South India: Churches in film

Chennai and Pondicherry 

Shree Niwas, Jaipur

From all the homestays and hostels and Airbnbs and hotels that I've stayed in, Shree Niwas stands out (And clearly, I got a little carried away photographing the place!). 

Jodhpur : In photographs

February 2015

Varanasi

My journey began as a means of escape. I had lost a large part of what made me “me” and I hated having to realise that. It’s like those autograph and slam books during school… the thoughts and advice people leave for you as well as you for them: “never change”, “stay the same”, “be yourself". We wrote them with such innocence without understanding or knowing the reality that is life and emotion. If only we do stay the same. If only we stand our ground. Always, always.

For most of my life, I did heed this ‘advice.’ I was my own person, driven by my own dreams and beliefs and I stood up for what I felt was right. But for a brief few years, I succumbed to compromises and I lost a spark. I didn’t question my life and I didn't I go through a crisis. I just lost the essence of myself and I let go willingly. But here’s the beauty of the self and the subconscious. When the time is right, it slowly wakes you up from this nightmare of a reverie. I didn’t weep for my heart but I was happy to return to myself. Everything I loved, everything I thought and deemed worthy, everything I was willing to fight and struggle for came back and I become the person I was and the person I am today during. Varanasi was chapter one. It became the first stop in the endless and unending celebration of the self.

I still don’t know how I settled on Varanasi but as soon as I did, I called upon the one person I knew would say yes and she did. It was January 2015 when we put the wheels in motion and with three days to go before our trip in February, Urvashi told me that her friend too had coincidentally decided to go so we planned to travel together. Little did I know that Varun and Long would not only turn out to be great travellers but also good friends today. Side note: Long has an actual name but this is a nickname that Urvashi and I will continue to stand by. We lose track of what his real name is to be honest.

The 13-hour train journey was enough for all of us to get to know each other and I think it was clear that we all felt at ease with each other. 

We reached Varanasi in the early hours of the morning and checked into Shanti Hotel. At Rs. 800/- per night, you get what you paid for: A bed and a bathroom. A bathroom without a sink in our case. In Shanti Hotel’s defence though, they had a wonderful roof top restaurant that became a daily haunt for us. We started and ended our days with their paratha and lemon ginger honey tea with a view of the still-flowing Ganga and by the end, the chef/waiter knew exactly what we wanted. 

Shanti Hotel was closest to what is known as “the burning Ghats”, the place where the dead are burned. Photography is prohibited and while not many people will adhere to this, I wish they would out of sheer respect. Before we heading out of there, a man approached us. With words dripping in honey, he led us to a rundown half-constructed building with a bad stench. He told us that this is the house where people come to await their death. While we aren’t gullible people by nature, Urvashi and I were perfectly conned by the banks of the burning Ghats. There were two old ladies sitting on the floor, not even old, not even close to the ‘D’ of death and they urged us to give them money. Clearly giving them a 100 note wasn’t good enough. They had the nerves to ask for more and shouted at us. we made a hasty exit only to have this man follow us for a good 15 minutes asking for a ‘donation’. I managed to get a picture of our con man with my SLR and when I got the film back, it captured the man perfectly for who he was. In contrast, we had a chat with a very sweet panwari who told us about the Ganga floods and how there is a marker for each time it rises in one of the buildings near his small shop on the lane way stairs. 

You will face it everywhere but in Varanasi, begging is disguised as ‘donations’ and men will even paint themselves as a Sadhu Baba and when you take a photograph, he will expect money in return (as we learned the hard way). Either that or you are shouted at for photographing them. It’s a loss – loss situation.

Varanasi is a maze of winding alleys closely linked together. There will probably be an unrelenting fear of getting lost but as we learned, you wouldn’t. You will eventually make your way through the maze and end up in one of the 97 Ghats. With the cow traffic, it’s not easy to manoeuvre especially when you need to dodge the cow dung. The cows roam free and they are privileged because of their holy status. Cows seem to have the authority to barge into people’s home. A real life scenario we were privy to: A scared and crying child ignored because the cow that barged into the house needed to be fed first. Holy Cow right?  

Living and knowing Delhi, there’s always a need to look over your shoulder no matter where you are. That city makes you paranoid. I expected Varanasi to be the same if not worse in terms of being rigid but it wasn’t so. Varanasi was too new age for a Holy place. I suppose the influx of tourists have made the locals in tune with the world in a broad sense. Apart from people trying to sell you drugs, people left you to your own devices. Well, drugs and boat rides. But the boat ride needs to be done for the sake of the ultimate Varanasi experience. 

By the banks of the Ganga (along all the Ghats) will be people sleeping, washing and drying clothes, taking a dip, doing yoga and several barbers shaving and cutting hair. There is a burst of colour from time to time and there are sections of buildings and lanes that are reminiscent of European scenes. We took one afternoon to solely hunt for a palmist. This was Urvashi’s guilty pleasure and she wasn’t passing up a palmist reading her future in Varanasi. We did find one but he unfortunately did not live up to her standards within the first few minutes. He had already stated random and false facts. Not that we were expecting a holy intervention, but we were charmed by the prospect of a magical happenstance by the banks of the Ganga. 

We decided an evening boat ride to witness the Aarti, a nightly puja performed at the Dashwamedha Ghat. The boat ride was surreal. As you floated on the calm waters, the other boats passing by slowly, the lights and diyas, floating flowers… I felt transported. It didn’t seem like the world I knew. I was carried away to some form of after world. This dreamlike state was furthered by the Aarti. The endless sounding of the bells during the Aarti presented me with an out of body experience. I had closed my eyes, focusing only to the sound of the bells and I fell into a trance. What felt like a brief second was almost half an hour (?). I think no one noticed or cared because everyone there seemed to be under a certain spell. All I heard, all I still hear when I cast my thoughts back are those bells. It was an insane moment of peace and I have never felt so perfectly empty and clear in my mind. I thought of nothing yet I realised everything that was going on. My mind felt free. The smoky apparitions of the priests up on the stage and the resounding bells… I wonder if I am romanticising these events but it made the trip worthwhile and so special. I don’t think there will be a reverberation of that moment and yet, I still wish I knew where my mind was carried off to that night. 

On our last morning, I was overtaken by a cold wave. I was obligated by a visit from the past. A past that had slowly chewed away bits of me without my realisation. I remember being hurt. I remember the feeling of being pulled back inside a hole. My mental framework was falling apart and the trip and all its goodness was slowly being chipped away. But I suppose it is in these moments that you decide the kind of person you want to be. I wasn’t trying to be strong. I wasn’t. Not at all. Not at that point. I was just trying to be because that was the best I could do for myself. These new places and faces… it was a way to just be. That's all. I didn’t realise that these choices I made back then would save me again this year. It was a dress rehearsal for the worse. I don’t think much of signs but over the course of the last two years, there have been too many coincidences for me to overlook them and shake it off. I reckon it could’ve happened anywhere but it was in Varanasi that I came to a realisation that I had lost so much time away from myself. It’s something I am still trying to make up to myself. I owe it to myself that's for sure.

By the end of the trip and also in retrospect after many trips, I realised that you will never forget the people you travel with. You are bound together by an experience that no one else can ever be a part of. Perhaps you’ve each been there before, on another occasions or maybe a thousand times before but neither you or them will have been present during that precise moment. Like when a monkey pushed Varun, Urvashi realized she only packed one pair of pants for the whole trip or when we witnessed the old man in a balcony enjoying the view of Varanasi (best seat in town, hands down). Or the mother of all, when we had to wait 10 hours at the station in the freezing cold for our train. The train was due to depart at 8:25PM but that changed every hour and it finally decided to show up at 6:55AM. But it was all alright. Through the laughs, through a safe but dingy hotel, through a freezing cold night and and endless train ride, it was all alright. 

Here. This was the journey where I just decided to be.  

February 13 - 17, 2015

Spiti Valley - Demul / Lalung / Dhankar

By day two, our guide Tashi become not the group guide but our personal guide. He was just as enthusiastic as us and liked that we were well-paced trekkers. This lead to favouritism which was much appreciated (such as giving us the option of the better homestays. #win) and in Demul, when we really needed a comfortable stay, Tashi came through a 100 percent.

The trek from Komic to Demul was the toughest and the longest. From the get go, we had a mountain to climb and I’m not talking in metaphors. Once we scaled that, that’s when the challenge really began. We had four mountains to climb. The thing is, normally you would have a downward climb but these were mounts one after the other which meant that the easy bit barely lasted a few minutes. The group trekked closer together here but since we were always ahead and so fast, there was a really boring joke established by one of the chaps. He would keep asking us “do you have a meeting to get to?” which, let’s face it, was and is still not funny! I’m pretty sure that the three of us rolled our eyes every time we heard that. Life was too hard to be nice at that point so I’d ask that you forgive us for that. We had three friends (all photographers) from South India who were actually really good trekkers. They were struck by AMS which resulted to their slow start. Debbie and I enjoyed (extremely enjoyed!) listening to them talking because while we understood nothing, Tamil was an amazing language to listen to and we managed to at least pick up one phrase (which we still use sometimes to greet each other).

Demul was set in a valley with a nameless mountain looming and overlooking this tiny village. What a sight it was from the distance! We had climbed the last (and the toughest) mountain and reach the peak marker. While exhausted, it was an exhilarating feeling. Personally, every time I reach one of these markers, I feel that my adrenaline just kicks in and makes me feel that I can climb another mountain (and as I am writing this, I am saturated in memories from the trek and rearing for the next one). We saw the sight of Demul, sitting so serene and calm, and we were rushing to reach. Tashi took the trail while the three of us basically just cut across the valley creating our own path and walking through thorn bushes and streams. 

Demul was our best homestay experience not just because it was clean, but because of the family. We had the nicest couple (and their very shy son) hosting us and they made everything so accommodating to the extent that there was toilet paper and a water filter in our room! There was also a separate washing section within the room which basically works like an open washroom. Tashi and our other guide Tobgay came to help our homestay couple with the cooking. While Tashi has been operating as a Spiti trek guide for years, this was Tobgay’s first trek. Debbie made it her mission to tease Tobgay and his responses were always a shy smile and a blush. It was a hilarious sight and it still makes me laugh thinking about it! 

We not only had the best dinner (BEST parathas) but we also got our personal supply of ‘Chang’ and ‘Arakh’, local barley alcohol that must be tried. We first tasted it in Langza and really enjoyed it but I reckon we all felt too pushy to ask for from then on. We were offered in Demul and it was a solid, harmonious yes. 

But it wasn’t just the alcohol that we were privy to. We tasted the most amazing from of curd.

Full disclosure, I do NOT like curd/yogurt/dahi. Add all the other names it has, you’ll still get a big N-O from me and if you try to force it upon me, you might as well be ready to get a smack across the face. Yet, in the face of travel and experiencing new things so to speak, I’m not fussy so I gave it a go (very much to the shock of Debbie who constantly says I have ‘weird food habits’). Even more shocking was that I went in for a third helping. It really was that good and the saddest part was this was not an over the counter commodity that we could purchase. It was made by the villagers for their personal use and I assume travellers that pass by get to taste this ‘magic elixir’. The curd was a speciality of Demul and it was made with goat’s milk making all the difference. It tasted like the world’s greatest version of cream cheese. It tasted like fluff, like what great dreams are made of. You get my drift right? 

Demul also had a shop. Now this was rare here. Either there are just no shops, period. Or there is one. While we tried to communicate with the old woman, her in the Spiti dialect, Sarju in Hindi and hand gestures, a young girl came to help the woman, her grandmother. The young girl said smiled and said hello to us and asked us where we were coming from. She was smart and spoke in both Hindi and English which was rare! She invited us to her home for a cup of tea to which we suspect was objected by her grandmother but she took us in anyway. She was very shy and after asking us a few questions, left us alone to finish the tea. I am pretty certain even her name was Rinchen. She seemed like a goofy girl and the next morning before embarking on our trek, we looked for her to take a picture for her with the polaroid. I took one with my camera as well and the photo captured exactly the person she is.

By the time we got Demul, a truth was established: the people of Spiti are some of the nicest and most friendliest people you will meet. They will never pass you by without their friendly greeting, Julley. So you greet them back or you greet them first even. The friendliest meeting for me was a man on a wheelchair of the shop we went to. He was staring out serenely towards the mountains and while I didn't want to disturb him, he saw me. He had a stern face; an elderly man. Yet, he broke out in the kindest smile to say a hello.

The next stage of the trek, Demul to Lalung, was a short one but slightly dangerous. It was the opposite of the trek to Demul because this one was going to be all downhill. I’m going to keep this real: it was pretty bad. We did it and again reached first but that’s not the point. We were cool with downhill because it’s obviously less tiring but one wrong step on this one and that’s that. It wasn’t even a trail exactly. It was just sand and gravel. Debbie and I did this in 40 minutes and waited another hour for the rest but we didn’t really complain because it was hard. We were joined by another eight people who technically were part of our group but didn’t want to trek. A large part of our discussion was WHY they even signed up for this in the first place. They rented a private car, packed their own mineral water, dried nuts and food. And a carton of Jack Daniels. They sure came trek ready wouldn’t you say? We also heard that they refused to eat anything that was offered to them in their homestay, did not come out of their rooms and stayed up late, making loud noises disturbing the people. "They came looking for a good time" said someone. So did we but our definition of ‘fun’ were poles apart. During this downhill trek to Lalung as well as the first visit to the Kee Monastery, we spotted their shoes: loafers and knee high boots. We were shouting out WHAT WERE YOU THINKING (in our heads) because that’s just senseless. Basically, they looked like they were ‘bout to get turnt to a Honey Singh song.

So yeah.

the three of us did not exchange a word with them mainly out of anger about their behaviour. Their behaviour went beyond what could be marked down as ignorance. They were behaving like Donald Trump. Donald Trump saying that ISIS can be taken out by a covert ops mission in the dead of the night is not just ignorance*, it’s sheer foolishness. Their foolishness in their conduct, behaviour and attire was on par. What a bunch they were!

But let's move on. After crossing rock formations that looked like penises sticking out from the earth (and photographing it to send it to our perverted friend) and an age old shaky British-made bridge, the trek to Lalung was on tarmac and while we could see Lalung, it was impossibly far. We even got to a gateway and ran, reaching out of Lalung, thinking we were there but it was a farce. Lalung was still a good 45 minutes to an hour away. I have to add that Lalung was the strangest sight to see. Surrounded by mountains and rock formations, there it was, a patch of lush green. It was one of those moments when Mother Nature surprised me. 

By the time we reached, we were 'hangry' (hunger leading to anger) and even the super modern homestay with clean bathrooms and hot water was not observed until a packet of maggi was consumed (nay, gorged!). All eight of us wanted to use the bathroom to bath and from time to time, snuck out with towels in hand to check. 

*paraphrased

Lalung too had an unnamed mountain looming over it. Sarju and one of the chaps got into a discussion about climbing it, naming it and imposing an entry tax (you should know by now that that wasn’t Sarju’s idea). Following our last meal, everyone decided to sit outside under the clear skies filled with stars and quite fittingly, I remembered the wonderful Before Sunrise. 

“You are both stars, don't forget. When the stars exploded billions of years ago, they formed everything that is this world. The moon, the trees, everything we know is stardust. So don’t forget. You are stardust”

We carried on late, not talking too much, just listening to music and enjoying the stars, unaware that the worst was yet to come. Our last day consisted of a trek – bus ride – trek – ride back to Kaza. 

The important thing about trekking or any physically enduring tasks is mental preparation. As we set off from Lalung, we had already trekked the tarmac road so it was fun. Debbie, Sarju and I as usual led the pack and at one point, we had a huge distance between ourselves and the rest. So we burst out dancing on those empty roads, something we did throughout empty stretches of trails. We shuffled (okay. Attempted), we sang and before you knew it, we became a three-man troupe. This was our way of keeping our spirits alive. If only it worked!

Dhankar, the old capital, was our last stop. The Dhankar monastery was a gallant structure built upon rocks and following a quick look around, we set off for Dhankar Lake. 

We saw a mountain and I think all of us looked at our guides with the same question and expression. “It’s just there. Behind the mountain” said Tashi. Okay then, that’s not too bad thought all eight of us. Loud Chap decided that today he would show what he was made of and jetted off to be the first. As he ascended, he didn’t stop and that’s when it hit me: this wasn’t going to be a walk in the park. This is where mental preparation comes into play. We discussed it later with the other chaps who also came to the same conclusion. The trek to Dhankar Lake was hard, yes but it became and seemed much harder than normal because we weren’t prepared for it. it became the classic “are we there yet?” segment. It was never ending. We saw a couple who were making their way down and I think all of us stopped them at whichever point we were at to ask how much further. “just there” they told me (IT WASN’T. LIARS). 

During this trek, I devised a scheme whenever life got hard on the trail. Run it. And that’s what I did during some really demoralising parts and this pretty much motivated one of the chaps so good on me. It’s pretty simple really, if you want to try: I would run and count to 50, walk 100, run 50 and so on. Just don’t do it the whole way. I am not sure of the repercussions as I suffered none but I want to state that you cannot hold me accountable should you try and things go south. You have been warned. 

The lake was not stunning or drop dead gorgeous. It was okay. “we trekked for this?” said one chap, unanimously echoing everyone’s thoughts. I don’t know! Maybe if our trekking experience wasn’t so bad, we could’ve appreciated it more. Dhankar Lake just caught us on our off day. A lake formed at the top of a mountain is actually a pretty cool thing. 

The trek downward wasn’t as easy because again, the trail was just gravel. After a quick lunch at the monastery restaurant/café, we were on our way back to Kaza and it was a quiet journey. I was mostly lost in thoughts gazing out the window. 

We took away a lot from this trip one of which was a song. This was unanimous amongst all of us. Om Mani Padme Hum is a Buddhist mantra and we heard it played every morning in almost all of our homestays and also through Tashi's phone as we trekked. It has a very calming effect and with the sight of the mountains, the reality that you were traversing so high up in a place where not many people have been (or have heard of), made you assess life in general. The chaps took the song from Tashi's phone while we continued to sing the tune as we travelled further. 

The journey to Spiti was a gift from the forces that control our existence. Will I be back again? In the uncertainly that is life, who knows. It’s possible this was going to be the first and last time that I will ever jaunt about through Spiti Valley but because even this cynic has a ray of optimism somewhere, I hope I will.

Spiti Valley - Kibber / Langza / Komic

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The girls help our homestay hostesses make momo’s while I tried to figure out how to open some giant windows, roughest and most basic version of French windows, in our Komic home to soak in all the sunlight and warmth that has been missing since yesterday as well as the first half of the day today. It’s already 6:30PM but the sun is so bright as his noon self. I think even he’s lost track of time up here in the mountains. 

The mountain peaks from the room look magnificent. I am unsure which peak it is though as judging by Harsh Kapadia’s notes, the Spiti Valley has quite a few to show off!

The terrains of Spiti is mostly desert-like and rocky and in many ways, very much resembles the Grand Canyon. That was pretty much what struck us the moment we reached Kaza. On the other hand, there are also stretches that give you the feeling of the Scottish Highlands too. The trans – Himalayan ranges provide great company as you trek. Every time you look up, the snow-capped mountains give you the surging urge to power on no matter how difficult the path that laid ahead was. 

If I am left alone here, there is a great chance that I could continue walking the roads not caring where they stopped, if they stopped or if they lead right to the foothills of one of the peaks. 

Komic has 12 households while Hikkim had around 15 including the post office and the postmaster’s home/office. Langza, with less than 25 households, has so far been the most developed of all these villages up here at 14, 000 feet. The trail was good but not too tough and Komic didn’t give us the dramatic welcome as Langza did with Chau Chau Kang Nilda (previously Guan Nelda) towering over it like a gentle giant. At 6,303 meters, it is one of the highest peaks in the Spiti region according to Harish Kapadia’s book. The highest is Gya at 6,794 meters. Wait, I think Chau Chau is the second highest. Okay, you need to fact check this when you can access some form of internet. 

We reached Komic by 12:52PM. I walk much too fast for my own good but even after a wrong turn, I made good time and reached first followed by Debbie, Sarju and our guide Tashi. Which was shocking considering how many times Debbie stopped to continue her fossil hunting. Although, I should admit, archeology could well have been a profession for her considering how many she found. I don’t know what to make of the others in the group. One thing's for sure: they’re slow and if we have to slow down on their behalf, I’m not going to take that too well. I’m not missing out on anything trekking fast but I’m also not stopping every two minutes to take a picture. I mean, seriously. What happened to being and living in the moment and just inhaling that sentiment of just being? We don’t do that enough. Not just the people in our trekking group but just all of us. We’ve lost the knack of living in the moment. 

But here’s what I’m surprised by, the five guys in the group. Judging by how eager they were at the Kee Monastery yesterday, hiking up that hill to get the money shot of the monastery, I was gearing and preparing myself mentally to be on par at their speed. My competitive spirit shone through and there was no way I was going to let them get ahead of me in the actual treks. Clearly, I was setting myself up for nothing because they didn’t offer any competition whatsoever. What a waste. 

Which reminds me, I wonder when the postmaster is going to send forth our postcards. Postcards from the highest post office in the world! I mean come on! That is just really cool. Although, considering the luck I've had sending postcards and them not reaching my friends, I shouldn't have such high hopes. The postmaster didn’t have a wide variety of postcards to choose from. You could make out that they were really old and the quality was just not good. He also didn’t have enough stamps so I gave him some of my own for his future use. They were really good stamps and while I kind of didn’t want to give them away, it seemed like he might need them. Although… do people still write letters? Especially up here? The postal service is coming up with really good stamps these days though, so that’s a positive but there’s no replacing those stamps. Right, let that go. That’s not your focus. What I should focus on is that we had tea in the world’s highest post office in the world (4,440 meters/14,567 feet) with the postmaster Rinchen Chhering who has held the post for 32 years with eight more years till his retirement. Yet! I am mildly excited for Sarju's postcard to Debbie to reach Debbie. haha... I think they wrote a postcard to each other. These two are hilarious. If not any, I hope that one makes its way home!

I gave the postmaster a polaroid of himself which seems to have amused him I think. of course, he wasn't as intrigued as those kids in Langza. Maybe he's already gotten one from others. Like our Langza homestay. Some previous travellers had taken some pictures of them with the polaroid and it was now on their kitchen wall. 

I wanted to give the kids a polaroid but Debbie and Sarju said it's better I don't because they'll fight for it. I think it must've been like a magic trick for them. I'm certain that travellers who pass by take their picture because 'poor unfortunate kids in the mountains' (what an original idea) so a camera or the idea of a photograph isn't new but the polaroid? I guess it was a pretty darn cool thing to witness. I mean, I still find it cool myself every time I develop a picture! 

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It’s 6:40 and the sun slowly shy’s away behind the hill I see through the window, his crown still intact. The animals come home as if a silent whistle was blown right across the village. The wind has also begun to sharpen its edges and it’s piercing cold. It’s definitely colder here than Langza but the wind in Kibber was no less. I reckon it has to do with being so close to Kanamo. If this is going to be the case, I’m basically done for. All I have is my $5 Target flannel shirt that is probably losing all its warmth. Clearly layering up is going to have to be the way but honestly, what the hell were you thinking not even carrying a jacket you, idiot!! I mean, for the sake of being light, I have decided to give up on my wellbeing. Great going. It’s no point blaming the Kaza weather since it’s set in a valley. I think Debbie and Sarju are going to murder me if it gets any colder since I convinced them not to carry their jackets too. Right then. 

-

It’s 8:00PM and there’s still light enough for one to walk without a torchlight. Our hostess is a 29-year-old woman and her aunt. It’s a fairly comfortable house if you don’t count the toilet. But that’s just something we were going to have to get used to. The three of us are the most adjustable travellers. We will complain about things in our daily lives but when we’re in travel mode, we adapt to survive. I think we all tried our best to not raise an issue but sometimes, you’ve got to give away. We'll survive but we''re certain about some friends and family who definitely shouldn’t make the trip here. 

All the Spiti villages are lodged high up in the mountains which means extreme conditions (COLD). So for fuel, they collect the fecal waste not just of animals but also humans. More often than not, the toilet is just a hole in the ground. I imagine they hope all their guests have something to ‘contribute’. 

So our host. She's gotten me thinking... It’s odd having to call her a ’29-year-old woman’ considering we are all 27. She has four kids of which the oldest is in 4th grade, studying in Kaza living with the father. I can't, for the life of me, imagine the three of us in that situation! It's just too terrifying and hilarious. Point being though, do people refer to us as 'women'? I don't think we really care about revealing our age and I for one have no qualms growing old but 'woman' is a term I'll never get used to on myself. It's odd! I don't know.

I shouldn’t be exceedingly shocked looking at the way they live their lives considering that I’ve visited many villages of Nagaland but there are obvious differences of which culture is one. But here’s the similarity: they’re all happy and friendly people, just taking it easy. Life isn’t fleeting for them. Oddly, it’s just been two days on the trail for us and it already feels like time is standing still for us too. 

Ever since we reached Kaza, we’ve had absolutely no phone service. Apart from the brief moments of wifi at the Himalayan Café and at that shop which we’ve now dubbed as ‘wifi Uncle’ who charges 40 bucks for 30 minutes of usage. We’ve been utilising the time well by conversing and discussing and reading and writing. I understand that our families may be worrying but being this cut off? I wouldn’t lie. It sure feels free and it’s goddamn gratifying. 

Everything we’ve come across since yesterday, since the trek began, has been enigmatic. The highly iconic and photographed Kee Monastery for example. I mean, we got why it’s got the status it has. It’s got so many myths and legends as well affixed to it and thanks to Harish Kapadia’s 'Adventures in the Trans – Himalayas', I am learning more about the places we are visiting at every turn of the page. It’s a big book and maybe it was a senseless idea to lug a book around rather than a jacket, but I reckon I’ll choose literature over my wellbeing any day. So far, the book has been a good read. It has historical and geographical notes but it is also very personal as he talks about the death of his friends during expeditions. I’m not sure how much time I can give it over the course of the next few days though. The only thing bothering me is the editing. He needed a better copy editor or just a better publisher.

 -

It’s 8:23PM and it’s finally dark. 

Ladakh - Lamayuru

Journal entry on July 07, 2016

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I reached Lamayuru around 12:00PM. It took me exactly four hours including stops. The journey wasn't interesting. The landscapes had nothing to boast of until the last five to seven minutes before reading Lamayuru. The terrains began to change drastically and then came the signboard: Welcome to the moonland. Yes, indeed.

I checked myself into the monastery hotel but it was not as I expected. It was too nice and too modern. Unlike that of the Kee Monastery in Kibber where the accommodation was affixed and joint within the monastery itself, this one was a proper hotel. But then again, I did only see male traveller in Kee so I reckon maybe women aren't allowed? I need to stop expecting and reimagining things I read. The price for the room was okay though, especially for the amenities. I was approached by some home stay people an they quoted the same price that I was paying here. It was yet another uphill climb to the monastery but I did manage to drag out my last ounce of strength to bargain just a little bit for the room price, my excuse being that I was just a solo person. I got a nice room with a great view so that worked out well. 

The first thing I did? The post office. I finally posted all my postcards. Lamayuru had a Post Mistress which was a first and the post office was a residence (which wasn't a surprise anymore thanks to Spiti). I thought I had a lot to post but clearly I had company in an elderly British lady. I wrote a lot of cards even to people who clearly don't deserve it. The only problem is whether it's going to reach the people. The postcards were so nice. It would be a loss...

Initial plan was to stay for two daYs but I wouldn't be able to catch the bus if I stay on till Saturday so I think heading back tomorrow itself would be better. It's too bad because I really wanted to head on forward to Kargil. Well, Shergole was what was exciting me more... but maybe another time. I think it's been far too long and I am exhausted. From the looks of Lamayuyu though, I think I can pretty much cover it in a day so I think I should be okay. 

It's a tiny and a very quiet place. I reckon most of the tourists just pass by to see the Monastery. Seemingly its the oldest in Ladakh. I might have to check up on that though. And on that note, I wonder whether I should visit it later or in the morning? Considering I am just a minute away, anytime would do.

It's lonely being alone here I suppose, especially since I've been in great company for the last 10 days. But when you're alone, you tend to notice things more. You become more attune to your surroundings. And there's no rush too, to get things done.  There's a bunch of little Lamas (little monks?) in training that would make a great photograph. I wonder if I can catch them... would they oblige though? Is it even allowed? 

I understand that traveling in India means meeting/coming across/being in the company of Indians obviously but that doesn't mean I enjoy it one bit! They are a mostly crude bunch with no manners. They are obscene and lewd and no matter what you do or don't do, make you feel out of place and uncomfortable. And clearly there are a lot of those here and I really wonder why. I thought I had the roof top corner to myself but it's just gotten a tad bit crowded and I am just feeling terribly uncomfortable. I think it's time I make my exit from here and walk around the moonlands. 

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It's 18:41PM and I  have pretty much covered everything there might be in Lamayuru. Almost every house is a homestay and from the short conversations I had with two homestay offerers, the flow of foreign tourists have decreased drastically in the last two years. "It's mostly Indian tourists who visit these days" one said, not very pleased. 

I am throughly confusing and confounding people here. I didn't think that that would be the case HERE! I thought I would fit in and just blend in but apparently not. The hotel reception staff treated me as if I was a foreign tourist and so did the cafe I had my lunch in. It was getting a bit tedious and I think I might have shown some irritation to the guy serving me. But honestly, what can I do? I'm okay with answering questions but I just hate that initial "where are you from?" question followed by "you don't look Indian". It's gotten absolutely tiresome. I even caused the young bus conductor some panic at the checkpoint where foreign tourists have to get their papers checked. "Madam! hurry, passport check!" he said, frantically waving at me from outside. I had to reply in Hindi to calm him down. He later came, stood next to me and of course, started off the usual line of questioning. "I thought you were Japanese" he said. He did know where Manipur was though and after a few minutes, he asked me where I was going and gave me some helpful tips for the bus next day. At least one good thing came out of it. "Okay then, bye" he said when I got off and we waved at each other. He would've made a good picture. 

I did visit the monastery and while I didn't get my group of little Lamas, I did get one and he made it worthwhile. 

Rigzin is 12 and has been at the monastery for eight years, meaning he came in when he was four. His parents live down in the village and he gets to see them on Sundays. I saw him peeking through a window when I entered the main monastery. His head sticking out of the window would've made an amazing frame but when I looked again, he had disappeared. After a round below the monastery ruins and a stop to check photos, he reappeared again with two plastic jerry cans.  I said hi and asked whether he would like a photo taken and he said yes, eagerly and I was relieved. I think he found the polaroid very intriguing so I asked him if he wanted one to which I got the most excited set of nods. I made him pose for me with the polaroid as well and then just chatted with him for a bit before sending him on his way. Clearly he had a job to do! He ran to his friends first though and I heard a roar of giggles and laughter. The little Lamas reminded me of The Last Airbender, of Ang who remembers his childhood days at the Air monastery before he ran away. Judging by the terrains though, Rigzin and his friends are all earth benders. 

The kid was so happy at having his picture taken and that made me glad. I don't think I'm a nice person. I'm not very kind nor am I charitable. I think that's just who I am... but at times I do wish that I had that grace. I'm not unkind but wanting to do good, helping people or even playing with little kids for that matter don't come naturally. It's another matter than I am scared of kids but it makes me wonder just what kind of person I am. Which is why I guess I like to take photographs of some people. So far, I've taken so many pictures but there have only been a few people that I've shot with the polaroid as a gift to them. I don't know... this is probably not the best time for a self assessment but that kid. He was stoked. I wonder what his life will be like a few years from now. 

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It's 20:22PM and there's a crescent moon over the moon land. I walked and hiked around the moorland terrains today as well as the highest vantage point, past the Monks in solitary prayer and fasting. It's understandable why its been dubbed as the 'moonlands'. The resemblance to the moon scape, craters and structures are uncanny, the only difference being the colour. I think in a weird way, I am still chasing that childhood dream and it makes me blue. "What if I studied harder?" is the biggest question of all but even if I did, then what? I'm sure it would've been completely improbable. People talk about reaching for the stars metaphorically and that dream, no matter how much I wanted it to become real, will just remain that. I never thought that a childhood dream would be so hard to let go especially one as impossible as that but I'll just have to live with that. It's not all that bad because I realized that somethings do last a life time. Astronomy will always be my first love. I guess this is the closest that I will ever get to the moon, so to speak, and you know what? I guess I'm okay with that. I hope ME in the alternate universe is living out the dream. 

Ladakh - Leh

Filled with curio shops with names such as Aladdin’s Cave, Leh felt ethereal and, without any notions of cultural appropriations, that it sprang to life right out of Arabian Nights. Walking in the main market (baazar) transported you back to the days of the old. Well, not really. We just felt that that’s what it would’ve felt like in the old days. The traditional clothes of the Ladakhi people are very nifty and in its own way, stylish.

There is a fusion of culture (Buddhism, Islam and Hinduism largely) that on the surface really complements one another. The antiquated impressions from the miniature Mughal art and jewelry, a familiar smell and taste of Tibetan food and the ever so famous pashminas shawls hung outside the shops means you never run out of things to do while walking in the small market square.

The Mosque is your first point of contact when you enter the market though. It is right in your view and while the Leh Palace looms majestically above the Mosque, it will most probably be the Mosque that you’ll remember long after you’ve left. 

The panoramic view of Leh from the Palace shows the uniformity of the streets and the houses, whether it be through colour or style. Neither Debbie nor Sarju nor I have stepped foot into Afghanistan but from what we saw through photographs and on the news, the view of Leh that was laid out in front of us immediately made us think of Kabul.  

the old part of Leh town which you will encounter while making your way to the Palace or in our case, making our way down (because we were so done climbing uphill) was very medieval. The lanes and paths were narrows with semi ruined buildings which were very charming. It was very neat as well, completely devout of any form of trash (or smell) which is a prominent feature in the streets of India. No matter how wonderful the old Blue City (Jodhpur) was, it was just dirty. Leh, on the other hand, has none of that. 

I don't feel fit to write about Leh. We used it as out point of entry for our trip and while we walked around in the evenings and at night, those few hours weren't enough for me to give you a narrative. We did have one of the best meals in a tiny little Tibetan restaurant. In fact we enjoyed it so much that two backpackers peeped in and seeing us enjoy the food, entered and ordered exactly the same things as us. We decided to have our last meal together there once we got back from Pangong Tso but unfortunately, it was shut. I don't even remember the name of it because it was so unassuming from the exterior but I remember the location well in my mind. I should also add that for two continuous days, we ate at an amazing Punjabi dhaba which served typical north Indian food. We sat there and ordered on top of our order. I think that was more ME than we but nevertheless, bottomline was this: it was as good and as authentic as it could get and we named the owner 'Sunny' because he just seemed like a really nice and jolly chap.

Leh didn't fall short in terms of food. Just don't expect the wifi to work. That's just the way it is. And a word of warning: unless you have a BSNL postpaid simcard, there's no chance that you are going to get a cell connection so be prepared for that. We were disconnected through the trip and personally, I was alright with it. But I was struck by one thing: I don't know if its because times have changed so much that its caught up to the concept of PCO's but we didn't see a single one in sight even in Leh. 

I met an old friend who calls Leh home on my last day and he took me cycling around the villages surrounding Leh. Our first stop was the Spituk Gompa (Monastery) followed by cycling in the trailsand backroads, also stopping near an old wooden bridge by the banks of the Indus river. It was fairly cool day but cycling for six hours did nothing for my skin. So yeah, that's a warning. Do load up on sunscreen. 

So without having too much to write about, I am just going to present Leh in photographs.

JULY 03 - 09, 2016

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Ladakh - Pangong Tso

Confession: I do not watch Bollywood movies. But I doubt that's not hard to believe. So you’ll forgive me if I didn’t know that Pangong Tso was made famous by Three Idiots, a fact reiterated to me with details by Debbie. So okay, it’s safe to say that we were preparing ourselves for a swarm of tourists.

The original plan was to go to Tsomo riri Lake instead but buses to the closest village shuttled only thrice a month (the 10th, 20th and 30th) and the dates unfortunately weren’t aligning for us and while we talked about hiring a car, we weren’t drivers good enough for the Ladakhi terrains and more importantly, I don’t think you CAN hire cars right? I seem to remember a piece of information that stated so.

We were going to spend a night at Pangong Tso and on our return, Debbie and Sarju were going to go ahead to Srinagar while I stayed back in Ladakh. We were staying at the Ree – Yull Guesthouse with a really, really chilled out owner (who we dubbed as ‘Uncle’ from the beginning). He has two good looking bikes that he likes to polish almost every day and I’m certain it’s his pride and joy. He was very accommodating especially since I was going to keep coming back for a night’s worth of stay in the guesthouse. We got the room in the terrace for the first two nights when it was still the three of us together and it was the most comfortable we had been in what felt like ages. We actually washed our clothes and hung them on the clothes line! Being able to wash your clothes and hang them in a decent place is a benchmark and I know that most of you who rough it out while travelling will agree.

We went to the main bus stop to enquire about the bus to Pangong and found out that it was leaving tomorrow and would return the day after.

Without any leg room, the journey is a struggle no doubt but again, the landscape. It’s so difficult to describe it if you haven’t been there. The influx of tourists in Ladakh is growing tenfold and it’s not just foreigners but also Indians. Seeing groups of bikers is not an uncommon scene and you envy that freedom that is paraded as they ride past and you tell each other wistfully “I wish I could ride a bike” because you’d have the liberty to pace yourself, to stop wherever you want, to take a detour at every bend and find an adventure within your escapade. But it wasn’t to be. Us folks on the bus, we stuck to the view out of the window and to the places where the bus stopped, such as Changla Pass. At 17, 688 ft, it is the world’s third highest (pass) in the world. However, rather than the view, what proved to be more entertaining was our bus conductor, bus driver and three young women seated in the drivers sleeping bay.

Love is a universal language and we didn’t need to understand what they were saying because actions and body language said it all. The young bus conductor was trying to flirt with the prettiest girl of the three but while she was flirting back, her eyes were on the bus driver, an older man who never let go of his sunglasses. The pretty girl’s friend had her eyes on the young bus conductor which meant there was a full blown love triangle going on. The third friend on the other hand sat with her arms crossed in the corner, was uninterested and continued to scoff at the other two from time to time. We felt bad for the young conductor as he tried to make his moves on the pretty girl but to no avail. Sarju was seated on the opposite side of Debbie and me because she wanted more space but every time there was a development in the drivers’ bay, we’d look at each other at the same exact time, exchanging smirks. Good ol’ love.   

We first saw the sight of Pangong Tso seven hours into the journey. The outline of the lake was never ending and everyone on the bus had their faces out of the tiny windows. We stopped at what seemed to “the tourist spot”. Just for the heck of it, Debbie and I went and asked around about the prices for a room there. ₹3, 500/- per night they said. I’m not even going to sugar coat my language here: We scoffed, uttered shhhiiiit and buggered off. There were cut outs from the movie scene and seemingly, everyone was taking pictures at one part of the lake. I imagine they saw it in the movie. After about half an hour (of tourist watching), our bus called us aboard as we were going further ahead. Out last stop was a village called Spangmik where we would be staying overnight. On arrival, we went around looking for homestays and found one where the lady charged ₹300/- per bed so we took it.

Aboard the bus with us was a young Korean girl (among others). She was also looking for a homestay and looked a bit lost and confused. Debbie thought she might need help and went over to her also saying that the house we were staying in had another room, in turn free beds. She inquired about the price and said no. we thought she wanted a better place to stay so we told her that we inquired about the tents and wooden shacks that had their attached bathrooms too and they were charge around ₹2, 000/-. That’s when she elucidated her need. She wanted something cheaper than ₹300/-. We immediately gave up, said okay and left her. We were just annoyed. There she was carrying fancy equipment’s and wearing $150 Nike flyknits but ₹300/- was too expensive for her? In the face of cheap and budget travel, ₹300/- is pretty much CHEAP especially when it’s for one night in a tourist-infested spot like Pangong Tso.

I think we were just offended on some level because of the audacity of not just her but other travelers that come to India. It’s already affordable and with their foreign currencies, it’s dirt cheap. Eventually it came down to this one question: If we are okay to pay these prices, why are they being miserly about it? I don't want to get into the discussions we had because that'll spiral out of control. Also, there are going to be more objections about the beautiful Pangong Tso without meaning to turn you off from visiting, I must add. 

As beautiful as the lake is, it was just too crowded. I get that we were tourists too and I know there’s no way of escaping it sometimes (and we were okay with that) but it wasn’t fun at the lake. There was nothing to do. Apart from walking around the lake that it. And even that’s not terribly fun when any secluded spot you chose was intruded by people. The best spot was taken up by everyone so we kept walking further down and found ourselves a spot because we wanted to take a dip and it wasn’t exactly allowed. The water was freezing but we had made up our minds even before we left Leh. We were going in. I set up the camera to video mode and on the count of three, we ran in together, hand in hand making sure no one was in sight and just as well because within minutes of our stunt, there was a swarm of cars and people that came by. We were waiting for our clothes to dry and mine was taking forever. That, the cold wind and the number of people that were shifting their base to where we were completely put me off and I was completely annoyed.  

I had a terrible time walking back because the wind was biting cold and I am pretty sure my sinus was acting up. It was 6:30PM and the sun was still bright but I changed and got into bed and I think so did Debbie and Sarju too once they reached. We got some amazingly thick blankets but even those and thermals weren’t enough. I was chattering and shivering and I could still feel the wind. That damn dip was definitely quite the experience. We got some warm lemon ginger tea in the restaurant that we saw on the way and turned in for a dreamless slumber.

The next morning, I tried waking up early before our bus ride back to Leh so I could take some shots of the lake but clearly, 100 other people had the same idea. I guess after 10 days of traveling, trekking, barely seeing a soul and being left to your own devices, Pangong Tso was just a sudden push into reality and we weren’t enjoying it for most parts. You'd think that at around 7:00AM, there would be peace and quite but it seemed as if that was asking too much when in Pangong Tso. 

There was no sign of any ‘village’ might I add. Whatever little houses there were, were all homestays. Other than that, there was an army camp because Pangong Tso flows directly into Tibet making it a border area. In fact, on google map, Pangong Tso is called ‘Bangong’. There are numerous tents and wooden shacks giving it a more ‘glamping’ feel. Here's the conclusion I came to: Pangong Tso is for people who want to experience roughing it but deep down, not really.

I didn’t hate it but I didn't love it either. There's no way to really play down the beauty of the lake. If you don't have time and can't do Tsomo riri, Pangong Tso is an option. So if you're tolerant, if you can deal with it for a night and go with the mindset of just wanting to see the place and get some beautiful photographs, I would still suggest a visit. I think it would be more fun with a large group of friends and your own vehicle too. Just don't mistake Pangong to be 'off the beaten track'. If you're one of those alternative travelers, I'd say stay far away and give it a miss altogether.

JULY 05, 2016

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Ladakh - the journey to Leh

The journey to Leh, Ladakh was manic.

We started from Kaza, capital of the Spiti-Lahaul region of Himachal Pradesh, at 5:00AM. It was a very uncertain morning though. We weren’t certain how we were going to reach Keylong at all. We had just finished our trek the previous day and asked around about taxis and buses but the responses weren’t helpful. The only choice we had was a taxi which would cost us around ₹1, 000 - 1, 200/- per person or the bus which would be as cheap as ₹300/-. It was a no brainer of course but the uncertainty was that the bus might be full.

We got to the bus stop at 5, an hour before departure, and what do you know, it was full. So we went and asked a taxi booth and they quoted us the same price. We had reached an impasse. What do we do? Pay that amount and go? I know it doesn’t sound like much but we were travelling on a tight budget and every penny counted since each of us were not professionally steady (freelancers and contract workers people, times are always hard!). ultimately, we came to a decision when one taxi man approached us. We would bargain and at least bring it down to 800/-. But get this: he asked for ₹1, 200/-, for the three of us. He said he would drop us off at the junction called Gramphu from where we would need to take a bus to get to Keylong. We tried exceedingly hard to contain our excitement at the price and within a few minutes, we were back on those harsh roads that had now become so familiar. The journey to and from Spiti leaves you speechless and anyone who’s been there can attest to that. It doesn’t get as cliché as this but it truly is another world on its own.

Seven hours and 130kms later, he stopped and told us that was where we needed to get off. We thought he was joking but he was deadly serious. “This is your stop, this is Gramphu” he said and went to pull out our bags. Gramphu was nothing. There was no sign, no bus stand, nothing. It was a junction sure but that was it. That point, that 50-meter part of the road, that was Gramphu. The weather was also taking a dip and the wind was threating to blow us away. There was another girl, who basically drove us mad without sleep from Kaza to Gramphu in the taxi with her endless singing and loud '90s music, who got off with us and Sarju and I just refused to communicate with her. That just left Debbie to be nice. She learned from her that we needed to catch the bus from the nearby village of Koksar, 45kms away. And how did we get to Koksar? We hitchhiked with a Border Roads Organization (BRO) truck that was heading there. We waited in Koksar for less than half an hour. Debbie continued to chat with the singing girl on our behalf because Sarju and I were behaving our worst. “She refused to let us sleep” was our reason for annoyance and we were also pretty sure that deep down, she was fuming at us. And we sure had a good laugh about it.

Starting off at 3:00PM, and paying less than ₹200/-, we reached Keylong by 5:30PM and we headed straight to the bus stand to book our tickets for Leh. The counter wasn’t open yet and with a couple of Brits, a French, a Spanish and an American backpacker, we waited. We were dirty, tired and hungry. My hair was forming dreadlocks. We hadn’t checked in anywhere yet so while Sarju and I waited for the tickets, Debbie went looking for a place to stay. I struck up a conversation with the other backpackers and the French girl said that she got a dorm bed for 100/-. But that was it. Seemingly there was no water or the bathroom was just namesake. Trust me when I say I am all for roughing it any where, any day but that day, I desperately needed water. I didn’t care hot or cold, but I needed water. There was no way I was going to hack off more hair that I had already done. Debbie came back and she said she found a place “it has a working wifi!” she said and Sarju and me knew that that’s what sealed the deal for her.

 We got the tickets which was basically a booklet, put on our rucksacks and climbed back up again. As much as we enjoyed the trek, we were so done with uphill climbs that any sight of a hill brought out a unison of groans and a stretched out noooooooo. the hotel was ₹900/- for three of us and as basic as it could get and because we were just grateful to get a roof over our heads, filth was the least of our concern. With the basic dhaba meal we had, we were overtly satisfied and by the time we had all taken turns to use the washroom, it was close to 11:00PM. The reporting time for our bus was 4:00AM so the few hours of rest we were aiming for was quickly dwindling.

As groggy as we were, I was happy to be leaving the hotel. I was up later than Debbie and Sarju and I heard a lot of noises and also what sounded like an argument from downstairs and I even went to check the lock of the room. We didn’t see any other guests and it got me thinking about what I would’ve done if it were me alone. It reminded me of my short trip to Kolkata in 2015 when I was travelling along and the hotel (not even worthy of calling it a hotel to be fair!) was located in such a dodgy building and lane that every night, I would push the table and the chair against the door even after I locked it. ‘Paranoia will kill ya’ said someone but sometimes, it becomes your best defense.

Two hours into the journey, the weather took a turn. It was freezing. It didn’t matter that every window was shut. It was a chill that was unbearable. The fog looked heavier, there no sign of sunlight, there was snow and sheets of ice and there was light rain. We weren’t prepared for it. Except Sarju with her puffy Northface jacket. We mocked her but boy, at that point, we were envious. The journey post a breakfast stop turned pleasant and before you knew it, it even got hot. The change in topography was evident. The mountains were more rugged and rough, the water was sparkling blue, the colour of the rocks and soil were in unfamiliar shades and the sun looked closer.  One of the backpackers even began suffering from light AMS. The view on both sides were a stark contrast. One side would be lush and green while the other side was just a barren desert. The roads were for most parts well-made not like the Spiti roads but it didn’t mean that there were no bumps and knocks. In fact, it became a game for a bunch of people sitting in the last row to let out an “eyyyy” every time we hit a bump. We basically levitated.

The bus was nothing fancy if you’re wondering. It was a Himachal Pradesh government bus and the tickets cost ₹545/- per person so that meant picking up anyone on the road, travellers as well as locals with gas cylinders. Getting off and on the bus soon became a skill we had to master on the spot if we didn’t want to stamp on people’s bags and kids (really). The 13-hour journey was beginning to get on our nerves especially since we had been hopping on and off buses since the previous day so when we finally saw that we were entering Leh, we let out a sigh of relief.

Was it eventful? Immensely. Memorable? Exceedingly. Tiring? Excessively. But those two days of non-stop journeying created a thrill in the greater scheme our entire trip. We even had a supernatural scare in the middle of the trip which resulted to a nightmare for me. I wasn’t planning on recounting this story because… well, I doubt you’d believe it. But considering this created a certain tone of tension during our two-day passage, I might as well narrate it.

During the stop at Gramphu, Sarju and I were sitting across a bunch of bikers on the other side of the road and Sarju recognised the model of the bike and really liked it so she took a few pictures. I took some too, not of the bike, but of the whole scene in general. During the bus ride from Koksar to Keylong, Sarju was going through her pictures and suddenly let out a gasp. The picture she took of the bikes had an unwelcomed visitor within the frame. A man dressed in black. I would’ve normally said that she didn’t see the guy but I was there with her and clicking the same frame and there was no one from what I remember too. It was just the bike. We zoomed in to see the mystery figure and it wasn’t just our imagination. It WAS a man. The question was where did he come from? I should mention here that Sarju’s phone was recently fixed so we even thought that maybe there was a glitch and her phone was making stuff up (weak excuse but our tired selves couldn’t deal with supernatural things on top of everything else).

The pictures definitely gave us goosebumps and just made us feel uneasy. Was this some kind of omen? Was this a warning? Was this a sign that we shouldn’t be going forward with our trip? I think we each had some thoughts but refrained from sharing too much not wanting to scare each other more. We didn’t bring it up till we were at the hotel in Keylong. We decided to airdrop the pictures to my phone and see if this apparition would be seen on mine. It was clearer on my phone (because Sarju’s screen had an issue) and zooming in further, we could see that there was no face and because of the lighting (we assumed!), it created some deception in what were his eyes. It was just pure evil looking back at us. We weren’t terrified but it was just strange and that let us to deleted those pictures instantly. We just didn’t want it hovering around us, making us troubled and anxious. I get nightmares often so I wasn’t shocked when I got one in those few hours of sleep. I wouldn’t lie that I was uneasy throughout the trip after that. I tried blocking it out but till I reached Delhi, my guard was up. Nothing happened thankfully but I suppose sometimes your senses just plays tricks on you and there’s nothing you can do. I came to the conclusion that maybe I wouldn’t have been as careful had it not been for that incident. Debbie says that sometimes I’m just reckless and go looking for adventure which is masked as ‘trouble’. I think she may be right but considering that we were going to be separated after a few days, it was a warning for all of us to be extra careful.

I’m chalking this one down as experience for now but if I had a choice, I’d like to leave the supernatural out of any more travel experiences.

JULY 03, 2016

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