مصروفیت
اک وہ دن تھے سانجھ ڈھلے ہم ملتے تھے
اب ایسا ہے وقت چرانا پڑتا ہے
جب ملتے تھے گھنتوں باتیں کرتے تھے
اب بس گھنٹے بھر کا ملنا ہوتا ہے
سواتی ثانی ریشم-
इक वो दिन थे, साँझ ढले हम मिलते थे
अब ऐसा हैं वक़्त चुराना पड़ता है
जब मिलते थे घंटो बातें करते थे
अब बस घंटे भर को मिलना होता है
-स्वाति सानी “रेशम”
Photocredit: geralt (pixabay.com)
सुबह अब होती नहीं
रात क्यों सोती नहीं नहीं
जिस्म है ठंडा पड़ा
साँस क्यों चलती नहीं
दोस्त अब मिलते नहीं
आँख नम होती नहीं
रात आँसू सी बही
प्यास क्यों बुझती नहीं
खाए फ़ाक़े ख़ूब हैं
भूक पर घटती नहीं
दिल पड़ा वीरान है
सीप है मोती नहीं
उम्र की दहलीज़ पर
हसरतें मिटती नहीं
दफ़्न कर के ख़्वाब भी
ज़ीस्त कम होती नहीं
है सड़क वीरान सी
खिड़कियाँ खुलती नहीं
डोरियाँ हैं “रेशम” की
गिरहें क्यूँ खुलती नहीं?
-स्वाति सानी “रेशम”
صبح اب ہوتی نہیں
رات کیوں سوتی نہیں
جسم ہے ٹھنڈا پڑا
سانس کیوں چلتی نہیں
دوست اب ملتے نہیں
آنکھ نم ہوتی نہیں
رات آنسو سی بہی
پیاس کیوں بجھتی نہیں
کھائے فاقےخوب ہیں
بھوک پر گھٹتی نہیں
دل پڑا ویران ہے
سیپ ہے موتی نہیں
عمر کی دہلیز پر
حسرتیں مٹتی نہیں
دفن کر کے خواب بھی
زیست کم ہوتی نہیں
ہے سڑک ویران سی
کھڈکیاں کھلتی نہیں
ڈوریاں ہیں ریشم کی
گرہیں کیوں کھلتی نہیں؟
سواتی ثانی ریشم –
Image copyright @Amit Srivastava, taken with an Canon IXUS 105 05/30 2018 The picture taken with 5.0mm, f/2.8s, 1/30s, ISO 100. The image is released free of copyrights under Creative Commons CC0.
अँधियारे में नाज़िर चाँद
रोशन रोशन नादिर चाँद
भीगी भीगी ग़ज़लें कहता
सावन का है शाइर चाँद
हीर ओ रांझा, कैस ओ लैला
हिज्र में लगता जाबिर चाँद
बहर की लहरों का सौदागर
है कितना ये क़ादिर चाँद
लूट चली जब धूप धारा को
निकला किस की ख़ातिर चाँद
भूके पेट को दिखता रोटी
देखो कैसा साहिर चाँद
करवा चौथ हो, ईद या होली
चढ़ता मस्जिद मंदिर चाँद
काली रात को रोशन करता
सूरज का है चाकिर चाँद
तारों ने था किया मुकदमा
पेशी को था हाज़िर चाँद
हिंद की गलियों में रहता है
कैसे हो गया काफ़िर चाँद
मज़लूमों का एक गवाह
मौला! मेरा नासिर चाँद
पड़ा शिकारी के फंदे में
तकता रहता ता’इर चाँद
आँगन में खेला करता था
कैसे हुआ मुहाजिर चाँद
-स्वाति सानी “रेशम”
اندھیارے میں ناطر چاند
روشن روشن نادر چاند
بھیگی بھیگی غزلیں کہتا
ساون کا ہے شاعر چاند
ٰہیر و رانجھا، کیس و لیلی
ہجر میں لگتا جابر چاند
بحر کی لہروں کا سوداگر
ہے کتنا یہ قادر چاند
لوٹ چلی جب دھوپ دھرا کو
نکلا کس کی خاتر چاند
بھوکے پیٹ کو دکھتا روٹی
دیکھو کیسا ساحر چاند
کروا چوتھ ہو عید یا ہولی
چڑھتا مسجد مندر چاند
کالی رات کو روشن کرتا
سورج کا ہے چاکر چاین
تاروں نے تھا کیا مقدمہ
پیشی کو تھا حاضر چاند
ہند کی گلوں میں رہتا ہے
کیسے ہو گیا کافر چاند
مظلوموں کا ایک گواہ
مولا! میرا ناصر چاند
پڈا شکاری کے پھندے میں
تکتا رہتا طائر چاند
آنگن میں کھیلا کرتا تھا
کیسے ہوا مہاجر چاند
سواتی ثانی ریشم –
Cover image ©Myriams-Fotos (pixabay.com)
तेज़ गरमी के बाद
सूखे पत्तों के उड़ जाने के बाद
लू में जिस्म के झुलस जाने के बाद
और ज़िंदगी के ख़ुश्क हो जाने के बाद
जब एक बौछार आती है
तो पहली बारिश की ख़ुशबू में तर
सारी पुरानी यादें
महक महक जाती हैं
– स्वाति सानी “रेशम”
تیز گرمی کے بعد
سوکھے پتوں کے اڈ جانے کے بعد
لو میں جسم کے جھلس جانے کے بعد
اور زندگی کے خشق ہو جانے کے بعد
جب ایک بوچھار آتی ہے
تو پہلی بارش کی خشبو میں تر
ساری پرانی یادیں
مہک مہک جاتیں ہیں
– سواتی ثانی ریشم
लब तेरे आज़ाद नहीं अब
ज़बां पर पड गये हैं ताले
न अब है ये जिस्म ही तेरा
न होगी अब जान भी तेरी
देख कि आहन-गर की दुकां अब
ठंडी राख का ढेर बनेगी
हाथों में पड़ जायेगी बेड़ी
पाओं में ज़ंजीरें होंगी
जिस्म ओ ज़बां की मौत है अब
सच का होता क़त्ल है अब
अब ये बाज़ी फिर ना बिछेगी
अब तो चुप हर शय चलेगी
– स्वाति सानी “रेशम”
My relationship with my dad went through many phases. As a small child, I was scared of him but not scared enough to not ask questions – as long as they are not “stupid questions” and I did not pester him.
As a young girl, I respected his scientific acumen and as an adult, I learnt from him that to have healthy relationships, one needs to give space, privacy and respect others’ individuality
Papa ran a small photo studio and did some pathbreaking work in his field and was always busy. A Geologist by education, he decided to follow his passion for photography when it came to choosing a livelihood. He started the studio on 20th February 1962 when he was 28.
Also, at that time my grandfather was retired and Papa was the only earning member of our joint family. A decade later, in 1973, when my sister was born, my grandfather also embarked on a new business which eventually was very successful.
Papa’s photo studio was known as Retina Studio and he was the only photographer in the city and perhaps one of the few in the country, in the mid-1970s who did photomicrography for medical sciences and research work. His work involved long hours of peering into a microscope and taking photographs of the slide samples provided. These photos were then made into transparencies to be used for the purpose of education and research.
The other work he did was taking photographs of medical procedures. He has photographed most of the pathbreaking surgeries that have happened in Nagpur.
For a brief time, he also did industrial photography for some government organisations but he could not get around to beat the bureaucracy and was always unhappy. He was not the person who could go and sit at the babu’s office just so his payment is released. He was of the opinion that he did good work and the payment should be made promptly and as professionally as he did his work. However, he thoroughly enjoyed working in the field of Medical Sciences.
Papa’s typical day started with waking up at 8.30 AM and leaving for work around 10.00 AM. He would on most days come home for lunch around 2 pm and then go back only to return at around 10.00 PM, have dinner, read whatever novel he was reading and go off to sleep around midnight. His weekly off was Saturday and every Saturday evening he and mom would go out and spend some time together. At times my sister and I went along too and we were treated to a meal of Dosa or a glass of Sugarcane juice. I looked forward to and loved this outing and it is a lovely memory.
On Saturdays I had a morning school which got over at 11 AM and I would come back to papa being home and listening to Ghazals or classical music on our gramophone (and in later years on a spool tape recorder) . I would hang around with him upstairs just so that I could listen to it too; much to the annoyance of my mother who expected me to help her with the household work.
He also inculcated the love of reading in us. Even though money was tight he always bought one Amar Chitra Katha and Chandamama every month ever since I was 10 years old. He kept buying these magazines till I finished school -although I had graduated to reading classics in English and Hindi by that time. When I was 15, looking at my love for Urdu poetry he also bought the prepublication copy of “Aaina e ghazal” for me.
There would be days when I would go with mom and spend the evening time at the studio where he would either be attending to his patrons or sitting and talking with a few of his many friends. Retina studio was the “adda” where all of them met. Sometime in the early ’70s he also joined the Masonic Lodge and his circle of friends grew bigger.
He was a people’s person. Loved having friends and family around. Our ancestral home too was a place where people, relatives, and relatives of relatives, or friends of relatives kept coming, sometimes even staying for an extended period of time, much to my irritation and annoyance as it would disturb my school and study schedule. Ours was a traditional family and as the eldest daughter, my first responsibility was to help in the kitchen, attend to the guests.
But Papa always encouraged me to study – study science and even helped me with my physics, and biology lessons. Chemistry I was always good at – I later learnt that our family was a family of chemists. Papa’s ways of teaching me, however, weren’t very pleasant when he realised that I am slacking. He would throw the book away and get angry. I don’t ever remember hitting me but his loud voice was enough to scare me to death. But I still loved being taught by him, he was a good teacher and I could understand the concepts easily if I paid attention.
As I grew up, our relationship changed. He became a confidante and an advisor to me. Gave me all the freedom and taught me to take the responsibilities that came with the freedom. He was the first person to know when I fell in love for the first time at an age of 19. He did not react when I told him, just said, see to it that this does not affect your studies. Ours was an orthodox Kayastha household, and this (while it may not be now) was a big deal for me. Although there was one time when I showed a photograph to him, of me and my boyfriend, which he destroyed along with it’s negative. Many years later, when I was talking to him about it, he said he did not know better and that he destroyed the picture because he was worried it could affect my life in future.
Papa was a modern man, never made me or my sister felt that we were any less just because we were girls. Much of what we both are is because of our upbringing by him and Mom.
He was an agnostic, but respected mom’s right towards her religious beliefs, and mine of being an atheist.
After he retired and closed the studio in 1999, he started spending more time at home. By that time I was married, Aasim was born and that is when we started talking more. Aasim too spent his growing up years with papa and was also taught a lot of things, and perhaps some more than what he taught me.
It was after he fell down the stairs in 2013 that I insisted that he and mom come and stay next doors to us since I was constantly worried about their well being. I have a huge library and a big collection of music, and he loved being here although he did miss being in the house he made for himself, after moving away from the ancestral home in 1998, he understood my concerns so he and mom kept shuttling between both the homes, for the next couple of years.
Papa was an active person and till he was 83 he regularly walked 5 km every day. He had left smoking and had started working out since he suffered an angina attack when he was in his early 50s.
He was also aware of his advancing age and the issues of health that come with old age. While he was always clear and had told us and several others, that after he is no more, his body should be donated for the cause of medical academics and research, in 2016 he decided to do the paperwork.
Papa was the eldest in the family in his generation and was respected and loved by everyone. Everyone was also very afraid of talking to him. His two brothers and three sisters are very close to each other but rarely talk their hearts out. All the siblings love being together, not talking much with each other but sitting in comfortable silence, each doing their own things.
Over the past 20 years, Papa talked a lot with me. We would sit and discuss books, music, poetry, and matters of life and death. He had entrusted me to carry out his will of body donation, knowing that I will respect his wish and do it even at the cost of going against our extended family.
When he was diagnosed with fast progressing Interstitial Lung Disease earlier this year, he knew that it’s just a matter of time.
A few months back, one morning he told me “For the first time in my life, I have written something, see if it makes sense” It was a couplet and one small poem. He gave it to me “isko rakh lo” he said.
Papa was an emotional person but always found himself at a loss of words to express his feelings. Perhaps it was social conditioning or it was his upbringing that made him suppress his feelings. He wanted to tell the people around that he loved them, but could not get around to saying it. Although I am sure, everyone did understand that he did. I asked him once as to why does he not express himself, to which he replied. “Pata nahi, kabhi kiya hi nahi”
By March end his health deteriorated, and when we went for a check up, he wanted me to tell exactly how much of his lungs were still clear.
He did not like being very emotional, and while he was a sensitive person, he rarely portrayed it outwardly. The best way to communicate with Papa was on a logical and practical level and that is where he could connect with me most.
A day after his hospitalisation, on the 19th May, he spoke to everyone. Most of the family had already flown in as he was deteriorating fast. He even called my eldest bua, his sister who was to reach in a day or two. A few of my cousins made video calls and he spoke to them, and had a hearty laugh when Atul told him on video call “Mamaji your hairstyle is so spunky”
He was in the best of health that day, could breath effortlessly, and even speak very clearly, which he could not a day earlier. He ate moong dal khichidi, his favourite meal, heartily. Even consumed good quantity of liquids. He spent most of the day talking to everyone who came to visit him in the hospital.
By late afternoon, just the two of us were there, I told him to sleep but he wanted to sit and talk. We talked for a long time, of various things, people and incidences. He reminisced his childhood and spoke to me about his parents and the family. He spoke of his grandsons. “Ishan is too young but it was good that Aasim had come last month” he said. He also instructed me to take the printout of the family tree which he sat and made with Aasim.
A while later he said he is feeling very good and much better but knows that the lungs are giving up. He asked me if he was right, and I did not lie, I said yes, papa, the lungs are not good. To which he recited a couplet
layi hayaat laye, qaza le chali chale
apni khushi na aaye, na apni khushi chale
We talked a bit about this ghazal and then he wanted to hear the K L Saigal version of this ghazal
After this one he recited one misra from another ghazal and wanted to me to recite the entire ghazal for him. We played that ghazal too.
kamar bandhe hue chalne ko yaaN sab yaar baithe hain
bahut aage gaye baki jo hain tayyar baithe hain
We listened to more ghazals by K L Saigal and C H Atma together and then he said “play that piece of Bhairvai by Ustad Vilayat Ali Khan and Ustad Zakir Hussain”. I knew which piece he was talking about. It’s a favourite of both of us. So I played this while he closed his eyes and heard it and drifted off to sleep.
This was the last complete conversation I had with Papa. I returned home for the night as my Swapna, my sister took charge.
The next morning, on 20th, she called me saying that his oxygen levels (SPO2) are fluctuating widely, they don’t look good, and I rushed back to the hospital.
The day passed in making him feel comfortable during the bouts of restlessness due to low oxygen levels. Finally, just before 7 PM, he suffered a cardiac arrest while I was holding him. Swapna and Tarique were also near his bed.
The attending doctors and the staff of the hospital were very quick to revive him, but his lungs were not able to sustain the beating heart. He finally gave up the fight at 7.55 PM.
As per his wishes, his body was donated for medical education and research purposes to NKP Salve Institute of Medical Sciences and Lata Mangeshkar Hospital, Hingna, Nagpur. His eyes were donated to Mahatme Eye Bank and Eye Hospital.
Papa lived a happy and fulfilled life, was surrounded by his siblings and the family during the last days of his life. He had met everyone he wanted to in the past few months of his life. There was no regret and he could feel the love of the family. He lived a life that needs to be celebrated. Knowing him as much as I do, I know that this is how he would want to be remembered.
The photos below were taken in April 2019, when Aasim came home to meet him.
وجود زن سے ہے تصویر کائنات میں رنگ
اُسی کے ساز سے ہے زندگی کا سوز دروں
شرف میں بڑھ کے ثریا سے مشت خاک اس کی
کہ ہر شرف ہے ِاسی درج کا درِ مکنوں
مکالمات فلاطوں نہ لکھ سکی لیکن
اُسی کے شعلے سے ٹوٹا شرار افلاطوں
And here’s my translation of the Nazm
The presence of feminine is the colour palette of universe
In her melodies are the pathos and life’s essence
The spark from a fistful is dust in her hands is brighter than the high Pleiades
And her uniqueness is more precious than those of the hidden perls
She is not Plato, she did not scribe philosophies
But it’s from her flames rose Plato, who philosophises
Aasim’s first startup, Orai App was chosen to be at Comcast’s Lift Lab accelerator program in 2018 batch where they met a lot of people, were given guidance and learnt a lot on how to run a startup.
Orai App improves upon a person’s spoken skills by giving feedback and ratings and trains a person, or a group of people (like sales forces) for better communication thereby increasing the chances of professional success.
In January 2019, Orai got a funding of $2.3 M and the company was featured on. Aasim’s first startup getting funding is a huge news and as parents we are super proud.
NBC
Tarique and I woke up early and decided to go and see where the gurgling sound water spring that we heard all night was coming from.
Since there was no direct access to the sound we were hearing, we decided to go through the village. It turned out to be a 2 km plus walk which led us to the small spring, which eventually led us to a huge freshwater melt from the glacier. It was next to the small monastery of the village in the mountains.
We walked along the stream for almost a kilometre before we turned back and were surprised to see a congregation of raptors – around 45-50 of them next to the mountains near the bridge of the main road. Cursing ourselves for just carrying the kit lens with the camera and not the 100-400 lens, we still took pictures. It turned out that it was a large migrating flock of kites. We stood there for quite some time observing them and then decided that it was getting late for the next item in our itinerary and promised ourselves to come the next day with a longer lens to photograph them.
It was time to go to the sand dunes to see the famous Bactrian Camels. The Bactrian Camel has two humps on it’s back, in contrast to the single-humped dromedary or Arabian camel. Their name comes from the ancient historical region Central Asia of Bactria which lies north of the Hindu Kush mountains. The population of these two-humped camels is around two million. About 100 of which are found in the Hunder town in Nubra Valley. This is the only place in India where Bactrian camels live.
Iqbal Bhai’s uncle (Tayaji), Haji Abdul Razak Jamshed , an Urdu teacher from Nubra valley accompanied us to the sand dunes. Haji saheb owns one of the camels and was accompanying us for a photoshoot for the Urdu book he has written on the Nubra valley titled: Wadi e Nubrah ki mukhtasar kahani (وادی نوبرہ کی مختصر کہانی) The book has been translated into English and is in circulation already.
Haji Saheb is 85 years old, still, fit and extremely knowledgeable about the region gave us a brief history of Nubra valley. He told us that before 1929, these sand dunes did not exist but Shyok was in floods 1929 due ice melt from the glacier and a breach in the dam, ,( an account of which I also found on the web), This left a part of Nubra valley completely submerged, but a huge pool of water here stayed much after the floodwaters receded, resulting in sand and over the years the forces of natures made this place a real cold desert, with daytime temperatures in summer being quite high, and the nights very cold.
The day started early as we were driving back from Kargil to Leh and were scheduled to stop in between to see the Lamayuru Monastery and the Moon landscape / Moonscape.
We were in high spirits, admiring the shape, textures and lovely pastel colours of the mountains. Shades of brown, gold and at times purple all around us.
We must have been on the road for an hour or so when we spotted a shepherd with his flock of sheep in high mountains. Sensing a photo opportunity, all of us made Iqbal Bhai stop the car and jumped out.
Happy with the results, we got back into the car. We had to cross two high passes on this road to reach Leh. The first one was familiar, Namik La, which we had crossed two days back to reach Kargil; and the second was Fotu La (Also called as Fatu La)
Fotu La is slightly higher pass than Namik La at 13479 feet. Towards the east of Fotu La, at a distance of about 15 km, is Lamayaru and located on the pass is the Prasar Bharti television relay station serving Lamayuru.
At the Fotu La pass
It was a smooth descent from the Fotu La towards the Lamayuru Monastery but, we had the time, and Himanshu decided to show us the curvaceous road above the Moonscape before reaching the monastery.
Unfortunately, the road above the Monastery was being worked upon and was closed for traffic, but we still managed to have some fun. Identified and collected the lavender plant which was in abundance here, and photographed some more wildflowers.
We also got a magnificent view of the Moonscape from this place. The serrated and ridged mountains near Lamayuru look like a typical lunar landscape, hence the name.
Next stop was the Lamayuru Monastery. Lamayuru monastery is a place which has many legends associated with it. It is one of the oldest and the largest in Ladakh. Out of the five gigantic temples, only one has survived. One can still see some old remnants of the monastery.
As we entered the monastery, I encountered a beautiful old woman dressed in local attire.
When I reached her, she smiled and initiated the conversation, told me her name and asked mine. I requested her to introduce herself again to get it on the video. On second thoughts, instead of breaking into English, as it has become a habit, I should have spoken in Hindi as the locals know Hindi reasonably well.
As I followed her, I spotted three more friendly old women, who taught me how to use the prayer wheel. However, as we were moving ahead, they asked for Bakshish. I gathered that this was their livelihood.
These old women sit in a particular corner, quietly praying and whenever a tourist comes, they talk and educate the tourist, post for photographs and videos. In return, all they expect is some bakshish so that they can survive. I learnt later that they have been doing this for many years.
We also visited the other portions of the monastery which houses the school and hostel for the monks, although we could not stay there longer as it was getting late and the place was shutting down for lunch.
We too were hungry, and the best place to eat near Lamayaru is a restaurant right next to the monastery. The restaurant also serves eggs and Tuna (and beer). We opted for Thukpa, momos, omelette, fried rice and some lemon tea. The food was so good that I ended up overeating and all I wanted to do was sleep. I had full intentions to take a nap in the car when Trishu exclaimed that his phone is catching network and has 4g and that was the end of our plans to nap – each of us requested a hotspot from him and were busy uploading pictures to Instagram.
After Lamayuru, we drove through a long straight road amongst the mountains. Trishu wanted to shoot videos and pictures of the road which I later learnt is a fascination for him. He has captured the visuals very well on this phone.
While he was shooting the road, I was fascinated with the unabashed blueness of the sky and wanted to capture that.
After a day’s drive, we arrived at Leh in the evening and realised that the hotel had a limited internet connection. I tried to talk to mom, but the network was bad, and could only send her some pictures from the trip.
The evening was booked for a stroll in the Leh market. I picked up two woollen caps and some essentials for the journey ahead.
Tarique and I indulged in eating soft and succulent lamb kababs from a kabab stall on the roadside of the main market after which we all proceeded towards the German Bakery. Since we were to dine at the Hotel restaurant, we did not eat much but decided to pick up croissants, doughnuts, apple strudel and some more delicacies the next morning before departing for the Nubra Valley.
Since we woke up early and were ready for the next leg of the journey, Tarique decided to go up to the terrace of the hotel and click some pictures of the mountains, Leh fort and Castle, while I decided to enjoy some quiet time in the hotel garden.
As decided, we picked up the stuff from the German bakery before departing. Today was the 5th day of our 9-day visit to Ladakh. I was kind of disappointed that the holidays will soon end, and that I would have liked to spend more time at each of the places we visited. First stop was the hill of the Leh Monastery and palace. The monastery was not as big as some others but had a charm and the inherent peace. From here we could also see a part of the charming little town of Leh.
We were very excited to cross the Khardung La. Khardung is the name of a village and La means a pass in Tibetan.
Himanshu showed us the direction of the pass from the monastery, and we quickly jumped in the vehicle and were driven around by Iqbal Bhai on the curvaceous roads leading to the Khardung La. Iqbal Bhai was looking quite dapper today, he had worn a new shirt that was gifted to him by Himanshu. We teased him a bit – after all, he was going home to his wife today. Iqbal Bhai lives in the town of Hundar in the Nubra Valley where we were scheduled to halt for the next two days.
Khardung La is a pass on the Ladakh range and is in the North of Leh. It is a gateway to the Shyok and Nubra Valleys, and the Siachen Glacier lies partway up the Nubra Valley. The Khardung pass was opened to the motor traffic in 1988. The pass is strategically important to India as it is used to carry supplies to the Siachen Glacier.
While the current road was built in the 20th century, this route was once a part of the old silk route that borders on the Karakoram range of mountains.
Our first halt was the South Pullu where we had to stop to show our permits. Pullu in Ladakhi means a place where travellers rest. So this was the southern end of Khardung La where travellers rested, at times overnight, before crossing the mountain pass.
While the formalities were being done, we got down of our vehicle, wore another layer of clothes as it was getting colder at this altitude, and as usual, clicked a few pictures and took some selfies.
South PulluAnd here are the selfies 🙂
A few km ahead of South Pullu we stopped for a mini break; it had started to snow. We spotted a raptor overhead and heard a marmot call. Took some photographs of the winding road that got us here, and saw part of the glacier, which has shrunk to less than half its original size in the recent years.
A few of Radhika’s “how much longer to reach” and we were at the top of the mountain at Khardung La. At 17982 feet from the sea level to be precise.
I did not experience any altitude sickness whatsoever, but my lungs were choked from breathing the polluted air from the numerous trucks, bikes and cars that were on the road. I was told, that the air pollution is due to the use of kerosene mixed with diesel (as kerosene stops diesel from freezing) and is proving detrimental to the fragile environ of the mountains and therefore soon there would be a limitation on the number of vehicles that can ply on this road.
We did have our fun here though, did the normal touristy stuff and started our descent only to realise that the road ahead has been blocked for traffic by the Border Road Organisation (BRO) for some construction work. Someone took out a packet of Kurkure to pass the time.
After the traffic cleared up, we moved ahead but stopped once more by the side of the road for a view of the mountains from the other side. This side of Khardung La had more snow, and there was a soft drizzle of snow all around. This was my first real snowfall, and I felt an uncontrollable urge to record it, so I managed to make a small video clip before being urged to climb back in the car.
Our next stop was North Pullu to show the papers to the officials. We had decided to stop at the Bangli Dhaba for tea and delicacies from German Bakery. Radhika and I discovered that he was making Maggi.
Mountains and Maggi go together, and for a complete experience, one must have a plateful of steaming hot Maggi on the (not so cold now) mountain tops. The Shop owner was generous and sprinkled more Haldi, Mirchi and masala on our Maggi- which none of us could eat, so I went in the kitchen and made my version of masala Maggi with tomato sauce. I struck a conversation with the owner and learnt he was from Bengal and operated this Dhaba in the summer months for the tourists. On his recommendation, we also snacked on a plate of mok moks (momos) while the Maggi cooked.
The extra layer of clothes and woollen that we had put on at South Pullu came off, and we climbed back in the car to continue our journey towards the Nubra Valley only to stop a km or so later to photograph some Marmots. We did not know we will see a lot of them in our journey ahead so a decent photo was must especially when the opportunity had presented itself.
After climbing down Khardung La, we climbed back up the Shyok valley and drove by the side of Shyok river. The Shyok river is known for its floods, and the name Shyok or Dariya e Shyok is named as “river of death”. Sheo means death in a Turkic dialect. As we climbed, we saw the floodplains of the river and stopped at a place to have a good look.
The Shyok river originates from the Rimo glacier, which is one of the tongues of the Siachen Glacier The Shyok ultimately flows its waters into the Indus river.
The colour of the water was muddy in September, but we were told that it turns to turquoise in the winter months and is a sight to behold.
A little ahead the Shyok river meets the Nubra or Siachen river to form a large valley that separates the Ladakh and Karakoram ranges. Along with the river, we too left the Ladakh range and entered the Nubra Valley.
As we approached the Diskit town Monastery, our next stop, we saw a huge golden coloured 33-meter symbol of peace, a Maitreya Buddha facing towards (We were told) Pakistan. The construction of this statue was started in April 2006, and it was consecrated by His Highness the Dalai Lama on the 25th of July 2010. The statue was built to spread the message of world peace and specifically for the prevention of any further war with Pakistan.
Ladakh region has always borne the brunt of wars. And peace is, therefore, everyone’s mantra, and rightly so.
We were kind of hungry by now. While Himanshu and Sanjeev decided not to eat, the four of us dug into platefuls of noodles and fried rice at a cafe near the Diskit Monastery. As had become my habit, I asked the girl on the counter if they had an internet connection, and she readily gave me the wifi password. Next few minutes, as we ate, were spent on uploading the Khardung La photographs to our Instagram accounts.
The Diskit Monastery or Diskit Gompa, founded in the 14th century, is the oldest and the largest monastery in the Nubra Valley. Built on a hill just above the floodplains of the Shyok river, at the end of the approach road, it is a striking structure and is visible from even a large distance.
The Nubra valley is at a lower elevation than the Ladakh range, it has a mild climate and has lush vegetation. It is therefore called the Orchard of Ladakh. The valley was a part of the caravan route between Tibet and China. The double-humped Bactrian Camel would travel the route and the ones left behind due to illness, or other reasons have flourished here.
I was a bit tired after climbing the steep stairs and decided to rest in the verandah of the monastery when two kittens spotted me and were all over me.
One of them even demanded that I scratched him and patted my hands whenever I stopped scratching him. I love cats, and I guess they love to reciprocate my affections as well.
Happy with the interaction, I joined the others to visit the temples at the monastery. One interesting part of history the protector room of Diskit monastery has is the mortal remains of the hand and skull of a Mongolian warrior. The remains are shrivelled and real. Legend has it that the monastery is believed to be the place where an evil anti-Buddhist Mongol demon once lived and was killed near the monastery grounds but is said to have been resurrected several times, and the hand and head are of this evil demon.
One more thing that I noticed is that the heads of several statues in the protector room (of all the monasteries we visited) are covered.
We spent a considerable amount of time here and clicked several pictures.
As we came out of the monastery, we noticed a very deep well. It was more of a freshwater spring, the path to which, was rickety and dangerous. It is said that the monks regularly used to go down this dangerous path (some monks still do) to get fresh water for the monastery. I could not go further than this point.
Although the monasteries preserve the tradition, modern facilities and technology have reached here too. We saw a few monks using the latest cars and smartphones.
By this time the sun was about to set, and we decided to call it a day and proceed to Hunder which was about 15 km drive. It took us about 30 minutes to reach out campsite at the Desert Oasis camp. While some of us had lemon tea, Sanjeev and Himanshu had also picked up some beer and breezer and the day ended with Gup shup over drinks and pakodas. Post dinner we retired to our camps looking forward to an exciting morning the next day.
In the quiet of the night, we could hear a gurgling sound of water and slept peacefully to the sound of spring flowing somewhere behind our tents.
