed
forces because they ‘kill’ people in order to protect the country? So
what is right or wrong, is it the action or the purpose behind that
particular action?”
There was an appalling silence and no one spoke for a while. “Now
that’s a very abstract argument. I don’t buy it” Aki said.
“Well, then life for me has never been simple equations of
mathematics. And I feel most of the things are abstract; you cannot
reason or explain it. They can only be understood through experience.”
And suddenly I was hooked to my own words. ‘Understood through
experience.’ I had said. ‘Learn, understand, Experience.’ These words
began revolving in my head.
Finally, Raj broke his silence. “Guys end it here now. Let’s go and
have dinner. As it is, I’m famished.”
We were surrounded by swarms of restaurants, yet these guys were
looking for a Punjabi Dhaba. I wasn’t happy with the decision. It is not
that the Punjabi dhabas are bad, it’s just that I have eaten at such places
all my life. Now I wanted to try something new. There was freshness in
the air that was challenging our existing beliefs. I was embracing it, and,
as they say, I was harnessing the energy by building a windmill. But it
seemed that Raj and Aki were busy protecting their turf, their turf of
orthodoxy by building a wall around themselves, their thoughts, and
even their taste.
This Dhaba didn’t disappoint. The meal was good and we ate to our
fill and then topped it all with Lassi, a sweet, creamy drink made out of
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curd. We then walked back to our guest house and crashed on our beds.
At least I was content that we had reached Leh, safe and sound. It was
not only
an important landmark of our journey but also of my life.
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DAY 12
Introspection
“Many people suffer from the fear of finding oneself alone, and so they don’t find them-
selves at all.”
— Rollo May
The day had a lazy start. The hot shower was soothing. We got ready
and looked our shining best. We needed to get two important things
done: get our bikes to the workshop and get the permits made. The
district collector office had already opened so we decided to go there
first.
From Leh many routes emerged. One would take you to the Nubra
Valley after crossing the famous Khardung La; another one to the
famous, enchanting Pangong Lake; where the Bollywood movie, 3
Idiots, was shot. Then another route goes to the Batalik sector, a fourth
one to Tso Morriri Lake. We could drive to these places but had to
return to Leh to go on another route. So Leh was like a centroid. And, of
course, each of these destinations was more than 100 km far from Leh.
Now the administration of these areas was under the Indian Army.
Except for the local Ladakhi people, everyone else needed a ‘permit’ to
go to these places. This permit was mandatory for Indian as well as
foreign nationals. These permits were just not permits; they had a more
divine purpose. If you happen to get lost in the barren mountains, the
local administration and the Army would go out and look for you.
Ladakh is huge and sometimes no human habitats can be found for long
distances. So getting lost here is a big problem, unless you’d enjoy the
company of wolves and snow leopards.
The DC office was extremely cooperative. We filled up the forms and
took turns to wait in the queue. After a while, we had our permits made.
We then headed to the workshop of Mohan Sharma, a thin sharply
fea- tured man who was highly recommended on the internet forums.
But before that we needed to get our bikes washed. Water from the
cannon gushed to every nook and corner of my Thunderbird forcing the
mud and the dirt to fly off. I felt betrayed when the mechanic scrubbed
the intimate areas of my beloved. But soon enough, she was all bathed
and ready and shining. My cherry red Thunderbird shone like a bride. I
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instantaneously forgave her affair with the gushing water and the alien
hand that pleasured her and was in love with her all over again. The
bride was then taken to the mechanic for a thorough check up from
head to toe. After a complete service, the bike seemed perfect. Once
again the oil seal was changed, the chains tightened, the handle was
straightened a little and the brake pads changed. Brakes take a toll
quite easily in the mountains and don’t really last for more than 2000
km. Even if it does, it is wiser to get them changed every 2000 km when
you are in the mountains.
I decided to head back to the guest house. Raj and Aki had already
left as they felt tired of waiting. Well, I had to wait for long as there are
so many Royal Enfields in this city. But when I returned, they were
nowhere to be seen. Instead of calling them up, I decided to take a stroll
on my home. I was desperately seeking some lonesome time. I parked
my bike, took the camera out of my backpack and went walking. I
wondered whether traveling alone was better than with a group. You
get time and opportunity to get absorbed in the local culture and aroma
while, in a group, you are just busy with the group. So I strolled down
the lanes of Changspa. At one corner of the street, a group of hippies
were singing to the tune of the guitar unper- turbed by the vehicles
passing by. The market was buzzing with activities and the local
shopkeepers kept pestering the tourists to buy something. Old Ladakhi
ladies sold dumplings on the roadside and I helped myself to a plate. At
a bookstore, a girl was lost in the pages of a book and looked even more
gorgeous while reading. The sun was setting as the horizon now had
shades of red and gray signaling the arrival of dusk.
Tourists thronged everywhere. Ladakh was very popular amongst
the Western tourists. Indians either don’t travel much or if they do, they
prefer to go abroad to the Swiss Alps. A foreign holiday especially in
Europe or USA sounded ‘class’ in the social circle and gave them
something to brag about. But if they were really looking for beauty,
Ladakh would have left them enchanted and enamored.
I was often amazed at these westerners who came traveling to India.
I saw hundreds of them loitering on the streets of Delhi, clicking photos.
I often wondered what brought them to the third world countries like
India. Wasn’t the west the role model for us developing nations? Didn’t
we Indians ‘ape’ America in the literal sense? Hell, I had even developed
an American accent trying to speak like my favorite Hollywood stars.
So what brought these guys here? Was it only because it was more
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affordable? To some extent, this was true. The luxuries of a relaxed
holiday were more affordable in Rajasthan and Kerala than in Europe
and America. Or were they just currency travelers? But I had seen that
they had a genuine interest in India. They came here seeking
‘something’. I had seen it in their eyes. The mysticism of India pulled
these westerners to places that we Indians never even visited. For most
of them it was a journey of realization. Spirituality had become a
product which India exported. And yet this product could not be
consumed by buying it off the shelf of Wal-Mart’s superstores. You had
to pay a price, quite often in effort and patience. Once I saw a western
tourist clicking pictures of a poor kid sleeping near a drain in which the
dirty, black, and filthy water overflowed. And he just wouldn’t stop
clicking. I would say to myself, “Look at this asshole. And now he would
go and tell his friends how miserable and filthy India is.” But then I
realized that these pictures were actually a source of realization for
them. These photos taught them to embrace what they already had
rather than complain about what they didn’t have. In the US, the
unemployed get allowances and here in India, people would kill for a
job that ensured three square meals a day and roof over their head and
clothes on their body. Such poverties, such difficulties. The everyday
challenges of an ordinary Indian were a lifetime challenge for many
westerners. A teenage girl in the West might go suicidal because she
cannot get rid of her belly fat, and here many girls got married at an age
when they did not even understand what sexual intercourse was. A
middle-aged couple might divorce in the US because there was no fun in
‘their sex life’ while in India, a mother would go hungry just to ensure
that her children ate to their fill. And yet, despite this poverty-stricken
life, India offered ‘something’ that technologically driven westerners
lacked. We have inherited a lot from our mystic past. Life here is still
simple, especially in the rural hinterlands. And here there were still
many art forms that still survived on intuitive and instinctive thinking.
These art forms extended to music, painting, medicine and even
engineering to some extent. There was hardly any Science involved, I
mean at least in the conventional sense. Mostly it was all mysticism.
There was something about this mysticism that made you more
tolerant and understanding. And then there was something more. There
was this ‘something’, ‘something’ that no bonds or currency could buy,
‘something’ that was not manufactured in the sophisticated
laboratories of Science, ‘something’ that was closer to God, ‘something’
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that was closer to life, ‘something’ that just carried on for centuries. It
was this ‘something’ that pulled many westerners to India which made
them happy and content and they gladly took back with them. But then
how could one even define it? It would be unfair to come up with a
definition for it because those who came in search this ‘something’
ended up defining it in their own way. This ‘something’ made them
liberated and content. This ‘something’ was what gave them passion
and purpose. This ‘something’ was what gave them meaning to their
life. This ‘something’ gave what was unique to every individual. It was
individuality that this ‘something’ gave them. And in the pursuit of this
‘something’ in the ashrams and monasteries, in the treks of Himalayas
or a soulful journey through raw civilizations, through their quests and
confrontations, they finally found their individuality.
And here we were, we Indians at large. Our entire ambition was to
get educated and land up a job in America and to work for these big fat
Ameri- can companies. We were so hip about getting a professional
degree because that was an easier way to get into the land of green
money and bikinis. And ironically these very westerners gave it all up
and came to India seeking truth, happiness, and spirituality.
My train of thoughts was halted by the ringing phone. Aki was on the
other side. He said that they had gone to a see a Stupa that was near the
Changspa Lane. And now they were in the guest house, waiting for me
to return so that we could go to the Punjabi Dhaba for dinner. “Not
again,” I said to myself. “Listen I have already eaten. You guys carry on.
I’ll bring a bottle of rum when I return.” I said to him. I lied. But it felt
good. I strolled through the market when I spotted a small little diner
and entered it. It had only a few customers and was being run by a
Ladakhi couple who were in their late thirties. They were very
affectionate and kind and the smile of the lady was maternal and
infectious that carried the soulful innocence of the enchanting
Himalayas. I decided to eat dumplings, soup and half a plate of fried
rice. After a while, I was served the dumplings that were beautifully
arranged on a plate with red chilly sauce at the center. The soup
followed. As I put the first piece in my mouth, I could feel the divine
taste. The food was unlike any restaurant food and felt like home food,
prepared with care and love. Restaurant food almost tastes the same
everywhere. Somehow their preparation is very methodical and
process oriented. But the home food is made in a different way. There is
personal involvement, attention, and care in it. There are more intuition
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and instinct involved in it that tell you exactly what is lacking. This lady
of the diner had just woven that magic into these dumplings and I
relished every bit of it. As I finished my plate of dumplings, the fried
rice arrived and it was equally praise-worthy. After I had eaten, I paid
the bill and thanked the couple over and over again for one of the best
food I had ever had. The price was surprisingly cheap but the
satisfaction, as MasterCard ads would say: priceless.
I just hoped that the walk back to the guest house would help me
digest the food that I had over eaten. On the way, I got a bottle of Rum
and then reached the guest house. Seeing the bottles in my hand, they
gathered around for a little sippy sippy. But something in the air told
me that everything was not right. They seemed distant.
“ Hey, how many days do we plan to stay in Nubra Valley?” Aki said
while I was making the drinks.
“Well, as planned tomorrow we will be leaving early morning, cross
Khardung La, reach Nubra Valley, stay there for a night and return the
next day,” I said. The itinerary had been discussed many times earlier. I
wondered why was he asking me about all this.
“Hmmm ok. Can we just return from Khardung La and give a miss to
Nubra?” Aki asked, “I have heard that there is nothing but desert in
Nubra so it doesn’t really makes any sense to go there.”
“Yeah, we were discussing this only. I mean we have already wasted
a couple of days reaching here. So you know… ,” Raj spoke in support of
Aki as he took a sip from the glass.
“What? Are you guys kidding me? We are going to stick to our plan
and the desert in Nubra Valley is cool as it is one of the highest deserts
in the world at 14000 feet. And don’t forget about the double humped
camel.”
“Our expenses are also rising, so we were thinking of cutting our
costs by going only up to khardung La and then coming back…” Raj said.
“Oh, c’mon dude. Your family owns a business. You, Aki, you belong
to a well-off family too. More so you would be getting a job in a few
weeks time. If anyone has to worry about money then it should be me,
and I am still in the middle of my MBA program. And here I am willing
to put everything at stake. Clearly money is not the issue. So what is it?”
I argued rhetorically. Silence prevailed for a minute. And then Aki said,
“I don’t know. It just feels so weird here. Don’t you feel weird too? I
don’t know, it’s a very dif-
ferent kind of a place.”
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“Oh, c’mon. I love it. And just relax and try and embrace everything
here.
You guys will start loving too.”
“But…. We were just thinking about returning home earlier.”
“Oh, c’mon. Let’s finish off with Nubra and then we’ll see” I said
trying to avoid the discussion.
In the meanwhile, a small group gathered outside, on the portico.
“Hey let’s join them. It’ll be fun. Let’s go out and talk to them. Seems
like a nice bunch. What say?” I said
“Oh, c’mon it’s getting late. Let’s hit the bed man,” Raj protested.
“You’ll just sit here and groove about something or the other. Only for a
while. C’mon.”, I insisted and dragged them along with me.
“Hey, guys wassup. Can we join you all?” I asked the group as I took
to shaking their hands.
“Hey, Hi. Nice meeting,” one of them said, “Come join us.”
There were five guys and three girls; all Israelis; sitting in a circular
fashion. Oh let me say that again, five guys and three mind blowing
gorgeous girls. Damn Jews; they indeed have the prettiest women.
“So where are you guys from?” one of them asked. “Delhi.” Raj
managed to say something.
“Nice, nice, for how many days are you all here.”
“Not sure,” I said, “We are just riding along. You see those three
bikes downstairs; we came on them all the way from Delhi.” I pointed to
the bikes and exaggerated a little about our adventure. A little
salesmanship is no sin, especially when you are in the company of three
gorgeous women.
“Nice, Nice.. cool cool,” one of them said. We had their attention. “So
what about you guys?” I asked.
“Well, we are from Israel and we have just finished our term with
the Army and we are here to enjoy.”
“Wow, great man. Would you guys like a drink or something? We
still have some rum left.” I said.
“Oh, thanks but no drinks. Who wants to drink rum when you are in
the Himalayas? We have something better for you guys.”
“What’s that?”
“Boom Boom. Wanna try. A guy had just finished preparing a
chillum.
One of them took a long puff and directly passed it over to me.
Holy crap. I had never smoked a chillum before. I was frightened. But
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then I decided to give it a shot. I took a long puff inside and let it out to
which everyone went:”Yeah yeah. That’s the way man, Jai Shiv
Shankara, Bol bum, jai bhole Shankar”. And then they made me do a few
more puffs.
The chillum was rotated and passed on to Aki and Raj as well. They
took half smokes and didn’t try it again.
“What man, you live in the land of Shiva and have not tried this. Very
baaad…,” one of them exclaimed in his typical Israeli accent.
“Oh, we have to go to Khardung La tomorrow so we are trying to
control you see.,” Raj said and then he turned towards me, “Ravi I
think you should control too.”
“Don’t worry man, I will manage,” I said taking the chillum in my
hand for another puff and gave out a shout, “Jai Shiv Shankara.”
The girls puffed, the guys puffed and the heavenly air puffed. We
laughed and talked. Aki and Raj went inside while I lingered on. Soon
everyone started to leave as the chillum was dying and they didn’t have
another. Only two guys and a girl sat with me.
“So tell me about Israel,” I asked, “How come so many of you are
from the Army.”
“Oh, actually it’s not that we are in the army. It’s just that it’s
compulsory to serve in the army in Israel for a few years. After our term
is over, we come here and enjoy” the girl said. She was cute and
sounded sexy with that exotic accent.
A tiny little country that Israel was, but over the years it had become
an economic and military superpower and was a big technology
exporting country.
The two guys turned their focus from me to the girl and started
persuad- ing her. First each of them tried, then they both of them tried
to persuade her for a threesome. They tried to make me convince her. I
just smiled. When the girl finally got fed up, she walked to her room. A
real KLPD moment. Too bad, I didn’t get to have my chance.
I then returned to my bed and lay there. I looked at Aki and Raj and
wondered what was going on with them. They left me baffled. But I
diverted my thoughts and focused them on Ladakh. It was beginning to
grow on me and I was getting attached to her.
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DAY 13
Highest Motorable Road In The World

“I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave
man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.”
— Nelson Mandela
We got up early feeling fresh as ever. The chillum seemed to have

made me feel better. We had decided to vacate our room and keep
the luggage with the owner. This was Raj’s idea to which I had not
agreed. I wanted to keep the room as it was huge with three beds, a nice
portico and we had lovely neighbors, but Raj was more focused on
saving a couple of hundreds. So, we packed one bag with all the bare
minimums like few clothes and bike parts, took our petrol canisters and
dumped the rest in the owner’s store room.
We grabbed a quick bite on the way, got our tanks and petrol
canisters filled and now were on our way to the highest motorable road
in the world. From the start itself, the road was steep. From 11000 feet,
we were ascending to a height of 18000 feet in a matter of 40 km. The
steep road was accompanied by deep gorges and it was the most
frightening view from the top that I had experienced till now. We fought
our fears and continued to ascend. Aki as usual shot ahead, while I
drove at my normal speed and Raj lingered on. The route was busy with
swarms of tourist cabs running up and down. The road was so narrow
that quite often we had to stop to let the vehicle pass from the opposite
direction. Some cyclists too accompanied us on our way. Khardung La is
often notorious for the landslides that occur. This was evident in the
composition of the cliff above which had large boulders of rocks
hanging, almost ready to let loose and roll down. Even if one boulder
rolls down, it hits another one and thus causes a series of rock slides.
But today it seemed safe. Khardung La is also important from a
strategic point of view as there are many areas beyond this mountain
pass which are a bone of contention for the two countries. We took a lot
of short breaks to breathe and get used to the height that we were
ascending to. After we had crossed a checking point, South Pullu, the
roads became unbearable and we often got mired. The roads became
steeper, the oxygen level kept decreasing making it difficult for the
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bikes and us to breathe. The air, too, became freezing and the road kept
growing from bad to worse. The higher we climbed the tougher it
became. The air was so freezing that dripping water from the glacial ice
would freeze half way before it touched the ground. We kept moving
ahead and after a point the oxygen level was so low that our bikes
couldn’t get enough power. After a long battle, the ordeal ended when
we reached the top. Finally, we became part of the legacy called
Khardung La. It was a place where many vehicle companies came to do
performance tests. It was a place that spoke of the conquests of Military
Engineering and the might of human souls. The air itself spoke of the
pride that it carried and infected every soul who reached there. The
oxygen level was less, it made it difficult to breathe, but never the less it
didn’t dampen our enthusiasm. The scene from the top was
picturesque. The mountains all around us looked like miniature clay
toys. Nature’s colossal structures looked like beautiful white kittens
from the top. All around us it was snow, snow, and more snow as if God
decided to pour all the white magic from above over Khardung La. The
valley looked like cushions of snow tempting you to jump. We had
indeed reached the white magic land. But, unfortunately, our breathing
kept getting heavier as the oxygen level in the air at the top was quite
low. There was a canteen at the top where we were served soupy Maggi
noodles and lemon tea. After that, we decided to descend as soon as
possible. But the other side of K-Top was even worse. The ice on the
road made it slippery and dangerous. Thus, we had to be very careful.
After about twenty km or so, the ordeal ended and tarmac road
started. Amidst the picturesque landscape and the winding roads, we
continued to ride. We took a short break in Khalsar just to fill up our
lungs with oxygen. The oxygen level was now better. BRO once again
did a fabulous job of maintaining the roads as every little pit in the road
was covered. All along the way we were greeted by large caravans of
army trucks. Off and on Aki and Raj shot off ahead but I hardly cared. I
could drive faster now, but I deliberately chose not to. I understood that
the joy of riding was in enjoying the ride itself, not racing. I drove at
my own merry speed enjoying the scenery. After a while, the
magnificent desert began unrolling in front of our eyes as we drove on
the road that divided it into two halves. On either side lay vast lands of
sand overshadowed by brown chocolaty mountains. On the other end of
the road, we had to again ascend on the mountain side. From the top,
the desert looked even more magnificent. The Shyok River opened into
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the desert cris-crossing it like a snake. The evening sun loomed over as
small clouds hovered over the mountains creating isolated shades of
black. Every moment in Ladakh is a photographer’s delight and they
could spend years to capture everything in a frame and still not get
tired. We clicked a lot of photos, especially of the sand dunes. At 14000
feet, the land suddenly turned flat into a vast, flat desert land that
spellbound every visitor to this mystic land.
Finally, we reached Dikshit but decided to go even further to Hunder
and stay there for the night. Too bad, we didn’t have enough time to go
till Turtuk, the village near the border with Pakistan. Till 1971, it was
part of the other side of the border.
Nubra valley was unusually warm; quite contrary to our experience
in the mountains. There was proper vegetation and we saw vast lands
where vegetables and other things were being grown. We reached
Hunder and began looking for accommodation. Most of the places were
expensive, but we found a home-stay that was within our budget. I was
delighted to stay with a local family and eat with them, but Raj and Aki
were quite apprehensive. But for lack of a better choice they agreed.
We were given a huge room with a double and a single bed.
After we had been done with unpacking, it was time for some drama,
not from the family but from dear co-riders.
“The lady is charging a lot for home cooked food man,” Raj said.
“Oh it’s okay, it’s not that you would get the food any cheaper at the
restaurants, it’s just that you feel cheated because it is home cooked,” I
said, “But then look at the fact that we are having a lovely organic meal
that is made from vegetables right from the farm below. And for this, I
don’t mind paying this price man. How many times in Delhi have you
ever tasted farm fresh food with the original flavor intact? And besides
food, this is the best opportunity to experience Ladakhi life and ways of
living”.
But it proved to be beyond me to convince them. They left the guest
house to look for a diner. In the meantime, the lady of the house came
by and I informed her that it would be only I who would be having
dinner.
I still wondered why Aki and Raj were behaving in such a manner.
Duh. I began undressing and changing into something else rather than
be bothered by issues.
But barely half an hour had passed when they returned.
“So did you guys have dinner? What did you eat?” I asked, looking at
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their faces hanging in dismay. All the restaurants were closed outside.
Thus, I went to inform the lady to make dinner for three.
“So any particular reason you guys didn’t want to eat here?” I asked
Raj and Aki when I returned.
“Told you the cost,” Raj said.
“Or is there something else going on? I am not able to understand
what’s going on in your minds.”
“No no nothing like that. We’d prefer to eat in a restaurant than eat
in someone’s house. The culture, their ways of living and all here;
they’re all so different than ours, you see.”
“Is it a good thing or a bad thing?” “Good and bad.”
“What was that supposed to mean?”
“No I mean in some aspects its good and in some it’s bad, I didn’t
want to eat in someone else’s house,” Raj said.
Now I was getting confused. “Well, then can you compare on a few
parameters and elaborate on good or bad?”
They were getting irritated. And I deliberately kept pushing them to
the edge. Why were they so stuck and stuck up? Sometimes people are
afraid of
new experiences as they may belittle their present and past. But isn’t
that the first step to self-discovery? By the time we reach adolescence,
we are already laden with so many baggage. There is the baggage of
expectations, then there is the baggage of being accepted in a society,
then there is the baggage of death as well, and worst of all: the baggage
of biases and perceptions.
“Guys, one minute! Ok, listen, Ravi, What’s the plan ahead? When we
went outside, we were discussing the possibility of leaving for Delhi in
the next couple of days. What say?”
“What?” I was taken aback, “What about the other places that we
need to go; Pangong Lake, Tso Morriri lake; there was still so much to
discover.” “So much to discover… what do you mean now?” Raj
intervened. “It will take ages and you could never be satisfied. And we
have already traveled enough.”
“Ok, why do you want to return so early?” I asked much to my
chagrin. “Well for one, we have been out for 13 days now and that’s too
long a time to be away from family, and secondly, the costs have been
increasing.” “Ok, but that was in the itinerary right. 13 days away from
family? Big
deal eh?” I retorted, making faces at them.
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“It was your itinerary, not ours,” Aki said quite aggressively, “I have
my pending preparations to do before joining my company.”
“And the business needs me,” Raj said, lending a few words of
support to Aki.
“Well, then what can I say,” I said, “so if you don’t like Ladakh then…”
But I was cut short by the call for dinner. We halted our conversation
and went to the dining room for dinner where we were seated on an L-
shaped cushion on the floor with small tables in front of us.
Soon the plates were put before us and the lady took to serving us as
guests of the house and not customers. And whoa, the taste of organic
food; blissful. You could feel the aroma of the vegetables. They had been
plucked just before dinner. Isn’t that nice in a way? The freshness that
nourishes the soul. The flavor of Ladakh outpoured from the food. It
was the first home- made food in our thirteen days of travel. Truly,
home-stays was something to be experienced, and looked forward to.
The family ate with us. After serving her husband and mother-in-
law, the lady took to feeding her little daughter. She would eat when
everyone was satiated. After dinner, Raj and Aki left while I sat there to
talk to them. There was so much I wanted to know about them.
“So it must feel beautiful to live here in Nubra Valley, doesn’t it?” I
asked, “You know amongst such lofty mountains. It’s charming here in
Ladakh.” “Oh, it’s nice here in summer, when you tourists arrive,” the
husband said, “But try and stay here during winters, and then tell me
how you feel. The chilly weather and the heavy snow will make you feel
miserable. There is no farming, even schools close down and we just
stay in our homes, eat sleep and do nothing else.” he said. There was
agony, but not at me. It was against the difficulties of the harsh times.
The people of the mountains are quite simple. They carry their
emotions on their sleeves, ready to bare them. “Yes. Sadly I know. We
have been to Suru and Zanskar valley too. During winters, it indeed gets
difficult.” I said sympathetically, “So how is life here? I mean what
would be the population and how many towns here and all? “Well you
came across Dikshit first, then it’s Hunder here and then Turtuk, which
is almost 80-90km from here. The population is a mix of Buddhists
and Muslims. Around 600 people live in Hunder.”
“So what about beliefs of the people and all? I mean, the Army is
here, it is an international border. What about terrorism and all?” I
asked.
“No, no there is no terrorist activities here, we Ladakhis are not like
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the Kashmiris. We live here in peace and cooperate with the army. The
army here also takes care of us.”
I then learned that the Army took really good care of the people.
Free medical care, school, emergency medical needs, etc.; were all taken
care of by the Army. They even gave them supplies during harsh
winters and flew the local people to better hospitals in big cities at a
nominal cost. Siachin Glacier was close by. The locals here helped the
Army too, and they played an important role in terms of sending
supplies and all during the Siachen war fought over the Siachen Glacier
between India and Pakistan.
Life was tough in Ladakh, no doubt, and perhaps that is what made
these Ladakhis sturdy from the outside but very caring from the inside.
Ladakh touched me deeply. What if I were born here? My goals and
aspirations would have been entirely different. We were so ungrateful
in our lives that we always complain of what we didn’t have instead of
going ahead and creating a better future. At 14000 feet, these Ladakhi
people worked hard and made a life out of barren lands. While those
who lived in the plains, end up fighting over miniscule issues and are
ready to kill each other over them. On one hand, life did not give these
Ladakhis anything, yet they created a life out of nothing. And this can be
achieved when there is hard work and love. On the other hand, life
bestowed us with everything and we destroyed them with our very
own hatred and greed.
I used to think that I was quite unlucky to be born in India; to a
middle class family, and thus cursed God for not letting me be born in a
western country where I could do this, do that and have this and have
that.. But then as I sat here, at 14000 feet, in one of the remotest
corners of India, where even proper telephone connections were not
available, where life was extremely tough, so tough that your very
survival itself was a challenge, I realized I was really lucky even to be
born to an Indian middle class family, even to have studied in a
metropolitan city like Delhi, even to be doing MBA, a degree program
which these Ladakhis might not have even heard of. At that moment, I
thanked God for what he had given to me. It was a moment of truth for
me.
I thanked the family for a lovely dinner and headed back to my room.
Raj and Aki had occupied the double bed. Thus, the second empty
one was for me. Evidently we were drifting apart. Our ideas were
drifting apart. Their idea of returning to Delhi was making me sick.
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There was so much to do here; there was so much to learn, so much to
be born again for, to even know your own existence.
And these fools wanted to go back.
“What took you so long?” Aki asked as if I was missing something in
their bickering. “We were deliberating that we should head back to
Delhi after two days. We’ll return from Pangong in a day and then head
back to Delhi after that.”
“Hmmm, but why hurry?” I asked in bewilderment.
“Well we have work to do man, we can’t spend our time just riding
bikes and it is already far too many days we have been away from home
and I really love my family. Not like you who stays in Delhi alone and
visits his family few times in a year; or is it once a year or once in few
years?” Aki said.
The jibe hurt. But I kept quiet.
“Pangong in one day would not be feasible. We need to change plans.
And we can extend our stay here. We are three of us. The costs
reduce. Don’t you want to discover many things here?” I tried to
convince them.
“Oh we’ve had enough, and there is plenty to discover in Delhi as
well,” now Raj joined the jibe. It seemed like they were going on the
offensive.
“But don’t you feel the magic here, it’s so wonderful and inspiring,
we can definitely spend a few more days.”
“No,” they shouted in chorus, “tomorrow we are going to Leh, then to
Pangong and then to Delhi and that’s all.” I didn’t know what to say.
“And more so we plan to go back by the Srinagar way and not the
Manali way. People have said that Manali way is very tough and the
tales of deep water streams running across the roads, dangerous
gorges, landslides, cold and treacherous Baralacha La are too much to
handle. We should return by the route we came.”
“But what about our plan to do one complete round journey,” I
protested, “Don’t you think that a sense of incompleteness would linger
in your heart for life.”
“You can go alone if you want. On your Royal Enfield Thunderbird
and have a royal journey,” Aki jibed again.
“Oh don’t be foolish,” Raj intervened, “This journey that we’ve had,
people are going to relish its tales and praise us once we are back in
Delhi. They have no idea about anything, the fact that we went up to
Ladakh is all that matters to them.”
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“But it’s not for them that I took this journey,” I said, with a little
stam- mer, angry and half crying, “this journey was for me, it was to find
myself.”
“What? What do you mean?” they asked, looking confused.
I didn’t know what to say, “Forget it, you won’t understand if you
haven’t still.”
“Okay let’s head back to Leh tomorrow and think, let’s sleep for
now,” Raj said in order to avoid the situation from getting heated up
further.
We turned off the lights.
But sleep clearly was not welcome then. I lay on the bed staring,
sometimes at the ceiling, sometimes out of the window.
Why? Why in the world they behaved in this way. I looked at the
mountains that shone in the moonlight. And then it occurred to me.
They had always been with their families and never had lived on
their own. Family supports you definitely, but then it also gives you a
crutch under your arm, making you depend on them, thus making it
very tough to even imagine a life without this kind of support. For Raj, it
was the family business that fed him. For him, the family was all that
mattered. I had seen him take pictures. He had a degree in journalism.
He had always wanted to buy a good camera and take photographs. He
never bought that camera, not because he could not afford it, but
because it would make him want to be a photographer. When we used
to sit and talk during happier times, he would avoid talking about
business and would talk more about photography. The business paid
his bills, bought him dinner, recognition, a sense of power and financial
security. Photography was only emotions for him. A trade he hardly
justified.
Here, everything was different. Even the people who came were
either different or behaved differently. They laughed; they sang. They
wanted to escape the world that they had come from. The hippies
inspired hate and admiration, both at the same time. Admiration for
whatever they were doing, hate because you couldn’t do it. The air
inspired us, made us sing and gave us the feeling of an unknown joy, the
joy we always knew about but never had the courage to sing its anthem.
And this was because our years of conditioning stopped us from doing
so.
“There are priorities which are important and must be dealt first,”
the conditioning would say.
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“These actions of inspiration, of emotions and matters of the heart,
have no economic consequences,” another conditioning would tell you.
“Money and power is all that matters” the third one would
philosophize. “Remember you have debts,” a fourth one would warn
you, “You have a family. You have a duty towards them. You cannot
abandon them in order
to follow your heart.”
That would be the first web being built around you; the web of duty
and responsibility, and burden you with the duty and guilt of fulfilling
it. Then conditioning would create monsters to frighten you lest you
even thought of venturing out from the ambits of the web and follow an
unknown path. The web gets more complicated as you grow: religion,
society, politics and power start tightening their hold on you. First, they
enter through schooling, then through peers and then through your
need to control everything. A need to earn the respect of others and be
loved by everyone creeps in slowly, and this makes you twist and turn
to the wishes of everyone but yourself.
Break Free. Suddenly a voice within me spoke out loud. Break Free.
The message of the voice was loud and clear. I had even felt it in the
air. It was infectious. Hippies or not, even the locals had a way of life
that glared at you, telling you to look within and introspect. The air of
Ladakh called upon you, asking you to be free, to break the chains. Raj
could feel it too, Aki could also sense it. And yet they wanted to avoid it.
Raj had found solace in comforts of his family where he didn’t have to
battle with uncertainty. Aki was too naïve to understand the hollowness
of the temporary victories that shaped his moronic idea of life to which
he clung to unquestioningly. But here in Ladakh, it was different. The
Buddha statues stare at you, the Lamas stare at you, the hippies and the
seekers stare at you, the innocent villagers stare at you and then you
begin staring at yourself in the mirror. You stare till you begin to
introspect and question. You instantly know what you see in the mirror,
and if you don’t like what you see, you either fight to change it or
ensure that the mirror is destroyed forever. Raj and Aki had chosen
what they wanted. It was time for me to make my choice. Was it going
to be a long drawn struggle against the status quo or was I going to
break the mirror that made me reflect upon things that I once wanted
to escape from? Did I have the courage to break free?
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DAY 14
Rebellion
“Freedom (n.): To ask nothing. To expect nothing. To depend on nothing.”
— Ayn Rand
The morning sun greeted us with a beautiful view of the plentiful farm.
We washed and got ready. The house lady prepared for us breakfast
and for the first time I tasted the Ladakhi bread and tea. The bread was
made like a chapatti, but it was fluffy, like bread. They added yeast to
the flour and left it for the night. In the morning, it was ready to be
turned into a Ladakhi bread. The tea was made from buttermilk and
salt and was called ‘gur gur chai’ in the local lingo. It had no tea leaves
or sugar.
We packed and mounted the luggage on our bikes and bid goodbye
to the family. We then headed to the camel zone. We were astounded to
see the beautiful double humped camels. They are found only in Nubra
Valley and nowhere else in India. I went and first touched those double
humps. Damn. They were so real. I took a camel ride as well and then
joined Raj and Aki in their photography sojourn amidst the sand dunes.
We clicked photos in all sorts of lunatic Bollywood styles. The vast
desert stretched far and wide and the barren brown mountains in the
backdrop gave us a beautiful setting. Our wannabe but never would be
photographer gave us good shots and tips on how to pose. We then got
on our bikes and decided to leave.
As soon as we hit the road, Raj and Aki once again sped away
because of which we missed the Buddha statue in Dikshit. Now this was
getting on my nerves now. I continued to ride in my own merry way.
After a while, I saw them waiting in a Diner in Khalsar and were waving
at me to stop. But when I reached closer to them, I waved at them
signaling that I am going ahead and they could play the cop and catch
up. I was not going to take their nuisance anymore.
While they were having tea or something, I kept driving. And I must
have driven for an hour or so but they had still not caught up. On my
way, I met a few men in their late 50s, who had suddenly decided to go
adventurous on bikes, which they had rented in Leh. They too wanted
to know how the road to Nubra Valley was. They were relieved to know
that the treacherous roads of the mountain pass were left behind.
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“So are you riding alone,” one of them asked as he noticed that I was
alone. “Yes. Yes, I am riding alone.” I said, much to my surprise.
“Oh, that is great. It requires a lot of courage but isn’t it too risky, you
know, coming here all alone,” another one said.
“There is a risk to everything in life,” I replied, “People slip in their
bathroom and die, it’s up to you and your appetite to take risk,” I said,
quite intrigued with a new found person in me. Many a time I felt I was
not speaking and some hidden force spoke through my lips.
“Well then all the best.”
I bid them goodbye and then moved ahead. But after a while I
stopped to think. What had just transpired with those guys? ‘Came
alone? Going to go alone?’ Why the heck did I lie like that? Rubbish I
thought. And yet, instead of waiting for Raj and Aki I continued to ride
ahead. After the same ordeal that one faces while crossing a mountain
pass, I finally reached the Khardung La top. I parked the bike and went
inside the café and asked for black tea and Maggi. But as I sat there
waiting for my order to arrive, an intense wave of exuberance passed
through my body. It was one of accomplishment. I had actually reached
the Khardung La top all alone. I had done it while Aki and Raj were not
with me. I had made it on my own terms. It was the beginning of a new
realization for me. One that opened the gates to a new found courage
and confidence in me. I took time to finish the noodles as I fathomed the
changing dynamics of the horizon of my beliefs. When I finished eating,
I came out and saluted the Khardung La-Top. I had found a new sense of
pride in me and more respect for the mountains. I then got on my ride
and resumed my journey towards Leh. I wanted to wait for Aki and Raj,
but then my inner voice spoke “Break Free” and I continued to descend.
After a few hours, I stopped. I parked the bike on the edge of the road
and sat beside it on the road. A panoramic view of the mountains and
the city of Leh lay in front of me as I immersed in its beauty. The
mountains glittered in orange and white in the rays of the setting sun. A
small football field was filled with the laughter of the kids playing. The
mosque was getting ready for the evening prayer. The Leh palace stood
still in its grandeur, overlooking the entire city. The Stupa stood in its
whitish purity telling us that the good was still alive. The snowcapped
mountains spoke of the centuries of saga that unfolded in front of them.
I sat there, lost, only to be brought back from oblivion when two bikes
stopped near me. Aki and Raj had arrived. We saw each other but said
nothing. Silence was louder than words. We started descending until
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we reached the city. We then headed towards the guest house.
But when we reached the guest house, we were appalled to know
that there was no empty room for us. The city suddenly had a massive
influx of tourists. The guest house owner was unsure of our date of
returning and hence he had let out the last room he held for us. He was
apologetic but then business is business and he had to take care of his
family too.
“So our room is gone” I spoke out loud making Raj and Aki scramble
for cover, “So I guess my smart ass friends would make an attempt to
find a new guest house as I feel dead tired.” It was their idea to give up
the room, so now it was up to them to find a new one. They returned
after an hour. Thankfully, they had found a room. We then took to
shifting our entire luggage to the new guest house which was costlier.
Thus, our savings only came out to be thirty-three rupees per head. And
then we had to make the to and fro trips to shift our luggage. Thus, we
actually did not save anything at all. We were back to square one. We
shouldn’t have left the room after all. I felt laughing and scowling at the
same time. The new guest house was nowhere close to the old one. The
owner, a lady, was in her early 30s and recently had a child. When we
met her for the first time, I called her aunty to which she gave me a
solid glare and said, “Do I look like an Aunty to you? You might just be a
couple of years younger than me.” We decided to keep her wishes and
call her Didi or the elder sister from then on.
We unpacked and washed and decided to rest for a while before
going for dinner. I hit the mattress on the floor, leaving the double bed
for them. We hardly spoke. They kept themselves busy while I absorbed
myself into listening to Led Zeppelin.
“kya mum ke bhi na tum ka #$@& $#@&,” I heard a voice but could
not understand as the ear plugs were on.
“Hey Ravi, I am talking to you” Aki shouted while I was removing my
ear plugs.
“What happened?” I asked.
“We are going to Pangong Lake tomorrow,” he said, “And the next
day we plan to leave for Delhi.”
“But…..” I stopped before completing my sentence. There was no
purpose in going through all that all over again. I chose to remain quiet.
After a while, we decided to go out and eat. But once again it was
going to be at the Punjabi Dhaba. I said nothing. They ordered and then
we had our dinner. After that, we walked back to the room and went to
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bed. All throughout silence prevailed and we hardly spoke.
There was going to be no Rum for the night.
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DAY 15
Break Free
“Some people live in cages with bars built from their own fears and doubts. Some
people live in cages with bars built from other people’s fears and doubts; their parents,
their friends, their brothers and sisters, their families. Some people live in cages with bars
built from the choices others made for them, the circumstances other people imposed
upon them. And some
people break free.”
— C. JoyBell C
The next day we got ready for Pangong Lake. We again convinced
this guest house lady, our beloved Didi, to keep our luggage while we
returned from Pangong Lake to which she agreed. We then got into the
usual routine and then were heading towards Chang La, the second
highest pass in Ladakh and also in the world.
I drove half-heartedly. I had no real motivation to go. Tomorrow or
maybe the day after, we would be leaving Leh. The thought of leaving
Leh so soon was tormenting me. I was bewildered. The journey had
become sore. We didn’t enjoy one another’s company. It was becoming
a journey of confrontation; the confrontations of beliefs, ideas, and
thoughts. They had made their choice. And now they were forcing it
down my throat. We could have still stayed here a few more days and
yet they chose to leave early. I might have improved as a rider, but then
to ride back to Delhi all alone was a huge decision having grave
consequences. I was brave. But was I brave enough to go to such
extreme? They believed I could not. And I couldn’t disagree with them.
Raj and Aki once again paced ahead while I lingered on, slowly but
unsurely. I found them waiting for me at Karu, the junction of two
routes. I didn’t know it was going to be the junction of our journey too.
We were going to have breakfast at Karu. They ordered some toasts
while I ordered a plate of dumplings. We ate in silence and looked at
each other. We finished our food and got on our bikes. Aki put on a face
mask before the helmet. The face mask was actually mine. I had lent it
to him in Kargil when his visor had broken. But it seemed he had no
intention of returning.
“That’s my face mask. I hope you realize this,” I told him. “Yes, it’s
yours. I will give it back to you,” Aki replied.
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“You do know that I am a sinusitis patient and can’t stand to breathe
too much of cold air, the very purpose for which I had bought that face
mask in the first place.”
“So? Do you want it now?”
“No, I’m fine. I can manage. But it’s not about that. It’s just that you
had a chance to get a new helmet in Leh or at least get the visor
changed, but you ignored either of the options and continued to cling
on to my face mask like a leech, surviving on other’s stuff ” I deplored
him as a revenge of his jibes at me.
“You know what,” he spoke angrily, “Take your fucking mask; I can
buy hundreds of them. I don’t fucking need it,” he said as he took off the
mask and threw it at me. But it fell on the ground.
The three of us looked at each other’s faces. No one moved. I got
down from the bike and picked it up. I looked at Raj. He said nothing. I
looked at Aki. He stared audaciously refusing to pick the face mask from
the ground. I got off my bike and picked up the face mask but said
nothing. I was seething with anger, but I said nothing. “No,” I said to the
beast within me, “Not that way!” Raj and Aki turned around and drove
off. I got on my bike and followed. But now even if I wanted to drive, I
just couldn’t. My hands wouldn’t accelerate the bike. I kept lingering on
till they got out of sight. I suddenly found myself braking as I pulled
over to the edge of the road. I got off and sat on the road facing the
valley; just staring, looking into the abyss. I was seething with anger but
felt helpless. I couldn’t confront, for then the group would break and the
rest of the journey would become even sorer. But then something
needed to be done.
‘Break Free!’ Again, the inner voice spoke to me. ‘Break Free!’ I took
out my small diary that I kept and began drawing, sketching, or maybe
writing. I am not sure what I was doing.
I must have sat there for an hour when I found Aki and Raj standing
behind me.
“Oh bro, you are still sitting here while we almost reached Chang La,”
Raj said, his tone was very pacifying-even sugar-coated.
“Oh sir, I didn’t realize you would get this angry,” Aki said, “I was just
joking. Look sorry for the way I threw the face mask at you. I am sorry,
really.”
I looked at them, and then looked at the diary in my hand. I was
startled to see what I had drawn. It was written in large letters: BREAK
FREE and I had been shading it with my pen for a while. I got up and sat
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on my bike and reversed its direction.
“Where are you going?” Raj asked.
“To the guest house,” I said as I started the engine. “But listen, we
would get late….we sho….”
I barely heard and started moving back to Leh. They stood there in
confusion and after a while I found them trailing me. This time there
was no race, no overtaking; they were just trailing me.
Didi was surprised to see us back. “What happened?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said, not wanting to involve her in any discussion. “Is the
room that we had occupied still unoccupied? I asked. “Yes, it is.”
“Please book it for us, if you don’t mind.”
Raj and Aki reached the guest house too. They saw me booking the
room. I looked at them and turned to Didi and said, “Yesterday I think
the room opposite ours was unoccupied. Is it still unoccupied?”
“Yes, it is. But why two rooms?” she asked.
“Don’t worry; it’s just that I was not comfortable sleeping on the
ground.” “Hey, why are we booking two rooms?” Raj asked. I said
nothing.
We started carrying our bags. Raj and Aki carried their luggage to
the old room while I took mine to the new room.
“Ravi, what are you doing? “ Raj asked in wonder, “Why are we
taking two rooms? It will increase the cost? If you want, you can sleep
on the bed. I am happy sleeping on the ground.”
It was then that I finally clarified, “No we are not taking two rooms.
You two are taking our old room while I am taking the new room.”
They looked at me in horror. They finally realized what was
happening. It wasn’t a game anymore. Raj continued to act naively as if
he didn’t understand anything, keeping room for negotiation and
settlement. But Aki in his foolish and naïve self, stood there, in pure
impunity.
“Listen there is no need to act like this,” Raj spoke, “We can take this
day off as a rest day if you want. You should have told this earlier no.
We can go to Pangong tomorrow.”
“So you don’t want to stay with us eh. That is what you want? Ok
then if that is what you want, then let us settle all the pending bills first
and you must buy back that useless map that you made the group buy”
Aki cried abominably. The map, he was talking about was part of the
things we had brought before the journey began. All the bike and
puncture tools, the air pump, they were all bought by me and yet I
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never brought up the financial issue to the front.
“Ok anything else, do one thing, please make a bill and I am willing to
pay,” I offered him.
I finished carrying everything to the room and then went over to
theirs. I looked at Aki and said, “It’s a total of eight hundred bucks. I
have done the calculations. I owe you five hundred for our daily
expenses and three hundred for the map. And here, take this, it should
be more than enough and should more than cover everything.” I said as
I threw two five hundred rupee notes at him. The notes fell on the
ground, which he had to pick up. I guess that covered for the insult he
made me go through when I had to pick up the face mask up.
I went to my room and lay down on the bed. I was still seething with
anger.
After a while, I heard someone knocking on the door. I let Aki and
Raj enter the room.
“Listen, Ravi, let’s end this man. Why are you doing this?” Raj spoke
as he took a seat on the bed while Aki sat on the chair.
“I plan to stay here for a while,” I said. “You guys can carry on.”
“What? We didn’t get you?” Aki asked.
“I said the journey as a group ends here. You guys can do what you
like while I am free to do what I want.”
“What are you going to do here?”
“I don’t know, stay here for a while, roam around, go riding to
nearby destinations. Who cares? I will go where the wind would take
me.”
“And how do you plan to return from here?”
“As we had planned before, by the Leh-Manali route.”
“And with whom do you plan to return? We are not going to be
here.” “I don’t know, maybe I will find someone or some group. Maybe
I’ll go
alone.”
“You got to be kidding me, you and go alone? The way you drive
you’ll surely kill yourself. Don’t be far-fetched and come to real life now.
Tomor- row we are going to the Pangong Lake and then we will return
to Delhi. We can take this day off.”
“No,” I said, “I am staying here. That’s final and I don’t plan to go
back on my word.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, now don’t keep repeating that again and again.”
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“But haven’t you heard of the creepy stories of how tough the route
is, and you have such a heavy bike, if you get stuck, like when you got
stuck in one of those water streams on the Padum route, then who
would come and help?” Raj spoke, trying to inoculate me with
apprehensions.
“I don’t care.”
“See you still don’t have that driving experience to ride solo. This is
your first mountain tour on a bike. Be practical for God’s sake. I have
been on that route myself and it was so frightening that I returned from
Rohtang Pass itself. I couldn’t do it, and with your heavy bike and
inexperience you won’t be able to do it and end up hurting you know,
your own self, your family..…” Aki said.
“The greatest fear is the fear itself. I have to conquer this.
Throughout my life fear has stopped me from everything. But now it’s
done, it’s do or die for me. Either I live to be me or I don’t live at all” I
said, and those words poured magically. It silenced the room for a
minute.
“That is a very selfish decision,” Aki taunted, perhaps he wanted to
provoke.
“Oh ya. I am selfish, am I not? And you? Where were you when I
asked you to drive with the group? Where were you when I fell five
times en route to Padum, hell you guys didn’t even stop to look back?
Where were you when we first got to the mountains and my hands
would shake? You ran off enjoying the ride caring little for the group.
Where were you, or for that matter where is anybody when a person’s
aspirations are killed, like a child in the mother’s womb, even before
they are born and take shape in the world? Where is anybody, for that
matter, when imagination is replaced by conformity, when learning is
replaced by indoctrination or when the goddamn world is replaced by
machines? Where were you when the parents realize that the child is
able to achieve far more than what their mind could conceive and hence
are frightened that he might outgrow the plans that they had for him
and thus start manipulating the child to follow their wishes? Where
were you when a girl wants to look beautiful and goes to school with
her hair open one fine day and all she is taunted for is for looking more
different than others, more beautiful than others? Where were you
when individualism is murdered and turned into living corpses without
a heart that feels and a mind that thinks? Where were you in all these
times? “Where were you? Tell me.. haan…”
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“But … I.. .I …What are you talking about? ” Aki said, his words
struggling to come out from his mouth.
“Listen. I mean nothing. Forget that part. But the fact is that all this
time, I have been riding alone only, from Pathankot to the Jawahar
tunnel, from Nubra to Khardung La, on the Zanskar route and even
from Lamayuru for a while, I have been driving alone. So you have no
right to tell me whether I am selfish or not. You, yourself, zoomed off. I
was like a mule and your insurance cover. You think I am a fool? You
forgot your own failure. You had returned from Rohtang the last time
you tried coming here alone. And yet on this trip you took others for
granted. You said you couldn’t drive slowly on your bike. So how come
your speed slows down when it is dark and you manage to follow us at
a slow speed, that too for many kilometers? Where were you in all of
these fifteen days? And you Aki for heaven’s sake. Please spare that
game of yours. You and I are of the same flock, the same dog eat dog
kind of guys….all we learn from our school days to these days….is to be
competitive… stay ahead and that’s what you have enjoyed doing
during the trip. You can never understand the meaning of working
together as a team, cause you do not care. But you know what? Thanks
to you, the more I lingered behind, the more my resolution outgrew my
limitations and it strengthened me from within. I became better and
better at everything. I drive far better now; faster and more suavely.
But remember, life is not a race course and we are not horses. We are
humans. The tracks are far too long. You drive fast and get tired quickly
while I can drive slowly but for many hours because I have something
more than speed, which is called endurance. It’s called a will to struggle,
which you won’t understand.”
“But why now? If you wanted to break away, you could have done
that long before” Aki asked.
‘Only If I was not the convener of this trip! Only if I was not the one
who had got this group together. I felt responsible for this group. But
you know what? Pooh… it’s gone. I am like you now, I don’t care
anymore. So you can go and fuck yourself. And if you throw that
tantrum at me like you did when you threw that mask, I am sure I’m
going to beat the hell out of you. And don’t give me any reason to do so.”
This was enough for Aki to get up and walk away. Was he ashamed
or did he fear what could happen to him? I couldn’t tell. All I knew was
that I was far bigger than both of them combined.
“Perhaps this was going to come. I could sense it,” Raj spoke. “But
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why are you doing this to me?”
“I am sorry Raj that you have to face this. What happened in Zozi La
was wrong. I should not have tried to abandon you and gone ahead. I
said sorry to you for a hundred times and I really felt guilty. But then
you made your choice. I know you had to decide between the two of us
and you decided to stick with Aki. I can’t blame you for that. I waited, I
waited eagerly till Lamayuru, but then I was being reduced to nothing
and I was neglected. You made your choice then and it’s time I made
mine. All I can say is sorry once again.”
After a brief lull Raj spoke. “What you speak today is true. Since that
uneventful night in Zozi La, I was frightened of you as you were
unpredict- able. Sticking with Aki made me believe that isolating you
would make you a little docile. But all along the way I saw you change.
There is something here, something different in the air, it’s magical.
What you have experienced is something even I have felt. But I think I
have already made my choices and I do not have the courage to fight
with them.”
“I would like to say just one more thing to you,” I said looking at him,
“Pursue photography. Give up that family business. I don’t know if you
are really talented or not. I am no photographer and I have no eye for
this art. I don’t know what’s called a good click. But your clicks do click
with the heart. I have seen the passion in your eyes. You know the
angles and you show a certain degree of care in every shot. You stop on
the road and see the beauty of that moment; you know the kind of the
moment that makes you want to frame it forever. You wanted to buy a
DSLR camera before coming here. You should have done that. But you
never did. You could have bought that long ago. You can buy it now
when you return. Do it. Don’t delay it any further.”
“I told you I have made my choices and don’t have the courage to
fight it. Anyway, we have made up our minds. So be it. All I can do is
wish you all the best for the time ahead. Hope you find what you are
looking for. I have seen that desperation in your eyes. I can’t face it, but
maybe you can. All the best”
“All the best to you too.”
He walked back to his room leaving me with a doleful heart.
I was tensed. I was tired. I decided to take a short nap but when I
opened my eyes it was eleven o’clock. All the diners and restaurants
would be closed by now. I had a couple of biscuit packets in my bag. I
ate a few, drank few sips of water and again went back to bed. All I
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wanted to do was sleep for I didn’t know what tomorrow held for me.
Nor did I want to ponder on this right now.
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DAY 16
Yogi
“You wanna fly, you got to give up the shit that weighs you down.”
— Toni Morrison
The cacophony outside my room woke me up. Raj and Aki were
leaving.
I was in a dilemma between going out and greeting them or lying on
the bed. Somehow, I just didn’t buzz.
After a while the noise stopped and I instantly jumped out and went
to the window. They were tying their luggage on their bikes. After a
while, they drove away. My heart sank when I saw them leave. For a
moment, loneliness stabbed me in my chest and I came out of my room
and walked down the stairs. I got out on the road, but they were
nowhere to be seen. They had not even left their luggage behind. So
were they not going to Pangong Lake and then returning? I had no way
to know for sure. I stood there, all alone, alone in Ladakh, alone with my
beloved Thunderbird. I looked at the sky and back on the road. I turned
and started walking in the opposite direction. I was still wearing
pajamas and a cardigan and had a pair of slippers on my feet. It was
cold, but I kept walking until I reached the end of Changspa Lane. The
houses cleared to give a view of the mountains around. I raised my
arms to embrace them. I closed my eyes and my head tilted backward. I
felt a fresh breeze blew across my face. It was a gentle breeze of
tenderness. Aah. I was alone, but I was free.
I managed to BREAK FREE.
I walked up further to the steps on the other side of the road. These
steps led to the Stupa on the top of the hill. But I didn’t go that far. After
a few steps, I took a seat and kept staring at the mountains. The clouds
passing over the city. Trees and houses stood side by side, each of them
vying for the attention of the onlooker. It was still early morning and
the city was slowly coming to life. I sat there, feeling very light as if a
great deal of load had been alleviated off me. I felt I could fly, if only I
were a bird.
“Are you okay?” a girl’s voice greeted me, in a typical British accent.
Two women were coming down from the Stupa. It was their everyday
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routine. Up and down the stairs to the Stupa, every day.
“I am fine; better than ever in fact.”
“Oh, you are sitting here alone. I hope nothing is wrong.”
“Everything has in fact been corrected. It was all wrong till a while
before.
“Okkaay.!!”, they said, with a bewildered look on their face.
“Anyways
see ya.” And they walked off and disappeared.
After a while, even I walked back to the guest house. I washed and
got ready. I took out my favorite sweater to wear. It was a beautiful,
white sweater that had a round collar.
I strolled merrily on the street before I chose a nice rooftop café and
ordered a continental breakfast. An American girl, who was sitting at a
table near mine, had a big fat guide book. I asked her for it and she was
glad to lend it to me. I turned to the pages where they had details of
sightseeing near the city. I made a note of Shey Palace, Thiksey
monastery, and Hemis Monastery. But the last one intrigued me. So I
finished my meal, thanked the American girl and then left the
restaurant to visit Hemis monastery. I drove till Karu from where I had
to take a narrow road that wound up to the Hemis village and then after
another couple of km driving in between the paddy fields, I reached the
Hemis Monastery.
It is one of the biggest and the richest monasteries in Ladakh, built
over 400 years old and dedicated to Guru Padmasambhava, the one
responsible for taking Buddhism to Tibet from India. The monastery in
itself was huge with a courtyard in the middle and multistoried all
around. Around 500 monks took their teachings here and it had rooms
for guests as well. There is a huge statue of Lord Buddha, which is
accompanied by statues of other Gods. It is said that even Jesus once
visited this monastery.
After taking a walk inside the monastery, I decided to follow a
narrow trail that ran beside a stream which took me to the Gotsang
Caves where, since the 13th century, Lamas confined themselves for a
few years and prayed. The place was enchanting and inspiring and had
a picturesque location near the bank of River Indus. After a while, I
started to walk back, but after a little distance, I decided to rest. I took a
seat a little away from the small trail that brought me here.
I just sat there lost in the serenity of the place. I was neither sad nor
happy. I felt content. My mind was at peace, it was neither thinking nor
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analyzing or over-analyzing; it was neither worried about the future
nor fuming about the past. Gompa or monastery, itself meant a Lone
Place of the Compassionate Person. And these places give vents to your
emotions, and you begin to feel a sense of compassion, not only towards
others but also towards your own self.
“Hi, you there buddy, you came on a bike to Ladakh” A voice from
behind woke me up. I didn’t realize a man in maroon robes, perhaps a
monk, had been standing beside me observing me. But his accent
sounded western.
“Yes I did, how did you know?” I answered, bewildered.
“Well you have a sunburnt face and the burns are visible only
around the area of your lips rather than the whole face. Well, it clearly
tells me you were wearing a helmet, and too for too long in the sun.”
“Very articulate! Yes, I came all the way from Delhi on a bike,” I said
admiring his observation.
“Oh wow. It must have been hell of a journey! What do you drive? A
bullet perhaps, that’s what they call that Harley Davidson kind of a bike
here” the monk said, his face still invisible because of the blinding rays
of the sun that came from behind him.
“Ya, but I drive a slightly different bike and not a bullet. But both are
from the same family, the Royal Enfield. It’s a Thunderbird actually” I
said, “By the way I am Ravi and may I know with whom I’m talking to?”
I asked as I reached out my hand to shake.
“I’m Yogendra and people call me Yogi around here,” he said as he
shook my hand and took a seat beside me.
Now, I got to see his face for the first time. “But you are a westerner,
perhaps American or British. And you are not even an Indian Origin guy
from the west.”
He smiled for a while and said. “I know. This is the Indian name that
had been given to me for my spiritual journey at an Ashrama before I
came here to Leh to learn about Buddhism.”
“Oh, I see,” I replied, “I hope you are not one of those who have sold
their Ferrari and are wandering in the mountains of India in search of
mysticism. I remember reading a book that had a title on a similar idea.
I didn’t agree with the book then, but then, I wasn’t matured enough at
that time.”
“Ha ha, I remember reading that book too,” he exclaimed, “but to
satisfy your curiosity, I never owned a Ferrari. But of course, I did have
a fancy job in New York that could have easily paid for a Ferrari in the
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next five years or so.”
“So why did you leave all that behind and come here in the rural
bewil- derments of India. New York, it was once my dream city, the city
that never sleeps.”
“You tell me. Why did you drive all the way from Delhi to Leh, that
too so dangerously on a motorbike for heaven’s sake? New Delhi,
upcoming mega city that would soon become the city that does not
sleep too,” he quipped mimicking my words, “So why do you think I left
that fancy job and fancy life of mine and came here to live in a shabby
place and wear a maroon robe? You have the answer within you. We
are on the same boat. All you have to do is think.”
I was taken aback, even confused for awhile. I said, “Well, the only
plausible reason I see is that your job could have helped you buy the
Ferrari after a few years if not sooner. But then it would have cost you
something, something that is costlier than money, something more
valuable than the social status that Ferrari would have given you,
something that is beyond what our mind can conceive. After all Ferrari
is only one of the means to an end, it cannot be the end in itself. If it
becomes the end in itself, then your life can get stuck with it. The
Ferrari is meant to take you to places but not to go places for its sake.”
“To an extent you are right. But that’s not all. There is more to it.
Anyway, you tell me. What brings you to this place all the way from
Delhi?”
“I don’t know,” I said, “I came here because I just wanted to; devoid
of any definite rhyme or reason. I didn’t actually start this journey
knowing why I was doing it. The journey itself was the purpose. All I
knew was that I had to do it, I had to come on this trip. It was meant to
be. But now when I am here in Leh, everything seems to make sense, at
least to some extent. I came here stepping into the unknown. I haven’t
really figured out completely why I came here, but I can feel it; it’s
something big and important, and I can feel its presence. My head is yet
to explain what is going on inside my heart.”
I then told him about my journey, about Aki and Raj and how I was
here now, all alone.
“I know I can relate to you somewhat vicariously,” he said, “I have
been there, seen it, done that and have felt it. I left my job in the US
three years ago. Since then I have been traveling. I had earned quite a
bit and was planning to buy an apartment in NY. But then one fine day, I
met this old friend of mine whom I had not seen for almost ten years or
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so, but after meeting him, my life changed. He had been traveling to
India, Africa, Europe and many other places. He took me to meet a
spiritual guru in NY and this guy had a real impact on me. He made me
realize the emptiness inside me, something that I had felt before but
had always been denying it. In my pursuit of a house, a car and other
odd goals, I had lost myself, forgotten about the real me and who I
really wanted to be. I decided then that I needed a break. I hadn’t taken
a holiday for a long time. In any case, in the aftermaths of the recession,
salaries had taken a beating. So one fine day, I gave an application for
special leave for three months. I consolidated all my finances, gave up
my rented apartment, left my belongings with a friend and left for Bali. I
had a great time. It was lovely. But then the feeling of emptiness
returned and so finally, much to my reluctance, I found the courage to
come to India, something I had been putting off for a long time. So I
traveled in India for the first month and it was crazy as hell. But I
realized soon that I needed to adapt to the ways and means here. The
beauty of India is that it is still raw, and this rawness of life brought the
human instincts back in me. I joined the spiritual guru’s ashram, you
know the guru, whom I had met in NY. After two months of staying in
the Ashram, I decided not to turn back from the path of spirituality.
Those three months of leave have turned into a year. But I don’t really
care about the job or that Ferrari anymore. I might have lost on the
salary and the severance package, but it is okay. The Ashram gave me
much more. I came to the Ashram with the same dilemmas as yours. I
had stayed there for a while before I decided to come to Ladakh to
experience Buddhism. It’s been a while I have been away from New
York, but I don’t repent the decision of leaving everything behind and
coming here. My perspective on life has changed and I feel a lot better. I
can smile when I want to and cry when I want to. I never felt the true
meaning of being a human before, as I feel it now.”
I listened intently. Somehow, we could understand each other, and
empathize with each other’s pain. I felt like opening up to him, giving
vent to my emotions, my ideas, and my confusions. I could sense the
energy around him from the moment he arrived. I could feel his aura.
He sat calmly, bare feet, his legs folded and kept smiling. He was
content as if the Gods had given him everything he wanted, and yet, he
seemed to want nothing from them. I never felt so inspired in anyone
else’s presence before.
“Even I have come here to seek answers,” I said, “But I don’t really
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know what questions to ask. I am so confused.”
“In that case you have already taken your first step towards
enlightenment. You are now much closer to your answers. If there is no
confusion or doubt, you won’t question anything that goes on around
you. Do not just believe in anything that you see or are told until and
unless you have reasoned it out. That is one of Buddha’s first teachings.
You will get your answers. But first, you must look within, you must
search within. Introspect. And then you shall realize the true nature of
your journey.”
“I don’t know!” I replied, “7-8 months before I was just thinking
about this journey. And just a couple of months back I was desperate to
embark on the journey. All I knew was that I had to do it. There was no
second thought about it. I fought with everyone in order to come to
Ladakh. And today I am here. The worst part is I never even planned for
this journey. It just happened. And you know, I am actually a man of
meticulous planning. Never have I done something without weighing all
the pros and cons and calculated the risks and rewards at stake. I
analyze everything before I took any…”
“That’s not the worst part of your journey, that’s, in fact, the best
part,” the yogi said, snapping me out of the state of digression.
“What do you mean?” I asked in bewilderment.
“You mentioned that you came on this journey without a plan or
agenda.
That’s what I am talking about. That’s the best part of your whole
journey.” “How is it not a bad thing but a good thing?” I suddenly turned
into a
pupil and Yogi became ‘The Yogi’ for me.
“Well, you gave a chance to yourself to explore something that you
hadn’t even thought of or conceived in its entirety. What I mean to say
is that you stepped into the unknown. You opened your soul to the
universe and let it guide you. Didn’t you? That requires courage. Having
faith in nothing else but your own instincts and feelings, doing
something just because you felt you ought to.”
“But isn’t that bad,” I asked, “I mean after all these years of schooling
and college, I happen to do something just out of my whims and fancies
lacking any rational thinking. Then what’s the point of it all.”
“What makes you think that those who went to college are any
different from those who didn’t? Why do think you have failed to grasp
the essence of this journey?”
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“So why don’t you explain it to me?” I asked I was getting irritated
now. “Everybody knows the answer. It’s in their souls. It’s in their
hearts. Everyone can feel the existence of these answers. But they never
pursue that little inner voice and soon that voice dies. The mind, which
is fed with so many rights and wrongs, so many principles and axioms,
ends up thinking too much and forgets to listen to the heart. The heart,
whose message, if
comprehended properly, would turn out to be usually correct.”
“But isn’t that like going a step backward. Feeding your emotions;
believing anything that you’re told and doing things on an impulse.”
“No, it isn’t. While what you say may sound similar to what you
comprehend right now. But there is a marked difference. Think about it.
Think about what keeps us in the boundaries of life. Think about why
some people are able to snap out of the chains and live a very different
life. Think about it all. Think beyond the principles you have been
taught. Think beyond the knowledge you have acquired from the books.
You have opened your eyes. Now open your mind. Go deeper. Open
your heart. Let your instincts guide you. Just remember the answers are
within you.”
I was confused. I felt like an insult being slapped on my face. After
all, I was an engineer and was doing my MBA. And yet from some
corner of my heart I knew he was right.
Sensing my dilemma, the Yogi best felt to leave me at it. What a
coward I thought.
“Ok, I need to go,” he said, “I have to meet a few people at the
monastery. In the meanwhile, go home and think. It’s in front of you.
You have already come this far. All you have to do is seek, seek with a
pure heart and you shall find it. See you tomorrow.”
“What makes you think I would come here tomorrow?” I said being a
little defensive. “Wouldn’t you?” saying this, the Yogi smiled and walked
away leaving me in the company of my bewilderment.
I thought of getting up and following him but relented. After a while,
I went down and rode back to the city. I ate at the same small diner of
the Ladakhi couple I had eaten before. I just loved being there. When I
reached the guest house after dinner, I was in for a surprise to meet a
new guest, Teja. He was a South Indian, who had come here riding on
his Royal Enfield classic all alone. He was funny and interesting to talk
to. It didn’t take long for us to become friends. We talked for a while
and decided to visit the Stupa the next day.
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DAY 17
Happie
“Forget safety.
Live where you fear to live.
Destroy your reputation.
Be notorious.”
— Rumi
The climb to the stupa was not easy. There was a long, but easy way,
it was by the road that wound up to the top, but we preferred to do it by
the short but tougher way.
We had to climb hundreds of steps and take a number of breaks
before we reached the top. But then the climb was worth it as one got a
breathtaking, panoramic view of the whole city from the top.
The Stupa or Shanti Stupa was built in 1991 by a Japanese Buddhist
Bhikshu Gyomyo Nakamura. It was a white domed structure with a
statue of Buddha embedded in it. It was a beautiful structure and we
clicked a lot of photographs.
There we met a group of Korean students with whom we started
sharing different nuances of each other’s’ culture. In South Korea, you
are not born with the same religion as your parents. On the contrary,
you have your individual freedom to choose your faith to your liking or
continue to be an atheist. Isn’t that cool? No wonder we hardly heard of
any communal clashes in South Korea. We decided to go down and have
lunch together.
But all this time I kept thinking about the Yogi. He was sure that I
was going to come back to meet him. And I was sure I was not going to
do it. We went to a nice restaurant and the Koreans wanted to have
Indian food. But all the time I ate, I kept thinking of going to the
monastery and meeting Yogi. I thus ate quickly, told Teja to pay on my
behalf and left the restaurant, leaving everyone else in an awkward
situation. I ran back to the guest house, jumped on my bike that was
parked outside and even without a helmet I just drove straight to the
monastery. I then started climbing towards the Gotsang cave and there
he was, Yogi, sitting leisurely reading a book.
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He looked up at me, smiled and said, “Hi there, so you’ve come
finally. I was beginning to think otherwise, but I knew you would
come.”
“Well actually I didn’t want to keep you waiting, so I thought I’d turn
up for your sake you know,” I said wittingly.
“Ha ha, is it? Come sit, here drink some water,” he said as he handed
me a bottle of water, “So did you think about what we had talked about
yesterday?” “Well kind of but I am not sure,” I replied, “Truthfully
speaking, I didn’t
put in much of an effort.” “And why is that?”
“Because I was afraid of what it might lead to. Thinking has never
been kind you see.”
“I can understand. You have already come this far. So what stops you
now? I guess none other than your own self! Until and unless you don’t
believe in your dreams, they would remain dreams merely.”
Yogi’s words touched me.
I didn’t know from where to begin. Suddenly my whole life started to
flash like a movie. This time it was different. I wasn’t in it. It played like
a movie and I watched it like an audience. And then I spoke:
“When a child is born, he is bestowed with a gift, the gift of curiosity;
the childlike curiosity. He begins to learn everything through
experience and observation by doing things like touching everything
and putting them in his mouth. As if the taste told him something. When
he is old enough to talk, he begins asking questions, sometimes too
many, questions about everything that catches his curious eyes. But
once he starts going to school, everything changes; he is taught in order
to learn. He is taught principles and rules to which he must conform to.
And soon enough these rules rob him of his natural curiosity, his
childlike natural curiosity. He begins to see the world through the
world of rules and principles that he is taught. Soon enough this
curiosity that he was born with, withers and dies because every time it
pops its head out, it is trampled by the peers. The child learns to
conform. He is asked who he wants to be in life rather than what he
wants to be in life. Slowly and gradually he is molded into a kind which
is no different from his elders. He is molded into an image that is
considered acceptable by the society at large. He begins to live the life
of ‘someone’; someone who was considered to be a success in the past,
until one day his ‘image’ itself becomes an example to be conformed to
by the future generation. That ‘someone’ he became has become the
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‘someone’ for someone else to become. And all along the way he forgets
the one person he was born to become; i.e., himself. And this leads him
to a dungeon, to a state of emptiness that he cannot avoid. He is under
the constant pressure to be amongst people because he is afraid when
he is alone, afraid of that one person, his own self. He has to keep
running, from one race to another. He cannot afford to stop, because
when he stops to rest, his thoughts race against him, defeating him,
pushing him into a further abyss. He is always under the pressure to
win the race, the race he never chose to be a part of willingly in the first
place. Then a day arrives when he is on his death bed, when he cannot
run anymore. And then he feels the need to be constantly reminded that
he was a good warrior, as he had fought to win every race, but he
knows fully well that he, himself, did not have the courage to call
himself a warrior. Because had he been courageous, had he been a true
warrior, he would have fought to be himself and not be merely a
shadow of someone else from the past.
What if he were to choose a life different than the one that was
scripted for him? What if he did want to become the person he always
dreamt of being rather than the one he was always told to become?
What if he chose to differ from the herd? Then how would this be
different? How would this path of his personal greatness be different
from the one that he was made to walk on? And then it dawned upon
me that everything would be entirely different. From school to college
we have always been taught. Even after we finish college and join a
company to work, we are still taught a job that needs to be done in a
particular way. There is this comfort in being taught what we are told
to do. After all, it is proven, it has been done in the past, and the best of
all, accepted by our peers. But at the same time we know that it is a
trap, a trap because we stop asking questions, we forget about
ourselves and the need of our own existence. The same comfort begins
to weaken us, benumb us till conformity does not become a choice but a
rule. But when a person chooses a life different from the one that is
scripted, the most difficult thing he has to face is uncertainty. Because
then there is no ‘someone’ in whose image he can shape himself into.
There is no predefined path that he can follow. There is no comfort of
being taught by someone but himself. He has to create History with
every footstep he takes forward. And this uncertainty has killed many
stories of personal greatness even before a pen was picked up to write
each of them. You could choose to be a painter, a writer, a photographer
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or even an entrepreneur. But the uncertainty attached with each of
them is overwhelming. There are no rewards attached and there is no
assurance. There is no guarantee that your work of art would sell and
you would make money and be able to live a life. The scripted life at
least assured the rewards that you would be working for. For example:
you studied so that you got good marks, you competed in order to get
into a good college, you worked hard again so that you got a job and you
worked harder in your job so that you get your appraisal and
promotion. But on the path of uncertainty there is no reward or
milestone to work for. Everything is just ‘uncertain’.
When I had begun on this journey, I had no seemingly proportional
rewards attached to it. I experienced everything that came along as I
kept riding. Even if I wanted to, I could not have acquired the
knowledge of everything that I would experience on this journey. It was
like learning a bicycle for the first time. The experience taught me how
to move ahead and at every moment I felt I lived. I learned to embrace
uncertainty; I learned to embrace the path, the path that was more
beautiful than the destination. Leh was our destination, but the journey
to our destination was far more mesmerizing. And yet it was so
different from the scripted lives we are taught to live. We conquered
goals but never on purpose. In fact, the journey itself had a bigger
purpose for us. Every goal itself had a new purpose. The uncertainty
threw up a new goal every time we conquered one and the further we
stepped into the unknown. It was magical. And yet, I see no part of my
education playing a role in it. In fact education or not, uncertainty has
nothing to do with it. It is this fear that stops us from embracing
uncertainty. It is fear that makes us bow down to the conformists.
Educated or not, we act in the unison of our weakness, the weakness
that emanates from fear. We can change our lives if we embrace
uncertainty, but we never find the courage to fight that inner fear that
stops us from doing so.
And yet as I sit before you, I am yet to comprehend everything in its
entirety, for my mind is still clouded with doubts. Why do we need to
embrace uncertainty at all? How do we know if we are walking on our
chosen path? There are so many ifs and buts, so many why(s), what(s),
who(s) and when(s). Questions of a zillion kind keep popping up in my
head. I am yet to understand the essence of this journey.”
“I told you everyone has it in their soul, all the answers are there,
one has to just look,” Yogi said, “ Well you have begun to think in the
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right direction and I am very sure you would figure out everything soon
enough. At least you will learn how to find the answers and let me tell
you, there are no absolute answers or truths. Even if there are,
everyone has a unique version or interpretation of it in their life. I am
glad that you are discovering yours. And I am sure you would be able to
understand the nature of them as you keep going ahead. Just remember
all the answers are within you and you must have the courage to keep
looking further.”
I looked up at him in admiration. For the first time I smiled, one of
gen- uineness. I had never felt more content before. It seemed life was
opening up to me. Yogi arrived at the moment in life when I needed him
the most. And I had not realized this until I had met him. We did not
realize how long we had been talking until dusk came knocking around.
It was time to go. “I think we should call it a day,” Yogi said, “I hope you
are going to stay
here for a while. I am glad we have had this conversation.”
I didn’t say anything. What words could describe how profoundly
grateful I felt? For the first time, I was learning something totally
unrelated to career or academics. I was learning about life, a subject
whose importance we realize when it is too late.
I went over and hugged him. I felt I had found another father, one
who didn’t give me life but was definitely showing me how to live one.
We walked down together and at the monastery, we bid each other
goodbye. While the Yogi entered the monastery, I headed for my
Thunderbird, which stood silently, waiting for me, unquestioning. It
was more than a machine to me.
I started the engine and began heading back to the main city. Once
again, my heart and soul felt elated. I was learning a new language and a
new Science, the language of the Universe, and the Science of Life.
My heart and mind were at peace. The torrential waves were
receding. I didn’t need to meditate to achieve this. Perhaps seeking
answers calmed your mind and heart more than trying to sit in a
posture and avoiding any thought. Thoughts are good. They’re from
that subtle voice that speaks to you. Rather than avoiding them, one
must debate with them, discuss with them and help satisfy their
curiosity. If a desire torments us, we must conquer it through
rationalization, but not by avoiding it.
I reached the guest house and parked my bike. I then headed to a
restaurant to have dinner. The night bulbs grappled with the darkness
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to keep the city awake. After dinner, I decided to take a stroll. I was still
trying to take in everything that I had discussed today with the Yogi. As
I was strolling, lost in my thoughts, I found a hand patting my shoulder.
Mark was standing beside me.
“How are ya?” he asked in his typical Australian accent.
“Just fine..” I replied, “Actually a little bored as there is nothing to do
here after dinner. How bout you?”
“Why don’t you join us?” he asked.
“Join what? Where? And who are us?” I asked, “And do what?”
“Oh, you ask too many questions, c’mon, come to my guest house.
We are going to have a small get together. You’ll have fun, c’mon.”
That’s Mark! He could charm people in just a few words. I followed
him and soon a troupe joined us. They were waiting for him outside a
diner. Mark was an incredible person. He had traveled to innumerable
places, that too without a dime in his pocket. He would land up in a city,
work and make some money and then move to another destination. He
worked in Australia on a large farm where he picked up this Australian
accent. Otherwise, he was a Canadian. At some other places, he would
work as a waiter or any other job he could get. Right now, even in Leh,
he was working at a shop selling clothes.
What else would Mark do? Sometimes he would take out his old
rustic guitar and play on the streets. That’s where I met him when I had
noticed him playing on the streets, standing on one leg with the guitar
balanced on the other and a German girl dancing like a Star Wars
samurai with a defunct tube light in her hand. Mark, who was wearing a
pair of torn jeans and a t-shirt with holes, was one of the happiest
persons I had ever seen. I stood there and watched as other tourists
walked past throwing weird looks at him. It hardly mattered to him and
his German girlfriend. I took out my camera and began recording
everything. After Mark had finished playing a couple of duets, I walked
up to him and soon we were talking and heading to a small restaurant
for a cup of tea. And that’s how our friendship started. So rather than
sitting in the restaurant Mark made himself cozy on the pavements
beside the road. The German girl and I joined him besides his majestic
seat. We had merely begun talking when a big group gathered around
us. It seemed Mark knew everyone in the city. The number of cups of
tea kept increasing. The restaurant owner was not angry at all. It
seemed it was common for him. Then Mark began introducing me to
everyone else as a writer. Writer? Seriously? During our little
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conversation on the way to the restaurant I had told him that I had an
engineering degree, I was a failed internet entrepreneur and was
currently pursuing my MBA. And I had vaguely mentioned my passion
for literature and my desire to write a book someday. But of all things,
he preferred to introduce me as a writer.
And somehow, I happened to like it actually, and so did the group.
It was fun to be a part of that entourage. We were all laughing and
giggling and the reserved, restrained Delhi boy in me was gone. One of
them was giving a lesson on making joints while I helped a girl with
some features of her newly bought camera. Some shared stories from
their experiences while in between Mark would come up with a witty
story of his and everyone would break into peals of laughter.
The cups of tea arrived and everyone had one each in their hand.
Mark was surprised to see everything managed so well. I signaled him
to not to worry to which he gave me a look of appreciation. At that
moment, I caught a pair of blue eyes gazing at me and when my eyes
met hers, she swiftly turned her head. Lorena, the blue-eyed Spanish
speaking girl, sat on the other side and all this while I hadn’t noticed her
properly. And once my eyes met hers, I was almost hypnotized by the
angelic face that carried those blue eyes. I couldn’t help letting out a
smile. And then she smiled and I felt as if heaven broke upon me and
the mountains of Ladakh turned into a paradise. And there you go,
when such things happen to me, I become dumbstruck. As everyone
started to leave, I found myself frozen, my butt wouldn’t leave the
pavement and my vocal cords wouldn’t make a noise. As she walked
away, she turned back and smiled at me and still I couldn’t muster the
courage to go and talk to her. I secretly hoped that something magical
happened and I could meet her again.
And it seemed the Gods had heard my prayer. As I reached Mark’s
room with the troupe, I found a pair of eyes gazing at me once again, it
was Lorena’s eyes. And when she saw me, she smiled and a thousand
light bulbs lit in my heart.
And before I became dumbstruck once again, Mark began
introducing me to a few more people. We sat where our butts could lay
its cheeks and I made sure I got a seat near Lorena so that I could talk to
her. Soon everyone was talking and laughing as joints were being rolled
and chillums getting lighted. Smoke from the holy marijuana filled the
room quickly. The time was right for Mark to take his guitar out and the
laughter and talks turned to a chorus as everyone sang to the rhythm of
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the guitar. The songs sometimes broke into cheers, cheers broke into
chatters, chatters broke into interesting stories and stories again
brought back cheers and songs. Food and drinks now began taking
rounds as everyone shared and cared for each other ensuring that the
people beside them had their plates full.
“So Ravi, what are you writing about,” one of the guys asked me.
“Well I’m not sure,” I said as I made an effort to come up with some-
thing as I could see Lorena’s eyes gleaming at me, “Today the country
has gone into an infinite suspension, as if everything is in a coma. I want
to write that awakens, that shocks the youth, gives them the motivation
to fight their personal battles. The days of the wars between nations are
over, but they have been replaced by a war of a different kind, one that
is more subtle, one that camouflages into a tyrant who suppresses the
individuality of each one of us.”
I saw a few head turn towards me before they returned to whatever
they were doing. In any case, I did manage to say some heavy stuff. I
gave a soft pat on my thighs for a job well done.
“Yeah, that sounds some pretty good stuff man. All the best for your
book,” said the guy who first asked me about it.
I felt inspired sitting in that room. I found myself letting down the
walls of inhibition and embracing my naked true self. Everyone in that
room seemed to have a funny looking hair style. Some of them had torn
clothes, and beards overgrown. The girls looked wild, lovely and wild.
But one thing was common; they all had fire in their eyes; the fire of
passion for something that inspired them from within, the search for
which made them a vagabond as they left their homes to discover a new
truth, a new and personal truth. I didn’t see any pretense in them, just
acceptance of the truth and reality, as it ought to be. For the first time I
felt human, I felt alive and I felt happy and I gave vent to my emotions
as drops of tears rolled through the corners of my eyes. These were
tears of joy.
I took a glance across the room and everyone seemed to be in a
trance mood; some calm, some happy and some lost. They seemed to
have given up the reigns, destroyed what controlled them and lived
freely; unbound by any religion, nationality or conformity. The room
represented a world map; a cosmopolitan room belonging to different
nationalities and religions. And yet they spoke a common language, the
language of love.
“C’mon guys let’s do trips,” one of them shouted. And he got a
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unanimous ‘yeeeessss’ in return. But trips, what trips? What in the
name of the mother of God were they planning a trip? I began imagining
an SUV or a mini bus waiting outside. But then soon I was to discover
the true meaning of the trip. I was reluctant at first but soon gave in.
Some of them were taking bits of paper and putting them on their
tongues. One of the girls came to me and told me to do the same. “Don’t
swallow it. Just keep it on your tongue for a while. Maybe half an hour,”
she instructed.
I did as instructed. The trip began but slowly, and I could feel a
sudden surge of emotions taking over me. One by one I could feel the
gates of the dam open and my emotions roaring out like a river.
Everyone seemed to be laughing and giggling and I could distinctly hear
every voice. I felt as if the lights were dancing and the bulbs were
laughing. Stupid bulbs you see. I felt the urge to cry and to laugh at the
same time. I had never cried in many years. Suddenly the crowd went
silent and a single voice sang the songs of Eddie Vedder and I could feel
the words stab through my hearts. I felt my heart, mind and soul
uniting at the center of my body. I was overwhelmed by emotions. I
needed fresh air. I walked out of the room and took the stairs to the
roof. The mountains danced under the light of the moon which shone
from atop. I wanted to reach out and kiss the moon while the stars
spread around her and played like children in the park. Aah, the little
twinkling stars. I let the beauty of the darkness embrace me as much as
I wanted to embrace her. And at that moment I let out a loud shrill
letting go of everything. I let go of the past and the future; I let go off
all the things that had happened in the past, all the achievements I had
accomplished and never accomplished, the conflicts and friendships,
the desire for revenge and the want of love, the burden of the future
and the expectations of the present. I let go of everything. I found my
tears washing off my soul, cleansing it of any impurity. I felt light. My
heart was filled with only love now. I decided that from now on, I must
live in the present guided only by my emotions and intuitions.
Suddenly I felt a soft hand touch mine and when I turned, I found
Lorena standing beside, shining in her eternal beauty. Oh, those pretty
blue eyes. “Hi,” I said, but she put a finger on my lips and came close to
me. She took my hands in hers and wrapped herself around them. She
then reached over and kissed me. Another rush of emotions ran
through my body and I embraced the face that was more beautiful than
the shining moon above. I took her in my arms, and this time I moved
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forward and kissed her. She tasted like eternity. After a while, she took
my hand and started leading me. We walked down, crossing Mark’s
room and then out of the guest house… and on the open road. After a
while, we reached her guest house and she led me upstairs to her room.
I took one glance at her and lifted her in my arms and laid her on the
bed. Her knees lay bare and I kissed her there. I then moved to her
navel and slowly I took her breasts in my hand and reached for her lips.
I kissed her madly, wildly, passionately and she did the same. I felt as if
we were floating in the air, over the mountains as we kept rising higher
and higher. The trip was kicking in. She unbuttoned my black shirt and I
unhooked her bra. I again reached for her lips and kissed her again,
more gently, more passionately. I untied her hair and let them fall all
over her body like the shadow of the cloud over the white, milky, snow
peaked mountains. I removed those clouds and replaced them with the
tenderness of my lips. She moaned and I felt aroused even more. She
giggled a little and pulled me towards her and our bodies collided as
sparks of passion arose. Her breasts touched my chest and I tightened
my hands around her. We kissed and rolled and tussled with each
other. I caressed her legs slowly and took off every cover that separated
me from her. There she lay beautiful, beautiful and curvaceous,
curvaceous and glowing. Her skin had a tingy taste of sweet and
tangerine. I started caressing her body and kissed her from the toes to
the head. Her breasts were firm now and I could feel her exuberance. I
got up and let loose my clothes and lay beside her, stark naked. The
brown sand of the shore had now united with the mirth waters of the
ocean under the full moon. As the water touched the shore, it brought a
new sense of arousal. I felt the sparkles between us. I slowly got up and
was on top of her as she spread her legs in the air. I was inside her now
and she let out a loud moan clasping me tighter in her arms. Our bodies
moved against each other slowly, giving out sighs of joy. Our lips
touched each other again only to be separated by a moan. After a while,
we lay on the bed, intertwined, bathing in the light of the moon that
came through the glassed window.
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DAY 18
Art
“Art is the lie that enables us to realize the truth.”
— Pablo Picasso
My eyes opened to the greeting light of the sun that was already up
now. I couldn’t stop staring at the angelic face that lay on my chest. I
removed a few strands of hair from her face so that I could remember
this moment forever. I knew I was in love for I could never imagine a
moment more perfect than this. After a while, she opened her eyes
gently. I was glad to see myself in her big beautiful blue eyes. I longed to
make an abode there.
I stroked her hair and she smiled at me. “Good morning,” I said.
“Good morning,” she greeted back in her soft humming tone as she
got up to dress.
We got dressed and went to have breakfast at a diner. We ordered
and sat there in silence. I was bereft of words for no morning could
have been lovelier than this. We sat quietly and ate when she finally
decided to speak.
“Hey,” she said.
I nodded in acknowledgement, unable to decide what to say.
“For the past few times that we met, I could feel the love and desire
for me in your eyes and surprisingly, even I felt attracted towards you.
As the night surrendered to the wave of passion, the only face that came
to my mind was yours and when I tried to find you, you were on the
roof, mumbling away something alone. I don’t know why but I felt
compelled to kiss you. It’s been long that I felt so much love and
energy.”
“I was lost in the moment too. I thought of many things, but you
consistently occupied my mind. If you hadn’t come, I would have come
looking for you,” I said, still confused whether I should tell her how
much I love her. “Let’s just take things slowly from here on okay,” she
said. I couldn’t have agreed more; perhaps this would give us time to
think. But think of what?
And why? And I ended up nodding in agreement. Stupid me.
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We then talked and learned a lot about each other. She was working
as a graphic designer in Spain. She couldn’t restrain herself from
coming to India when a friend of hers asked her to come along.
Tomorrow she was going on a trek with a small group. She asked me
to join. But I declined as I had plans for Pangong Lake.
“Actually I am going on a ride to Pangong Lake with one of my friend.
I was to go today, but I guess it didn’t happen. So let’s see if he is still
around. If not then I would be going tomorrow. Or maybe come with
you on the trek.” I told her. I wasn’t able to control my feelings. Perhaps
a couple of days of separation should help me gain control of myself.
We decided to meet after our respective expeditions.
I walked her to her guest house and then went to my own where I
found Teja still lazing around in his pajamas.
“Hey, you too haven’t gone to Pangong Lake. What happened?” I
asked him.
“Where were you? You tell me first eh. You make a promise and then
disappear. And where are you coming from now? Didn’t you know the
light shower that took place in the wee hours? Well, it is snowing at the
top and some of the bikers who were returning advised me to return
too. But look at you. All smiling and all haan.”
“Aah, nothing man. I ended up drunk in someplace else. Anyway,
since both of us haven’t gone, we will go tomorrow okay. And sorry for
not being here. Got to sleep man.” I said.
Teja decided that he would go to see the Indus-Zanskar confluence
while I rested. The two trips of a different kind from the last night had
drained me out. But as I lay on my bed, I couldn’t sleep. My mind was
somewhere else running in different directions, like a chariot pulled in
different directions by its horses. Till a month back, I would never have
even talked to these vagabond hippies. Today I cherished every
moment I was spending with them. I was besotted with an urge, and it
was an urge to write. I wanted to, I needed to, I had to write no matter
what. I got up and took out the diary and a pen from the bag. I began
scribbling, I began writing, just writing, it didn’t need to make sense. It
was therapeutic, it was bliss. I described everything in its minutest
detail of what happened yesterday. Pages after pages I wrote and
wrote, focusing on every detail of the moments, every sensation I felt
and every thought that might have occurred. I wrote like a child who
first learns to walk and never ceases to get tired. Five long hours passed
when I became ravenous and decided to put the pen down. I washed up,
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changed and then went to a restaurant. I took my diary with me. I
ordered a plate of dumplings and a cup of black coffee. While I waited, I
began reading every word I wrote. I loved them. It was magical as if
these words didn’t come from me. Since my childhood, I had always
wanted to write, and intermittently I had written before, you know;
short stories and poems. I would write little poems and short stories
and send them to my elder siblings. They loved them. I sent my poems
and short writings to the school magazine and they loved it and
published it. I wrote essays and my teachers loved it. In fact, I hardly
knew someone who didn’t like what I wrote. And yet I never took
writing seriously. I never valued it. I never realized it was an art, my art.
Writing came easily to me. I was very comfortable with words and
never had to struggle to bring them on a piece of paper. It came
naturally to me. And perhaps that was the reason why I never valued it.
But why didn’t I value it?
I finished my little meal and came out of the restaurant. My steps
automatically took me to Mark’s room. I knocked on the door. The
sound of the guitar came from inside.
“Come in, it’s open,” came a reply. I pushed the door and entered.
There he sat, bare body even on a cold day, strumming his guitar,
oblivious of the world.
“Hi Mark,” I said.
“Heeeyyya Ravi. What’s up bro?” he said as he paused playing and
looked towards me, “Come take a seat bro. Yesterday night you
disappeared early, aye. A little birdie told me you went with Lorena.
Hope you had a good time, aye.”
I just smiled and he gave me a soft punch on my arms.
“Cool, bro. Hey grab one if you want” he said as he threw a pack of
cigarettes towards me. I took one. He resumed his playing. It was The
XX songs: ‘stars’.
“Mark I need to talk to you about something,” I said as he came
closer to the end of the song.
“Ya bro go ahead.”
“Mark you have been good and I feel bad for not being entirely
truthful with you.”
Now he stopped playing and looked at me.
“Mark I’m just a regular MBA student. I did try to start a business
before but I am no writer. I mean l love to write and I love to read. I love
literature but right now, I am not working on any book. I wanted to
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apologize for saying that I was working on a book.”
“Holy cow,” he let out a gasp, “I thought it was some serious stuff.
Well aah, ok so you are saying you are no writer aye. Well, it could be
true that you are not writing a book, but it’s not true that you are not a
writer. I must tell you that your face brightens and your eyes widen
with excitement when you talk about literature than when you talk
about anything else. Maybe you have been lying to yourself.”
“But I don’t know if I have any intention to write a book. I mean all I
want to do now is get a job and settle down. I don’t think I am a writer
at all.”
“You are a writer Ravi. You have not told a lie. It’s just that you are
afraid to accept the truth which you already know. And whether you do
business or work in a company has nothing to do with your art. You
write with your job or without your job, it is up to you.”
His words were tearing down the walls I built around my own
beliefs. I was afraid to accept what I already knew. Or was I ignorant
and too fearful to even see it? I read many books and always found
myself debating with myself on different aspects of the book. Like the
story itself, if it could have been written any better, the language the
style, could it have a better ending and many other things. A book was
not just a book for me, something more, more personal. I got involved
with every book I read. But writing as a career? I had never even
thought in that direction. More so my upbringing never told me I could
make money out of writing or there was a career in it. I mean even if I
wanted to be a writer I would have to just sit and write. There was no
competition, no company, and no authority. How was I going to stay
ahead of my peers, where will I reach as a writer? Who the hell is going
to marry a writer? I thus never valued my art. In the last eight years or
so, I hardly remember when I had written a poem or a story. But today I
became the same kid who wrote poems to his sister, detached of
results, or expectations, or anything. I just wrote for the love of writing.
“What are you thinking?” Mark asked, bringing me out of the well of
my thoughts. I told him what was going on in my mind, my dilemmas,
and my state of confusion.
“Haah, you are not alone buddy, you are not alone. Welcome to the
world of art.”
“But then what am I going to write about? I have no story in me.”
“Look into yourself. You have many stories. Write about love, about
wars
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I don’t know. It’s your call. You could even write about your bike
rides. What was that Valley, Zanskar right? Those were some fantastic
pictures you showed me, dude. I just loved them. Why don’t you write
about your experiences there?”
“But I don’t know how to write. I mean, I have had no formal training
in writing. I mean, I have not attended any classes on creative writing
and all.” “Haah. The best things in life are free buddy and that is
particularly true about art. You don’t learn art in a classroom, you learn
art by doing. Just write my friend, just write and the words shall guide
you along the way;
just like my music does to me.”
And then he told me how he left his law degree and began traveling.
He learned photography own his own, he learned to play the guitar
from his fellow travelers, and other little creative stuff that he knew.
Today he was composing and writing songs and music. He wanted to
launch his own album one day.
“But then who is going to read my book? I am just a neophyte. There
have been so many famous writers from India, some of whom are
internationally acclaimed. How can I ever write like them? Why would
anyone bother to read my book?” I asked. It sounded foolish, but my
dilemma was real. “Hmmm, do you know how some of the great
musicians have started in their life? They did so by playing on streets,
on railway stations, in small pubs; anywhere they felt they could make
the world hear. Till one day they mastered the art, till one day they
could create their own masterpieces and then the world was a stage
and people got in a queue and paid to listen to them. And I am sure that
would be the case with writers or for that matter any artist. Listen to
me carefully Ravi. Every work of art is great. Every work of creativity is
great. Don’t create standards and yardsticks. Just keep writing. Even
Hemmingway was a little kid like you and must have had doubts about
his own talent with words. You don’t have to write better than anyone
else. You just have to write. You have to simply create art and then
leave it for the world to decide. Write till you find your own voice and
your words to say to the world. And then keep writing more, keep
creating art, keep improving your work, keep practicing, don’t let your
ocean of passion dry. And Just remember one thing.”
“What?” I asked looking at him curiously.
“Be true to yourself; be true to your art, be true to your words and
be true to your feelings. For your art to be pure, you, as an artist, need
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to be pure too. And that’s what the world wants. It wants your
originality because your art is not separate from you. You are giving a
piece of yourself to the world. You are unique and when your art is true,
you give the world another unique gift which it shall accept with open
arms. Never let love die brother and, love, not for the sake of it but true
love. Love your work truly. Love your woman truly. Love your family
and friends truly. And love your art truly. Remember it’s an uncertain
world out there, an artist’s life is not easy, and you have to embrace
uncertainty at every point. That is the toughest and the most fun part of
it as well. Embrace uncertainty and your life would never be the same
again. Every day and every moment would be an adventure.” And
suddenly, it struck me. ‘Uncertainty.’ That’s what this journey has been
all about; embracing the uncertainty. And this uncertainty had led me
to embracing art and embracing creativity. My eyes lit up and I told
Mark about my conversation with Yogi and about this journey.
“It was meant to be, brother. It was meant to be. We meet different
people in our lives when we need them. Like we are having this
conversation,” Mark said.
“I don’t know how to thank you Mark. You have given me a whole
new perspective to look at things. I don’t know how to express my
gratitude to you” I said.
“Oh, don’t embarrass me by thanking me. I did nothing. You have
opened your heart and the universe has begun to shower its love on
you bro. That’s the way it is. Love yourself brother, that’s where it all
begins first. Be kind to yourself.”
We talked for a little while longer and then I returned to my guest
house. Till a few days back I had a sense of control over everything. But
now I seemed to have no control. And it was for the good. I felt I was
being led to something big. I could feel it inside me and I knew that my
heart was right this time. It was not just a journey on the road, but
something bigger, something new.
I decided to write some more. I found a new found purpose in it. I
never felt more joy than anything else but in the simple act of writing. I
wrote as my heart spoke, bearing my soul nakedly on the pages till
sleep embraced me in her arms.
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DAY 19
Pangong
“Sometimes it takes a good fall to really know where you stand”
— Hayley Williams
My eyes opened to a loud banging on the door. I was supposed to

wake Teja up, but he was the one who was waking me up. We quickly
got
ready and headed for breakfast. By ten in the morning, we were on
our way to Pangong Lake. It was about 150 km from Leh. Soon we were
out of the city and had reached Karu from where the road to the Lake
separated from the highway to Manali. We were now climbing towards
Chang La, the second highest mountain pass in the region, which was
17,590 feet high and was the second highest mountain pass in the
world. But then driving on this route was difficult. The oxygen level was
low making the engine feel powerless. It was cold too, perhaps due to
the rain yesterday. Teja kept pumping his engine unnecessarily to keep
ahead. It seemed that to reach sooner than anything or anyone else to
Changlang La was more important for him. I drove at my own pace
despite having learned the skills of mountain driving. I had no desire to
be the first in anything. What did it accomplish? It just proved that you
are a tad faster than your next. And in lieu of this purposeless
achievement, you miss out on the beautiful scenery around, the journey
then becomes a burden and you don’t pay attention to the present, the
present that is your journey in which you are in. I remember when I
had sped from Kargil to Lamayuru but had missed Naki La on the way.
Naah, I am going to run my own race.
Soon we reached the top. The air was freezing. We decided to pay
homage to Changla Baba, in whose honor a temple was built at the top.
He is said to have meditated here and the locals revered him. We spent
some time and were soon coerced by the cold to descend. But barely
had we gone 50 km ahead when I felt my rear tire brakes weren’t
functioning well and at one point of time I almost skid off the road. The
disc brakes in the front tire saved my ass. At another point, I almost hit
a vehicle coming from the opposite direction. I began driving very
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slowly. After a few km, I found a few bikers gathered around a bike on
the roadside. They were a group from Bangalore, who had come all the
way from there on their bikes. One of their bikes had a puncture and
they were working on changing the tube but lacked a few tools. I
opened my luggage and took out my tools and gave it to them. One of
them was skilled in motorcycle maintenance and had a look at my
brakes. They just needed tightening. New brakes wear out a little too
quickly. Aah, I should have learned more about bikes. Amongst us there
were two other guys; Bhasin, an Indian settled in New Zealand and
Michael, who was from Israel. They had rented a bullet and had come
riding hoping to enjoy a ride in the beautiful mountains. But at one turn,
the driver, Bhasin lost control and rammed the bike into the side of the
mountain side where they fell one piled up over another. Luckily, they
incurred no severe injuries, just minor ones. Soon we were done with
replacing the tube of the tire and were ready to go. Keeping extra tubes
comes handy as it saves time and effort and the puncture can be fixed
by a proper mechanic later. We had lost a lot of time so we hurriedly
packed everything and resumed our journey. After a few km, the
mountains gave way to a valley that was large and leveled. We were
now driving in the Changthang plateau. This was the unique thing about
Ladakh. The landscapes changed so quickly that they surprised me
every time I headed to a new destination. At this height, I had only
expected lofty mountains. But there was an entirely different world that
existed here. Right now, we were driving in a plateau, earlier we were
in a desert and at other times on the highest mountain passes of the
world. And now we were going to the Pangong Lake, which was a 150
km long Lake, two third of which was in China and the rest in India.
At one point on our way, I saw a few dogs resting on a big rock at a
little distance from the road. I stopped to click photos but was
immediately coaxed by others to move on as soon as possible. Those
were not dogs but freakin’ wolves. We sped away as soon as possible.
The loud thumping
sounds of so many Royal Enfields together must have intimidated
them.
At one point, another road forged out that would have taken us to
Marsimik La, the mountain pass that is supposed to be the highest in
the world but is pretty much hidden from the civilians as it is very close
to the border with China. We were in no mood to head in that direction.
So, we kept riding ahead and soon the mountains gave way to our first
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glimpse of Pangong Lake. It was love at first sight. We were now too
eager to reach there and feel the softness of the water. Our suffering
ended soon when we reached Lukung and descended down to the shore
of the Lake on our bikes. It was a mesmerizing view and we stood there
gaping at the beauty all around us. Brown, barren mountains stood afar
protecting the lake which longed to be united with the sky only to be
separated by white virgin clouds. All you could do was to make the
beauty of the moment immortal in the frames. The sun was setting and
the sky turned red as if it was covered in blood from an ailing heart that
longed to be with his lover. I wish I could stand there with a canvas in
front me, never to stop my hand till I expressed every emotion that was
spilling around me.
We clicked photos and ran around on the shore like children. We
clicked a few more photographs before deciding to move to another
location to spend the night. There were only tented accommodations in
Lukung while Spangmik, which was about nine kilometers ahead,
offered cemented houses for accommodation. Bhasin, Michael, and Teja
agreed to come with me to Spangmik while the group from Bangalore
decided to stay back in Lukung. When we reached there, we found a
decent guest house. Besides us, a group from Israel and a Punjabi family
were staying. Michael was in a bad shape as he suffered a severe AMS
stoke, you know, the Acute Mountain Sickness thing, when breathing
becomes difficult and all. The Sardarji gave him some medicines for
AMS while I took out my first aid kit and gave him some gels for the
swollen parts of the body. The spray and massage gel helped ease his
pain. Bhasin was hurt too and so he also used some medication and
decided to rest indoors with Michael. We went outside and lit a bonfire.
We talked and laughed and sang under the glittering sky, and trust me,
at 14000 feet, the sky could not have been more mesmerizingly
beautiful.
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DAY 20
Excellence
“Excellence is never an accident. It is always the result of high intention, sincere effort,
and intelligent execution; it represents the wise choice of many alternatives - choice, not
chance, determines your destiny.”
— Aristotle
We missed the sunrise over the lake as we were too tired from yes-
terday’s ride. Michael was feeling better and that was something to
cheer about. The Israelis had come in an eight-seater SUV and
luckily, they had an empty seat. Michael could now return comfortably
to Leh.
The sun was up. We got ready, had breakfast and were soon on our
way back to Leh. As Teja and Bhasin sped ahead, I followed rather
slowly. I felt I was missing something. The whole purpose of coming to
Pangong Lake had not been realized. This was the place where the
climax of the movie, 3 Idiots, was shot. The movie was an important
part of my life. I couldn’t leave without visiting the spot where the
climax was shot. It was like a pilgrim’s place for me. I mulled returning
and asking the locals about it. The lake extended in its beauty and was
sparkling in the bright sun. It is said that it never rains here and the
glacial water keeps the lake alive. But where was the spot? As I was
moving towards Lukung, I saw a group of tourists enjoying at a spot
near the lake. I got down from my bike to have a better look and what I
saw filled my heart with joy. In front of me lay a wharf that protruded
into the lake. This was the place where the movie was shot. I hurriedly
drove down and after struggling to drive through the sand I reached the
end of the protruding land. I stood there and imagined Aamir Khan
flying a toy plane over the lake. I felt as if the scene from the movie had
come alive. 3 Idiots was a remarkable movie to be ever made in the
history of Indian Cinema. It had touched more than a billion hearts
across the globe. It had some strong messages for the audience to
ponder about and sleep over. I tried enacting the scenes of the movie
like the pose in which the actors bend showing their buttocks and
saying “Please accept thy gift your majesty.” It’s fun to be silly
sometimes. I thanked my stars for letting me come here. I was lucky for
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Teja and Bhasin had sped away and had missed this 3 Idiots spot.
Neither did the group from Bangalore visited this spot. The message of
the movie was simple and straight. Focus on ‘excellence’ and everything
else shall follow. When I decided to hit the road again, the word
‘Excellence’ tagged along, refusing to leave my mind. I once again
crossed the Changtang plateau, the Changlang La top and reached Leh
but “Excellence” kept echoing in my mind. Excellence means: ‘the
quality of being outstanding or extremely good.’ But outstanding in
what, and why and how could one be outstanding? All that the movie
said was to focus on excellence and everything else shall follow. In a
way, it meant do what you do, to the best you can and don’t worry
about the rewards at the end. But didn’t ‘uncertainty’ mean the same?
You do something without worrying about the rewards at the end. The
movie was actually telling us to embrace uncertainty. The journey was
once again telling me to embrace uncertainty. Somehow everything
seemed to connect.
Bhasin, Teja and I once again met for dinner while Michael preferred
to rest in his room and was going to have only soup and hot tea. They
were all leaving the next day. Teja had to appear for a job interview
while Bhasin and Michael wanted to go to a place where there was
more ‘oxygen.’
I came back to my room still lost in ‘Excellence’. But then Lorena
appeared in my head. I had to meet her tomorrow and this time; I had
decided that I would tell her that I loved her. Ladakh was turning out to
be an entirely different experience. It was becoming more than an
adventure. And I loved every bit of it.
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DAY 21
Love
“You know you’re in love when you can’t fall asleep because reality is finally better
than
your dreams.”
— Dr. Seuss
A new dawn had arrived and I was super excited. After a nice hot
shower, I was ready to go. At first, I went to see Lorena. But a lock
greeted me at her door. Maybe she might be returning from her trek
later in the day. So, I decided to go to a café and have breakfast. There I
learned that today was the first day of the Hemis Festival. I decided to
head there as I thought I might meet Yogi too. I could meet Lorena in
the evening. After a while, I headed to the Hemis Festival. After battling
a huge swarm of vehicles, I reached the Hemis monastery, parked and
headed inside. A huge crowd had turned out. It was fascinating to see so
many Ladakhis dressed in their ethnic dresses. The women, in
particular, looked beautiful wrapped around those ethnic drapes.
The ceremony had begun, but I could only get a roof top view. Slowly
and gradually I made my way through the crowd and reached closer to
the artists who were performing so that I could video record everything
nicely. One after the other different forms of masked dances began. It is
said that the Hemis Festival commemorates the birth of Guru
Padmasambhava, the founder of Tantric Buddhism in Tibet. The
different versions of the mask dances were to show the battle between
good and evil. Every now and then big, ten feet long trumpets were
blown which added to the charisma of the performances. The whole
experience was a mystic and enchanting one. I began taking photos and
recording videos. And as I zoomed around, I found Yogi. And he seemed
to have noticed me too as he waved at the camera. I then decided to
walk towards him.
“Hey! How have you been?” he asked, smiling as always. I then told
him of the things that were going around and my journey to Pangong
Lake. Apparently, these days he had been busy organizing the festival
with the people of the monastery.
“I wish to talk to you about a lot of things,” I told him.
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“No, not today and not tomorrow too. I am super busy with these
folks here. Why don’t you come around the day after tomorrow? And
this time, come after you have given enough thought to whatever it is
you want to talk about. You now have to start thinking beyond what
you are taught,” he said and gave me a pat on my shoulder and went
about his job.
I returned to watching the dances but then my sight fell upon a
woman who was sitting with her legs folded, her chin resting on the
knees and she was staring. Was she looking at the dances or at the walls
or sky or not watching at all; I couldn’t say. I decided to walk up to her.
She was still lost. I was curious as to what was going on in her mind and
what was she actually staring at? Was she spellbound or meditating? I
decided to free her from the spell of the unknown and waved my hand
in front of her. She seemed to wake up and a big smile came on her face.
“Hey. Sorry, but I couldn’t help but notice those hypnotic blue eyes
staring into the unknown, you know, as if you are spellbound or some-
thing. I wonder what that head of yours above your beautiful face must
be contemplating.”
“Aah interesting. Never heard that kind of a line before. But to give
you an answer; well no, I was not into some unknown thing or
contemplating and all. I was just sitting here, you know, like in the flow,
taking things slowly.”
That was an interesting answer and it brought a smile on my face.
“I’m Ravi, by the way,” I said as I extended my hand, “And you are an
interesting person, interesting and witty, witty and charming and of
course charming and gorgeous.”
“I’m Lisa,” she said as she shook my hand, “Nice meeting you too.”
We talked for a while before some friends of hers spotted her and
she decided to join them. She asked me to come over and meet them,
but I decided against and it turned my focus on watching the sham
dances. But soon I got bored and so decided to return to the main city. I
rode back to my guest house and after parking and keeping my bag in
my room, I decided to go and meet Lorena. While I was walking
towards the guest house, I heard someone call my name. When I turned,
I found a woman waving at me. She introduced herself as Jenny and
then I remembered seeing her at Mark’s place during the other ‘trippin’
night.
“Hey listen we need to talk. Can we sit somewhere?” she asked.
“Sure.”
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We walked to a nearby café and ordered two cups of coffee,
cappuccino for the lady and Americano for me.
“Okay so what do you want to talk about,” I said looking at her
anxious face.
“Well. Hmmm. You see Lorena has asked me to deliver this letter to
you. She left Leh yesterday for Delhi. Her flight was in the evening,” she
said as she handed me an envelope.
“What? She left? But we were supposed to meet today,” I said. I was
completely shocked. But then I decided to first read the letter. I tore the
envelope open and took the letter out.
It read:
Dear Ravi,
I am sorry that you have to read this letter. But I had to go without
saying goodbye or seeing you for I couldn’t have stopped myself. That
night of passionate love cannot be forgotten and every single minute on
the trek I could only think of you.
I think I was falling for you. But this is bad for it brought back
memories that I was trying to run away from and seek answers to my
own set of questions. You brought back the insecurities and fear of a
relationship that I wanted to avoid. I started this journey to seek
something and now I could only feel the desire of you and not having you
close by triggered the same insecurities of losing someone. I know you too
have come here seeking something for that was visible in your eyes. If we
don’t find what we are seeking then our love for each other can never be
complete. We won’t be able to make each other happy. That is what my
last relationship had taught me. If we are meant to be together, then we
would definitely be. But first we must actually find what we seek. Don’t
get me wrong. I do love you. But if we are destined, we will meet again.
Yours, Lorena
I found tears rolling down my eyes. I was sad and angry. Seeing me
getting in a depressive mood, Jenny tried to comfort me and held my
hand. I looked up at her; the tears were rolling down my cheeks now.
She reached for a napkin and gave it to me.
“I know what you are going through and she had anticipated this too.
We talked about this. You must understand that you have to let her go.
And you must know that she loved you, even if it was for a short while”
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she said. “But I….me….. I just don’t know” I gulped my words before I
could say
anything.
“Do you think I should have told her that I love her?” I asked Jenny.
“I am not sure how to answer that Ravi. I am no expert on this sub-
ject. But I don’t think it would have been right. From what I know, we
are so consumed by our own thoughts and feeling that we don’t
understand what the other person might be feeling or going through.
We must try and understand other’s state as well and see if they are
ready to take the plunge. Being in love is not easy.”
Her words were confusing but comforting. Women; it’s so difficult to
understand them but much easier to love them.
We sipped our coffee silently. It was getting dark, she had to meet
other people and so we hugged and said goodbye. But before she left,
she asked me to promise her that I would not get too upset or agitated.
What was I to say or do but to nod in agreement?
I was heartbroken. Of all things why should love hurt? Ten years ago,
I had opened my heart to someone and was hurt. Since then I never fell
in love. And today I felt hurt again. But I couldn’t blame Lorena. Jenny
was right in her way. I was lost, confused and sad. I found a pavilion
beside the road and sat there. Dusk slowly gave way to the night as the
stars were beginning to wake up and the moon began to emerge.
Shades of cloud still hovered over the mountain reflecting the light of
the moon. I sat there, staring into the infinite universe. And then I felt a
hand touch my shoulder. I turned around to find Lisa standing there.
Lisa, the girl, whom I had met at the festival.
“So now you are staring into the unknown eh; sadness pouring out of
your eyes; looked for something but don’t know what”, she said
quipping, mimicking the words I had said and then she continued, “Is
everything okay?”
I tried to smile, but only a half broken one came out. She took a seat
beside me. “So what are you thinking?” she asked.
“Nothing. Maybe everything,” I said, unable to articulate my answer.
“Nothing and everything eh. Interesting. I know what you need right
now. Good food takes all the worries away. C’mon let’s go for
dinner.” “I am not sure I am hungry right now,” I said.
“Oh, c’mon. It’s already half past seven. Besides, you are just going to
sit here and stare. I know that. Don’t be a sissy. Get your ass up and let’s
go.” She said as she pulled me.
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But then dinner was not an easy affair for Lisa. She seemed to know
every restaurant in the city and what they had to offer.
“Oh you should try the burrito here; the Italian here is awesome; Oh
have you tried Korean here. This is a lovely place for Chinese” she went
on and on as she led me across the street.
I was amused. Finally, she chose one restaurant and we went in. I
couldn’t fathom the reason for her choice. But I followed her in and we
took a table and sat. The menu arrived and we ordered soup. While we
waited we began to know about each other. She had been a big
corporate hotshot back in Germany when one day she just gave it all up.
Leaving everything behind her, she began traveling. After Europe and
Thailand, she had come to India where she was learning Yoga and
wanted to be an instructor in the same field. Her idea of life had
changed and she said she wanted to live now. I then told her about me
and my journey.
“Interesting. That’s some incredible journey” she said.
We finished our soup and it was time to order some main course.
“So, what would you like to eat?” she asked me.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“What do you mean I don’t know? Order something. You know what
would you like to eat right?”
“Whatever you order just make it two,” I said. “Okaaay. Now that’s
interesting.”
And then she went on and on about the different options available
on the menu describing everything in detail. She seemed to know the
food on the menu quite well. She could describe everything quite
succinctly, you know, their ingredients, their taste and what not. After
much deliberation; she finally ordered some Italian dishes and desserts.
We then ate and talked about many different subjects like traveling,
life in Germany and in India, family and stuff. Soon we finished eating.
We paid our bills and came out of the restaurant.
“So what are your plans after dinner?” She asked me. “I don’t know” I
replied.
“Would you like to come over for a glass of wine?” she asked. “Well,
hmmm. I’m not sure,” I said, “Maybe not today.”
My heart wasn’t ready yet.
“Is it a woman?” she asked, a little bewildered.
“Yes, but that’s not the only thing on my mind,” I replied and hoped
that she would understand.
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“I understand. We all have that phase in our lives. I guess you would
want some time alone. But if you wish to talk, I am right here,” she said.
“Thank you, I am glad we had this evening, we should do it again,” I
said as we hugged and went our separate ways.
I reached my room but didn’t know what to do. I sat by the window
staring at the mountains. I then thought it would be best to express
whatever was inside me and so I took out my diary and started
writing. Words after words kept flowing on the paper. A vehicle would
occasionally cross the streets or a dog would bark now and then. And
then complete silence would prevail. Only the sound of the pen moving
on the paper kept me company continuously.
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DAY 22
Buddha
“Do not believe in anything simply because you have heard it. Do not believe in
anything simply because it is spoken and rumored by many. Do not believe in anything
simply because it is found written in your religious books. Do not believe in anything
merely on the authority of your teachers and elders. Do not believe in traditions because
they have been handed down for many generations. But after observation and analysis,
when you find that anything agrees with reason and is conducive to the good and benefit
of one and all, then accept it and live up
to it.”
— Gautama Buddha
It was almost 5.30 in the morning and I was still awake. I watched
over the mountains as the dawn arrived; red, fiery, shades of sky
overlooking the mountains, coaxing her; pushing her, to wake up. The
mountains slowly and gradually woke up; their color changed from
black to shades of blue as the veil of the night slowly withdrew itself
into the abyss. It was a morning you would give a limb to see. But then
that would be an easier thing to do for such mornings arouse a strong
sense of emotions in you; emotions that are painful to face. The
emotions like the emotion of love; I wondered what its true nature was
as it had kept humans on their toes since they first set foot on the Earth.
Was love the arrival of a new dawn in our lives that is first fiery red just
like our passion but slowly and gradually turns into a bright and
beautiful morning? Do you ‘fall’ in love or ‘rise’ in love? I don’t know.
But then I remembered the conversation I had with Lisa yesterday.
“Are you married?” I asked her. “No” she replied.
“Why is that?” I asked.
“Because I did not meet the right person in my life. Or maybe I met
him but I was too busy building a career. Or maybe some other reason,
I’m not sure,” she said.
“Interesting. So, did you actually not ‘meet’ this right person or did
you actually not ‘find’ this right person?” I asked.
“What do you mean?” she asked, slightly upset with the question.
“Nothing. Forget it,” I said and kept quiet before I appeared to be
another
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inquisitive buffoon who asked far too many questions.
I looked at her and I wondered. I realized that she knew the menu
inside out. She could explain everything on the menu succinctly. I am
bad when it comes to choosing what to eat. Anything that was kind to
the tongue was fine with me.
“But has she ever thought about her emotions in such an articulate
manner as the menu of any restaurant?” I thought. It was a stupid
question, but everything about love is stupid, stupid and yet important,
so important that we go to the heights of stupidity. Most of the times,
we tend to ignore such subtle things. We let love happen as if it’s the
responsibility of fate to unite us with our lover. We usually have a
checklist and judge a person according to it. I wondered if this
‘checklist’ is a result of social conditioning that we all go through or is it
purely experiential in nature. The only thing I have felt was that love
was what made you love; more like a verb than a noun. It’s beyond the
physical consummation. Everyone has a calling of a different kind. You
can go out with a person and yet you would wish how the moments just
passed so that you can consume the fruit of the final ordeal. A dinner or
a concert was then just a sacrificial act and you sat through it restively
so that you could have the forbidden fruit at the end of it. We actually
never think beyond the forbidden fruit. But then, if the person is right
then every moment turns out to be right. A simple conversation can go
on for hours and you wouldn’t realize the time until you are thrown out
of the restaurant. You would want to seize the moment and never let it
pass. Love is more inexplicable than seen and understood through our
rational mind. That is why when in love, you simply love. One doesn’t
understand how a person from an entirely different geography,
upbringing and education can speak the same language of the heart as
yours and suffer the same dilemmas as you would suffer. You talk to a
girl because you want to listen to her and not because it’s a game and
you need to play your part. A good conversation is just one example. It
could be a concert, travel, anything, else. Attend an event because it
interests you, not because you have to play your part to get her. If you
both dislike everything then indeed, the love between you two is
surreal. One just needs to find what works for him. And this is very,
very much individualistic to each of us. And love is very, very
experiential and uncertain as well. You don’t know the true nature of
Love until you have made the effort. Till then, as Steve Jobs would say,
‘keep looking, you’ve got to find what works for you.’ You can only find
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the truth through trials and errors and going through a path that is
froth with failure and being hurt. Also, I think you cannot wait for love
to happen. True love requires effort. You have to go out and search for
it. In any case, life’s true meaning is in the struggle of the journey and
not in the arrival, as every destination arrived only becomes a starting
point for a new one. Love is definitely a journey, a path, a road and not a
goal or destination to arrive at. And mistakenly, we make a goal out of
love and marriage the destination, the final destination. And then we
are disappointed because we can fake something once, twice, or thrice
perhaps; but we certainly cannot fake it for our entire life.
I was surprised at the words that I wrote. Could I have understood
all of this without embarking on this journey of mine? I was surprised
to find love itself being a journey. Being in love was more important
than being attached to the one you love.
But then one question started popping up in my mind.
“Could I find that special someone who could love me
unconditionally?” As I sat here watching the dawn turn into a morning,
I realized that by asking this question to myself I was not only being
irresponsible but also shying away from taking the burden that was
actually mine. Rather than asking whether I can find the woman who
can love me unconditionally, I ought to be asking another question, a
better one. As the veil of the darkness lifted over the mountains. I found
the veil of darkness being lifted away from my conscience too. I finally
stumbled upon the right questions that I ought to be asking myself,
“Can I love someone unconditionally?”
“Instead of finding someone who can love me unconditionally, can I
become the person who can be loved unconditionally?”
“Can I love for the sake of it, devoid of attachments and
expectations?” These questions sent a shudder down my veins for I
knew the answers were not much to my liking. And that is a universal
problem. We ask for things that we might not actually deserve rather
than first trying to become
the person who deserves what he or she actually wants.
I thus realized how foolish it was for me to close my heart to people
after I was hurt a decade ago because of unrequited love. And when I
imprisoned love and let it wither, it started disappearing from
everything else in life. The need for success overtook my consciousness
and my soul. A success of a different kind; the kind that could only be
defined in financial and social terms; the kind of success that would
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help me wield power. And in my pursuit of such a success I never
found happiness? How could I have? For to be happy you need to be in
love. Thus, my concept of success was flawed as it was devoid of love.
Every milestone I arrived at in my life only made me feel even more
miserable. Every achievement felt half-baked. Every statistical prospect
of a bright future seemed hollow. I was a human no more, I was turning
into a machine and before that, I had turned into a beast.
I was stumbling on a path, a path of a different kind; it was the path
of unknown. The road beckoned. But I was still frightened to walk on it.
Because I knew that a crossroad would arrive that would make me
destroy everything that I had built and gained in the last decade. But
was it worth it? Was it worth to give up everything that you had for the
unknown and uncertainty of the future? The moments had pushed me
to the edge; I had to choose. I had to choose between making the
sacrifice or stay where I was. I had to sacrifice everything in order to
embrace the road, the path that beckoned me. The clouds of doubt were
fading, but the road ahead was still uncertain. I had achieved a certain
level in life both financially and socially and had the comforts of the
known. But now I was learning new things on this journey, lessons of a
different kind; the kind that you learn when the universe speaks to you;
the kind that cannot be taught but only learned through your deeds and
through your experience; the kind in which you can only be led to the
knowledge if you stop controlling your own self and let the universe
guide you.
It was brighter outside and, in that light, I saw a man walk across the
street in a maroon robe; he was perhaps a monk who must be going to
the Stupa. And then it dawned on me. I knew where I could find the
answers to my dilemma. One man, a thousand years ago, had walked on
a similar path, leaving everything behind as he went in the quest for
truth.
My eyes were getting weary and my head felt heavier. I decided to
rest for a while before my next task. I reached for my bed and slid
under the blanket and closed my eyes.
It was almost eleven o’clock when I opened my eyes. Yet I exuded a
lot of exuberance and vivacity. I rushed to get ready. I then went for a
brunch and was soon driving out of the city.
The first stop I made was at the Shey Palace; built somewhere in 1665
by the Namgyal dynasty, it was supposed to be a summer retreat for
The Namgyals. It was on a hillock that offered a beautiful view of the
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mountains and fields. The palace had a beautiful monastery built inside
with a statue of a seated Shakyamuni Buddha. I then decided to visit the
Thiksey monastery, which was not only a place of worship but also like
Hemis Monastery, a seat of learning for young Lamas as well. A fifteen
feet statue of Maitreya Buddha was seated in the middle. It was an
overwhelming experience to be in front of the two storey high statue. I
sat there and wondered that this aura; this aura and the glory in which
Buddhism basked in today; existed because one day a man had decided
that it was enough. He walked away from the comforts of being a royal,
a prince to be precise. He could have been the most powerful man in his
region, and yet he hung his golden robes to wear the clothes of a fakir, a
vagabond; and walked out of the palace in search of the unknown, a
journey that would lead him to the truth, his personal truth. His road
beckoned him, his calling summoned him, his path lead him ahead
while he fought with his inner demons. He unleashed many sufferings
upon himself. He went through arduous trysts and trials and then one
day, as he sat under the Bodhi Tree meditating, his soul was awakened;
he stumbled upon his personal truth, the truth that was spoken to him
from the womb of the universe; and then he came to be known as the
awakened one or ‘The Buddha.’ Siddhartha Gautama, the prince of
Kapilavastu, whom we know as the ‘Buddha’ today, had chosen the path
of uncertainty hundreds of years ago. He too, like all of us, had to face
the pressure of his father, the king of Kapilavastu, the pressure of giving
up all the attachment to wealth and family and the comforts that were
already known to him. And still, he broke the chains that stopped him
from embracing the path of uncertainty and thus reached a higher self,
a higher state of enlightenment. He went on to spread the light
throughout the world. His teachings were simple: Life is a suffering
which arises due to our cravings and aversions. Our expectations of
others lead us to our misery. And if we are able to control this craving,
we would be able to end our suffering and be happy. And in order to
achieve that we must be aware of actions, of ourselves and we must be
moral and develop compassion. Buddhism is significantly focused on
the individual, for it’s from an individual that the family is born and
from families a society is born. In the quest for his personal truth, he
had given a whole new idea to the world to live on. Perhaps Rumi did a
better job in explaining it: ‘When I was clever, I tried to change the
world, now when I am wise I try to change myself.’
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I sat there staring at a Lama, who sat a few feet away. He was sitting
silently, perhaps meditating. I thought of him as the Buddha himself.
Could I give up attachments like Buddha himself? Did I have the
courage to kick the comforts of the known and embark on the journey
of the unknown? Did I have the faith to follow my own bliss? The
mountains were calling and the breeze that came through the window
brushed my hair aside. The monastery had given me the answer to my
question.
Before giving up everything and walking out of the palace as a fakir,
Siddhartha didn’t know what lay ahead. He was merely following his
bliss, his instincts, and his intuition. He was just listening to the voices,
the voices that speak in our heads, but we usually tend to ignore. There
was something magical about this path of life, this path of uncertainty,
whose nature had not changed for a thousand years, maybe even more.
And it would remain unchanged for the time to come too. To what
distance could one walk was to each one’s capabilities. But it was this
path of uncertainty that had given many successful leaders to the
world; many successful artists to the world, be it singers, musicians,
writers, painters, etc. It is this path of uncertainty that has fueled the
passion of many entrepreneurs who have changed the course of our
daily lives. It is this very path of uncertainty which has inspired many
philosophers who have changed the way we think. It was a truth in
which they had faith in, but it was a truth which the world couldn’t
fathom and thus mocked the believers of the truth. It’s because of
people who walk on the path of uncertainty that ‘Hope’ a word and a
concept continues to live and be relevant to this world. Hope is the only
opium that has kept civilizations alive through ages.
But then what was this path of bliss, this path of uncertainty and
how could one walk on it? How could one discover it?
I had begun asking the right questions. And my instincts told me the
answers were not far away. All I knew was that I had to take the first
step, and then to keep walking and enduring, come what may; I could
stop to rest but never cease to walk ahead.
I sat there under the light that reflected from the statue. I sat there
thinking, writing, and thinking even more. I had lost the track of time
until I was told by a Lama that it was time to close the gates. The day
had turned to dusk and I rode back to the city. The air was cold but my
heart warmer. I had an early dinner and returned to my room.
“I must be kind to myself,” Mark had told me, “I must learn to love
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myself.” I was going to do just that.
It’s only love that could liberate me from the clutches of that illusionary
monster that stopped me from being what I wanted to be. It was time to
make a radical change in my life. It was time I destroyed the prison that
I had built and locked my true self in and had thrown away the keys. I
must stop adding bricks to that prison. I must annihilate it completely
and liberate myself. Until and unless I didn’t let go of my past, and
everything that I was attached to, I could never step into the future that
I had envisioned for myself.
And there and then I decided, I decided to give up everything from
the past and give everything all in to the future. It was time to follow my
bliss, it was time to follow my heart and it was time to follow my chosen
path, my path of uncertainty. And at that very moment my heart, my
mind, and my soul lit up. I felt a new wave of energy transcend through
me. I got up and looked in the mirror, I was physically the same person,
but my eyes bore a certain gleam, gleam of a different kind, a gleam that
didn’t belong to the man that I was just a few minutes ago.
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DAY 23
Enlightenment
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is
that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness
that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, ‘Who am I to be brilliant,
gorgeous, talented, fabulous?’ Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world.
There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t
feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We
were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just
in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we
unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are
liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
— Marianne Williamson,
I woke up at the dawn of a new day, a day in the life of a new me. I
found myself singing in the shower as the water trickled down my
body. I felt elated; I felt light; I felt being liberated from the chains, the
chains which I
had wrapped around myself.
I knew where I had to go today. After returning from a quick
breakfast, I took my bag and jumped on my Thunderbird, and woke it
up from its deep slumber as I started the engine and headed out of the
city. In a short while, I was at the Hemis Monastery. I didn’t know
where to find Yogi so I entered the monastery and there he was, with a
broom in his hand, sweeping the floors of the main square. Such
humbleness; such humility. I couldn’t just stand there. I grabbed a
broom too and joined him.
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“Hey, you...! You are early today. And you don’t have to do it,” he said
watching me sweep.
“Ah, no! Please, I want to. Please allow me to,” I said as I continued
sweeping. Soon we had swept the entire main square, collected the
garbage and dirt and threw them in a bin. We then washed and went in
to have a cup of tea. “So, I guess you have something to talk about,” Yogi
said, “And I can see a certain change in you. You look very different
from when I had first met you.” I smiled. I knew I had come to the right
place and to the right person. We then decided to fill a bottle of water
and take a walk towards the Gotsang Cave. We talked about the last few
days as we climbed before we found a
beautiful, serene place to sit.
“So Lorena eh. I am glad that you’ve experienced love. Do not lose it.
You must continue to love. I am happy that you have found your own
definition of it too. So what’s the plan ahead? Is your life ahead going to
be art or something else?”
“I don’t know. This journey has been as much a spirituality one as it
has been a physical one. I might have crossed many mountain passes,
but the most difficult ones have been those that were psychological in
nature.”
“That’s so true. And that is what journeys are all about. They help
you break so many barriers that we erect on our own. I can personally
relate to you through my travels and the life changing experiences that I
have had off late.”
“The last twenty days in the mountains have been immensely
enriching. If I were to put my experience in just a few words, I would
say that the last twenty days have been all about these seven words:
fear, uncertainty, love, creativity, entrepreneurship, excellence and
path. And yet I am not able to complete the story. But I know it’s
somewhere around this.”
“These mountains have brought you here. I am happy for you that
this journey has proved to be worthwhile for you. So, tell me. I can’t
wait to hear your story.”
“I don’t know from where to begin. These past few days I have been
thinking, thinking and writing, writing and thinking, but yeah mostly
thinking, thinking about the past and the future and everything seems
to converge in the present. I remember the days when I used to be a
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man of love; you know, always happy, doing things to the best I could,
with my heart and mind completely involved in it. I lived in the pulse of
the moment; singing, dancing and playing, just happy you know. I was a
man who wore his heart on his sleeves; never afraid, never restrained
and never shied away from expressing what I felt and was as whom I
always wanted to be. I would take care of every detail in my work for I
loved what I did. There used to be certain details in my hairstyle which
I never missed and I always ensured that the shirt I wore went along
with the pants beneath. I was a man who was happy in his own way
until life happened; until I became another spare part in the big fat
machinery called society. The desire to live was substituted by the need
to survive. Passion was substituted by fear and every decision I took
was under its influence. All the decisions I then began to take were
governed by only one law: the law of optimization; in other words,
choosing the best alternative amongst those available. But then the best
alternative with respect to what? For lack of knowledge and proper
understanding our decisions were based on only two things; the
financial return and how much that decision helped increase our social
quotient without much of a risk. Or in other words, we kept a few
options in our hands, the options that the current scenario in our lives
threw at us and we chose the best option amongst those given. In short,
we were choosing the lesser evil of the ones given to us. But then the
reality could be that we may not like the given options at all and would
want something entirely different. You know a career option that life
didn’t even throw at us. And it was in the third year of my college when
I began to drift away from the inhibiting ideas that the society at large
fed in us. It all began when I watched a fifteen minutes video clip that a
friend of my mine shared with me. It was Steve Jobs’ Stanford
commencement speech.
‘Keep Looking for what you love and don’t settle,’ that was his
message, the man who had given up an ivy league college education to
pursue something that he was passionate for, the only problem was:
he hadn’t found his passion then. He had embraced uncertainty.
So then and there it hit me first, I hadn’t made any effort to look for
my passion. And since the time I saw that video, I had begun on the
quest to find that elusive answer. I had always been dissatisfied with
the inadequacy of happiness, and this dissatisfaction led me beyond the
realm of courses and laboratories and I found myself wondering in the
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world of literature.
But as I began walking on the road in search of my passion I was
once again blocked by the law of average and the law of optimization.
You know they are such dubious laws and yet we humans, especially
the college-educated ones tend to have immense faith in them. I define
these two laws in these ways. We tend to make our life choices based
on the law of averages. One such example is the decisions about our
careers. When we look at a career option, we first ask ourselves how
many people have actually been successful in this career. We come up
with an average number. We then ask ourselves what kind of people
were successful in that particular field. Again, if we see that people with
average talent managed to succeed, then we feel satisfied and choose
that particular option. But then if we had to look at some other fields
which could be, let’s say, in the layman term ‘a career option.’ You
know, like let’s say if I wanted to be a painter or a musician or even a
writer. Then in these cases the law of averages does not work because
there are no average numbers of people or people with average talent
who are successful. And when you see the number of successful ones is
in single digits it debilitates you. In fact, it destroyed me, and destroyed
my dreams. In such a scenario the rational mind once again made the
decision for me-- the option of securing a job and living a life like the
rest was a better choice than following your bliss and ending up in a
puddle. But I still decided to break away and follow my passion. I quit
the placement process to start my own internet company but once
again the infinite delays in the financial returns emasculated me and I
returned on the path to security and certainty by jumping into the race
to join a business school.
But now as I arrive here, both physically and psychologically, to this
land of barren beauty, where the echoes of the mountains touch your
soul and the whispers of the wind refresh your heart, the clouds of
doubts have now begun to fade away.
I have destroyed the prison that had enslaved me, the prison of my
own making, in which I had imprisoned my own heart, my feelings, and
my aspirations. That is when I learned that until and unless one didn’t
open the gates of his heart to love and passion, one could never
embrace uncertainty; for embracing uncertainty means being unafraid
of the future. And once you become unafraid of the future you become a
path-oriented person and not a goal-oriented person. A goal-oriented
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man has benchmarks and targets set, something he decides based on
the experiences of the people who were successful in a particular field
in the past. A Path oriented man isn’t, for his path is all that matters, as
he walks on his path, he tries to achieve excellence at every point; then
it is the journey that matters; the present then that matters and what
he is becoming in the due process. When I made decisions out of fear,
every choice lacked passion and I never pursued anything to achieve
excellence. The reward attached at the end became important. The
decisions were an outcome of optimization and I looked for only the
best possible reward at the end. Learning itself had become reward
oriented. I didn’t learn Physics, chemistry and mathematics to gain
knowledge or to understand the world. I studied these subjects to gain
marks in the exams, to clear the competitive exams. And in that process
I learned no Physics at all because my focus was at the outcome or the
result and not in the subject itself. My focus was only on understanding
basic concepts and a few tricks that could get me more marks in the
board exams or help me gain admission at a top engineering college. I
had no intention of understanding the laws of Physics and their
application in the real world. Had I focused myself more on the subject,
then my approach to learning would have been different. If I didn’t
understand a chapter or a topic, I would begin from a more basic level
to understand it rather than keep juggling at a more complex level
where I would focus on certain methods and tricks that would help
solve exam questions. There was no care and no passion. I studied the
subject not out of love but only out of need. And this dispassionate
learning only led to rote learning. If it were for the love of the subject,
then I would have either mastered it or given it up altogether. And it is
here where the whole education system gets at fault. We are never
taught to learn a subject out of love, rather, it’s the end, e.g., to get
marks or admission to a college that justified our intention of learning. I
bowed down to the need of the hour. I learned that cracking entrance
exams was more of a game in which you have defeated your opponents
and here the opponents were the rest of your unseen competitors who
were sitting for the entrance exams as well. Knowledge was required,
but it was more about learning certain skills, skills that helped you
optimize your performance in the limited hours of the exam. Thus,
learning became a race. When you enter college, the race continues, this
time for marks. Your entire focus of learning is on getting more marks.
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Marks were the barometer to decide the winner of the race. And, what’s
more, you could get more marks by playing along certain rules, you
know, the kind of rules pertaining to class politics, impressing your
professor to get more marks, or maybe bribing the laboratory assistant,
etc. And as we enter into the mainstream society, we are doing the
same. We are running, racing, trying to stay ahead in any way possible.
When I see Teja and Aki, I see them still in that game, still in that race;
trying to stay ahead, afraid that they might be left behind. But then in
this entire situation, in this pursuit of winning the race, the greatest
thing missing is love and passion. For lack of love and passion, this race
would be devoid of any purpose. This race then turns into a loop and
you would only be running round and round the same circle. The race
tracks change, the opponents change, but the race remains the same.
Often someone would come and change the rules of the game, but you
would remain in that same loop running round and round. How much
can you run? One day you end up tired and someone else over- takes
you, leaving you drowned in the abyss of your own emptiness. Had
there been more passion for learning, you would care to see what all
this is leading to. I don’t say that the entrance exams are not necessary.
They are indeed, after all for a limit number of seats in a college; the
authorities need a way to reject the applicants beyond a requisite
number. But their nature is temporary. Our desire to learn should
surpass our desire to clear the competitive exams. What’s worse is that
we as participants of this race continue to play the game even when the
entrance exams get over. The temporary becomes permanent. This is
an inevitable outcome as even before the entrance exam we never
made decisions out of love but out of the desire for the reward at the
end that looked promising. The chain of the same sort of decision-
making continues one after another. The thing with only winning and
losing is that it is intertwined with fear. The fear of losing is the
principal force behind our desire to succeed. And then we continue to
take decisions that are governed by fear. After all, one decision in fear
can only bring you to a situation when you have to make another
decision in fear. Breaking away from this chain isn’t easy and you end
up being a part of a herd in which everyone is juggling and hustling
with one another to reach the finish line. Those at the top leave no
stone unturned in manipulating the psyche of this herd as well. After
all, those at the top need people at the bottom to work for them. And
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that is how companies run. They have defined structures and processes
that have little to do with passion and individual talent. Humans
become resources, and resources need to be acquired cheaply. And
cheap labor can only be guaranteed if they are available in plenty. And
so, begins the game of influencing the herd as they put a carrot in front
of them so that they never leave the race. Some statistical opportunities
would be defined and this would be marketed well. When I joined my
engineering college in 2005, people said that there would be a huge
manpower shortage in the field of IT by 2010. Eminent intellectual and
economists guaranteed this through their horseshit in-depth research.
But by 2008 the whole world was gripped by the vicious arms of
recession and those who even had a job were left without one.
Whatever happened to the in-depth research of those intellectuals and
economists?
But what if we were to break away from all this and stop being a
goal-oriented person. Being goal oriented narrows down your focus.
You are always looking at the reward and, in that process, you miss out
on many other things that the universe is trying to direct you to. There
are those who always made their choices out of passion caring little for
what the reward was at the end. Those who were passionate about
engineering didn’t really care whether recession hit or not, either they
started small or started on their own. Their passion led to excellence
and this excellence led them to their originality: their path of
originality.
Love is all one needs. Love is needed in everything that one does.
The absence of it in any case is merely a compromise, a deal that we are
making with the world. And love first begins when we love ourselves,
when we care to nurture our soul and not just our desires. Our action
would be an extension of ourselves; our work would be an outcome of
our mind. We would CARE; we would be in the flow and that is what
being in love is. In our half-baked pursuit of success, we actually forget
the true nature of love and care. No dictator can lead the masses for
long before his mask is pulled off; no great business can be built with
only the next course of profit in mind; no art can be made by keeping
the price tag in mind. Unfortunately, we never learn from History and
continue to take decisions that are hypocritical; you know the decisions
that do not define greatness, our very own greatness. Love is not just
human love: love of a mother or a carnal desire for a person. To be a
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person of love means the extension of love into everything, and then
only can one become a person of love. How could a man not love his
work and yet claim to love his woman when it is the work that takes
away most of his life?
Love and passion help you embrace uncertainty, and uncertainty
helps you embrace your path; the path of your calling, the path to your
personal greatness. The journey on the path of uncertainty is indeed
fraught with danger and uncertainty. Unlike a goal-oriented journey,
path-oriented journey offers no destination and a secured reward to
work for. It’s full of surprises. Forget about goals, sometimes you don’t
even know what to do. There is no herd to follow and at times you end
up lonesome. Uncertainty can be overwhelming sometimes; for you not
only have to decide what goal to achieve but also how you are going to
do that and what methods and resources are you going to deploy.
But then there is a brighter side to it.
A goal-oriented man is always limited by the visible reward at the
end. The fear of uncertainty makes him choose a safer option, one that
promises a reward involving the minimum risk involved. And in that
process, he has berefted himself of what he actually deserves. What’s
more; he has already invited competitors as all of them are looking for
that same reward with the same minimum risks involved. And soon all
of them are hustling and jostling to gain that reward. All the efforts of a
goal-oriented man are then directed towards defeating others so that
he can reach his prize before them. In that process, he is not nurturing
his capabilities and increasing his resources. He is merely running,
ensuring that he is at least faster than his immediate follower and fast
enough to catch up with the one ahead. His actions are such that he
hardly gains any experiential knowledge and thus deprives himself of
any true learning. And what’s worse is that once he reaches the reward,
he then realizes that it was far too small to the efforts that he had put in
order to gain it. He is left in pain, agony and despair and then he either
gives up or begins chasing another reward with the hope that he might
be luckier this time.
But had this person embraced uncertainty and become a path-
oriented person, then the situation would have been different. There
would be no visible reward in the end. But then this is actually the best
part. Through his thinking and efforts, through his actions and decision
making, and with the available resources and his capabilities he could
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shape his entire future the way he wants, unbound by any specific goal
whatsoever, and create his future the way it ought to be. Thus, he is the
one who is defining his goal and not waiting for his goal to be defined.
Rather than focusing on defeating others, he would then focus on
building his capabilities and improving himself. He would always be
making and changing plans on what goals to pursue and how he should
pursue them. Rather than deploying premeditated methods, he would
be actually learning and discovering newer ways and, in the process,
coming up with creative solutions to the problems. This journey of
uncertainty would give him a tremendous amount of experiential
learning. And when he reaches his goal, he not only feels proud but also
reaps the benefits; the benefits that go beyond the results, the benefits
that include the enrichment of his capabilities and resources at hand as
well the benefits of the kind that satisfies his soul. He has thus become
the master of his own destiny. With a superior set of capabilities and
resources, and a better version of himself, he creates bigger goals now.
The chain of processes continues and his success expands not only
vertically but horizontally as well. He ventures on newer paths as well
as discovers newer avenues. This path of success becomes infinite,
limited only by his vision, it still remains uncertain but for the better
now.
Sometimes in the process of discovering his capabilities and himself;
a path-oriented man ends up achieving something entirely different.
For example, he might begin as an engineer but ends up becoming a
musician. But then that is the beauty of uncertainty. When one first
begins walking on this path, his mind has not entirely embraced
uncertainty and traces of conformity still linger on. But as he embraces
his path and starts walking on it, he, slowly and gradually, finds himself,
his true self and then his path becomes clearer and he becomes wiser in
terms of defining his goals. The thing is, embrace the voyage, just like
Christopher Columbus did, and while this voyage of uncertainty might
not lead to the planned destination, like it was India in the case of
Columbus, you might actually end up discovering something entirely
different but that which still holds value, like it was America in the case
of Columbus.
All through the journey he is neither concerned about the reward
nor affected by the opinions of others. All that matters to him is
whatever he does, he does to the best he can. He loves his work. His
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passion guides him and his entire focus is on excellence and he knows
that an excellent work cannot go unnoticed and would definitely lead
him to his goal and be recognized by people. There can be delays, but he
knows, he will arrive when the time is right. He doesn’t require
discipline to do his work. He and his work have become one; for they
are in the flow now. He gets completely immersed in his work and
every moment of his effort is without the worry for the future or
burdened with the past. And when you are in the flow much of your
learning is experiential: the first-hand knowledge that you get from
your actions. This experiential learning of yours cannot be taken from
you by anyone; even forcefully, and thus it leaves you with a unique
advantage of doing your work in your own unique way.
And when you have love and have embraced your uncertainty; when
you have chosen to begin to walk on your path and do work of
excellence; it is then that you receive the universe’s greatest gift: the
gift of creativity. A pure understanding of your subject and work; a
passion for the same, and desire for excellence leads you to think
harder and come up with newer ideas and newer ways of doing things.
These ideas lead to creativity and you bring to the world something
that is unique, something that is not in the race to beat others, on the
contrary, you define the race and make others run if it has to be. You
then define the game; the game does not define you. The goals are
defined by you, and when you achieve the goal, the goal itself becomes a
platform for a bigger goal, thus making your vision stronger. There is a
purpose in your pursuit and your goals then are not destinations, they
are merely lamp-posts on the journey, they are not the journey
themselves.
Creativity is not simply being in the field of art. The terms art and
artist can sometimes be misleading. Sometimes you look at a picture
and draw it the same way as it is and people called you an artist; you
perform a skit in the same way as it was performed by an actor in a
movie and people called you an artist; but in all these cases you are
performing an art, yet you are not really an artist. It’s a mundane act of
immediate gratification, one that involves imitating and repeating the
works and performances of others with the hope of immediate
payment. I used to frequent a restaurant where every Sunday a
guitarist would play songs. Every week the crowd changed, but his
music remained the same, his songs, and his singing had nothing new to
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offer, it was a mere repetitive, routine job for him. In order to play he
needed alcohol in his blood to even start, for his music alone could not
get him into the groove. His art was his job; just like any dispassionate
person crunching numbers in a cubical. In fact, creativity has nothing to
do with the field of work. In all these cases, what is missing is
originality, originality that is an outcome of imagination. Creativity
essentially means to create, something that didn’t exist before. That
comes through your original ideas, an outcome that is completely
unknown to the world. Some have a natural talent for a field in pure art
and become writers, painters, photographers, actors, singers, etc. But
creativity is just not limited to the fields of pure art; others can be
creative in their chosen vocation or fields like engineering, medicine,
architecture, marketing, etc. All that is required is imagination and
original thinking. Through passion and excellence and by embracing
your path of uncertainty, a person can achieve this original thinking.
The path of uncertainty takes you ahead; as you put your imagination
and action to shape your future; you begin to believe in your instincts,
guts, karma, whatever you call it, and these forces guide you along the
way. And that is, in my opinion, what Steve Jobs had meant to say in his
Stanford Commencement Speech.
When you are on your path of unknown, when excellence is your
goal, when you are working on something creative; you cannot afford to
set benchmarks and have yardsticks that are already defined. All
creative work in their originality is great. There could be no guidelines
or benchmarks. And this is where many budding artists go wrong as
they start looking for guidelines and keep a certain level of
expectations from their work to meet some standard before they
embark on their creative journey. They start calculating the reward at
the end of their action and start working on something that had fetched
a similar financial return or had a similar price tag in the past. In other
words, he is conforming like another reward-oriented person. In this
process, he ends up destroying his own art as conformity is the biggest
enemy of creativity. In an attempt to create something that is already
considered a masterpiece, he does three mistakes: first he doesn’t
discover his own originality and secondly, he does not give an original
work to the world and thirdly, in his attempt to produce something
similar to a masterpiece he ends up producing either a copy of it or
something that cannot even be considered as good work. This is where
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our education system again goes wrong: they coax you to achieve
certain benchmarks of conformity and you might even be punished for
not doing so. Soon fear starts rooting in your soul and you give up your
natural curiosity and interest in anything and just conform to the rules
and do what you are asked to do. To be creative is to create, it is a
journey and not a level or destination or rank or position achieved. And
when you see creativity as a journey, you then realize the importance of
experiential learning and the role it plays in shaping it. Thus, without
wasting any time achieving a certain level of expertise before
embarking on the creative journey; one should begin immediately.
What I essentially mean is that if your soul called out to be a writer then
pick up a pen or pencil and start writing, forget about the composition
or the technicalities of language; you would learn them along the way
anyway. If your heart called out to be a painter then pick up a paint
brush, crayons or charcoal or anything and begin painting, drawing or
sketching; if your heart called out to be a musician then pick up a spoon
and start beating empty bowls. All noise is music, some soothing to ears
while others are not. In the same way, if your heart calls out to be a
singer then sing, a photographer then can buy a cheap camera and start
clicking. Slowly and gradually through the experience gained from your
actions your art gets nurtured and your work improves. Don’t try to be
an artist, rather be an artist. You become an artist the moment you
decide to; practice only perfects your art. Art is learned through
experience and not through induced learning. Through your
experiential learning, you achieve a style, a style that is unique to you
and dies with you. You achieve your originality which comes through
many trials and errors, through failing and getting up again, risking
everything in the process, baring your soul and heart naked to the
world to be hurt. If you are rewarded with any success without finding
your true art, you will end up destroying it even before you attain it.
This would happen because your art was never yours, you were still
struggling to be an artist, but then that little success would make you
conform and you might end up typecasting your work to the same kind
of work that brought you that early success. There are actors who have
found some success in their early romantic movies. Soon they end up
conforming to doing only romantic roles because they feel that since
their audience, who are also their prospective customers, have
accepted him in his romantic roles, so he must conform to their wishes
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in order to get more financial reward. The writer of a romantic novel
ends up writing books of the same nature again and again because the
market is making him conform till his art starts to deteriorate and he
writes one shabby book that destroys him. This calling of yours; this
path of yours on which you begin walking; this path of originality and
uncertainty which is tough to walk on initially, which is embedded with
the thorns of discomfort and struggle, this path on which you walk
risking everything, would one day begin guiding you through your
inner voice. This path will help your instincts become stronger and
enrich your intuitive abilities as well. You then have a better
understanding of life and the world; for you not only understand as
they are now, but you understand as they ought to be. You then break
barriers, rebel against established norms and give people a whole new
song to sing.
And this is when I learned about the true meaning of
entrepreneurship. My first stint at starting something had one big
fallacy: I wasn’t an entrepreneur; I was still trying to be one. I had still
not accepted the path of uncertainty. And that was the biggest problem
for I wanted to ensure that things went according to the plan and by the
time-bound targets which I had set, I wanted to be established as an
entrepreneur who was making good money. Entrepreneurship and
creativity are two sides of the same coin. They cannot be separated
from each other. As in creativity, even on an entrepreneurial journey
one had to be path oriented and not goal or reward oriented. You
cannot afford to have time bound targeted work with the expectation of
a reward at the end. The second mistake I did was that I always had a
plan B, one that was a safer option to run back to if my entrepreneurial
plans didn’t work. There are moments on your path of uncertainty
when you feel stretched, when you are tested umpteen number of
times. One should not fret, for these tests are there to see if you have
the mettle and if you are truly passionate and committed to your path.
You have to cross the hurdles that seem too high to jump across. You
have to overcome the pits of fear and suffering, like those that I came
across in Zanskar Valley, which made me want to give up my trip
altogether and return to Delhi. But once you decide to be stubborn and
continue to fight, taking one step at a time, surviving each day as if it
was your last; then finally the day arrives when this path itself opens to
you and you then understand its true nature and embrace it. It is at this
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moment when you become a Ladakh rider, one who is fearless, and one
who has the will to endure. You have then become a rider for life. One
after another you reach a new destination, but that hardly matters
because you are enjoying the ride on your path, one after another you
write a new book that leaves its readers spellbound, one after another
you create a masterpiece that leaves every pair of eyes fixated, again
and again you create a song that would find its way on every pair of
lips, one after another you launch a new product or service that is in
high demand or maybe you end up venturing into a completely new
area and scripting a new success story there. This uncertainty, which
appeared like a mountain that you feared to cross, is now your friend,
helping you to create goals that you want to pursue and in the process
you are shaping your life, writing your own story, one that is unique
and belongs only to you.”
I looked up at Yogi as he kept listening intently. His eyes lit up as he
smiled. He gave me a light pat on my shoulder acknowledging my
words. And then he said:
“I am glad how you mention about intuition, something that I have
felt too. This mysticism, this unknown, uncertain source of energy in
the world is what has been the guiding force of humanity since eternity.
Centuries after centuries the course of mankind has been turned when
one man unknown to anyone in an unknown land suddenly does
something that transforms the way the whole world thinks. And all that
he is equipped with is his instinct and intuition and his never-ending
faith in them to guide him to the future. I have been pondering over the
question of why so many western tourists and travelers come to India.
Other than the fact that they are currency travelers, I have also realized
that there is much more to it. It’s the charm and mysticism of the
Eastern philosophy here that brings them. The Aristotelian ways of
western philosophy lack any reference to mysticism as it is based
mostly on rationality. In the process of rationalization, we miss out on
our intuitive and instinctive abilities to live and thus we miss out on the
sense of adventure and happiness in our lives. After all, the rational
process of thinking makes us think like machines and eventually we
become one. But the fact is that rational thing and instinctive/intuitive
thinking cannot be separated. I, being brought up and educated mostly
in the western education environment, have borne the brunt of rational
thinking. And this has made me a seeker of those intuitive powers of
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thinking that usually stems out of being in a state of love and happiness.
It is the search for intuitive thinking which has made regions like India
and Nepal a place where the hippie movement still lingers on. It is
intuitive thinking which brings us closer to our individuality and our
art, and it is this mystic intuitive thinking which we sometimes call as
guts, karma, etc. India does give you that because many places here are
still raw, unabused by industrialization and corporatization, things
which are an outcome of the western way of thinking. That’s why an
Indian journey has been a nurturing one for many artists as well as
truth seekers like us when we break the shell of a metropolitan city and
started venturing out to mystical places.”
“That’s so true Yogi,” I said, “But then what I have seen is that the
lack of knowledge sometimes creates illusion that soon leads to
disillusion in the society, one that makes you give in to superstitions
and other such things quite easily. As you said both intuitive thinking
and rational thinking, go hand in hand. Knowledge has to accompany
our intuition and they are both incomplete without each other. I
wonder where the balance lies. If intuition guides your vision,
knowledge guides your every step to reach there. But then the
knowledge should come through both the ways: acquired and
experiential, and we must accept and understand both kinds of
knowledge. And this knowledge then becomes rational thinking that is
in sync with intuitive thinking. I embarked on this journey based on
intuitive feelings and had just one thing going on in my head: that I had
to come on this journey. It was an emotional decision of a different kind
and yet I did not let it fool me that I could do anything. I used my
knowledge to create more knowledge and awareness about the journey
which helped me to prepare well. And because of the preparedness;
however tough a situation came; I was able to handle it. My knowledge
guided me on this journey, and my intuition led me, showing me,
revealing me the path at every turn, and in the process teaching me
many things through the experience of the journey. An artist or an
entrepreneur should use his intuition to build his vision, but along the
way he must let himself be guided by the knowledge that he acquires
through experience and through learning. Knowledge is a liberator. It
helps you conquer your fear. Knowledge through experience is true
wisdom. And this experience comes through your deeds, not in the
years one has lived. That’s why there is a saying: it’s not the years you
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lived, but it’s the life in those years that count.
But what I see is that most of us are neither guided by intuition nor
by knowledge in the truest sense and thus end up mostly led by fear
which makes us run for security instead of looking for adventure. We
then create our own boundaries and mental limitations. We begin to
discount ourselves and abase ourselves in the process. We think we are
not as intelligent as someone else, or not as strong as someone other; or
maybe not as brilliant, fast, etc. like others. We have already decided
that we are too feeble and talentless. We ran a 100-meter race in the
past and if we had not won, we concluded we were not fast enough. If
we had not been in the top ten of a class, we concluded we are not
brilliant enough. If our essay had not got selected in a competition, we
concluded we were not good at writing. We volunteered for a singing
competition and when we had not been appreciated, we concluded we
had no natural talent. One or all of these things must have undoubtedly
happened in our lives and we concluded we were good for nothing and
doomed to live a normal, boring life. Then we resign ourselves to fate;
the fate of normalcy and survival. Actually, we are better off resigning
to the fate that is dictated by our inner voice. And it is through an inner
voice that fate actually speaks. But we resign to something more vicious
and it’s called ‘the others.’ We let others dictate our lives and call it fate.
And this is because we are afraid to commit another mistake and fail
and thus be considered losers in the eyes of others. We then resign
ourselves to being a part of the herd. We only make an effort to ensure
that we come up looking acceptable in the society so that someone
doesn’t hurt our ego and blasts us off. And there it is, in doing so we
build a cage of fear around us and live in a false sense of dignity that is
guaranteed only because someone else is not pointing fingers at us. And
then we find an easier way. To avoid any form of criticism; or any kind
of questioning; we decide to speak nothing, do nothing and thus be
nothing. And surprisingly this has not changed since Aristotle first said
this. We then devote ourselves to the struggle to maintain our persona
of nothingness till we die one day, and even in that woeful death, we are
worried about whether people turn up at our funeral as we always
dutifully did when others died. Even in death, we fear of what others
might think.
Even Gandhi had once said: “The enemy is fear. We think it is hate,
but it is fear.”
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The fact is many artists are not born out of passion but out of
opportunity. Rarely do passion and opportunity marry each other and
when this happens, a great artist is born. We see journalists writing
novels, only because they have already been used to playing with words
and have somehow gained some level of expertise in the craft of
writing. Artists are born out of banner, poster painters or maybe
someone becomes a real painter because he or she has gone to an art
school. Some are from a financially secure family and so they have the
luxury of pursuing anything that fancies them. Or there is someone who
is sitting in an investment bank and is so bored that he ends up writing
a novel as he has nothing better to do. Somehow their art got done like
a side job. And then there were those who gave up everything to pursue
their art. Take these cases: John Grisham gave up his law office job to
write his first novel, Steve Jobs gave up his fancy pricey education in
order to pursue his passion which he knew existed but was still beyond
reach. Artists of these kinds have actually fought for their art, not
because they could simply create something, but because they wanted
their art to be the best and which had a grandeur that was never
imagined before. For them creativity was not a side job, it was their
purpose of life. While some are lucky to come across an opportunity to
pursue entrepreneurial or artistic dreams, in most other cases we have
to make an effort to take the leap. Until and unless we take the risk of
giving away our present security, whether it’s of financial or social in
nature or both, we can never achieve that elusive thing, that which
haunts us in our dream but when we open our eyes it disappears telling
us to go and find it, search for it, for it is never going to come to us
easily.
As children, we all have dreams. But we spend our childhood in
order to prepare for adulthood; our twenties are gone in order to make
a position in life till we get married. After marriage, we have children.
We work harder to provide for a life, but our life proves to be harder in
return. Our daily life gets entangled in the vicious circle of routine and
then we realize that position in our adulthood is never going to come.
The same questions that we ignored as an adolescent begin to return.
We now realize the essence of these questions but still refuse to look
for the answers. It is because we are afraid, afraid of what it might lead
to. We then yield to our present existence and refuse to even think of
possibilities. Our lonesomeness then becomes too big to handle. We
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start staying away from everything that reminds us of the person we
could have been. We silence voices that once inspired us in our
adolescence. And all it takes to do this is a gulp of neat whiskey. And
then hatred begins to creep in. You begin to hate even those who talk
about anything that closely reminds you of that dream which is no
more. And then one day you might even start hating your very own
children because when they come of age and are faced with the same
dilemmas as yours, you begin to tremble from within. In order to save
your own face, you advise them to first find social and financial security
before they can even think of doing anything on their own. And we
know very well about the lies behind those words knowing fully well
that it’s such a web, it’s such a conundrum that if you get caught in it,
you can never get out of it.
The irony is every time you do work that has no purpose or passion;
you drain out so much of energy that you feel tired and dead. As soon as
the work is over, all you wish to do is to laze around, sleep and feed
your pleasure senses. Your passion then takes a back seat and then the
date to begin your own journey keeps getting postponed.
But then there is another irony. Even if we find our paths; our gift of
our calling, we are still afraid to go out and embrace it. This is because
there is so much at stake now, the things that we could lose, things that
we have gotten through surviving. The fear of a social backlash also
inhibits us from embracing our path for we might get labeled as
weirdos because we tend to think differently than our peers. We are
afraid to step outside the realms of our own, self-created boundaries;
for whatever we have now might have to be given up in the process of
creating something new.”
I took a break to look at the Yogi, who seemed to have gone into a
deep contemplation. My silence brought him back to the moment and
he looked at me intently. And then he said:
“It’s so true Ravi. I had been working for the last few years and on
the sidelines, I had different plans for the future. Yet I never had the
courage to make the switch until now when it became too much to
handle. One must believe in destiny karma or whatever you call it. One
must understand that asking too many questions in an attempt to figure
out all the answers and make that perfect plan for the final leap is never
going to work out. As you said, you must take the leap and let your path
guide you on your journey. One day through your trysts and trials,
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through your actions and karma, along the journey your answers would
be revealed to you and you shall know where you are heading to. And if
you are different from others; that is, if you have the courage to walk
your path, then you are a chosen one. In that case whatever safety net,
you build around yourself, you would never be happy or satisfied or at
peace with yourself until you have begun to walk on your chosen path.
And you know why I call them the chosen ones; it is because it takes a
lot to walk on your chosen path. The world is not going to let you have
it easy, it is going to crucify you, and yet every time they do, every time
they beat you down, you must resurrect. You must begin again. It is
because you are the chosen one and the burden of your purpose must
be carried and you must walk till the end to see the purpose fulfilled.
The tide would be against you for the people know the beauty of this
burden, and they know that they did not get such a calling; this unique
gift of the path of uncertainty and thus are compelled to follow the
sameness of everyday. And in their frustration, they take it upon those
who are the chosen ones. Thus, at this point, it becomes necessary that
the creative kinds, the Xmens of real life, must stop paying heed to their
peers who could be acting out of ignorance and jealousy and harming
them. History has been a testimony to this fact. And let me tell you,
whether it’s America or Europe or India or Japan or Nepal or any other
country for that matter, it’s the same everywhere. And that is why Ravi,
you were never at peace with yourself before coming here and finding
your answers as you had never given your all and followed your path.
You were chasing your Ferraris and like you, even I was chasing mine.
And like us, there are millions out there who are chasing their Ferrari
and unless and until all of us give up that chase and embrace our
present
and our calling; we can never be at peace and be happy with
ourselves.
There are magazines that rank the richest people on earth and if you
closely analyze such a list, a very different kind of a story comes out.
There is a lot of inconsistency in their ranking. The list consists of those
who have inherited wealth and those who are self-made billionaires.
Well, about those who inherited wealth nothing much can be said, but if
you were to understand the lives of those who are self-made
billionaires then you would realize that they were not chasing money at
all, on the contrary, they were pursuing their dream; their calling and
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their happiness by doing the work that they were passionate about and
in that process they either stumbled upon or created something great
which led them to their fortune. When Bill Gates started his Microsoft
Company, he didn’t expect to reach such envious heights. But as he
embraced his uncertainty and continued to work towards what he had
envisioned; he gradually changed the way the world used computers
and sold more than a billion copies of Windows. These self-made
billionaires were not counting currency notes; they were simply
turning their dreams into reality.
And then there are magazines that rank the most powerful people
on the Earth every year. The irony is that these most powerful people
are dethroned every year and we see a new name come up. So how can
this person be the most powerful person when he cannot even manage
to stay at the top for even a few years? The concept of power is the
most illusionary concept of life in today’s democratic world. The
pursuit of power makes life miserable as you end up trying to please or
control everybody else and, in that process, you end up destroying what
is most important to you: your own path of uncertainty.
Our concept of success is so screwed up that these magazines are
not actually to be blamed. They are simply feeding upon the belief
which the people already have; the belief that success can be measured
only by the wealth and power acquired and this ill-understood concept
of success is the real cause of misery which turns men into monsters.
Money and power are merely tools; and not goals; the goal should be
to attain happiness, which first begins with your inner happiness and
slowly and gradually through your inner happiness you bring light to
the world that is already suffering in the darkness of its own creation.
And this happiness can be achieved through the pursuit of your
passion; by walking on the path of uncertainty and in the process
shaping your own destiny and that of the world.
Sometimes people confuse moments of pleasure with happiness. A
pleasant Sunday spent watching movies or having a sumptuous meal at
a fancy restaurant makes people believe that this is what happiness is
all about. But if we were to watch movies all day, seven days a week,
365 days a year, you would know how tiring and boring it would
become and you would run away with the very mention of watching a
movie. If you were to eat one particular sumptuous meal three times a
day, every day; then within a few days you would get tired of its taste
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and aroma and would run away the moment your nostrils picked up its
smell. Happiness and true happiness for that matter does not come
through the satisfaction of one’s pleasure senses. It comes from the
nourishment of the soul and contentment of the heart, and these can
only be achieved by the pursuit of your calling, your elusive dream. The
path of uncertainty is a true source of happiness for everyone.” I looked
up at the Yogi. His words were so true. I had not embraced my path in
its entirety as I was still afraid and still attached, unwilling to give into
the unknown.
And then Yogi looked at me and said, “Ravi, I can see that you are
still carrying the burden of the past. As the Dalai Lama says: ‘Remember
that sometimes not getting what you want is a wonderful stroke of
luck.’ It can be the best thing for you. Keep the lessons of the past
mistakes with you but erase the past. What I understand after listening
to you is that you did your best at every turn. We all make mistakes; we
are not born strong but become strong in the process. Humans are
nothing but work in progress; you and I are work in progress. The fact
that you are willing to embrace your mistakes is a huge thing in itself.
You have kept trying and that’s why you met with failures. Don’t let
them bog you down, keep trying. If you give up trying, then that is the
day when you have actually failed. You…”
“But then I feel I have already wasted a lot of time and money, how
am I going to bring it all back?”
“Let it go Ravi let it go. Look at the years ahead, the past is already
behind you. It is not your fault. Don’t blame yourself or anyone else. The
past was as it was. I can see that you have become wiser. And that is
what the past meant to you. Wipe the slate clean; begin writing a new
story of your life.” “But…,” words were finding it difficult to find its way
through my mouth.
Instead, tears rolled down to express my emotions and what I had to
say.
At that moment, the Yogi hugged me as if he wanted to take all my
pain away.
“Forgive yourself and let it go. Release yourself. Be born again. For
then only can you do justice to the years ahead,” he said softly in my
ears as he embraced me like a parent embraces his or her child.
I cried for a while and then I looked up to him. He then spoke to me
again: “And there is one more thing that you must do.”
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“What?” I asked.
“This time you must choose your fear and decide to conquer it.”
“But I have many fears and making a decision could take time;
something I could only do once I am back in Delhi.”
“Think about something that might be related to this journey. There
has to be something.”
I sat in silence for a few minutes and then finally everything opened
itself to me.
“Yes, there is one. Before I embarked on this journey, I was very
fearful of coming alone which I really wanted to do. But there was a
certain fear; I guess it was the same fear that withheld me from
becoming the person that I wanted to be. For lack of experience and
resources, I decided to come with my friends. But I wasn’t happy,
something made me break all ties and we decided to go our own ways. I
decided to stay back while they left for Delhi. Frankly speaking I hadn’t
thought of all this. I had to say no. I just couldn’t ride with them
anymore. I had to stay back.”
“And what are you going to do now?”
“I have to get back to Delhi and I don’t know how, maybe I’ll join
another bikers’ group and get back to Delhi, or maybe I will go back via
the Srinagar route as it is easier, less dangerous, and the best part is, I
have already been on that route. Most of the seasoned bikers I met and
talked to had one common thing to say about the two routes, Srinagar
route is far easier than the Leh-Manali route. The latter is very tough
and there are some deadly moments. Well, I am going to talk to a few
biker groups, maybe pay an organizer of one of the groups to let me join
them on a return journey. “
While I was talking, something struck my mind.
“Wait a minute. I now understand you Yogi, I now understand
everything. Maktub: it was all meant to be. My coming on this journey,
then my friends and I separating our ways, my lovely time with the
flower children, and then meeting you; it was all meant to be, Maktub. I
wouldn’t have realized so much about my life if I had not come on this
journey. I understand now what you were trying to explain earlier, I
understand now what the mountains were trying to speak to me. And I
know now what I have to do. This time I am going to choose my fear
and conquer it. I was afraid to come here alone. So, this time I am going
to go to Manali, and I am going to do it all alone. For half of the journey,
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I didn’t fulfill my wishes. But now I am going to do it for the other half.
Even if this means life and death for me. I will not give up and do this. I
have made my decision,” I said.
“I am not sure how to react to this. On one hand, I know that Leh to
Manali is going to be tough. You would be walking on fire. But then
should I ask you to reconsider or should I ask you to go? I am sure there
have been people who have done it on their own before, albeit these
people would be very few in number. All I can say is, if this is the fear
that you think you wish to conquer, then may God be with you along the
way and you come out victorious, for he has his way of working
mysteriously. And I know that this journey will open doors for you, and
in the process unravel great mysteries of the world. All I can ask of you
is to be careful. I will pray for you. Go ahead and unwrap it; your gift of
uncertainty that awaits you. I think the time has come for you to walk
on your path of uncertainty.”
Finally, I could see clearly. I felt like a newborn. I felt like a blind man
who had just been given a new pair of eyes to see and for the first time,
he notices the beauty of the world. I could feel the transition. I could
understand and interpret. I finally knew what it meant to be born and
what it meant to live. All I needed now was to act.
I looked up at the Yogi. He was smiling. I was in tears; tears of joy;
tears of sheer happiness that did not know how to be expressed. I got
up and hugged him and kissed his palm.
“Sir, you have given me a new lease of life,” I told him.
“Oh no don’t worry about all that. It’s maktub, it is meant to be, you
are a chosen one. And perhaps this is what I have been chosen for. I am
going to go back and teach and I am going to motivate a thousand other
souls. I have finally understood what I need to do. India has indeed
given me that. You have given me a new lease of life too. I now know my
purpose here on this earth.”
“Can we meet again in our real lives,” I asked.
“Well sure we can, but only if destiny has that in store. But what one
gets during traveling and whom he meets during traveling as complete
strangers must be left at that. Somehow, we are more comfortable
talking to strangers than we might be talking to our loved ones, be it
parents, siblings or even spouse. But if we are destined to meet, then
we would. Till then I am Yogi for you and you are Ravi for me. Let the
destiny reveal itself.”
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We hugged again and said our goodbyes. The Yogi decided to return
to the monastery while I wanted to sit there a little longer. I wanted to
just sit alone, take in everything, contemplate or maybe just sit alone.
Today’s discussion with the Yogi had a profound effect on me. “I must
learn to be detached,” the Yogi had said. I must learn to let things go. I
must be passionate but at the same time I must learn to let things go.
Lorena might have gone for the same reason. And so has Yogi, and so
must I.
I smiled and kept looking at the Yogi as he finally disappeared in the
distance ahead.
After a while, I got up and walked down the hill to where my
Thunder- bird stood. I started the engine and vrooom, dug dug dug, the
Thunderbird came to life. I took the first gear and started going
downhill. Soon I was on the highway driving back to the city of Leh. The
mountains stood there, the road stood there, the people, the shops, the
houses that passed by, the sharp turns, the protruding mountains, and
the huge peaks at a distance, all stood there. But I had to move on; it
was time I left my past behind.
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DAY 24
Matrix
“Although my belief in the world returned to me, I have never since entirely freed
myself of the impression that this life is a segment of existence which is enacted in a three-
dimensional boxlike universe especially set up for it.”
— C.G. Jung
The morning beckoned with a new found purpose and a new found
peace in my heart. I went to my favorite restaurant to have a brunch.
It was a rooftop café. The ambiance there was as beautiful as ever. In
one corner, a girls’ band chatted away while in another corner, sat a girl
cozily and was immersed in turning the pages of a book. An old couple
at another table were having lunch and they seemed happy, perhaps
they had a long marriage of bliss. I was happy too, and was enjoying in
my aloneness. I didn’t need any company. Not right now. You could
simply be alone and yet be happy. Aah, the beauty of traveling. I now
realized its essence. I had traveled earlier, but they were more of a
sightseeing, but this was the first time I was experiencing things,
experiencing a new place and what it had to offer. Traveling gave vent
to my imaginations. It gave me a new perspective to see things; a new
reality that is different from the life that we are used to living in a well
like metropolitan city. Traveling opens you to so many different
possibilities. It gives you alternate ways to think; it gives you a new
perspective on life, and maybe when you return you would want to
inculcate these new perspectives in your life. You spend money on
traveling and yet you grow rich. The experiences and the moments
enrich you. You leave your comfort zone behind and yet the soul never
felt more comfortable and freer. The weariness of traveling might make
your body tired, but it invigorates your spirit. Our lives are like that
shown in the movie Matrix. Now Neo isn’t going to come and save us in
real life. We need to do it on our own. Traveling helps break the status
quo when you leave the concrete jungle and begin to witness the aura
of the rawness of the rural hinterland. After all, the womb of the
universe has been the same for a billion years. We need to get back in
touch with nature to get back in touch with ourselves. Traveling gives
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you some moments to escape, escape from the races in our mundane
lives so that we can sit and contemplate about where these races are
taking you to. You open up to strangers quite easily. When was the last
time you had an honest conversation? Not with anyone that you knew
in real life. We become explorers for a moment and not conquerors. We
reach newer avenues in our thoughts and perspectives on life. You
cannot teach the essence of traveling to a man, he can only learn it
through experience when he sets foot outside his complacent world
and into adventure that is laden with vulnerability, vulnerability that
actually make him stronger. I have always wondered why do I love
coming to the mountains and living with these local people? What is it
that brings me close to this nomadic and tough life of the mountains?
Like me, there are thousands of others who are mesmerized by the
beauty and life of these people. These local people are far away from
anything political or a dog eats dog culture of the big cities. The terrain
is so tough that defeating the challenges posed by nature itself seems so
consuming and threatening that without the bonding of all the people
without one another, they wouldn’t be able to survive another day.
They have seen disasters happen. It’s a part and parcel of their lives.
They have lived with the death of their loved ones in front of their eyes.
They know the value of love and cooperation. And they know that
without the co-operation of everyone, survival is impossible. These
things make them so grateful for the life they have that they don’t
worry about any sort of feuds. They learn to share, to give others as, at
times, they also need the same. They might be poor, but their souls are
richer than ours, as they have been enriched by the beauty and purity
around and toughened by the challenges, they have to face every day.
We- the tourists, the travelers, and the backpackers, who come
traveling to these hinterlands are left feeling poor as compared to them
and we take back so much, so many memories that have enriched our
mind, soul, and body. There are things, things that our heart longs for,
and yet the fulfillment happens only at places like Ladakh, where the
purity is still intact and where the mind meets the heart to merge with
the soul.
So why are we city folks against traveling? My father had put his foot
down on my plans to travel to such far off places. Many of my friends
travel for only a short getaway, so that they can have some sort of a
quick fix to the ailments that their minds and bodies are suffering from
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because of the constant need to stay ahead. Beyond the short getaways,
they hardly travel. Rather than the lack of opportunity to travel, it is the
fear that stops them to go on long trips. Somehow, we get so
comfortable in the mendacity of our daily lives that even facing the
truth becomes an unbearable task. We are afraid of what the newer
frontiers might lead us to. Or sometimes it could even be worse; it
might actually challenge our existing beliefs itself. These new frontiers
can then make us want to change. But we think that change is bad
because it requires effort and responsibility; the motivation for which
we no longer have because it is so much easier to go with the herd.
After all, when disaster strikes it would hit the herd together and we
would not be alone. And this apprehension of the forthcoming disaster
keeps us restrained and restricted in our complacent world and stops
us from stepping outside. Our beliefs have got ingrained in us firmly
through years of schooling and social conditioning. These conditioned
beliefs prevent us from questioning anything including the beliefs
themselves. And in return, these beliefs offer us the comfort; the
comfort of a family, a life partner, a house, a car, a salary. In other
words, these beliefs give us a code to survive as if our lives were part of
a software utility, designed and programmed to be performed in a
certain way. Lest we should try anything else other than what we are
programmed to do, our system crashes. For a moment think, if only, if
and only if we took that chance; the chance to propose the girl who was
the love of our lives; the chance to do what you always wanted to and
took the plunge, no matter what the risk was, as these risks are only
mental and emotional in nature. If only we were not limited by the fear
of losing anything, especially the things that are yet to come, like a
future job, salary, marriage, car, a house, you know, the things for which
we have already begun to trade our soul with. And instead of being
apprehensive about the future, we walked on the path of uncertainty,
the path that makes us focus on the present, the path that we can call as
our path; the path that makes us go out and built a new future, our
future; the future that we have always envisioned for ourselves, the
future from where you would not have to regret retrogressively.
I will soon be returning to college, to my MBA education. Maslow’s
hierarchy of needs is the first thing you learn in an MBA program and it
is considered to be one of the most popular theories taught in a
Business school. In the shape of a pyramid, the theory attempts to
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describe the hierarchy of needs of the masses. I started drawing the
pyramid on a napkin. Almost every MBA candidate surely remembers
this pyramid.
The pyramid explains the hierarchy of needs quite well. But I feel,
the Maslow’s pyramid can also explain why we never follow our path.
Maslow says that people’s aspiration starts from the bottom of the
pyramid and then goes higher to the peak as shown in the diagram.
Well statistically speaking, this could be the truth. But when has
statistics actually told the complete truth? We educated ones are in the
habit of hiding behind the garb of statistics and numbers when human
nature is questioned, especially when it’s the human nature which
needs to be changed. Through the pyramid, Maslow tried to show that
the aspirations of people starts first with the need to fulfill their
physiological needs such as food, water, etc; then their aspiration shifts
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to safety needs like health, property etc; then they crave for love and
belonging, then they work for their self-esteem as they try to make a
position for themselves in the society so that they are respected. When
finally, these needs are met, they try to work towards their personal
aspirations such as their creative or entrepreneurial goals. But in
reality, after a lot of struggle people only reach level three, i.e., they get
married and have a secure life. Only a few are able to achieve self-
esteem but if we were to talk about self-actualization then maybe only
one in ten million are able to achieve that. It is because by the time we
reach level four, we are either too old or it is too late to start afresh. We
then die with the dream buried in our hearts. If we were to look at the
lives of successful artists and entrepreneurs, we would realize that they
first worked and achieved their self-actualization goals before meeting
their other needs. For them, self-actualization was important, then
came other needs of security. Thus, passion ruled over reason. Is it
possible? It is. But first let us see how Maslow’s law is misinterpreted.
How do we define physiological and safety needs? Is it getting a good
salary and owning a three-bedroom flat, a car and maybe eating good
food that involves frequent outing to expensive restaurants? We are
conditioned to have a certain standard of living which makes our
physiological needs very expensive. In the same way, our conditioning
makes us settle down sooner than we actually need to so that our social
needs are fulfilled. Thus, by the time we reach level three of the
pyramid, we are already entangled in the social web from which we are
never able to escape. Soon our need for self-actualization takes a back
seat and gets buried in an abyss from where it never returns. Now if
self-actualization was our goal and if we were truly passionate about it,
then we would minimize our physiological needs so that it comes out to
a low cost, keep our social needs aside for a while, and then strive to
achieve our actualization goals. Our youthful energy is then devoted to
creating something that we are passionate about. And let me tell you,
once we self-actualize, once our art or venture starts kicking in, all the
levels of the pyramid are achieved. I once read Arvind Adiga’s story, the
author of Booker Prize winning book ‘White Tiger.’ He had multiple
part time jobs that paid his bills while he devoted most of his time and
energy writing a masterpiece. If he were to climb the steps of this
pyramid, he might not have been able to achieve a feat that has given
him much more than what he could anticipate. In the pursuit of self-
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actualization, we might end up living as vagabonds, but then at least we
would be giving a shot at realizing our dreams. And this is what the
hippies have been doing for so long: traveling, living cheaply until they
discovered and mastered their art.
The food had arrived, but I was hardly focused on eating anything.
My mind ran in random directions. My pulse was racing. I was
invigorated, inspired as I was discovering newer avenues. And by the
stroke of luck, at that moment Mark appeared with his guitar. He
greeted me when he saw me and took a seat at my table.
“So wassup man?” he asked. He was, as he always was, in a chirpy
mood, and his energy gets on to the other people as well.
“Aah Mark I was going to come down and meet you,” I said, “I
wanted to thank you in so many ways. I am leaving for Delhi, perhaps
the day after tomorrow.”
“Hey, that’s early man. I hoped that we might meet more and talk
more,” he said.
“Oh, I wish I could stay,” I said, “But I have to go. It’s kinda
important.” “So how do you plan to go?” he asked.
“I might be going alone by the Leh-Manali route,” I replied.
“Isn’t it damn tough?” he asked, a little surprised, “I mean those who
came by that route say it’s a piece of shit man. And it’s freakin’
dangerous too.”
“Yeah it is, I know, but I must do it. I have to do it. It’s going to be the
only way.”
He looked into my eyes and knew that I meant every word I said.
“Listen, why don’t you come down later in the evening and we will jam
and all ya, just like last time. Let’s celebrate your farewell,” he said.
“Sure! I would,” I said accepting his invitation.
We sat there for a while and then went our separate ways. I then
decided to visit the Leh Palace; one of the tourist destinations I had
missed.
After a little drive across the city, I managed to reach the gates of Leh
palace.
I bought the ticket and as I was going inside, a couple of local kids
who were playing there accompanied me as my tour guides. I smiled
and thought it was a nice way for them to make some pocket money
and took them along. Soon we became friends. And from one room to
another, and then to the rooftop, these kids gave me a good tour of the
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entire palace. The palace also housed a small museum where lots of
murals and artifacts of ancient Leh were kept. The palace was built by
Sengge Namgyal in the 17th century and was modeled on the Potala
Palace in Tibet. But now for quite a considerable period of time it lay
empty and was in ruins until the Archeological Survey of India took
over it and had begun restoration work. It has become quite a tourist
attraction now. We then went out on the open terrace where a
picturesque view of the Leh city and the mountain ranges could be
seen. We could see the hotels, the stupa afar, the mosque below and
many other things. It was wonderful. The mountain ranges stood afar in
their splendor as guardians of the Ladakh region. After spending some
time on the terrace fooling around with the kids and a few young
monks who were also there, I decided to head back to the city.
I parked my Thunderbird outside my guest house and decided to
take a walk across the town. I wanted to see it again and again, as much
as possible. On my way to the main market, I met Lisa. She was in a
hurry; she had to meet some people. They were heading to Tso Morriri
Lake. And then she would be catching a flight to Delhi and continuing
with her South Asia journey. We wished each other goodbye and then I
went ahead on my stroll. I then went to a small outlet for a cup of coffee
and a plate of dumplings. It was getting late in the evening now. I
decided to head to Mark’s place.
In a short while, a small group had gathered and like last time we
were all singing and clapping. Some were familiar faces, some were
new, but the crowd always had a new found vigor. People come and go,
but the music never stops. People are like water in a stream, the drops
look the same, yet they are continually being replaced. Some hit the
rocks and stay behind longer than others while others go ahead. But the
stream continues to flow. The guitar changed hands. Small bongo
drums came in, and the fusion created the perfect moment for the heart
and soul. Music, its everywhere; from the whistling of the winds to the
noise of thunders, from the spluttering of the rain drops to the crackling
of the leaves. Music is everywhere. It’s the soul of the universe. Music
defines you, motivates you, and when you submit to it by letting your
heart beat to the rhythm of every chord, you know your heart, mind
and soul have united. That’s one of the reasons why playing a musical
instrument is so difficult and yet so easy. It lacks the complexity of a
machine and yet it is very complex to work with. For example, you play
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the guitar with two hands. But both work independently, completely
oblivious to the ways of the other, yet both are united by the rhythm of
the music. Until and unless your heart, mind and soul don’t come
together, you can never play a musical instrument. The moment you
begin to rationalize, playing musical instruments becomes complicated,
the moment you give in to your emotions, playing musical instruments
becomes simple. Songs after songs filled the air and people united
together in their exuberance. Joints changed hands servicing the lips of
every beautiful face that sat there. Hippies; they were always a curious
group for me. Their idea of life was that it should be filled with love and
happiness. I was always enticed by them, and by their idealism. Judging
the hippie culture to be good or bad was not up to me. Their notion of
life was divine, but there were some things with which I did not agree.
They hated technology, money, and the mainstream society. I could
understand their aversion to the mainstream society that asked you to
conform. But their hatred of technology was hardly justified. Their
argument was that technology made you addicted and controlled you. It
divided people and created distances amongst them. But then how
could technology control man when it is an outcome of man’s mind
itself. Technology needs to be understood and we need to control our
own desires to give in to addiction. It is the addict who is to blame, and
not the product. In fact, technology connects geographies, the best
example, in this case, is the internet which has been doing so for many
years and a proper use of it has brought great prosperity to mankind.
You can use nuclear technology to make bombs or you could use it to
light a bulb in every home, it was up to man to do justice to it, but the
technology itself cannot be blamed. The hippies also hated money
because it made people do things that they wouldn’t want to do. Again,
like technology, money cannot be blamed as it is merely a tool of
exchange, a medium that brings together ideas, entrepreneurship and
resources to solve human needs. Acquiring money is not bad, how it is
acquired needs to be thought upon. If you are only chasing wealth, if
every action in your life is dedicated to only making money; if every
purpose is defined only by the bundles of notes at the end, then money
can be bad. But what if you were to follow your passion and path of
uncertainty and in the process create something new and fresh that is
accepted by the world; what if this product were to lead you to your
wealth and prosperity; then in this case money cannot be termed as
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evil. It is because I am pursuing my passion, and my passion leads me to
art and entrepreneurship, and through this service to the world, I get
paid. In this case, money is divine. But then in today’s complicated
world there is something going wrong. Capitalism was drifting away
from its own idealism; you know the kind of capitalism that Ayn Rand
had envisioned. Today competition is being replaced by institutions
that are too big to fail and, in the process, failing capitalism itself.
Proper service to humanity is taking a back seat and corruption and
politics is taking a front seat. This in turn is creating a lethal world as
power and wealth is getting concentrated in a few hands. Today people
do not have to work for money; the work of their forefathers is
continuing to feed them. The recession of 2008 is a stark example of a
world where the institutions of capitalism are getting eroded; signaling
the arrival of a pseudo-monarchical form of nationhood. Today the
central banks are free to print currency notes and this is creating a
bubble of wealth and one day when this bubble bursts, the impact
would be far worse than the bombs that fell on Hiroshima and Nagasaki
during World War II. Let’s come back to the hippies’ hatred of the
mainstream society. People conform because they want to feel safe, and
in the process never actually get awakened. But if you are an awakened
one, then you can be that element of change, you can help awaken souls.
And that is where the hippies are wrong. Simply lamenting the world is
just not enough, they have to go out and change what they dislike. “But
then you can’t awaken those who consciously choose to sleep,” they
argue. And I cannot deny the merit of this statement. No wonder major
changes have happened when survival itself has been threatened. It is
then the masses wake up and get ready to fight back and help correct
the system by adopting the changing needs of the world. Till then,
everyone is comfortable in their own suffering. And these hippies chose
freedom over conformity. I sometimes wonder the value of education.
When I look at the situation sitting at a top-notch college in India, I
realize our education system produces people who are more anti-
change, more anti-progress, and lack a passion for anything. They are
just worried about ‘fitting in’; whether it’s in a dress or in the society.
Not everyone can be strong enough. Many in the mainstream world
aren’t and so are some of the hippies who get termed as escapists. At
least they choose not to accept the convention and live in their
sufferings. At least they have rebelled to protect their individuality from
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being corrupted, and those who found their courage through the
discovery of art and purpose, have indeed gone back to the mainstream
society with a stronger and wiser heart that loves and cares more, and
in the process, they also made their mark in the world.
I stayed there for a while and then decided to head back. I bid
goodbyes to everyone. I thanked Mark again; he had been a friend, a
guide, and a brother. Strangely enough, the best people in life, are met
by chance.
As if it is all meant to be; Maktub.
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DAY 25
Moments
“If you’re going to try, go all the way. Otherwise, don’t even start. This could mean
losing girlfriends, wives, relatives and maybe even your mind. It could mean not eating for
three or four days. It could mean freezing on a park bench. It could mean jail. It could
mean deri- sion. It could mean mockery--isolation. Isolation is the gift. All the others are a
test of your endurance, of how much you really want to do it. And, you’ll do it, despite
rejection and the worst odds. And it will be better than anything else you can imagine. If
you’re going to try, go all the way. There is no other feeling like that. You will be alone
with the gods, and the nights will flame with fire. You will ride life straight to perfect
laughter. It’s the only good
fight there is.”
— Charles Bukowski,
The new morning defined only one purpose for the day. I needed to
prepare for my final departure from Leh. My heart had no more fear;
just the awareness of the fact that I needed to take care of a number
of things before I began this journey. Preparation was the key and I was
not going to take it lightly. The Leh-Manali route was far more
dangerous and tough as compared to the Srinagar-route. Driving on the
latter was like cruising as compared to the Leh-Manali route. The roads
on the Srinagar-Leh highway was mostly double lane, less steep and
well-constructed. Even at an altitude of 12000 feet, we drove at a
speed of 80 km/hr at some places. More towns existed on the Srinagar
route thus offering more options of guest houses. The only defining
moment came when one had to cross the Zozi La Pass, but if one had
done the Manali-Leh route first, Zozi La would be like a cake walk. The
Leh-Manali route was rough and very few options to stay were
available. There were only tented accommodations available on the
Leh-Manali Route for the major part of it. In fact for at least 250 km no
significant human settlement existed.
There were many different frightening stories about the Leh-Manali
route. Some talked about the Pagal Nallah or the mad stream; which is
so ferocious that most of the bikers had a tough time crossing it. Some
talked about the bitter cold of Baralacha La Pass that can make you
literally sick. Then there is the dreaded Rohtang Pass and the slug fight
with its muddy terrain that took hours to cross. The Tanglang La was
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going to be another tough pass to cross as it is the third highest
mountain pass in the world. Then there was the Pang region, where the
land is dry and the air has a scarcity of oxygen. I could also fall sick due
to Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS) condition.
But I was ready. No matter what happened, I was going to do it.
Almost all the stuff was as good as before. I never had a puncture in the
entire journey till Leh nor any major motorcycle problems. Some minor
problems like oil seal damage in the front shockers had been taken care
of and my rear brake pads had been changed. I just needed to buy a
new pair of brake pads before I left for Manali.
I had breakfast and then drove down to Mohan Sharma, the
mechanic’s workshop once again. After a thorough check up of the bike
in which not a single fault was found; I headed back to the town and got
my petrol tank and cans filled. For at least 300 km, no petrol pump
would be coming my way. I then bought a few bungee cords for the
journey and some souvenirs for my friends and family. I then started
driving to every nook and corner of the city, even to the places where I
did not need to go. The city had grown on me and I had got attached to
it. I wanted to embrace it and take it back as memories. I then drove
back to the city to meet all those whom I knew. Bidding them goodbyes
was tough as we had become good friends. In a short while, I had a
small family here. After a while, I arrived at my guest house. The time
had finally come when I had to say goodbye to Leh. May this city
continue to nourish many souls like me as it has stood here and done so
for many travelers since the Silk Route days and even before.
Dusk had arrived and I started packing for the next day. Four big
bags were needed to be packed and it took time. At around eight o’clock
I went for dinner and I chose the same rooftop café. But as I sat there
waiting for the food to arrive, my heart was filled with sadness. I had
collected memories here. I had accumulated experiences that would
last a lifetime. How could I bid goodbye to everything? I wanted these
moments to last forever. But I knew it was impossible.
The moments are only to be cherished; the moments are only to be
lived by. Any effort to cease them is futile; any attempt to make them
yours is purposeless. One must move on, that’s what a journey is all
about. That’s what life is all about. Experiences are the signs on the
road that tell you where you are heading to or maybe where you need
to go, if only you open your heart and pay heed to them. There must be
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no attachments and no expectations; there must be no bonds that could
withhold a person. Some moments are the price you pay for, some
moments are priceless, get them all together in your carry bag, fill your
heart with the joys of each and look forward. Your next step that you
are reluctant to take is a step to another incredible experience. Don’t
look back, for the moment has turned into a memory now. Learn from
them or destroy them, it’s up to you, but don’t let them hold you back.
The motorcycle beckons, as she awaits your final call to go on a journey
whose destination it does not know; but it certainly knows that it is the
ride and it must share the burden of the rider as they together move
ahead to leave many destinations behind.
The dinner arrived; a light one. I ate in peace. I then headed back to
the guesthouse and decided to go to bed. I needed to sleep early for the
journey needed to begin early. But all I could do was twist and turn. I
don’t remember when the rumbling thoughts led me to a deep slumber
only to be awakened by the alarm clock.
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DAY 26
God
“The trouble is, you think you have time.”
It was 4.30 am. I got up and first decided to finish packing. I then
went downstairs, checked the pressure of the tires and filled it with air
with my air pump. Then I washed up and wore my attire for the ride
ahead. It was nothing less than preparing for a war. I wore woolen
inners within, then a long t-shirt on top and jeans at the bottom and
again the rain coat which
doubled up as a wind protector. It, never the less, looked good.
I put on the elbow and the knee guards. I then took the entire
luggage down and the herculean task of mounting the luggage on the
pannier began. For a moment, I had forgotten how to drive with such an
enormous luggage, but I knew it would all come back once I hit the
road.
It must have been half past six by now and a little light had come up.
I went to the guest house owner’s room and knocked on the lady’s door.
A sleepy voice answered and I told her that I was leaving. All of them
came out to see me off as if a family member was leaving. Having stayed
here for long, they treated me like one of their own. They all wished me
luck and finally I took my bike off the pavement and on to the road. I
prayed to God and started the engine.
The familiar dug dug sound of the engine started. I felt like a
beginner again. I took the first gear and the Thunderbird moved. I was
soon driving in the market area. It must have been around 7 AM when I
began my journey. There were some people in their jogging shoes who
accompanied me in the quietness of the morning. Otherwise, the city
was still fast asleep. I crossed the entrance gate of Leh. But I stopped to
stand there to look back for a while. I felt as if the city stood in front of
me like a person. The time to say goodbye to her had arrived. I stood
there mumbling, or maybe fumbling or maybe both, mumbling and
fumbling.
“Leh, a small cosmopolitan town of the world, was a place unique in
many ways. Its uniqueness can only be experienced and cannot be easily
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explained through words. I had learned to say ‘thank you’ in more than
ten languages; something I would be taking back with me as a show of
gratitude to the many beautiful people I met here. I had collected
memories for a lifetime, something that I could have only experienced in
this period. Joy and sadness touched me simultaneously here. Leh is a
place where you make friends as well as enemies, all at a flick of a
moment. Heartaches happened in one moment and healed in another.
Leh: a town which is barely a few km in dimensions, a fraction of a big
city like Delhi; yet every day brings you a new experience and a new
learning. It’s life you experience over and over again. Leh: you come here
as a traveler but return leaving a family behind. Leh: where dharma and
love are for free, but the experience of them is priceless. You open your
heart and simultaneously your mind is enlightened. Leh: you learn to be
carefree here, yet you learn the most valuable lessons of life which help
you make wiser choices in the future. Every moment is like the flame of a
candle and yet you learn to be strong enough to protect the flame from
the strongest wind. If you come as a tourist you hardly see anything but if
you come as a seeker you witness a new life unfold every day. Leh: I left
friends of needs behind and found friends for life. The joys of a few days
here have been equivalent to a lifetime. I came here as a man of
knowledge but am returning as a child of love. Leh: you shall always be in
my heart and will come back to you after my love has drained out in the
abhorring world. Don’t forget me for I shall dutifully remember you in
every moment of love and laughter.”
I had grown so fond of this place, I was in love, but I needed to be

detached. I felt a needle pierce my heart as I drove further and further
away from the city. Finally, it became invisible when I took a turn to be
on the national highway that would take me to Manali.
I was heading to Upsi now. I waved at the monasteries as I crossed
them and finally, I reached Karu. The Hemis monastery stood far and
for a moment I thought of going there to meet the Yogi. But I reluctantly
decided to resume my journey. It was time to say my final goodbye.
Finally, I had left Leh and its adjoining areas and was driving amidst
army camps and naked mountains. After a while, few groups of bikers
started coming from the opposite side. They must have halted at one of
the camps and left early morning. We greeted and we continued ahead
in our respective directions. Soon the Thunderbird and I were heading
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towards Tanglang La. The roads were in a bad shape. It seemed that the
tarmac had worn off and had not been taken care of for a few years.
One after another the barren mountains passed by, they looked so
small when you are among them but when you look at them from far
away they look so huge and mighty. It seems the concept of stature was
merely a thing of perception that depended on the frame of reference. A
politician might look like a God to people who were ignorant, but to a
mind which had awakened to knowledge and wisdom, the politician
was just another human being.
Aah, my Royal Enfield Thunderbird; my 350cc beastly beauty; the
envy of every onlooker! ‘Dug, dug, dug,’ the sound of her heartbeat
accompanied me as we crossed valleys and mountains together; After
another 50 km or so, Tanglang La was going to arrive and soon we
found over selves ascending altitudes that would take us to 17480 feet.
Aah, these high terrains, where the earth kissed the cheeks of the sky,
where your heartbeats are louder than the whistling winds. At every
treacherous mountain pass, I always feared how long Thunderbird and
I would last together. The level of oxygen would become lower and
lower, making it difficult for the bike and me to breathe. We were both
vulnerable. At any time, our engines could fail, at any time we could be
left stranded. Together we struggled to cross the highest motorable
roads in the world. And right now, we were doing exactly the same. The
machine matched me in my grit and determination. I could have never
reached where I was riding without her.
I turned my focus on the road. Construction work was going on and
any old road, if it existed was broken and dug up to make way for a new
one. Thus, crossing the mountain pass became even more difficult.
Slowly and gradually, I reached the top of Tanglang La where I decided
to take a short break. After all, it was the first milestone achieved on the
way to Manali and it was a tough one. After a while, I decided to
descend but descending was equally torturous. More broken roads,
more construction work, more bad roads! I was literally driving on
loose rocks. Finally, few bikers from the opposite direction started to
emerge and I stopped one of them and asked him how long is this road
going to continue, and he replied that another 30 km would be the
same. My heart sank, but I continued ahead. My off-roading experience
in the Zanskar valley came in handy but then this was even worse than
what I had experienced there.
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After a couple of hours, the ordeal ended, but then a new challenge
lay ahead. The land had flattened and I was heading towards More
plains. It was a unique landscape. The mountains suddenly flattened to
a plateau and that too at 15,000 feet. The soil was arid and sandy and
hardly any vegetation grew here. The air lacked oxygen too, and
perhaps that could be the reason why human settlements were not
found here. Because of construction work, diversions had been created
beside the road. The ground had loosened because of the heavy trucks.
There was only sand to drive on, and this gave us bikers a hard time to
drive. Now given the weight I carried on two wheels, the thrust below
the tires was massive and quite often I had to struggle to get my bike
across this sandy surface. I ended up walking several times with my
bike in between my legs and my thighs giving her a push. I could cover
only a few km and was getting exhausted. At one point, the bike gave
up. The tires had got entrenched in the sand below and any amount of
throttle could just not be able to pull the bike out. The clutch plates
were also getting heated. I was literally stuck. I got tired as well. I was
alone waiting for a vehicle to arrive. To my surprise none did and I
almost cursed myself for choosing to ride alone. But then I stopped
cursing myself and took a deep breath. I said to myself that if no help
came, I would get down, unload the luggage and then pull the bike out
of the sand. But then an idea lit up in my mind. I restarted the engine
and started honking frantically and kept pushing the throttle so that the
horns got the full current. Luckily a few construction workers who were
at a distance heard the frantic calls and came running to help. There
were three of them and they helped me get out of the sand. I thanked
them heartily and reached my pocket to offer money. But they blatantly
refused. I got down and literally hugged them. After a moment of rest, I
resumed my journey. I was alone and yet help arrived, God really works
in mysterious ways. Slowly and gradually I kept moving ahead. After a
few km, I got stuck again but thankfully a truck was passing by and the
helper of the truck driver rescued me. Now my clutch plates had really
heated up and I felt a burning smell coming from the engine below. This
was frightening but thankfully, soon after metalled road began. Driving
became easier and I increased my speed. At one point, I met another
group of bikers and asked one of them to click a photo of mine. When I
saw the picture, I was horrified to see how half of my body below my
waist was buried in mud. The mud had gotten all over the bike too. I
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continued to drive ahead and soon after I was descending towards
Pang. The barren mountains looked like structures toys of clay; dark
brown clay. The rocks had worn down to become beautiful sculptures.
It was barren beauty in its finest. The gorge below was completely dry
and signs of a river that once flowed there was visible. There was sand
on the road which made driving difficult. The roads were steep as well.
After a few windings, I could see some tents and decided to take a break
and have some food. Pang had arrived.
I went inside a tent that served as a diner cum lodge. The menu had
very little to offer. Rice and pulses on one hand and Maggi noodles on
the other. I went with Maggi. Another young man was having lunch
besides me. I looked outside and saw a Royal Enfield Classic 500
parked. But the man seemed oblivious to my presence. I decided to
strike up a conversation.
“HI! “I said and introduced myself and told him that I was heading to
Manali too.
“Me too,” he said even without looking up and continued to eat.
That’s all. I wanted to ask many questions, but I could feel, with the
rugged look of his face, he wasn’t much of a talker. He simply rode and
riding was his passion. He found his solitude and peace in his riding and
he didn’t care for anything.
Soon he finished his food, paid the bill, got his backpack on his back,
sat on his bike and zoomed off. No luggage like mine, no petrol cans and
all. He only carried a huge backpack. And why even carry that
enormous backpack when he could have easily tied it on the bike?
I knew trying to analyze him was an exercise in futility. I was termed
crazy. But on this journey, I had met people crazier than what I could
even imagine. So, I guess, to be on such roads, you have to be crazy.
Perhaps this guy was judged by the society far too many times that he
had given up listening to anyone. It seemed he listened only to the
winds as they whispered in his ears as if they understood him and he
didn’t care for anything else in the world. At that moment I
remembered the 1984 Apple computers advertisement with Steve Job’s
voice in the background: ‘The ones, who are crazy enough to think that
they can change the world, are the ones who do,’ I smiled. The Maggi
arrived, it was a soupy Maggi, and I decided to concentrate on savoring
it. At that moment a couple, who were riding on a Royal Enfield Bullet,
walked in.
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I greeted them and they did the same in return. Aah, there was some
warmth and sunshine in the world after the cold desert that had just
sped away. The couple was Argentinean. Soon we were talking and I
learned that they had left their luggage behind in Leh and had rented a
bike and were doing a one-way trip to Manali where they would leave
the bike with another shop that was in the business of bike renting.
This happened quite often. Many people wanted to do just a one-way
trip and so the bike renters had started a new offering, drive till Leh
and leave your bike there or drive from Leh to Manali and leave your
bike there. Of course, they charged a premium for this but it was of little
concern. For most people, this was a once in a lifetime trip and they
didn’t mind paying a little extra. I then con- fessed to the couple my love
for Spanish movies and my desire to learn the language too. They had
watched a few Bollywood movies too. The singing and dancing in our
movies did mesmerize everyone around the world.
“So, have you guys seen the movie ‘Motorcycle Diaries,” I asked
them. “What movie?”
“Motorcycle Diaries; the film which was made on the
autobiographical work of Che Guevara, the great revolutionary who
fought beside Fidel Castro.”
“Si, si. I remember now,” the girl said, “We have not watched it, but
since you have mentioned it, we will definitely watch it.”
“You should. It’s a movie about Che and his friend Alberto who go on
a bike trip across South America only to discover themselves. The
journey changes them and they decide to become revolutionaries. The
journey was a turning point for Che Guevara.” I said. And at that point I
realized that this journey of mine was a turning point in my life as well.
There and then I decided that I will write a book on this transforming
journey of mine.
The couple had decided to stay in Pang. It was around three o’clock
in the afternoon. I finished my food, had a cup of tea and then bid
goodbye to all of them. I got on my bike and resumed the journey. I
needed to hurry. The More Plains had taken far more time than what
was expected. Keylong or Jispa was out of the question now and
reaching Sarchu would be an achievement in itself which was around
80 km ahead. I could reach there before dark. Soon the tarmac roads
were gone and I was driving on broken roads. Slowly the roads started
to ascend again and soon I realized I was on another mountain pass,
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Lachung La, which was at 16616 feet. The climb wasn’t steep as I was
already at a high altitude. Soon I was descending on the other side
where the roads were very narrow and at some points, only a truck
could fit in its width. In fact, I had to wait for a truck to pass as only a
truck could fit in the width. After a few more km, I was ascending again
and this time it was Nakee La, another Mountain Pass which was at
15,547 feet. I descended again and after a while, I reached the starting
point of Gata Loops, which was a set of twenty-one hairpin bends that
descended you by more than 1000 feet. Slowly I began descending one
loop after another. It was dangerous but fun. Extra speed than required
could easily take you off the cliff. It required real talent at maneuvering;
the timing for taking brakes and changing gears had to be perfect. I
loved it. At one turn, I saw a small temple that was built beside the road.
There was no God in it. Instead, a skull lay there. Many water bottles,
packets of food and cigarettes were lying around as if they were offered
to the ‘skull’ deity. I wondered what the story behind all this was, but
then the mountains had their own myths and tales. I resumed my
journey and after a few more twists and turns Gata Loops ended and I
was driving on a straight road beside a river flowing. Now some
vegetation in the form of shrubs and bushes could be seen. Finally, the
barren mountains began to show signs of greenery. The air was better
now and I could feel the sudden increase in oxygen level. After a few
more kilometers, some tents were visible far away. It must have been
around half past six in the evening. The roads were better now and so I
sped. After a few more km, I arrived at a small settlement. There was an
alcohol shop, and many small diners that were created out of sheets of
tin. All of them had sleeping beds to offer as well. At least they were
better than the lousy tents. I randomly chose one that was called ‘Ibex
dhaba’, and decided to halt there for the night. It was run by a couple in
their early forties and they helped me unpack. I was in Sarchu now,
which was at an altitude of around 14500 feet and separated the
Lahaul/Spiti Valley of Himachal Pradesh and the Ladakh region of
Jammu and Kashmir. So essentially, I was at the border of Himachal
Pradesh and Jammu and Kashmir but there were no signs of
demarcation. After all, who wanted to politicize issues in this harsh
region? Sarchu was surrounded by huge meadows and beyond them
were mountains that offered a beautiful panoramic view. Sarchu was
also the starting point for many trekking routes as well. There was a
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small alcohol shop, but I was already carrying a bottle of Rum of my
own.
I then went inside the diner which was run by a very friendly old
man and his wife. He loved to entertain travelers with stories and the
mountains are not bereft of tales. Most of them are frightening while
some are beautiful. He began with his tales of the mountains. I suddenly
remembered the temple that had a skull in it and so I asked the old man
to tell me about it. At first, he frowned and desisted but he finally
agreed to tell me the story.
The skull belonged to a truck driver’s assistant who had parked his
truck at the temple site. Both of them fell asleep, the truck driver slept
in the truck while his assistant slept under the truck. When the truck
driver got up, he realized he was getting late and so he started the
engine to bring the truck on the main road. He was oblivious to the fact
that the assistant was sleeping under the truck. When the truck moved,
it ran over the assistant. He was still alive but unconscious. But the
truck driver, now frightened, left him there for dead and sped off. The
assistant lay there in his agony for an entire day and no one came to
help him. Maybe no one saw the body so no help came to him. After two
days the truck driver, who had run over him, returned and he decided
to check on the assistant. He found his body which was still lying there.
Fearing that someone might recognize the body, he cut his head off and
took it with him. He buried the head in his backyard. He then decided
not to drive trucks for the next year or so in that region. After that
incident everything started going wrong in his family. His son died, his
crops got destroyed and he lost a lot of things. Meanwhile, a lot of truck
drivers reported seeing a ghost on the Gata Loops. They said a man
stopped them and then he would suddenly jump into the truck. He
would ask them for water, food and cigarettes, and if they did not have
any item, the man would slap them and suddenly disappear. This
continued for many months. A couple of accidents also took place.
Meanwhile, the truck driver’s life was in a mess. His family members
were getting sick and he was losing money everywhere. He then
thought that perhaps his accidental murder was the cause and decided
to ask for forgiveness by building a temple at the murder site. He dug
out the remains of the head and took it with him to the Gata Loop and
built a temple for it. Other truck drivers came to know about this and
they started throwing water bottles near the temple site. Soon it
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became a trend. Even tourists began doing the same. After some time,
the ghost did not appear again.
The dinner was ready. The aroma of the food aroused my hunger,
but the weariness had reduced my appetite. Food was served and I ate
to my fill. I then had a drink with the old man and then got ready to
sleep. But sleeping was tough. The night was cold and windy and the tin
sheets could not stop the invasion of the wind. The journey was tough
and my body ached. I realized that I had managed to cover half of the
distance all by myself. But I knew that it wouldn’t have been possible if
God didn’t help me. He had guided me all along the way.
I was seeing a lot of changes in me; all of them at different levels and
spheres of life. I was an atheist. I became one when I started
questioning my religious beliefs; most of which were
misinterpretations of what the holy books were actually saying. Let’s
take the example of caste; something that has been propagated in the
Hindu religious system for centuries. Bhagwat Gita says that one’s
deeds define one’s caste but in our present-day system caste was
determined by one’s birth. During the Vedic days, caste was nothing but
a name given to a person’s profession. So, if one pursued knowledge, he
was a ‘Brahmin’, if he pursued the craft of war then he was a ‘kshatriya’,
if he pursued business and trade then he was a ‘vaishya’ and so on and
so forth. No work was greater or less than the other. But today the caste
system had taken a rigid form and caste was no more a name given to a
profession, rather it created sects within the community, and a person
born in a particular sect defined his or her caste. Castes became so rigid
that it began leading to apartheid. This rigid caste system is one that is
primarily responsible for preventing us from finding our true path and
calling. Rather than pursuing knowledge, a person who is Brahmin by
birth could actually be a better soldier or a businessman. Irrespective of
the hierarchy of your caste, it still separates you from your calling and
passion. The castes defined dogmas of life that were required to be
conformed to and in the process robbed one of his or her individuality.
The same anomaly exists in other religions as well. Some or the other
lies are propagated to keep the people enslaved to a certain form of life.
I found religion as a limiter to me. It stopped human progress; the
more rigid was a system based on faith, the more superstitions were
propagated in the society. And as the distance between religion and me
grew, the more I drifted away from God. I often termed him bogus and
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non-existential and any theories that inspired clairvoyance or lack of
rationality were also termed as bogus. I hated God and it was this
hatred that brought me closer to Science. Because of this hatred I never
accepted my intuition and my inner voice and solely relied on reason.
But Science and God are very close to each other and religion should
not have let me bring in this hatred for Him. I slowly and gradually
started realizing the true nature of God’s existence and how he worked
through His mysterious ways. Religion, for one, hardly explained one
percent of His ways of functioning. When we pray, there is hardly any
prayer in it. It is more of a negotiation that is going on with God. We are
always bargaining or exchanging services with God. You know stuff
like: please give me more marks and then I will donate 100 bucks;
please get me a girlfriend and I would come to worship you every
Thursday. But we seem to forget that God helps those who help
themselves, and especially those who chose to walk on their path of
uncertainty, the path that might be very individualistic to each of us and
yet so very different from one other. Yet all of them have a central
design, God’s design. Quite often, we ignore the true message of God. He
does not speak through the sermons being served through the
loudspeakers; on the contrary he speaks to us softly, within our hearts
and in our subconscious mind, through our inner voice. But we foolishly
choose to ignore our inner voice and end up listening to everyone else.
God never wants us to fear Him and yet we have treated Him with fear
and identified Him as a symbol of fear. He is actually our friend, our
guide, our teacher and is always with us. He may never give us what we
want, but he has always given us what we need. But we as humans have
always chosen to ignore His gifts and focus on things that we don’t
possess but others do. I got up and sat on my bed and then offered a
little pray. I asked God for his forgiveness because I doubted Him and
then thanked Him for showing me my path.
I don’t know what happened but after that I was able to sleep
peacefully.
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DAY 27
Rohtang La
“All you need in this life is ignorance and confidence; then success is sure. ”
— Mark Twain
“Hey get up,” the old man said, “Don’t you have to go. You might get
stuck on the way.”
I opened my eyes grudgingly. My body continued to ache, but I had
to do what I had to do. I washed up and got ready. Once again, the attire
wearing ceremony and the luggage tying ceremony started. A few guys,
who were staying in another diner-cum-lodge, saw me carrying a lot of
luggage and were quite taken aback.
“Oh God so much stuff, it will be really tough to go to Leh,” one of
them commented. They were going towards Leh and they thought that I
was heading in the same direction too.
I smiled and said, “No dear I am actually coming from Leh and
heading towards Manali. And with these huge bags you see, I have
already carried them all over Ladakh as I went to Leh via Srinagar. I
also went to the Zanskar Valley, conquered Khardung La and Chang La
and now I am heading back to Delhi via Manali.”
That left them speechless, but I enjoyed it. I then helped them out
with the routes and difficulties of riding in the mountains. I was happy
guiding them. I felt like a grand old man who returned from the war to
tell his grandsons stories.
No wonder Ibn Battuta, the great traveler, had once said:
“Traveling- it leaves you speechless, then turns you into a
storyteller.”
I now knew what those words meant.
I wished them luck for the journey and went inside for breakfast. I
then cleared the bill and was back on the road. Once again the engine
roared and we moved together. After crossing the small but badly built
bridge over the Tsarapo River, I was now heading towards Baralacha
La, the next mountain pass which is often dreaded by bikers. I was soon
to discover why.
I was now riding on a flat surface with meadows all around me. Soon
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the meadows gave way to an ascent. The climb to Baralacha La had
begun. Like all mountain passes the tarmac roads finally gave way to
broken roads and surprisingly the surface was uneven which made it
dangerous. Huge, snow covered peaks stood at a distance. I zipped my
jacket as it was getting colder with every inch of the climb. I was soon
engulfed by fog which decreased visibility. The cold became bitter and I
could feel my body stiffen. At some places, the road had caved in. I now
knew why people dreaded Baralacha La. It gets bitterly cold and the
low visibility might lead you to an accident. I continued to drive ahead
and did not care to stop at the top and instead began descending on the
other side immediately. On my way, I was greeted by the beautiful Suraj
Tal Lake which appeared green in color. It looked charming as the
green color of the lake stood out amongst the white peaks. After a few
kilometers and lots of windings, I descended and the blanket of fog
thinned. I had to literally put my headlights on along the way and blew
my horn furiously to avoid any accidents. Soon I was far away from
Baralacha La and at one point I stopped to rest. I jumped a few times to
warm up my body. After a while, I resumed my journey. Baralacha La
was at an altitude of 16500 feet and perhaps the coldest mountain pass
I had encountered till now. Since the time I had left Sarchu, the journey
had not eased one bit. Soon I reached Darcha where the weather
returned to normal and the roads were better now. But the good ride
lasted only for a short while when broken roads began and a new
challenge emerged. Now I had to face huge nallahs (water streams) that
cris-crossed the road. At one point, I almost collided with an American
driving from the opposite direction on his Royal Enfield. It was because
he was driving on the right side of the road, which is a norm in the USA.
I stopped to give him some advice on driving in India and explained to
him that we drive on our left and so do most of the Commonwealth
countries of the world.
After a few more kilometers of driving on the dusty road; I finally
reached the dreadful Pagal Nallah (or the mad stream). This nullah was
a legend amongst bikers. A van had struggled through it and then a bike
followed which got stuck and needed to be pushed out by a few guys
who were drying themselves after their trysts with the pagal nullah. It
was my turn now. The water was coming down forcefully and was
making a huge noise that sent rubbles of fear down my veins. I wanted
to record this moment and so I threw my camera to a guy on the other
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side to shoot. Luckily, he didn’t miss the catch. I then moved back a little
and started the engine. I moved slowly trying to gain momentum, but
carefully, because if the momentum was higher than what was
expected, I could be down the road and into the gorge below. I moved
towards the side of the cliff away from the gorge below. I found the
thinnest portion of the drainage created by the stream and then drove
the T-bird over the nallah. But alas! I still got stuck in the middle. For a
second, I lost my balance but somehow, I managed the situation with
my foot which was deep down in the water. The water came gushing
and reached for the silencer of my bike and some of it managed to creep
inside my boots as well. I propelled a little more and my front tire was
out of the nallah, and then with a little push from my feet and more
throttle I managed to cross the nallah.
Finally, I had tamed the mad stream.
I stopped for a while to catch a breath and to take the water out of
my boots. A group was helping one of their own to start his engine as
water had crept into the carburetor. In the meanwhile, a French man
arrived driving a Royal Enfield bullet with his girlfriend at the back.
They stopped before the pagal nallah and asked us for some guidance. I
advised the girl to get down and cross the nallah by walking on the side
of the mountain and jump over the pit of water. But they were adamant.
They were going to do it together or were getting back to Manali. So, we
put our hands up in vain. But as he tried crossing the stream, he got
stuck in the middle. He kept accelerating, but it was of no use. We then
had to rush to them and push the bike out of the pit. In the process, we
had to step in the pit and more water crept inside my riding attire and
boots. I was furious at this French couple, but then we let it go. Luckily, I
was going towards Manali. Had I been in the opposite direction, the
cold of Baralacha La would have undoubtedly made me ill. Soon the sick
bullet came alive and we began driving towards Manali. Incidentally,
God had sent help once again. I was riding alone, but I was never lonely.
After a few kilometers, we were in Jispa. The landscape had changed
as the mountains were totally covered in green now. Somehow, I had
gotten used to the nakedness of the barren mountains. We rode along
the Bhaga River as we crossed small villages along the way. For about
an hour, we got stuck in a traffic jam while we were crossing the Bhaga
River. Jispa was at 10,500 feet and soon we left it behind and were now
heading to Keylong. I was accompanied by two other riders from the
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pagal nallah.
It must have been two o’clock in the afternoon when we stopped at a
restaurant to have lunch. I opened my shoes and socks and let them dry
in the little sunshine that we got on the terrace and took a seat for
lunch. I was in Himachal Pradesh now and the food tasted closer to
home. It felt nice and I ate heartily. Those who had accompanied me
decided to stay back in Keylong as stories of landslides and traffic jams
were doing rounds all along the journey. They advised me against going
as it would be evening soon and I might get stuck for the night. But I
was adamant to reach Manali today and so, after a little rest, I was back
on the road. Keylong was at 10,000 feet approximately and now I was
heading for the dreaded Rohtang Pass, which was at about 13000 feet
and 70 km far. A steep climb of 3000 feet awaited me which was going
to be as tough as the other mountain passes, I had crossed. Till Kokhsar
village the climb was easy but after that the climb got really steep and
hairpin bends began signifying the arrival of Rohtang La, the mighty
Rohtang La. Rohtang Pass was synonymous with landslides, rocks
rolling from above, slugfest with mud, and traffic jams. It was a
nightmare for motorists and sometimes crossing the pass took an
entire day. And here I was carrying the big bulge of luggage behind me
and struggling on the acclivity. The tarmac gave way to broken roads
and finally I reached the beginning of a long line of trucks which stood
stagnant waiting for eternity to cross over. I started cris-crossing the
trucks and started driving ahead. The broken road now turned into a
quagmire making driving very difficult. One after another I started
crossing each of the trucks. Every inch was a milestone, every foot was
a goal, and every truck crossed was an achievement as I slowly moved
towards the top. But at one point, I became the reason for the log jam.
As I was climbing up, my front tire got stuck in the mire beneath and
my rear tire continuously whined turning round and round as the
ground below was slippery. Even with the full throttle the bike
wouldn’t buzz. I got down on my feet again and with the help of another
man, I was able to get out of that mire.
The clutch plates were heating up again and I prayed to God that
they don’t fail me here. Luckily, after that slugfest, tarmac roads began
and driving became a little smoother and I drove ahead leaving the
chain of trucks behind. Signs of a landslide were visible and the army
was still working to remove the debris.
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Finally, I reached the top. The experience was not new and when I
realized that this was the last top of a mountain pass that I was going to
see, I felt doleful. After a few minutes of rest, I resumed my journey
knowing little of what waited for me ahead. A long stretch of mire lay
ahead that had become a nightmare for vehicles to cross. The slosh was
drying up and so the muddy surface became even stickier. This stretch
of the mire was narrow as well, so vehicles from only one direction
plied at a time. And when I reached my end of the stretch, it was time
for vehicles from the opposite direction to cross. Taxi drivers along
with passengers were helping one another to push their vehicles out of
the mire. The jeeps struggled and swayed in zig-zag motions as they
tried to come out of the mire. I kept waiting and waiting for about an
hour when I could wait no longer. And then a stupid idea stuck me.
I drove my Thunderbird right in the middle of the mire where it got
stuck. I hoped that in order to clear the way, others would have to push
me out and then I could get off. But to my surprise, these drivers only
cursed me and left me there. A van was coming from the opposite
direction and it swayed in a zig-zag motion. I was sure that it was going
to hit me. But still I kept sitting on my bike and didn’t run away. The
gorge stood on my left-hand side and one look down there sent a chill
down my veins. Luckily the driver of the van managed to steer it away
from me as he crossed me. I then started cursing the drivers and told
them to push me out or everyone was going to be stuck there and I
would complain to the authorities later on. Complain who? I didn’t
know, but the aggression worked and two of them came to my rescue
and pushed me out of the mired stretch. Now it was convenient to
drive. I thanked two people who help me out and began driving ahead.
When it comes to helping others, truck drivers are better than the petty,
money minded cab drivers who usually don’t help.
The horrendous experience left me in a bitter mood, but I continued
to descend as I battled the thick fog that had surrounded the mountain
top. The visibility was limited to just a few meters. After a while, I
reached the bottom of the steep stretch where a few camps stood and a
few bikers who were getting ready to cross the Rohtang top stopped me
to ask about the situation at the top. For hours, they had seen no vehicle
descend and I was the first one. I helped alleviate their concern after
which they decided to cross the Rohtang La during the night. It was a
dangerous decision, but they were five in numbers and so they could
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manage. I then looked at my boots and my clothes. Half way down, I
was covered in mud. The black leather boots looked brownish after
being covered in mud. It was about half-past seven in the evening and
Manali was still 40 km ahead. I bid them goodbye and started driving
towards Manali.
Manali was at 6000 feet while Rohtang La was at 13000 feet. I had to
descend a total of 5000 feet within 40-50 km. I guess it gets tougher for
people who are coming from the opposite direction. The road is really
steep and if I were to ascend then I know that it would be really tough,
especially if I were a first-time biker. Maybe this could be the reason
why Rohtang frightened everybody and many neophytes returned even
before they touched the Rohtang top. Even Aki had given up and
returned from Rohtang top. The bends were sharp, steep and were like
hair pins. It was getting darker which made driving tougher. The
descending was an adventure in itself. Few vehicles crossed me from
either direction. Thankfully a couple of Army camps came along the
way which made me feel secure. Otherwise jungles and only jungles
greeted me on either side of the road. After about an hour’s drive,
Manali shone in the light of a thousand bulbs.
I felt elated. The fog disappeared and the air became warmer.
Houses began appearing along the way as I drove along the road.
Finally, all my trials and tribulations ended when I finally made an
entry in the city. I then headed towards Old Manali where I was going to
halt today. It was a few kilometers far from the main square of the city.
But when I reached there, I could not find a room as the tourist season
was at its peak. After a prolonged search, I found a decent guest house
at a moderate price with a parking space as well. The caretaker, Anil,
who was in his early twenties, helped me carry my luggage to my room
on the second first floor. The room was quite big and spacious with a
king size bed. I washed and decided to go for dinner as I was famished. I
went to a restaurant nearby and ordered three dishes. Alas! I could
hardly finish the meal; perhaps the rides had decreased my appetite.
After dinner, I decided to take a stroll. You do feel some kind of jet
lagged when you have been on a bike for two days straight and walking
seemed to be relaxing. I spotted the hotel caretaker, Anil, sitting
leisurely outside the guest house which had a nice open space. I was
looking for someone to talk to and so walked up to him. He found me
intriguing and wanted to know all about my journeys. We were having
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a conversation when a gorgeous Korean girl came over to talk. She was
staying at the same guesthouse. She was a little under the weather and
was left behind by her group to rest. At first, she found me weird as she
had seen me come on my bike all covered in mud half way down. But
when I told her that I had just arrived from Leh after a two-day rough
bike ride; her eyes lit up with admiration. She hadn’t been to Ladakh
and her group was going to return from Manali itself. “So, would you
like to see photos of Ladakh and my bike expedition?”
I asked her. “Certainly,”
I bought a bottle of cold drink and took her upstairs. The hotel had a
nice balcony and every room had two caned chairs and a table in front
it. The view from the balcony opened to a wilderness that was lost in
the darkness of the night. A huge mountain stood afar whose silhouette
was only visible. I brought my laptop out and laid it in front of her and
started showing her the photos and telling the story behind each of
them. She looked at them in awe. While she browsed through the photo
album, I took out my camera and started clicking her photos. She was
taken by surprise but seceded to the whims of the camera as she smiled
coyly and posed for the shots. She was charming and irresistible. And
then I got closer to her to take a selfie. She moved closer and her cheeks
touched mine. Aah, her tender cheeks! In the two days of rough ride,
this was the first tender thing I felt. I took a long time to click and when
it was done she smiled and I smiled at her. But before I could restrain
myself; my lips had mechanically moved towards hers. She didn’t say
anything. I kissed her softly and then retracted. But this time her lips
moved towards mine and locked themselves over mine. I then lifted her
and took her inside the room and laid her on the bed. She looked at me
longingly and we kissed again. I then told her to wait for five minutes
and then I rushed to bring the laptop and camera inside and went to the
bathroom and jumped into the cold shower. I had no time for the water
to heat up and who cared, for the steam was going to come out soon.
With my towel wrapped around my waist, I returned to the room. She
was still lying on her stomach, going through the photos on my laptop. I
caressed her hair slowly as she lifted her head and smiled at me. I
closed the laptop and put it on the table and then returned to her. I
kissed her once again and this time she responded with greater force. I
unzipped her jacket and took it off. She wore a white t-shirt inside. It
didn’t put up a fight with me to let me free her body of it. She didn’t
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wear anything else inside. Her breasts were small and firm. I caressed
them and kissed them. She moaned as she grabbed my hair. I started
kissing her passionately all over her body which made her giggle. I
don’t remember when my towel slipped off to kiss the floor and I
greeted her in a new avatar.
“So, you wanted to experience a bike ride,” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said as she pushed me down on the bed and climbed
over me. She rode for a before she got tired and her body fell over mine.
I then turned her soft petite body over and entered into her. She gave
out a loud moan and I had to cover her mouth.
“Ssssh quite…” I said.
While I was inside her, we could hear footsteps outside. Her friends
had arrived. We kept quiet for a while as the sound of the steps receded
and again made love. She seemed to be equally hungry. My hands were
a little rough due to riding, but that excited her even more. Our bodies
bore the sparks of passion before they stopped to move. It was a
refreshing change after a long ride.
I then wrapped my towel and looked outside the room. The balcony
was empty and her friends were inside their rooms. Luckily even their
curtains were pulled up. I signaled her to come out and then she
crawled on her fours and went to her room. I am sure her friends must
have been worried about her whereabouts knowing little that she was
right beside them. I giggled at the idea. I returned to my room to make a
drink for myself. I took a seat outside in the balcony and gazed at the
stars. I felt calm and the darkness of the night soothed me. Everything
happened so fast that I just forgot what I had accomplished. The rough,
wretched and the most revered and feared route On the Ladakh route
had been conquered today. I sat up and offered a small prayer to God,
ensuring that this God, my God, my beloved guiding force, who did not
signify any religion of world, heeded to my words, my words of
humility and gratitude.
It was warm and lovely in Manali. I dozed for a while before
returning to my room. I was about to go to bed when I heard a soft
knock on my door. At first, I thought I was dreaming but when the
knocking repeated, I opened the door only to be greeted by the same
Korean girl again. She rushed inside dusting her hands and knees.
Clearly, she had been on her fours again to ensure she was undetected
by her friends. And now she had come back for more. This time she
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took of my T-shirt and started caressing all over my body. She punched
me here and there and deliberately pushed me on the bed. I let myself
fall, knowing fully well what was coming next. She then jumped over me
and started kissing me wildly and soon we were making passionate,
wild love lost in the drops of sweat that ran along our bodies. This time
she was exhausted too and asked for a drink. It didn’t take me long to
come up with two glasses of rum. She gulped the first one quickly and
asked for another. Perhaps it was not health, but her desires that had
made her feel under the weather. When we finished our drink, she
agreed to give me a massage. My body ached from the long ride and
longed for one. Her hands were magical as they pressed at all the magic
points. I then turned towards her and pulled her close to me as her soft
body slid next to mine. We held each other and fell asleep. In the wee
hours, she woke me up and asked me to close the door as she went to
her room again. I was
half asleep and so I simply obeyed and then fell back on the bed.
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DAY 28
Conundrum
“Life is tragic simply because the earth turns and the sun inexorably rises and sets, and
one day, for each of us, the sun will go down for the last, last time. Perhaps the whole root
of our trouble, the human trouble, is that we will sacrifice all the beauty of our lives, will
imprison ourselves in totems, taboos, crosses, blood sacrifices, steeples, mosques, races,
armies, flags, nations, in order to deny the fact of death, the only fact we have. It seems to
me that one ought to rejoice in the fact of death--ought to decide, indeed, to earn one’s
death by con-
fronting with passion the conundrum of life. One is responsible for life: It is the small
beacon in that terrifying darkness from which we come and to which we shall return.”
— James Baldwin
I had slept and slept like a log of wood only to be woken by pangs of
hunger. When I opened my eyes and saw the time, I was shocked. It was
two in the afternoon. I looked beside me and then remembered that the
Korean girl had sneaked out in the wee hours. I hurriedly got up to get
ready. I then went looking for the Korean girl. Shit, I didn’t even ask her
name. Again….!!!!
All the rooms on my floor were locked. I went down and found Anil.
He was sitting in the reception room. I asked him about the Koreans to
which he replied that they had to catch a bus to somewhere and so had
left. I looked at my watch. It was close to three in the afternoon. But the
bugger made it a point to tell me that the Korean girl was looking for
me.
“Did something happen last night,” he asked winking at me.
“No, no nothing happened,” I replied, “I just showed her the Ladakh
photos and then she went back to meet her friends.” But he seemed
unconvinced.
“Okay, because she told me to tell you that she would miss you. I
don’t know what that is supposed to mean” he said smiling coyly.
At that point, Yogi’s words rang in my ears “Whatever happens on a
journey stays on the journey.”
“Amen,” I said.
I then went to have lunch to give rest to the hunger pangs. After that,
I decided to drive down to the main town. I went to a workshop to get
the bike checked and get it washed up as well. I then decided to drive
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around but when the swarms of tourists greeted me, I felt suffocated. I
longed for the scantly habited mountains of Ladakh. “Whatever
happened to peace and tranquility,” I thought as I sighed. Instead of an
excursion, I decided to return to the guest house.
Manali was a summer retreat during the British rule, and today it
had become a popular destination for tourists. But it was no match to
Ladakh. Manali had become far too commercial and it seemed there
were more hotels than homes in this city. I returned to the guesthouse
and decided to rest for a while. The view from the balcony gave me
more tranquility than the main square of the city. I made myself a drink
and took a seat on one of the caned chairs in the balcony. The mountain,
whose silhouette was only visible in the night yesterday, was clearly
visible in the evening light now. Upon inspection, I realized that the
mountain was the Rohtang Pass itself. What irony. I get a room, and the
room faces the gateway to Ladakh. Or was it divine coincidence?
I then asked Anil to get the restaurant to send me my dinner in the
room itself.
I made myself another drink and resumed my seat on the caned
chair. All through the journey till Leh, Aki kept blabbering about how
tough it would be on the Leh- Manali route. And here I was: I had just
completed the journey that I feared the most. I was alone on the route
and yet God had helped me in every difficulty. I looked up towards the
sky and thanked Him. I still remembered Yogi’s words: “Do something
that you fear.” And now this journey had made me realize that the most
pertinent truth in life came down to only one thing; and it was to face
your fear because behind that wall lies everything that you want in life.
It was the ultimate truth. Every fear that you conquer counts; as it goes
on to build the man that you envision yourself to be. It isn’t tough as we
make it out to be. The journey on the Leh-Manali route was far less
difficult than the perception I had of it. The monster was in my mind, it
was only a chimera. We tend to fear that imaginary monster much more
than what we ought to. Ladakh: the hidden Shangri-La; was guarded by
the dreaded Rohtang La on one side and the Zozi La on the other side.
The journey across the region was like getting a glimpse of life itself. I
had become a Ladakh rider. But the real question was, could I become a
Ladakh rider for life? Can my life be another Ladakh journey?
The dinner arrived and I began eating it, albeit slowly, as my mind
wandered in a different world. Soon I was done eating. I put the plate
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away and poured another drink for myself. For reasons unknown I
began to retrospect. I had lost the battle once; I had given up my
entrepreneurial journey and ran for security. But the life I had chosen
to run back to was disdainful. I found myself in a constant need to
breathe, but there was not enough oxygen available. Would I still
continue to compromise or would I have the courage to fight my way
out? Would I die of boredom or prefer to die while I struggled? The
answer I had in my heart was clear. But my mind was yet to agree.
I looked up towards the Shangri-La that stood afar.
So, when do you know you are an entrepreneur? So, when do you
know you are an artist, a creator of many things? So, when do you know
that you are walking the path, the path that is your fate, the path of
uncertainty?
And as if the mountains spoke to me:
“When you stop looking; when you don’t have to look back, when
you have given it all, then only you are walking on that path. You don’t
regret anything and you know that this is the way, the only way, and
there is no other way. Each day is the day you work. Each day is the day
you have fun. Each day is the day you are happy. You take rest,
recharge, and resume. You don’t worry about the targets; or the
rewards of your actions or delay in reaching your goal. Rewards narrow
your focus. Each day is the day you give your best no matter what the
competition is, the reward is or the target is. Each day is a day of
learning, each day is a glimpse of life that you have envisioned to live,
and each day is the day when you are turning your dreams into reality.
You are your own competition for you continue to outgrow your own
self, every day as you learn and improve. Each day is a moment of
struggle and yet a moment of achievement. And when you begin to walk
on this path, then you know that you are an artist and an entrepreneur.
Does such a path exist?
And then a flash of light crossed me and I looked up at the Shangri-
La. I had just crossed it. I had journeyed across such a path till
yesterday, the path of uncertainty itself.
The journey across Ladakh was a mystic one. Ladakh has always
been revered and feared, for no one ever tried to conquer it and make it
its slave. Today there are mountain passes created over them, an
attempt by man to conquer nature. Yet every time a man tries to cross
the gates of Ladakh, he gets soaked in fear. But those who do so with
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grit and determination are warmly welcomed by the mountains of
Ladakh. If one went on a Ladakh journey, he or she would return to be a
different person. Every day on the journey is a struggle. It is exhausting
to clamber on each of the torturous slopes of the Shangri-La. And yet
with every inch covered on the mighty mountains, we are invigorated
with a sense of achievement and the beauty that surrounds us inspires
us. The path of life is akin to a Ladakh journey. There are moments
when the road is smooth and then there are moments when it is laden
with broken and slippery roads. And yet with every struggle that we
face and strive ahead, the journey gets even better. Walking on the path
of entrepreneurship or art is never going to be easy. We have to face
constant jibes, ridicule, and no one supports us. The work is exhausting
and our work requires an interminable effort till it is ready. And yet the
uncertainty still looms large, for the world might not accept what you
have envisioned for them. But the day would come when it would
awaken to your creativity. The struggle would only get bigger, tougher
and exhausting, making you want to give up, quite akin to the moments
on the steep, slippery slopes of the mountains, where all you would
want to do is to give up. The peers leave no stone unturned to debilitate
you. They frighten you, intimidate you and plant seeds of self-doubts in
your head. But once you ride ahead tearing through these dark clouds,
you light a lamp of hope in your heart. One single flame of hope can
annihilate all the clouds of fear and uncertainty and as these inhibiting
forces begin to abate, you grow into a stronger and more confident
man. Your journey becomes your inspiration and you become more
certain of your path and where it leads you as you climb higher and
higher with every destination arrived. There is no room for even an iota
of doubt anymore. When the going gets tough, all that matters is one
more day, one more day that you need to keep moving forward till you
regain your strength to fight back adversaries. Struggle is then replaced
by adventure. The loose boulders of rocks and taunts don’t matter
anymore and you ride over them as if they didn’t even exist. You have
then become an entrepreneur, an artist and a Ladakh rider.
Our path of life is akin to that on the mountains which are a cluster
of ‘La’s. As we traverse from one destination to another, we have to first
struggle to cross a mountain pass. But as we descend from a mountain
pass, we are greeted by another valley which is either equally beautiful
like the previous one or even more beautiful. For every milestone that
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we cover, we have to first wade through difficulties. But once those
difficulties are crossed, we are rewarded for our bravery and efforts.
Each time the challenge gets bigger, the adventure gets better. What’s
there in driving in the plains? We hardly enjoyed riding till Pathankot
until we reached the lofty mountains which first intimidated us and
then gave us a new found adventure. In the plains, when you arrive at a
destination, you only get the satisfaction of arriving at the destination.
There is no joy of the journey itself. Similarly, what is life without risks?
A riskless life is like carrying a carcass to the grave. The fun is in the
journey and that is what this Ladakh journey has taught me. On the
mountains, every kilometer is an adventure. No wonder Hunter S
Thomson had said: -Life’s Journey is not to arrive at the grave safely in
a well-preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, totally worn out
and bleeding while shouting. Holy Shit!! What a Ride!!” What a Ladakh
Ride. It was high time that I got out of my way. It was high time I
stopped my inner fear from dictating things to me. Whatever I do must
be bereft of fear. I must self-actualize. I must aim for the top of the
pyramid and I know that God is going to be with me. But then who am
I? Am I the one to be successful? Do I have what it takes?
And then I realized that these questions were the most useless
conundrum to get caught into and thinking about such questions was a
waste of energy. We are defined by nothing but our journey. We are as
fluid as the air and water. We change. We mold ourselves again and
again with every knowledge and experience we get from our journey.
No one is born in a certain way. He gets molded along the way till he
grows old. We stop to change till we have become a statute, a statute
that is ready to be buried, only to remain in the memories of the
generations to follow. Let’s say that today I decide to become a writer. If
I told my family about this, they would be shocked in bewilderment. It’s
not that there have been no writers before or there are no successful
writers today or there will be no new writers in the future, but in my
family and amongst my peers there has never been one. Some
successful writers are famous and revered, who are treated like Gods
and cannot be equaled. And if I told my peers that I wish to be a writer,
chances are I would be compared to these literary Gods and then be
mocked and ridiculed of thinking about something that was beyond my
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possibility. I would be accused of trying to wear a pair of pajamas that
doesn’t fit me.
“But I want to do it,” I would argue.
“But you are my son and in the history of our lineage no one has
done it.” That would be the kind of reply I would get and the discussion
would be promptly ended. I wonder if every actor’s son equaled the
greatness that he had achieved. Well, money and ‘being there’ in the
industry brought some people the opportunity but would that make
them actors? The irony is that we do see lineage playing an important
role in our lives whether you talk about the film industry or politics or
business for that matter. But the real question is why does this happen?
Why lineage continues to play an important role? And then I realized
the answer lies in the conditioning that we grow up with and how it
shapes our thoughts and gives us a set of things that we need to fear.
Those who are born in successful families have inherited the self-belief
that they can be successful no matter what while those born in the
middle class are taught to fear and survive. If they were to think of
something else, their existence would be exterminated forever.
When your imagination itself gets limited, how can your reality be
any different? Tomorrow I shall begin my journey to Delhi. I would be
leaving the mountains behind and returning to my home. But now, I
had resolved to never let the journey end. The mountains would not be
there anymore, but my life was still going to be a Ladakh ride.
I looked up at the Shangri-La and smiled. Another flash of light came
from the mountains and I felt as if she smiled in return. I got up and
raised my arms to embrace her. A gentle breeze swept across my face
kissing my forehead. The Shangri-La had just blessed me. I stood there
to embrace her love, the pure love of the mountains of the Himalayas.
“I will always be with you for you shall always be in my heart,” I said
looking at the mountains and tried to kiss the cheeks of the breeze. I
returned to my seat wherein I fell asleep, listening to the lullabies of the
breeze of the mountains.
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DAY 29
Mother
“When I was 5 years old, my mother always told me that happiness was the key to life.
When I went to school, they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wrote
down ‘happy’. They told me I didn’t understand the assignment, and I told them they didn’t
understand life.”
— John Lennon
I must have slept for a while when I was woken up by the fracas of
thunder and rain. It was seven and I had planned to leave by six in the
morning. I got up, washed and got ready. I wore my riding attire and
packed everything that lay around and took the entire luggage out in
the balcony. But the rain wouldn’t recede. I sat in the chair and kept
staring at the continuous downpour.
Suddenly a thought came to my mind and I got up and came to the
edge of the balcony. A few drops of rain fell on my face, but these drops
were different, they had feelings, a sense of remorse, and a sense of
separation. I felt as if the Shangri-La was crying. At that moment, the
memories of my mother flashed across my mind. I used to study in a
boarding school but after every holiday when the day of departure
arrived, my mother couldn’t help control her tears. While my father
would load the bags on the rickshaw, she would stand at the gate
watching, her eyes moistened. She would try to hide tears of maternal
love from us and wipe out her tears by the loose end of her sari. I would
go back to her and touch her feet to say my final goodbye. She would
then wipe my face with the loose end of her sari. It used to be damp,
moistened by her tears. I could feel her sadness. I would tell her not to
cry and say, “I am your son and your love and care is my abode. I may
be gone for a while, but I would return to you. I am a part of you and no
distance could change this and separate us. It’s in your lap that when I
put my head to rest; the world ceases to exist and I am submitted to the
world of your love where I find peace and tranquility. I would always be
indebted to you for all the people in the world, you have always loved
me and will continue to love me unconditionally, asking nothing in
return, expecting nothing in return.” I would hug her and then leave.
For a moment, my words would comfort her and she would smile. But I
knew that once I was gone, the tears would be back in her eyes.
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I looked up at the Shangri-La and extended my hands. I opened my
palms and joined them together to collect some rain drops. I then
splashed them on my face. I could feel the moistened end my mother’s
sari on my face, and the drops of rain had the same maternal love.
I then looked up at the Shangri-La and said:
“My dear, you have given me more than I desired in the past one
month. You taught me what love is; you gave me my passion and a new
found purpose. As I rested my head on your laps, you gave me peace
and tranquility. You are nothing less than my mother and in your
abode, I shall always return for you have loved me and will always love
me unconditionally without expecting anything in return. For that, I
would always be indebted to you. But right now, I must go. I must go
because I have a purpose to fulfill. I must go because you have given me
so much love that I must share with the world and help others too. But I
promise you, I shall keep coming back to you, however long the
intervals be, I shall come back to you for I know, like my mother, you
love me and in your lap my heart and soul is nurtured.”
I could feel the tears coming in my eyes. Even I began to cry.
After a few minutes, the rain began to recede and in a short while it
stopped. I knew that the Shangri-La had listened to me. Every moment,
every connection that I had felt with her was genuine. I smiled at her
and I saw another flash of light. I knew she was smiling too. At that
moment, I had a glimpse of my mother.
I then mounted the luggage on my bike and headed to the restaurant
to grab a quick bite. It was already ten o’clock.
I then got on my bike and was all set to go. But then I remembered
something. I got down again and looked up at the Shangri-La and made
a gesture of touching her feet. At that moment, I heard a thunderstorm
and a breeze blew past me. She had given me her blessings. I then got
back on the Thunderbird and started the bike. The time to start the
journey had arrived. Soon after I had left old Manali and was driving in
the main town heading for the highway. I had to be careful as the roads
were slippery. And then finally the moment came when I reached the
point where one turn would take me to Ladakh and another to Delhi. I
decided not to look towards Shangri-La for I might not be able to stop
myself and end up driving back once again. I took a quick turn towards
Delhi and before I knew I was out
of the town and on the highway and heading towards Kullu.
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The terrain, the climate and everything else was different now. I
drove beside the Beas River that had gotten muddy due to rain water.
There was a slight drizzle which kept fading away with time and
distance. The shops had begun to open and I could see a huge line of
travel agents and adventure sports agencies offering river rafting. I
hummed a Metallica tune as I drove along. I was greeted by fruit sellers
intermittently who signaled me to stop and buy fruits from them. After
a couple of hours, I was in Kullu. I was greeted by swarms of people as I
drove through the crowded streets hoping to return to the solitude of
the highways once again.
I stopped at a shop to change the helmet visor because it had
garnered a lot of scratches. I would need a new one in the plains as a lot
of dust and flies make it difficult to drive and my sunglasses would be
rendered useless in the darkness of the night.
The Manali-Chandigarh highway was quite busy with trucks and
passenger vehicles plying all the time. It’s not difficult to drive in such
traffic, it’s just that it gets irritating when people don’t follow the rules
of the mountain and drive in a rash manner. One such sedan would
always overtake and then halt somewhere and again drive in a reckless
manner. This made me furious. But God had something worse planned
for the sedan. It met with an accident at a blind turn when it hit a truck.
The locals at the site said it was trying to overtake and accidently
entered into the lane of the vehicles coming from the opposite
direction. There was no divider on the double lane road and what made
it worse was that the width of the road was not uniform everywhere. At
some points, only a truck could fit in. Thus, one had to be really careful
while driving in the mountains.
I always stuck to my left at every turn and honked frantically. But at
one moment I had to apply brakes frantically and swerve sharply
towards the left edge of the road as a speeding jeep lost its balance and
almost hit me. But the Jeep managed to get back on the track and we
both continued on our journey further. I thus slowed down at every
turn, honked and flashed my light ensuring that the vehicle from the
other direction knew that this side of the road wasn’t empty. It worked
for I saw a lot of over speeding cars slowing down as they tried
overtaking at the turns. In fact, overtaking at turns is a dangerous thing,
and I couldn’t understand why people actually did it. Soon after I
stopped to think about such negativities and focused on the journey as
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the river and I, both of us flowed in the same direction as we carried the
memories of the past that stood behind us. The mountains were getting
smaller and smaller with distance and the roads were getting wider.
The temperature was rising which made me take off my jacket.
Driving was smooth and comfortable now. The road and I danced
and turned to each other’s rhythm. I learned a lot about biking during
this journey. After Zanskar Valley, the Thunderbird, the mountain roads
and I have been in constant communion with one another. Slowly and
gradually, I had graduated in the art of biking. If you are passionate
about something and continue to do it with rigor and determination, it
starts coming to you naturally. Biking gave me the meaning and
understanding of passion. My elders had strongly advised against
buying a 350cc as it frightened them that I would kill myself by over
speeding. But 350cc or more, the power of an engine had more things to
offer than just speed. A powerful engine came with a very well-built
body and equally good brakes so that you could drive better. Bikes of
the Royal Enfield family are a class apart. They are heavy and their
weight frightens you initially, but once you become comfortable with
them, driving then becomes a breeze. At every blind turn, one had to
slow down quickly and regain the previous momentum quickly. Only a
powerful engine could help you achieve that in a matter of seconds.
Small towns and cities arrived and were left behind, the mountains
continued to grow smaller and smaller in size, the air continued to
grow warmer and warmer. All of these signaled the arrival of the plains.
At around 6 o’clock, the plains were in sight. Trucks were lined up and I
knew the border of Himachal had come. Soon I found a signboard that
read “Thank you for visiting Himachal Pradesh” Finally I entered
Punjab. Delhi was still afar. As an obituary to mark the end of the
mountains, I got down and saluted the Himalayas. Soon I was on the
expressway driving at a far higher speed. The sight of the mountains
began fading and now only an outline was visible. They were replaced
by vast stretches of farms from where the Sikhs were returning after a
hard day’s work. The kilometer reading on the meter ran faster now.
Darkness beckoned, but in the plains, it was not a thing to worry about.
After a few hours of prolonged driving, Chandigarh arrived. It is
India’s first and only planned city; a marvel of civil engineering and city
planning that’s nowhere to be found in the country. Roads here turned
at 90 degrees and they are fairly wide. Chandigarh had its own charm
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and besides being a union territory it was the capital of two states in
India: Punjab and Haryana. I stopped at a gas station for a refill and was
soon back on the road. Once
I was out of the city and on the highway, I stopped at a roadside
diner to have dinner. When I entered the diner, everyone looked at me
in bewilderment. I looked slovenly. But who cared. I ate my meal and
paid my bills. I returned to my bike and after inspecting the tire
pressure, I pumped some air into it. I tightened the rear brakes, packed
all the tools back again and started the engine. I ensured to make some
noise with the bike so that some eyeballs turned towards me. I did feel
proud of myself. After all, I was a returning Ladakh rider.
It was almost ten and Delhi was far. It was dark and I drove merrily
on the highways. I tried my best not to think, for the Shangri-La
continued to overpower my thoughts. After a few hours, I reached
Ambala where the circle of the journey got completed. It’s here in this
town that the roads to Ladakh separate between the Pathankot-
Srinagar-Leh route and the Chandigarh-Manali-Leh route. Now I drove
on the one common road to Delhi and the familiar signs of the hotels
and diners began to arrive.
My body began to ache. I had been driving for almost 12 hours now
and that too with very few breaks in between. It was after crossing
Ambala that
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I really began getting cramps and so I had to reduce the duration of
each ride. Earlier I could easily drive for 3 hours without any break. But
now I needed one after every hour. Soon I started to halt after every
hour.
I was not going to give up. I was determined to reach Delhi by
morning. I took a long break near Karnal to have a cup of tea. Delhi was
still 110 km away. At the diner, I met a few other tourists who were
traveling in an SUV to Manali. I aroused a lot of interest in them and so
some of them came to talk to me. I told them my story and how I was
returning to Delhi at this moment. They were shocked to see me ride all
alone, but never the less they felt inspired and made a commitment to
go to Ladakh in the near future. “Make it a road trip,” I advised them
and after a while I hit the highway again. Driving after midnight has its
own charm; there are fewer vehicles on the road and no traffic jams.
This time I really rode long, perhaps for 70-80 km when I again took a
small break and after that I continued to drive and drive when I finally
entered the gates of Delhi where the bright
lit roads, greeted me. The city felt refreshingly new.
After a few minutes, I reached my block. The night guard greeted me
and when I told him I was returning from Ladakh, he had no clue where
it was. I left him guessing and began unpacking and carrying everything
to my flat. Finally, I had to come to a truce with the fact that I was no
more in Ladakh. The study cum working table, the bedroom the air
conditioner and the city, all of them reminded me of the days I lived just
a month ago. Reality began to sink in. I left my entire luggage on the
floor, switched on the AC and lay on the bed. I looked at the clock and it
was around quarter to four. And then it dawned on me that I had been
driving for around 17 hours. I smiled. I didn’t know how I managed to
do it, but I had just done it. I had just accomplished the most enduring
journey of my life. But my body ached and I felt as if my hands and legs
would fall off. The bed felt like heaven and it was only a matter of a few
minutes before I closed my eyes and went into a deep slumber.
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DAY 30
Delhi
“That’s Delhi. When life gets too much for you all you need to do is to spend an hour at
Nigambodh Ghat, watch the dead being put to flames and hear their kin wail for them.
Then come home and down a couple of pegs of whisky. In Delhi, death and drink make life
worth
living,”
— Khushwant Singh
I woke up with a loud banging on the door. When I opened the door,
I was greeted by my maid whom I had informed of my arrival
yesterday. At first, she couldn’t even recognize me. I had changed a lot.
My skin was darker, thanks to the sun burns, my hair was long and
unkempt, I was unshaven and slovenly, and I had lost a lot of weight.
My appearance frightened her. When I opened the door to the balcony, I
was greeted by quarreling neighbors and their nosy children. Just a
night before, I used to be greeted by a scenic view of the beautiful
mountains. “Welcome to the Jungle,” I
told myself and sighed.
I then freshened up. Aah, the chlorinated municipality water. I would
have to get used to it again. I connected my laptop to the internet and
opened the Facebook page. It was time to announce my arrival to the
rest of the metropolitan civilization. Automatically these words got
written on my Facebook wall:
“1 month; more than 4000km touching almost all the major
attractions of Ladakh; some of the craziest; funniest; emotional and
frightening moments of my life; the journey finally came to an end
at 3:30 am this morning. My own home is a stranger to me now. Will
I ever forget those moments? Not in this lifetime. Oh, Ladakh! I will
be back there soon.”
And within seconds I wrote my second post as:

“Feels kinda different when you get up in the morning and don’t
see the beautiful mountains but your neighbors’ balcony. Feeling
homesick about Ladakh.”
After a couple of hours, the phone began to ring. Friends and foes
alike started calling and the theme of discussion was the same: Ladakh.
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I thought that classes would have already begun, but much to my
surprise one of my friends informed me that the semester this year had
been delayed due to some ongoing reforms in the University. So I had
not missed any classes. The words of Paulo Coelho rang in my ears,
“The universe con- spires to help you and aligns itself according to the
path that you begin to follow.” “Amen,” I said as I looked up and
thanked God. Indeed, he worked in mysterious ways.
I decided to take some more rest and meet Lisa, who was arriving in
Delhi today by flight. In fact, she must have arrived already. I wrote her
a message on Facebook informing her that I had reached Delhi too.
Soon her reply came and we decided to meet for dinner. In the evening,
I picked her up from her hotel and took her to India Habitat Center, in
the heart of Delhi. It is my favorite place in Delhi, a place that can aptly
be described as an abode for culture and art. I would usually come here
to escape from the rush and madness of the city. We went to an art
gallery where young artists were showcasing their work. Upon seeing
her, one of the artists, a young girl who had just finished her art college,
started ‘selling’ her a painting. Her paintings were good, but they were
not fetching good prices or good buyers. She was desperately trying to
sell. One of her paintings had a beautiful face and through its eyes a bird
flew. I asked her how she had painted it. She then explained that she got
a woman to sit and using her as a prop she had painted.
“It’s good,” I said, “But you know what, you haven’t worked hard on
it.” “What do you mean?” she said, feeling insulted.
“Forgive me for my words. I do not mean to offend you. The painting
is good. But the concept is common. You can tell by looking at the face
that Delhi some real entity was used for inspiration. You know what
your painting lacks; it’s surprise. People want to be surprised and so
surprise them. You must definitely have some ideas in your mind, bring
those to reality. There must be something that you must have
visualized, but no one has seen it as of yet, give birth to them. Give a
glimpse of an unseen world to the people, give them a reason to think,
to connect emotionally, to ignite their soul once again. What people are
looking for is imagination; your imagination and your perception of the
world which you would bring it out through your paintings. That’s
when you have achieved creativity. Right now, you are concerned about
what price your painting would fetch, caring little about the journey but
the destination. In your attempt to come up with something that would
sell, you have but only conformed to what already exists.”
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At first, she was appalled to hear me speak. But soon enough, she
understood what I meant to say. She nodded in agreement and replied
with the two words that mean everything:” Thank you.”
Even I was surprised as to where those words came from. But I
knew the mountains had taught me more that I could ask for. I was not
the same person anymore.
Lisa and I then went to have dinner. We then had a couple of drinks,
talked for a while and then I drove her back to her hotel. I then started
driving back to my place. I had returned to where I had always been,
but Delhi did not seem the same to me. Scores of cars were lined up on
the roads as people were returning from work. Their faces showed little
variations. They would go home take rest and be back at their work the
next morning. Routine had created machines of perfection. I hardly saw
a human in those cars. They seemed to care little about anything else,
their jobs, their family and back to their jobs. I was caught in a traffic
jam too, and people were honking incessantly. That’s when I knew I
was back in my familiar Delhi, although it was not boiling hot today.
Thanks to yesterday’s rain.
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DAY 31
Decision
“Everything tells me that I am about to make a wrong decision, but making mistakes is
just part of life. What does the world want of me? Does it want me to take no risks, to go
back to where I came from because I didn’t have the courage to say “yes” to life?”
— Paulo Coelho,
I decided to get civilized for college by getting a haircut. I then

bought some stationery and decided to head back to try and study and
get back
in the groove.
But as I sat to read something, I was once again lost in
contemplation. From tomorrow, my college would start and it was time
I made a firm decision between being a goal-oriented man or a path-
oriented man. Soon I would be lost in the world of books and routine
and classes which can prove to be overwhelming. I must make
decisions fast enough or else I would be bogged down by the whims
and fancies of the mainstream society. I had to find a way out.
I had failed in my entrepreneurial endeavors. But when I compare
the two years of my entrepreneurial stints to the past one year of
classroom learning, I realized that the amount of learning, both
academic and experiential was far higher when I was an entrepreneur.
At every point that I got stuck, I had to work on a way to solve the
problem. I picked up skills and learned new things along the way. And
as I learned, I implemented them as well. And this simultaneous
learning and applying fostered my understanding powerfully. I had
experimented with the stock market as well, and that stint, taught me a
lot about calculating risks and understanding uncertainty. But I gave it
up as I was not making huge returns. But during my internship, the
same stint helped me. I used to come up with new ideas that were
verily rejected by my immediate seniors in the office. I used to be
ignored and not given work and upon a lot of requests when I got one, I
was not given enough instruction nor enough help. When I insisted on
being given work, I was told to make a report on a market segment that
was growing fast. And then I was left alone to do it. But still I managed
to do it. My stint as a stock market trader helped me assimilate
information from unconventional resources. When the report was sent
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to my boss, he really appreciated me. And when he learned that my
seniors had not helped me at all, he took them to task. That report then
became a benchmark for interns. Other interns could come up with a
report that was only half as good as mine. Thus, I had that experiential
learning which I used in the internship as well. I wouldn’t say my report
was a best in class report in the consultancy industry, but certainly for a
novice, who was here for an internship, it was of a very high standard
and some of the methods used were unique.
Thus, experiential learning gives you originality and with originality
you can do anything, whether anyone guides you or not.
But the most overwhelming question that I was faced with was that
should I start on my path of uncertainty right after college or should
work for a few years to gain some experience and save some money
and then start. If I were to pick up a job, I would be working in a domain
that I would not like, in a company that I might not like, and definitely
not in a job that I would like. Then the cost of living would only get
higher because with a job I would be included in a society where I
would have to maintain a stature which would cost money. So that
would mean taking debt to buy a house and a car. Then my cost of living
would rise further as the clothes I would wear and the food that I would
eat and the entertainment I would have would be expensive. But even if
I manage to save a good deal of money at the end of five years, would I
still be in a position to start up? Any art or entrepreneurial venture
needs nurturing, they need to be created right from the scratch. And so,
I would be back at square one. How does crunching numbers in a
cubical or selling soaps on the road going to help me develop my
entrepreneurial skills in the first place? More so, I would still be toying
with an idea that is untested. Now at the end of five years, it would be
hard to break the mold that I would have shaped up in. The salary, the
social acceptance; all of them would pose a greater opportunity cost for
me to quit and begin afresh. And let alone the opportunity cost, will my
passion hold fort to pursue an idea and go through the requisite
struggle? Five years is a short time, but far too long for one to be
conditioned.
Entrepreneurship or art is a different ball game altogether. Your
progress is not an outcome of a mathematical equation. It is a game
changer, a life changer. It is magic, a moment of eureka, a pursuit that
can change the world. Your pursuit can wither, or it could grow
exponentially. Things happen or they don’t. The right time is always the
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present. The future, in this case, only means delay, and delay is always
the enemy.
I wonder why a Google or a Facebook or a Virgin doesn’t emerge
from India. But I am pretty sure such a thing wouldn’t happen for a long
time till we change as a society. We are far too busy creating Gods out of
those who are successful, so much so that to even think of becoming
like them frightens us. Our peers are too busy ensuring that we get a
job, get married and then reach thirty-five, the age when aspirations
wither and are replaced by necessities. The society needs to be
liberated from the clutches of its own vicious design, otherwise no
megalithic organization would emerge from this country nor would we
be able to remove the tag of ‘a third world country.’
But I can’t wait for the society to change; at least I can change my
life. Another year of my MBA was left. Thus, I had time to contemplate.
Actually, education in its entirely isn’t all that bad. As a child, I could say
that education could have given me more than it had. But now as an
adult, the onus was on me and how I could make the best use of
education. At least it gave me an understanding of how the society
works, how people behave and it was up to me to choose whether I
conform to the mainstream dogmas or choose to pay heed to my calling.
I could use my education to become a better entrepreneur and an artist,
rather than become an acceptable employee. That way I would be
working towards my purpose, rather than becoming a pawn in the
hands of others. It was time to rebel, but to rebel with a purpose. People
often hate those who deviate from the mainstream path, e.g., students
who bunk classes. But then the students who bunk classes are of two
kinds: ones who go off to enjoy and waste time, and then there were
others who had something better to do than sit in boring lectures; like
learning a new skill or doing something that they were passionate
about. This second kind of rebellion is good because you have a
purpose more divine than what education gives you. Tomorrow my
college would start, and thus would start my real Ladakh journey, my
journey of life.
380
DAY 32
Just Ride
“This fall I think you’re riding for—it’s a special kind of fall, a horrible kind. The man
falling isn’t permitted to feel or hear himself hit bottom. He just keeps falling and falling.
The whole arrangement’s designed for men who, at some time or other in their lives,
were looking for something their own environment couldn’t supply them with. Or they
thought their own environment couldn’t supply them with. So they gave up looking. They
gave it up before they ever really even got started.”
— J.D. Salinger
The next day I arrived at college on my bike with the panniers still
intact. When I reached the canteen, everyone who saw me greeted me.
There were some who were in awe, some were congratulating me while
others only made a mechanical gesture of shaking hands with a
calculated smile. Nothing had changed. Soon the topics were the usual
stuff; girls, jobs, politics and the usual complaining and grumbling. I was
tired of all such
craps. I found a way to excuse myself for I really wanted to be alone.
I had spent merely half an hour with my college mates and I felt like
an alien. I found a seat at a distant corner of the canteen and sat there. I
hadn’t forgotten Yogi, I hadn’t forgotten Ladakh, I hadn’t forgotten the
future plan. It was only a matter of time before I found a way to go
ahead with it.
People gave me weird looks and they were on their automatic mode
of judging people. Even a mere anomaly such as sitting in solitude can
make a conformist go crazy. I knew I was not the same as before.
Something radical had happened to me. I had undergone a complete
metamorphosis. The caterpillar had destroyed the cocoon and became
a butterfly. It was only a matter of time before it would fly.
But in my case, to flying, I would always prefer to ride.
**************************
381
Hi there,
It took me THREE years to write this book, re-write it multiple times,

edit it and then proof read it. This book is very much a part of me as I am
a part of it. Now you, as a reader, are a part of it too. Nothing inspires an
artist more than an honest critic of his or her work. Therefore, do write to
me, or leave a review and share your thoughts through the social media.
And if you’ve liked the book, help spread the word. I would be very much
obliged. Stay in touch. Remain connected. All the links are given on the
last page. Let us create a new wave that sweeps away the old and makes
way for a renaissance.
Thank you,
Ravi
382
Epilogue
It would be too simple to say that I wrote the book. Sometimes, I just
feel that the book got written. In the summers of 2012, when I returned
from the journey across Ladakh, I was in an ambivalent state. I could be
easily spotted sitting somewhere doing nothing, just dreaming,
dreaming and thinking, thinking and dreaming; in whatever order you
wish to put it in. I was in Delhi physically, but my mind still wondered
across the high terrains of Himalayas. I wanted to write, no doubt. But it
would be this book was something I had not contemplated. So, one day,
I just sat and began writing, and the words poured, and poured and
poured. The words flowed incessantly. I recalled each of the days I had
lived on the road, the pain and the emotions I felt and the simultaneous
exhilaration I felt. I just wrote as the words came to me. I don’t know
why I was writing in the first place. Perhaps I was writing for myself;
maybe to clear my head, to vent it out, or maybe to relieve myself of the
burden to write. But as the words flowed and when I read them, I was
surprised. The initial writings made me write further and further till it
became unstoppable. It was a Force far too strong to describe in the
human sense. As I wrote, the journey itself became clearer to me, I
understood it even better.
And once I was in the flow, I knew it was not going to stop. In fact, I
was not going to stop. I sent the manuscript to multiple agencies only to
receive an enormous pile of rejections. After an arduous struggle and a
long wait that expanded for two and half years, the book finally came
into being.
Thus, this book has been a journey in itself, one no less than the
Ladakh Journey of 2012. And this book is a testimony to the fact that
when you set out to follow your bliss, it is not going to be easy. But
then, it is not going to be impossible either. And if you want something
very badly, there is nothing that can stop you from achieving it.
383
Links
Please note down the following web addresses:
www.whentheroadbeckons.com
www.ravimanoram.com
www.fb.com/ravimanoram1
Here you can connect with the author, share your thoughts, reviews,
and ask the author any questions that you have.
AlsAlso,u can see the photos and videos of the journey in the gallery
section. You can mail the author directly at mail@ravimanoram.com
and also report any error, bugs etc. in this book.
For publishing queries, you can also mail at mail@ravimanoram.com
384
WHEN THE ROAD BECKONS
A note on the Author
Ravi is an alumnus of Delhi College of Engineering and Faculty of

Management Studies (FMS), Delhi. Unlike his contemporaries, he chose
to follow where the wind in his sails took him. Today, he is an author,
educator and an entrepreneur and is the founder of Ravman OPC Pvt.
Limited. Ravi is passionate about playing guitar and travelling. He
believes that travelling has a deeper connection that is intertwined with
a man’s very own existence. He can be reached at
mail@ravimanoram.com ‘When the Road Beckons’ is Ravi’s first work
in literature.
385
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A story from the heart of a go-getter The author has been

Typeset, cover and interior design by www.raghavgirdhar.com

I have debts I remind myself,

Lonesome I sit in a crowded room;

Empty as I am despite everything I need,

Listen to the voice, when she beckons,

I drive through the wilderness of the mountain;

The journey guides my soul,

Don’t carry the past, nor fear the future,

The Now is the past of tomorrow,

The Virgin Drive

We up woke startled by a persisted loud banging on the door. I got up

Vengeance And Defeat

The night was torturous. The tent was very uncomfortable. We

After getting barely three hours of sleep, I got up at eight in the

Broken Roads, Broken Souls

We got up to a lazy start. The sun was up and so we started pacing to

Godly And Death

The bumpy ride of yesterday had broken our bodies. We woke up

Flow And Passion

The morning sun greeted us through the glass paned windows.

Highest Motorable Road In The World

We got up early feeling fresh as ever. The chillum seemed to have

My eyes opened to a loud banging on the door. I was supposed to

I had grown so fond of this place, I was in love, but I needed to be

And within seconds I wrote my second post as:

I decided to get civilized for college by getting a haircut. I then

It took me THREE years to write this book, re-write it multiple times,

Ravi is an alumnus of Delhi College of Engineering and Faculty of

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