tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9813103384092643882024-03-06T02:31:53.947+05:30Days In The Life Of...Wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17394340788831335608noreply@blogger.comBlogger141125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981310338409264388.post-43929337805898736412016-02-22T06:19:00.003+05:302016-02-22T07:51:20.361+05:30The Age of Information<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Over the last few weeks, I have seen the internet explode into bitter arguments between polarized camps. In the US, this is election year, where in an assuredly periodic pattern differences of opinion transform into vitriolic name-calling. In India, there have been the cases of Rohith Vemula and the more recent JNU agitation. It has taken great self-control on my part to not voice my arguments on the internet during this period. This, despite the fact that my eyeballs roll to the back of my head more times than I can count on my two hands on a daily basis. You see, even though I have more or less successfully attempted to not engage in internet arguments in the last few years (with a few, perhaps ill-advised exceptions), the bad habit that I haven't given up is reading what other people write. The latter has not always been good for my eye(ball)s, let alone my brain.</div>
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For the most part, the internet has been one of the most powerful and beneficial inventions mankind has ever come up with. There is no denying how easy it has made the lives of those who are privileged enough to have access to it and know their way around it. One of the things the internet has made extremely easy is the dissemination of information. Unfortunately, this has also been the internet's biggest failing, or rather, this is where we may be failing the internet. The ease with which information can now be shared unfortunately also appeals to our trigger-happy, mob-mentality instincts. Some of us (including myself) fall prey to that instinct often - that urge to press "like" and "share". Other times we are exhorted to do so - "Press share if <insert condition="" here="">". Some of this is pretty harmless - no one is going to be hurt if you let others know you relate to things other kids who grew up in the 90s relate to, or share a video of a cat doing something a cat isn't expected to do. There is, however, a very dark side to this trigger happiness that has come to the fore in recent weeks, months and years that is extremely disturbing. </insert></div>
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You get a whatsapp text on your phone, a message on facebook, or a link to a blog such as this, with quotes (some famous, others not), mostly out of context. It makes up a few numbers without providing a source, and makes a compelling argument that completely convinces you, and then proceeds to exhort you to forward this piece of information. Sometimes you also get morally threatened with not being "X" if you don't share it. By now, you have been lured into an emotional trap and are extremely eager to pass this information on to others in order to enlighten them - it seems like the right thing to do. And it's Just. So. Easy. You don't have to move, you don't have to pick up that phone and call fifty other people. Just a simple click of the button and you've enlightened those fifty other people - good deed for the day done. A lot of us (including myself and a lot of my near and dear ones) have fallen prey to this trap at some point. The internet has often been used by private individuals or those belonging to the state machinery to spread half-truths and blatant lies. Outrage comes cheap these days. Time is money, and with the help of the information age, it takes very little of your time or effort to express outrage at things you think are true. However, the truth of the information age is also that there may be a much larger picture that you are simply not aware of.You could be needlessly endangering an entire community of people, ruining someone's reputation, taking away their livelihood, or in extreme cases, taking away someone's life. </div>
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What strikes me as strange is that in an ideal world the internet should have been a place to engage people in an exchange of ideas thought previously impossible. Perhaps it does serve that purpose to a certain extent. However, it is also fast becoming that place where people go to aggressively express their opinion (accurate or otherwise) from the seemingly safe space behind a glowing computer monitor or a smartphone screen. This sort of behavior is shrinking the space where opposites can meet, converse and resolve their issues at an alarming rate. It is causing many to simply disengage from partaking in discussions online, because it never really leads anywhere but name-calling followed by angry silence. This is the opposite of dialogue. This is us being Dilbert's <a href="http://dilbert.com/series/67-Dick-from-the-Internet" target="_blank">Dick from the Internet</a>.</div>
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The next time you see things that look like compelling facts that you must be convinced by and must share with others, pause to think. Someone could be exploiting your good intentions to make you an accessory for their agenda. Someone could be involving you in their conspiracy to defame a person, a community, a country, an organization, or a cause. Don't be an accessory. Control your trigger-happy self. There is a difference between opinion and fact. Share those opinions as opinions, and verify those facts before you "like and share". If they are not true beyond reasonable doubt, don't "like and share". You may not be "X" if you do so, in the opinion of the person who sent you this piece of information, but you'll be making the world a less stupid place, and you're a better person for that. </div>
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Wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17394340788831335608noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981310338409264388.post-6307670846089887072014-10-23T10:50:00.000+05:302014-10-23T10:50:31.647+05:30The Festive Season<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Today, I chanced upon a blogpost from yesteryear which mentioned the onset of the festive season. My facebook feed has been full of people bringing in Diwali and everything that comes with it. Now is also probably the time I miss being home the most. Having missed Diwali in Delhi for the fifth time in a row, however, it has slowly started to be like any other day. The American way of life turns Holi, Diwali and every other Indian festival governed by the moon into a weekend event - and that's how Diwali will be spent - doing homework on the day of, and perhaps attending the odd party the following weekend. </div>
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The closest I came to celebrating Diwali in the last five years was when I flew out of Delhi the evening before. It always breaks your heart to leave home (rather well documented on this blog), but it's whole new level when you see your home town, covered with the glittering lights of celebration slowly falling away into the darkness below. I guess it wasn't a surprise that there were only 80 people traveling on a plane meant for 350 that day. </div>
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G and I were talking about how the joy of this season is more about the anticipation of it than the festive days themselves. The nip in the air is dripping with anticipation - the anticipation of upcoming celebrations, of relief from the months of searing heat, of warm food and cold nights. Enjoy that feeling and all the joys of this festive season, my friends. They don't make festive seasons like that everywhere. </div>
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Happy Diwali!</div>
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Wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17394340788831335608noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981310338409264388.post-49162254897759652122014-09-28T05:48:00.005+05:302016-01-06T07:35:21.742+05:30Our MOMma<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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This was a momentous week in the history of the Indian space programme. I was waiting with my fingers crossed as MOM broke its slingshot around the Sun to settle into orbit around Mars. This prompted great celebrations everywhere, especially since ISRO got it right at the very first attempt - no mean feat, if you consider the sheer number of things that have to happen correctly and in the right sequence in order to get something from here to there.</div>
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The MOM mission also marked the first time that ISRO really tried to engage the public and capture the imagination of the common Indian. For the longest time in my life, I have been really frustrated about the absence of any sort of PR on part of the Indian space agency. I have always felt that it does great work, without letting any of its exploits be thoroughly appreciated by the public. It is a mentality that I have often seen in the Indian science and technology sector, where presentation is given far less importance than content. In an ideal world, that would be a fair balance. However, the fact of the matter is that science is as much a business as anything else, and the ability to project and sell one's work is an essential skill for any scientist to have. In the case of a programme as grand as this, projection and public involvement is necessary for its longevity. This change in ISRO's attitude towards the involvement of public outside the space sector is a welcome change. A quick look at ISRO's <a href="http://isro.gov.in/" target="_blank">website</a> would justify my happiness at their new-found internet savviness (on occasion, even taking to Twitter to talk to Curiosity). This time, they did not just ensure that they did something great. They ensured that you and I hung on to the edge of our seats on crucial days, waiting for updates and eventually rejoiced and celebrated their achievement - something that would probably have been restricted to about a hundred people in the past. More importantly, a very crucial audience was reached through this PR campaign - children in school. At a time when we are struggling to produce a mass interest in science and technology amongst children in school, an achievement like this can serve as a great catalyst to inspire many children to think of careers in this field. When I was growing up, I mostly harboured ambitions to work for NASA rather than ISRO, simply because there were no inspiring examples to look up to at the time. I hope last week's success gives children something to aspire to within their own country (it surely has given me a few things to think about).</div>
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Of course, the increase in public involvement is not without its side effects. All week long, I squirmed uncomfortably every time I saw that comparison between autorickshaw fares in Bangalore and cost per km for the MOM mission. A lot of factors contributed to the low cost of this mission (not the least of which are the exceedingly low labour costs in India compared to other space faring nations) that get conveniently masked by this "<i>mileage</i> <i>deti kitna hai?</i>" mentality. Of course, full credit to ISRO for avoiding monetary inefficiencies and leaks that often plague missions of this size. I also flinched every time someone used the word "<i>jugaad</i>" to describe what ISRO had achieved with this mission. In my opinion, this mission was about as far away from <i>jugaad </i>as possible, Indian resourcefulness notwithstanding. This was a feat of solid engineering, carried out in a very limited time frame on a shoestring budget. Good engineering and great attention to detail by a very dedicated staff is what ensured that almost no glitches were encountered despite all these constraints, not compromise and cutting corners - the orbiter wasn't put together with duct tape and rubber bands. In my opinion, these two comparisons seem to take something away from the tireless men and women who made this mission such a grand success. Moreover, there were comments on how we were the first Asian country to make it to Mars, and more specifically, how we beat China to it. Space has mostly been a competitive domain, but space is also a great opportunity to collaborate and focus on issues larger than territorial disputes. The focus needs to be less on how we paid less than the West for an autorickshaw trip to Mars and traveled faster than China, and more on the efficient work and flawless execution that made this trip happen in such a short time span (and where we can go with it). The MAVEN and MOM teams have already showed intent to work together as a team, which is an encouraging sign.</div>
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I'm wishing ISRO my heartfelt congratulations on this great success. I have really cherished following this mission since its launch last year in November and also the growth that I have seen in the agency's vision for the future. I am eagerly awaiting the unlocking of more of the red planet's mysteries. Who knows what the future holds. I for one am very excited about it. </div>
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Wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17394340788831335608noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981310338409264388.post-70409180645662840732014-09-05T23:37:00.001+05:302014-09-05T23:44:19.570+05:30Trysts with a Real Person: Fin.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It has so transpired that my time in Germany has finally run out. I am sitting at the gate, waiting to board my flight back, somewhat overwhelmed by the sudden increase in conversations that are completely understandable. I guess it's good preparation for the sensory overload I will encounter tomorrow morning, happily so. It felt pretty weird leaving Bremen this morning. One might think it had started to become a sort of "home" - associated with that feeling of comfort that you feel when you come back from a trip. Then again, it is nice to have multiple homes to come back to, spread out around the world (without even being a billionaire).<br />
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I would like to think that my first experience of leading a real life in Europe has been quite a success, the upcoming winter for which I will escape back to California notwithstanding. This has been a fast set of eleven weeks of having a work life and home life - a real life, essentially. For now, I must leave this short pretense and return to being a PhD student.</div>
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Part of what made this experience so special were my new found friends in Bremen. This marks the end of email conversations from work, walks after lunch, tea in the afternoon (outside when the weather permitted) and the periodic hangouts in the evening. Contrary what it sounds like, I actually managed to get a fair bit of work done in the midst of all that (at least enough to keep my managers happy). True work-life balance, some might say. It hasn't been easy with all the goodbyes this last week. It's always a little strange when you say bye and don't know when you will see someone next, if at all. I do hope that I will see these friendly faces soon! So long Bremen, and so long A, E, R, M and all the other wonderful people who made these trysts so joyful! </div>
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Until the next time I return for a piece of this life...</div>
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Wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17394340788831335608noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981310338409264388.post-20029651037104457782014-07-18T03:01:00.005+05:302014-07-18T03:04:05.201+05:30Trysts with a Real Person: Half Full/Half Empty Half Done/Half Left<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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And lo we have arrived at the halfway mark.</div>
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Much has unfolded over the last few weeks, not the least of which is that wrong number phone call in German when the voice at the other end demanded to fix my unbroken WC. Thankfully that ended with laughter and not a plunger. </div>
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What a time it has been to be in Germany. Last Sunday, the new <i>Weltmeister </i>were crowned. I stood in attendance at a local biergarten, watching the celebrations unfold and then perish in about two hours, with not much of a mention of it barely two days later. I contrasted that with what happened when India won the cricket world cup in 2011. </div>
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My friend M visited that same weekend. M and I paid Hamburg a short visit, which was infested with bachelorette parties. There seems to be this strange tradition here of wearing a uniform when visiting a city as part of a to-be bride's entourage. Hamburg ended up being a rather charming city, with a lovely river and my favourite attraction - the Miniature Wonderland. To put it mildly, if Sheldon Cooper commits himself to good deeds for the rest of his life, that's where he's going after he dies. Miniature Wonderland amongst other marvels, has the world's largest toy train set. I think I'd refuse to ever leave that place if I was a few years younger. It's hard to explain the place in words, so I'm going to let a couple of pictures do the explaining. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmZ-HGzt3jHVPbXIJkN1WvZZc9EStRXJUHtxyyxqXVI9-HDI3Dxn7hI6LtRncdBg9WdJ71QoHGCM8wiVVu92gFob6prewXMU61gJ5ior5D7MAyb7eH_aeyXZ4wcQcVxU7FrBUsI5QTLxcG/s1600/20140712_162800.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmZ-HGzt3jHVPbXIJkN1WvZZc9EStRXJUHtxyyxqXVI9-HDI3Dxn7hI6LtRncdBg9WdJ71QoHGCM8wiVVu92gFob6prewXMU61gJ5ior5D7MAyb7eH_aeyXZ4wcQcVxU7FrBUsI5QTLxcG/s1600/20140712_162800.jpg" height="177" width="320" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjwVrHeUyfYDyXwBQ2mvDLN4Xp3LGvwybdhH_lOVs8QTfalRazjCR0n96xm9XSRgDrCbaghzSE7GMxB8nErls3eiiTaFqHnlMn4t2V7uRGVF-4BkCj8G4BEh1kLAZ7K17yqqC-vjpKB81Y/s1600/20140712_154909.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjwVrHeUyfYDyXwBQ2mvDLN4Xp3LGvwybdhH_lOVs8QTfalRazjCR0n96xm9XSRgDrCbaghzSE7GMxB8nErls3eiiTaFqHnlMn4t2V7uRGVF-4BkCj8G4BEh1kLAZ7K17yqqC-vjpKB81Y/s1600/20140712_154909.jpg" height="176" width="320" /></a></div>
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M promptly returned home to England right before the game began, leaving me to quietly support Argentina in a singularly German-supporting crowd. I was careful to wear white - both neutral and also the colour of peace. My bluff was called though because I didn't look as excited as the rest of the jumping crowd when Germany scored that lone goal. I had a lot of explaining to do, part of which was "I'm Indian, we don't really get to play in the world cup, so I'm neutral". I strongly believe that the better team won, though. So I wasn't terribly unhappy and the joy and celebration afterward was rather contagious. So was work the next morning.</div>
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In the midst of all this joy and celebration came the news at half time, which served as a stark reminder of all the violence and bloodshed unfolding in Ukraine, Iraq and the <i>Holy</i> Land without the slightest care for whether Messi would end the night on a happy note. Unfortunately, I don't think many around me were in the mood to care. I hope they cared after their hangovers subsided the next morning. </div>
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Seriously though, world, what is wrong with your people? What is with this mindless bloodshed? You'd better get your act together before I leave this town. You only have half my stay left.</div>
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Wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17394340788831335608noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981310338409264388.post-22802239082897218962014-06-29T02:59:00.000+05:302014-06-29T03:15:57.533+05:30Trysts with a Real Person: Familiarity Fetish<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Done. Finished. Funtoosh. Lo and behold, the second week is over. I think I'm starting to get more accustomed to and familiar with this place, the weather included (which has been the exact opposite of what I am used to in California).</div>
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That was a terrible segue into this whole familiarity business. Growing up, my life was very steady and practically unchanging. I lived in the same locality for seventeen years (there's that running joke amongst my friends about me being upset about a new Mother Dairy outlet when I moved, but let's not go into that), went to the same school for about thirteen, lived in the same city for about twenty three. While I enjoyed that sort of stability, I think it also bred some sort of an affinity for constants. Sometimes that fish out of water feeling when I just move to a new place becomes somewhat challenging. It's also something I've tried to fight repeatedly by putting myself into situations where I feel like a fish out of water. It happened to me when I moved to California after all those years in Delhi (faithfully documented on the blog), and still happens to me every time I leave the familiar spaces and faces in India and head to the US (also faithfully complained about on the blog). Little things I carry from home, like my packet of Bru coffee (way better than the crap they export) help shore up the familiarity walls till I settle back in. For weeks before coming to Bremen, I was nervous and I agonized about moving to a new city (even for a short while) where I knew no one and didn't really speak the language. Fortunately, I discovered old friends here and made a couple of new ones even before I got here. Things have been great these last two weeks.</div>
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The point is, it's all new - including the part where I have to look presentable for work every day, which is a far cry from my PhD student life (where I probably look public-viewing-worthy once every three days or so). I reclaim that part of my fetish for familiarity by not shaving and taking afternoon naps on weekends. </div>
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So, everything is new. It's exciting and intimidating, frustrating and educational, all at the same time. </div>
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Getting to meet new people is sometimes challenging. The part that I've found most challenging is the hesitation I feel in striking a random conversation with people, and language is playing a huge role. The fact that I have to translate whatever little German I understand into English or Hindi for my brain to comprehend it means that I have to plan entire conversations in my head prior to having them. Just a few days ago, I walked past a guy on bicycle going the other way and he kept saying "<i>Wie Spät" </i>as he rode past, looking more and more disappointed with each time. It wasn't until he well past me that my brain finally completed the translation process to figure out he was asking for the time. There are also these funny things I've noticed about having a "native" language, and how English (or Hinglish, perhaps) is somewhat "native" to the people around me in India. The French, who are usually notorious for their opposition to English also find themselves in a "non-native" situation like English speakers and there a bond seems to grow out of nowhere. Last week I found an Indian grocery store, which I was pretty pleasantly surprised to find. Named the "Punjabi Store", it is owned and run by a couple from North India. I was most amused by how happy I left that store, just because I was able to have a very Delhi-like conversation with the owners about their time in Bremen without having to first play out the conversation in my own head. My desk neighbour also happens to be Indian, and conversations steeped in familiarity and nativity have given me great joy over the last week. All this surprises me sometimes because I've never really been the sort of person who congregates only with his kind. However, in the absence of any real communication skills in the local language, I think my "kind" is currently the group of people who speak a language I think in.</div>
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Perhaps I need to use that "<i>Mein Deutsch ist nicht so gut aber ich versuche, mehr Deutsch zu lernen</i>" (My German is not so good, but I am trying to learn more German<span style="font-style: italic;">)</span> a little more. <i> </i></div>
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Here's to more fruitful interactions in the coming weeks...</div>
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Wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17394340788831335608noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981310338409264388.post-27336888620135156072014-06-23T03:43:00.004+05:302014-06-23T03:48:50.004+05:30Trysts with a Real Person: Nature Says Fuck You<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It's the end of my first full week in Bremen, and that's definitely the first thing I learned on my job. Nature is complex, and turbulence is nature's way of saying "fuck you" to anyone who ever tried to understand it. Try hard as you might, and have fun while doing it, it's a near-hopeless task. After about 40 hours of reading multiple papers I arrived at this line in one of the very last ones I read (written by a humbled smart man called Stetson) -</div>
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"<i>The reality of the current prediction situation is that it is not possible to make a confident prediction...</i>"</div>
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That was a fun ride though, and I guess that's the nature of science of the science of nature - you're never quite there but that still doesn't stop you from appreciating it. </div>
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That included, Bremen's been fun so far. I went grocery shopping in foreign language. The case of "which oil to buy" in particular was amusing. I actually had to look and identify the kind of flower printed on the oil bottle to make sure I bought sunflower instead of mustard - that could have ended badly. </div>
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The sky has threatened to pour water all week, to see if I flinch. I flinched every day and then the one day I stuck my chest out and walked to explore the city out without an umbrella, and that was the day the threat was acted upon. Still, rain here never seems to last more than fifteen minutes. After those fifteen minutes were done, the sun managed to come back out and I got a chance to explore the city, which took all of two hours cover completely. I also visited some of the green spaces I spoke about which was nice. It's nice to have these places to relax in a town, where you can be left alone with your thoughts, or a book. The city, like other European cities, has also entertained my love for rivers. There was also that lonely midnight stroll through the city's empty centre one night. Little towns acquire a quiet life of their own after the sun has set (at 11pm) , the hordes of tourists and cameras have left and buildings are now only visible by the twinkling of lights outline them. Very good for the soul. </div>
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The German language has been fun to deal with as well. I know just enough to pretend like I know it, and that has consistently gotten me into trouble. I refuse to give up though. The other day I was in a bar, watching the game by myself and I ordered a beer in German - except after that, my answer to any question was "half litre". Normally, German is also not associated with cute sounds or things. However, the German word for "exactly", as they say it - "Ja, genau" has a very lovely child-like ring to it. </div>
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Here's to understanding people and nature and everything that goes with it a little better in week two.</div>
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Wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17394340788831335608noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981310338409264388.post-8459164903160437072014-06-20T23:39:00.001+05:302014-06-20T23:54:54.501+05:30Trysts with a Real Person: Communication<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
*What sounded like gibberish with a few familiar words*<br />
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*Confused expression* Bitte?<br />
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*Apparent gibberish repeated with fewer familiar words*<br />
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Bitte? 'tschuldigung, mein Deutsch ist nicht so gut (sentence practiced very often this week)<br />
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Mein Englisch ist nicht so gut<br />
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*More apparent gibberish*<br />
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*Confused expression* Um...key? Aus?<br />
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And then we both just grinned for the next minute and said bye :-) </div>
Wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17394340788831335608noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981310338409264388.post-16172542763625381272014-06-17T03:08:00.002+05:302014-06-17T03:19:55.401+05:30Trysts with a Real Person: Dispatch 1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It's the end of my third day in Bremen, my first day at the first real job I've ever had, really speaking. At age 27, that's quite a love affair I've had with being in school. My body is still trying to figure out which part of the world it is in, after being taken 13 time zones forward and then 4 back in the space of a week. Coincidentally today is also the day Portugal, to put it mildly, got whipped by Germany. Therefore I have been surrounded by the sound of celebration. </div>
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It's probably the perfect time to be in Europe - in the summer, while the greatest show on earth unfolds many miles away (its sketchy conscience notwithstanding). I've been watching cars driving around, proudly flying flags in support of various countries. I returned from work today and was working on the mountain of paperwork that I need to file to live here in peace for just a few months (they love their rules here), and I could tell each one of the four times Germany scored a goal just from the roar I heard.</div>
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Bremen has stood with its arms wide open for the first three days I have known it. The Germans, the (surprisingly large number of) French, the Brit, the Indian have all been nothing but downright lovely and hospitable. In under a day since I got here, I had new friends who I discovered knew my old friends. Throw a bunch of aerospace engineers in a small town and you can definitely call the world a small place. This real-person life feels rather different from the one I've temporarily left behind. I don't think I can complain. The city itself has all the trappings of a European town not the least of which is the signature river running underneath the cobbled bridge with rail tracks. I've also noticed a lovely smattering of lawns and parks across the city - in plain sight and hidden away in nooks and corners. I hope to visit each one of them over the next couple of months.</div>
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Plenty of exploration to be done. Lots of writing to go with it. </div>
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Wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17394340788831335608noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981310338409264388.post-12581900089044800582013-12-29T16:50:00.004+05:302014-01-11T01:24:39.996+05:30Year of the Astronaut<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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No, you will not find that on the Chinese Lunar calendar. Having said that, given the success they've had lately, they should probably legitimize the year of the astronaut.</div>
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It's that time of the year again. Another cycle of twelve months draw to a close. A couple of days before I left Stanford for home, I pulled out a small sheet of paper on which I had scribbled on goals for the year - a ritual I have followed for many years now; I even save each year's sheet so that some day in the distant future I can look back and see how my priorities in life have changed - to check how many of those items can be scratched off. Some of those goals end up taking many years to accomplish and as a result, find themselves repeated year after year. </div>
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The cycle of twelve months has had its usual ups and downs, dotted with a few remarkable once-in-a-lifetime experiences. I found myself down in the dumps at the beginning of the year, and found joy and upliftment through two great projects that I wrote about earlier. It's strange what a fleeting sense of accomplishment can do for the soul. Somewhere near the end of the year, my friend J gifted me a book - "<i>An Astronaut's Guide to Life on Earth</i>" by Col. Chris Hadfield. I'm quite the astronaut groupie, and even if you're not one, Chris Hadfield is one of those inspirational people you just have to know. The world first came to know him through his remarkable outreach videos from the ISS. I was looking forward to reading the book, but I never expected it to be such a life-transforming experience. I have now bored most of my near and dear ones with accounts of how the book is fundamentally affecting my outlook on things in my life. I want to be an astronaut myself some day (I think this is my first public admission in writing), which is probably why the book is affecting me even more. While it has been really fun reading about Hadfield's experiences during his years of training as fighter pilot, in the astronaut core and then three times on the ISS, there are some fundamental life lessons I have learned from the book. Hadfield discusses his thought process in handling any problem he faces in real life and how it has been affected by his astronaut training. Perhaps the biggest lesson I've picked up is to develop the mind of an astronaut, whether or not I actually become one - to be mentally prepared for (almost) any eventuality, to be disciplined and to work the problem at hand rather than frantically hurling the kitchen sink at it. I've decided to adopt this as my theme for the next year - the first item on my little piece of paper. The words "think like an astronaut" have slowly begun to take center stage in my head, whilst slowly getting on the nerves of everyone around me.</div>
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I'm preparing for what's going to be a glorious end to another difficult yet rewarding year, and I'm hoping my new philosophy will hold me in good stead for the coming year. </div>
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Good bye 2013, and I think I'm going to be happy to see you, 2014.</div>
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Happy new year, everyone!</div>
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Wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17394340788831335608noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981310338409264388.post-5069456758919178692013-08-25T14:52:00.000+05:302013-08-25T14:53:12.920+05:30Climbing Concepcion<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I got back from yet another summer of travel two weeks ago. The beginning of the summer of travel saw my friend K and I embark on an adventure in Central America. Armed with all of hundred words in Spanish between the two of us (98 mine, his being only "<i>si</i>" and "<i>gracias</i>"), we set out for the beautiful countries of Nicaragua and Costa Rica. The trip itself will be remembered for the grace and kindness of the locals who we encountered, who were exceedingly friendly and cordial, even as we struggled to communicate with them. It made me realize the importance of the locals of a country being on your side when you find yourself in deep water, linguistically speaking. About a month after that, when I landed in Delhi, I vowed to actively spot and help any foreigners in distress. It so happened that I spotted no foreigners in distress. That may be because they were perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, or they were getting taken advantage of at a different point in space-time.</div>
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We challenged many of our fears in Central America - a pact that K and I had agreed upon at some point. I challenged my fear of drowning by going snorkeling (the third time in my life, getting better with every time) and scuba-diving in Corn Island, while he challenged his fear of heights while ziplining in Costa Rica. Perhaps the most fulfilling experience I had, though, was climbing the Concepcion Volcano on Ometepe Island in Nicaragua. </div>
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It was love at first sight. We arrived at the port in Rivas after a series of confused mutterings of "<i>¿Bus para Rivas?</i>" at Granada. Right there, across the Lago Nicaragua was Ometepe Island, with its active twin volcanoes - Concepcion and Madeiras, towering above anything nearby, their blunted tops shrouded in cloud and smoke. As our ferry slowly rumbled towards the island, I repeatedly told K, "If there's any way that can be climbed, please let's climb it!". At the end of the day, it was going to be a choice between climbing Concepcion and visiting the San Ramon waterfall. We had all of two days at Ometepe and both couldn't be done. However, as the mountain loomed closer with all its magnificence, and the decision was made. We went to a local guide centre right after we checked in to our hotel and requested a guide to take us up the morning after (it is illegal to go up without a guide). This was it - bright and early, a 24km round trip hike, 5000 feet of elevation gain, all in the same day. I had been watching an unhealthy excess of mountaineering documentaries (I still do), and the running theme was that you never conquer a mountain, the mountain lets you climb it. So I requested Volcan Concepcion to allow me to climb it the next day.</div>
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<i>Above: Approaching Ometepe Island</i></div>
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The next day began on the wrong foot. At 5 am, we had a knock on our door. Somewhere in the gaps in communication, our guide had misunderstood 7 to mean 5, and was obviously rather disappointed to find a foggy-eyed me opening the door and explaining to him that there was no way aside from the volcano erupting that I would agree to step out of bed. And so it was that two hours later, we met our jovial guide Luis, who was a surprisingly happy camper for someone who had been woken up mistakenly at an unearthly hour. Luis informed us (and repeated this fact many times over as the day progressed) that as of three days ago he had climbed the mountain 18 times in three weeks. Luis was also one of the <i>Nahua </i>people, native to the island. A very good start, we thought. A short bus ride later, we were dropped off at the trail head along with a few other groups, one of them consisting of people who were staying at our hotel. On the hour's hike to the base of the volcano through dense tropical forest, K and I pressed home our height advantage on the flat trail. Luis was left yelling "<i>stop, Speedy Gonzales!</i>" a few times. On the hardest section of the climb a few hours later, he would show us who was boss. We'd be the ones asking him to slow down very soon. </div>
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An hour later, we began our ascent up the volcano. We climbed slowly through the lush forest; the water vapour under the canopy made the air soupy with moisture. We couldn't just look up and walk. On the ground below, an entirely different biological order was flourishing. Scores of ants of different kinds were busy at work, and we had to be mindful to not disrupt their routine. As I sweated and panted up the mountain, I was amazed at the variety of life forms that called the rainforest home. We also made some friends of the non-fluttering kind along the way, who we chatted with as we headed up the mountain. Just when the trail seemed never-ending, the trees suddenly gave way to grass. A short traverse across the mountain face led us to a flat shoulder on the mountain at 1000 meters called El Floral. It was surprising how quickly the mountain's behaviour changed. From the hot, soupy atmosphere in the forest below, we transitioned to a chilly, windy shoulder where it was hard to stand out it in the open and resist the wind. The view from El Floral was breathtaking - one could see the entire Northern side of the island and the Lake beyond that. I was glad that the base of the mountain was roughly at sea level which ensured that there was a lot of breath to take, failing which this would have been an excruciating climb.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i style="font-size: medium;">Above: The view from El Floral</i></td></tr>
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El Floral is a bifurcation point for groups heading up the volcano. Most groups decided to head back from this point. We bid farewell to our existing friends and acquired a new set of climbing partners. Of the roughly 50 people who left that morning, it was 6 of us (4 tourists and 2 guides) who would go beyond El Floral to attempt to reach the peak. It was immediately obvious to me that the climb was going to become a lot more difficult. Within minutes of leaving El Floral, the grass gave way to loose volcanic gravel and rock. The grade of the mountain became a lot steeper and K and I were now climbing on all fours to prevent toppling backward down the mountain, while Luis the new Speedy Gonzales was practically racing up the mountain. I was made increasingly hesitant by every one of the few times we would step on something and it would slip under our weight. We somehow struggled up the next 100 metres when we hit another roadblock - a gully had been partially washed away by rain the previous night, leaving about a 5 foot wall with a sheer drop on the other side. It was at this point that one half of the six that headed up turned back. K was one of them. Later he would describe his return using a once-famous sentence on his Orkut profile - "<i>I am obese and I can't climb walls</i>". He's nowhere near obese now, but I guess he still can't climb walls. So it was my friend J (who was living at the same hotel as K and I), myself and Luis who headed up the final stretch. The terrain became somewhat worse as we went up. As I went up, I started to wonder about coming back down. Six weeks ago I had taken a terrible tumble during descent which had cartwheeled me two hundred feet down the face of another mountain. I had surprisingly escaped with just minor injuries but the ghosts of that fall were definitely playing on my mind as I climbed up. To worsen the situation, the clouds around the peak started to become dark and dense. By this time, the sulphur spewing from the crater had also started to mingle with the water vapour, so our eyes would burn every time a drop of water in the form of rain or sweat would come in contact. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Above: J and I at 1500 metres</i></td></tr>
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On two or three occasions as we slowly laboured up the mountain, it showed us what it was capable of. There was a sharp shower for about 15 to 20 seconds and then it stopped. The few seconds were enough to make us realize the trouble we would be in if it started to rain - the rocks would become slippery, the lava gullies would turn into rivers, the gravel would wash away, and the thunder from any storm would literally surround us. An important aspect of climbing a mountain is to know what you value more - your ego or your life. J and I both agreed to turn back when Luis felt it was unsafe to go ahead any more. We finally reached 1500 metres - which was the highest reachable point on our side. A traverse across a bare cliff face would follow which would take us to the other side, and the access point to 1610 metres - the peak of the volcano, but we decided that it was too unsafe to do this with the impending rain. We decided to descend after a few photographs, before rain came down and decided to play havoc with our plans to get back alive. It never rained that day. As we descended, I was constantly reminded of my fall. But we descended very slowly and carefully, taking support from the mountainside, and a painstaking hour and a half and a few minor falls later, we were reunited with the other half our six member team that had headed up. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Above: Luis and I at 1500 metres</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Above: A treacherous descent</i></td></tr>
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The descent from that point on was easy. We enjoyed the breeze that had picked up since morning. Our legs hurt from the effort of the climb, but we were happy to have life and limb intact as we sped off the volcano. Almost as if to make up for not allowing us to summit, the volcano offered up a nice, rare sight - a pair of howler monkeys swinging and hollering at each other. In a few hours we found our way back to civilization and as we drove in the back of a truck to our hotel, I turned around to look back at the mountain. The clouds had cleared almost completely from the peak and we could see the the point at which we had turned back. Somewhere between our descent and arriving at our hotel, K also earned the nickname "<i>El Largo</i>" - the Large One. We eventually reached our hotel, extremely tired and very ready for a nap, followed by lots of beer in the evening. We also bid farewell to Luis, and thanked him for his support, without which we perhaps would not have managed any of this. </div>
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We bid farewell to Ometepe island and Nicaragua the next day. Concepcion towered over the entire island as always. The rest of our trip was just as memorable, but the experience of climbing an active volcano is one I will not forget for a long time to come.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Above: Concepcion shortly after we descended</i></td></tr>
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Wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17394340788831335608noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981310338409264388.post-39964598547963282102013-08-06T01:11:00.002+05:302013-08-06T01:11:47.290+05:30Fleeting Encounters<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It was somewhat late today as I drove through the forested ridge that separates home from the rest of Delhi. For once, I took my time to notice how beautiful the street lights streaming through the tree canopy looked. This only happens for a very short while during the monsoon. I've always admired how after months of being baked brown in the searing Delhi heat, the forest just comes alive with the monsoon. As weeks progress, if the rain is as heavy as expected (increasingly fickle these days), the trees on either side of the road will grow to form a thin canopy above the road. </div>
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I have all of three days left in Delhi. It promises to be the same sequence of crippling sadness and disappointment followed by a slow recovery back to "normal", only to (thankfully) repeat again in a few months. Just yesterday, I stopped for a second to think about my sister's whirlwind visit over the weekend. She came and left before I even realized she was there. That seems to have become the nature of my relationships back home - they must all somehow draw strength and survive through encounters that don't last for more than a few days at a time, sometimes even a few hours. That they survive, and even flourish despite this is probably proof of their strength. I meet my sister for barely four days a year now. She lives in a different city and our holiday schedules don't match. We are fortunate enough to have the means to make sure we're in the same city at least for these four days in the year. We barely talk on the phone, but it's refreshing how in those four days, we'll still sometimes talk in made up voices like when we were 10 and 6, 14 and 10 or 18 and 14. There are also those whom I will barely see for two hours in an entire year, but we'll still manage to fill up a year's worth of stories in those two hours and pick up where we left off last time. The internet and social networking have perhaps helped in keeping all of us acquainted, but even those haven't saved relationships that lacked the will to fight against disappearance. </div>
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I've also observed my parents this time, albeit somewhat unknowingly. Just as I walked out for dinner today, I was just struck by the sight of them having tea and talking about their day. Something told me what I was witnessing was one of the big reasons for their success as a couple - I think my parents have mastered the art of (for the want of a better word) "chilling" with each other. It's probably the first time I've taken notice of them hanging out, maybe because I'm looking for answers myself, or maybe because it's the first time they have a routine outside of their children. Usually, when I leave for dinner with friends, my mother is just back from work, and my parents have a cup of tea together and talk. When I come back from dinner with my friends, I find them watching TV together where my mother will exercise her excellent memory of old Hindi song lyrics, movies and their composers, while my father appreciates her knowledge and enjoys the songs presented in a talent show. There are of course other reasons why they work, but the realization of this one brought a very strange sense of comfort and happiness.</div>
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My interactions with those who know me the best has turned into an unending sequence of fleeting encounters. There may be no escape from it in the near future, but it's comforting to know that the strength of my relationships with those who see me so little remains unaffected by the number of minutes or hours that I spend with them.</div>
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Wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17394340788831335608noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981310338409264388.post-24148344752320485032013-05-13T01:09:00.001+05:302013-05-13T01:11:23.863+05:30Our Golden Days<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>"...A golden age,</i><br />
<i>These golden times,</i><br />
<i>Our golden days,</i><br />
<i>Seem to have us</i><br />
<i>Hypnotized..."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i>- </i>strange little song called Monkey Man.</div>
Wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17394340788831335608noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981310338409264388.post-71345235268903732762013-04-03T11:55:00.000+05:302013-04-03T12:05:18.723+05:30Life-Altering Pursuits<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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There are these days when I look back and think about all the things that have happened to me over the last two years that growing up in India, I couldn't ever imagine happening to me. Back in high school, going to MIT or Stanford or Oxford was a playful joke between all of us who were breaking our backs and (perhaps needlessly, in hindsight) giving up the joy of being seventeen over the rat race to get into IIT. The fact that that's not a joke anymore gives me a lot of joy every time I think about it. Every now and then, there comes an opportunity to embark on a potentially life-altering pursuit. Only, I didn't know I'd be getting so many in such a short span of time. The going has been tough, but it surely has not been without its rewards. So this post is primarily a reflection that concludes with a sense of wonder and gratitude. </div>
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The first three months of this year have probably been the most eventful I've had at Stanford; March, perhaps the month with least sleep. There were points of time in the last three months that I just had to sit up and look around to see the grand scale of the things I was getting myself immersed in. Yet, two days beyond the end of those three months I have to say that the experience was wonderful. </div>
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First, there was PEMDAS-1. Our rocket was in its build phase these last three months. Twelve of us poured our heart and soul into raising the 13-foot behemoth and sending him on his way to 45000 feet. As the quarter progressed, afternoons blended into evenings; by the end, evenings were blending into mornings after. There was the igniter test that swallowed my birthday whole (no regrets). There was the ground test that swallowed two-thirds of a long weekend. Then there was launch week, when no one got any sleep. Everyone sacrificed their daily lives for us to become the first team in four years of the class to have made it to launch- perhaps the first ever to have done so within 6 months from the start. Sharing all-nighters with people is probably a nerd's best way to bond with other nerds. The all-nighters pulled together had a big role to play in turning us into a well-oiled machine. The day of the launch came by; only that it didn't go as we planned, or as we deserved. We stood under the bunker and helplessly watched months of hard work catch fire as the rocket stood where it was, in submission to the flames below. Hearts were broken, days were ruined, and we returned disappointed, dissatisfied and looking for a second shot. Hopefully, we will be able to rebuild everything that is needed and try again in the next few months. If there's one thing I know, I worked with a remarkable set of people, that you must be very fortunate to have worked with. My knowledge grew by leaps and bounds in the few months I spent working on that project. Even the failure taught us a few things about doing things right.</div>
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I was back from my rocket launch trip all of five days, when I had to leave to embark on the second of my life-altering pursuits- the Caltech Space Challenge with Team Voyager. This would be a much shorter venture, but no less intense. When I first met my fellow participants, my first feeling was one of panic- "How am I ever going to be good enough for this team?". The resumes were stellar, and the excitement was palpable. For the next five days, we sank over twelve to fourteen hours a day in trying to conceptually design a manned mission to a Martian moon. Once again, all-nighters served to unite what began as a somewhat disjointed set of very strong-minded and motivated strangers. There were surprise treats along the way. On day 3, I the breakfast table abuzz (no pun intended) with the words "Buzz Aldrin" occasionally finding their way through. Buzz Aldrin had decided to pay us a visit. That day went on to become one of the best days I've had in a long time. At night, I coincidentally landed up on the same table as him, and sat and listened as he shared gems from his treasure trove of stories. Later that night, as I headed back to the hotel exhausted yet exhilarated from a long day, I remembered the occasion about year ago when I had the opportunity to have a 30 second long conversation with Neil Armstrong. The feeling of gratitude and amazement that I felt then, is the same feeling that I write this post with. If anyone would've told ten-year-old me, growing up in New Delhi that I'd get to meet the first two men who had walked on the moon, I would have laughed at them in disbelief. Then again, it happened; whether I believe it or not. Team Voyager's quest ended on a different note compared to PEMDAS-1. On the final night, in the presence of bigwigs of the aerospace industry, we were declared the winners of the challenge. </div>
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I walked away from these three months physically tired, but mentally enriched. I walked away with a new set of friends who are remarkable in every way- all of us tied together by bonds of sleep deprivation. I have slower days ahead, which is a welcome relief from how busy life has been over the last few weeks; but a part of me probably misses the excitement of working towards a common goal with a set of like-minded people. Some of the members of the PEMDAS team have graduated and moved on to bigger things in life, but they have promised to return to watch PEMDAS-2 take to the skies, if that were to happen. Members of Team Voyager are back to pursuing their daily lives and hopefully continue to do well. As for me, I'm thankful that I got the opportunity to come to Stanford, and I'm amazed at all the wonderful people and experiences that being here has brought me.</div>
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Team PEMDAS -1 </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYvkN35irrOgH_2Kd2n-EcBgewECR3nRMI7p_8OZSQlz8cPxOFnRr3ZYLHET72M1e0cePNEJVoq11fRW6X1_nZXrds-nvQ7lvGg0-vyW3HjtkWy__N0OEwVObB_heglXx2snZankVK1EMd/s1600/Voyager+&+Voyager.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYvkN35irrOgH_2Kd2n-EcBgewECR3nRMI7p_8OZSQlz8cPxOFnRr3ZYLHET72M1e0cePNEJVoq11fRW6X1_nZXrds-nvQ7lvGg0-vyW3HjtkWy__N0OEwVObB_heglXx2snZankVK1EMd/s400/Voyager+&+Voyager.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Team Voyager</div>
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Wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17394340788831335608noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981310338409264388.post-85449307202755722782013-03-05T12:48:00.001+05:302013-03-05T12:48:13.029+05:30A Safe Place<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I love music. I'm listening to music practically the entire time I'm awake. I'm also averse to change a lot of the time, so I end up cycling through the same songs very often. That's not to say I'm not open to new music- I have a comfort zone and a safe place that I like to visit fairly often. Today, for instance I ended up spending most of my waking hours listening to exactly two songs on loop. There was a strange comfort in the sombre tone of both songs and the sense of familiarity they produced.</div>
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The going has been challenging lately. I find myself involved in large scale projects that are taking a heavy investment of time and thought, leaving me mentally exhausted at the end of the day. One is also obsessively thinking about the course one's life is taking- as I find is the case with a lot of my friends in the same age bracket. I find it strange that it took all of that for me to return to write on my blog, just to find an outlet, which I haven't done for quite a while. My dashboard is now a cluttered pile of half-written posts that I lost the drive to complete somewhere along the way.</div>
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Today's a different story. I already mentioned the two songs that produced a strange sense of comfort all day today. By evening I was listening to a third, and I identified that one as the song that I will always go to when I need peace of mind. I had a chat with a friend soon after, asking him if he had a song like that- a "safe place" as it were. "High hopes, I guess", he said, "what's yours?". My safe place is this Dave Matthews Band song called #41. There are no inspirational lyrics, nothing that would obviously connect, but it's just there. I don't know if it's in that guitar lick that plays through the entire song, or in LeRoi or Jeff Coffin's saxophone interludes, but there's something that always presses the right buttons. When I want to feel like it's all going to be OK, that's the song I go to- again and again. I was first introduced to the song way back in 2007 by someone who wanted to share an example of how lively an acoustic guitar needs to sound. It was only a few years later, on my fourth day at Stanford that I felt the comfort that that song provided me. I was deep in the throws of homesickness, wondering how long I'd survive being parted from everyone I knew by half the earth- and then I bought my laptop and #41 was the first song that played. Within about 4 minutes into the song, I felt like I would be just fine, and things will get better soon. Since then, I have visited this song every time I have felt the need to calm myself down, when nothing else has worked, this has always rescued me. </div>
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It was the same story today. This time I felt like I should acknowledge how much this song has helped me over the last two years, without ever really having any words in it that talk to me. This one time, it is purely the music that talks to me, and there's no other song which has the same effect.</div>
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Where is your safe place?</div>
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Wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17394340788831335608noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981310338409264388.post-30689845312212400562012-08-08T07:52:00.004+05:302012-08-08T07:52:39.666+05:30Dear Delhi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Dear Delhi,</div>
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Let's get a few things straight right
here. This letter is going to make me sound fickle- perhaps as fickle
as the state of the monsoon, or the water in my taps at home.</div>
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I'm writing this letter to you to let
you know that you have a secret superpower- one that debilitates
anyone you choose to use it on, Maybe you don't even <i>choose </i>to
use it; maybe it gets exercised purely by virtue of your existence.
There is possibly nothing else in the world that I have encountered
thus far that sets off an explosion of existential angst inside me
like leaving you behind. Every time I walk out of the airport and I hear men
merrily cussing at each other in a language that's so familiar, even
when I walk into a WC at the airport (which has become almost some
sort of a ritual) and find a faucet trying to catch my attention, my
first thought is one of unparalleled joy- <i>I'm home; </i>and
the very second thought is that I'll be leaving in just a few days.
That's what you do- you make me feel bipolar. I get into that old
WagonR at home after months and take it out for a spin. All those
months away from you haven't affected my ability to drive on your
crazy roads. This feels natural; not the clean, linear, high speed
streets of far flung lands to the west. I'm on one of these
beautifully paved highways right now and I can't say I don't love
the sight of cars zipping by, but it's not home.</div>
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I can't say I've
never complained and grumbled about you. Just last week, I was left
at home without a drop of water for a few hours almost every day.
I've been concerned for a long time that you're crumbling under the
weight of those you support. The metro's crowded, the buses are
crowded, the streets are crowded. The other day I was stuck in
traffic for more hours than it had rained that day. I was yelling my
lungs out that day about how you couldn't handle a single season
without problems, whilst feeling somewhat ashamed at my reduced
levels of tolerance. Having said all of
that, I spent the entire twenty hours on the plane that carried me
away thinking about you and waiting for my next return to swing by
soon. </div>
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Like every other time I've dragged myself away, I agonized
about situations where I wouldn't have to leave and how I would find
other things to be bothered about. Like every other time I've dragged
myself away, I wondered if this was all worth it, but I guess the
promise of the future must be, or I wouldn't have willingly put
myself through this for the last two years. You've got me thinking about the purpose of life on more than one occasion. </div>
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All I want you to
know is that no matter how much I complain when I'm there, not a day
goes by when I don't think about being back to give you an opportunity to exercise your superpower.</div>
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Sincerely,</div>
</div>
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Existentially angsty</div>
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</div>Wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17394340788831335608noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981310338409264388.post-92223597067141443852012-01-23T14:08:00.002+05:302012-01-23T14:36:52.101+05:30The Most Dangerous of All Lies<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I've been re-reading my copy of <i>The Satanic Verses; </i>not because of the whole hullabaloo that's erupted in India conveniently before the state elections. I'm a slow reader, I've spent over a month poring through these pages, well before Rushdie announced his intent to visit Jaipur. That being said, I don't want to write a discourse about censorship vs free speech. </div>
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The strange thing about this book is that it has a fantastic sense of imagery. Whatever you hear about the Satanic Verses in the public domain is always about the controversial chapters. The ones where he blasphemes like crazy. But there is so much more to this book. The first time I read it, I used to get these dreams with weird figures dancing all over. I remember I sat up in the middle of the night a couple of times , unable to understand what I just dreamed. This time has been relatively mellow. Amongst the parts that usually get left out of a public discourse, are these little gems I found as I started on Page 305 a few minutes ago-</div>
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"...her father Otto Cone, the art historian and biographer of Picabia, had spoken to her in her fourteenth and his final year of 'the most dangerous of all the lies we are fed in our lives', which was, in his opinion, the idea of continuum. 'Anybody ever tries to tell you how this most beautiful and most evil of planets is somehow homogeneous, composed only of reconcilable elements, that it all <i>adds up</i>, you get on the phone to the straitjacket tailor'..."</div>
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"...Ghosts, Nazis, saints, all alive at the same time; in one spot, blissful happiness, while down the road, the inferno. You can't ask for a wilder place..."</div>
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A book worth picking up, where legal; not just for the blasphemous parts.</div>
</div>Wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17394340788831335608noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981310338409264388.post-35374085542114624382012-01-22T13:28:00.000+05:302012-01-23T14:36:52.071+05:30The Sun is the same in a relative way...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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...but you're older.</div>
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Fare thee well, 2011. Like most other things last year, my regular New Year's Eve post didn't make it on time. The reason I pick those lines up from one of my favourite Pink Floyd songs is the fact that that song was central to my life last year, especially towards the end. In the beginning there was plenty of it, somewhere down the middle I was wasting a lot of it, and towards the end, I was scrambling to save as much of it as possible, just so I could spend those precious few minutes with the people I love. All said and done, it treated me well in 2011. It showed me sights, it made me hear voices and granted me a fair degree of professional success. The beauty about the passage of time, is that it never lets you stay satisfied with what it has brought you. It continues to flow, and you submit yourself to wanting more and more out of life. But without that, I guess there'd be no joy to watching time fly right by. There would be no challenge, and I wouldn't like a life without a challenge to keep it going. So I begin 2012 with a new set of challenges to face, a new list to scratch stuff out of, and quite surprisingly, no <i>Kappal Antry </i>quips (I was tempted to call them jokes).</div>
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I read this <a href="http://www.physicsforums.com/showthread.php?t=565255" target="_blank">PhD Comic </a>recently, according to which I'd be classified as a weirdo (by a long shot) for wishing my readers (the very few of them that might glance this way) a happy new year three weeks into it. But I'm well beyond the point of being classified that way, let alone by a webcomic. So, happy new year folks! Hope it's great for you and for me!</div>
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The story continues in 2012...</div>
</div>Wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17394340788831335608noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981310338409264388.post-69988869525542709242011-11-20T02:52:00.001+05:302011-11-20T03:17:29.854+05:30The Learning Curve<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I knew it had been a long time since I wandered in this direction as soon as I opened my blog page. Things have changed remarkably around here and I've been away far too long. It took me a while to find my way here, but all that matters is that the absence is over. </div>
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The absence had a very good reason- I was working hard so that people would accept the fact that I was fit enough to sign myself up to a life of scholarly poverty. Sounds almost paradoxical that you should need someone's permission to inflict punishment upon yourself; in fact as it turns out you need to inflict punishment upon yourself for a few months so that powers that be allow you to inflict punishment upon yourselves and people around you for years to come. In short, I was steeped in my preparation for <i>Quals. </i></div>
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Anyone who has ever dabbled (successfully or otherwise) with this thing they call a PhD. knows what this monstrosity entails. The experiences are varied, but vivid and grotesque nonetheless. For a few months, I forgot about all else and struggled to pass. Ignore my diatribe about inflicting punishment, because the only reason you would ever put up with something like this, is because you love doing what you do. You would put up with many shortcomings of your beloved, just so you could be with them for longer (I did not just write that!). The good thing though, is that they are now over, and they went exceedingly well. The better thing is that they went exceedingly well for all of my friends who struggled with me through those torrid months. It's like life flipped a switch this last Tuesday. We all went from busy, strung up and almost neurotic to almost hippie-like within the span of a few hours. Worries were forgotten, and so was work. How long this Bohemian existence will last is anyone's guess.</div>
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This post started to form when I was struggling with a concept during the course of my preparation, and feeling rather stupid about it. My brain began to meander and began to think of how the story of anyone's education starts. My thoughts took me to over twenty years ago when someone was teaching me how to draw "standing" and "sleeping" lines. There was that time when I could barely write the alphabet of any language. People had to hold my hand to teach me how to write words, read and understand simple things that happened around me. Years passed and things I learned things that were far more complicated. It took a period of twenty years of constant training and learning to get stuck on the concept that I was battling with right now. That made me feel a lot better about myself. But more so, it made me marvel at the ability of the brain to evolve and learn things. We often forget how wondrous and ground-breaking that transformation is- probably because it's a slow process in the time-scale of everyday life. It is not a trivial matter that in a matter of two decades, we've all gone from not being able to convey a single thought in an intelligent way to being expert doctors, engineers, actors, bankers, chefs, lawyers, artists and the list goes on.</div>
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This post is as much a tribute to those unsung heroes in our lives. Those people who we've probably forgotten and left behind in the course of our adventures. These people rarely ever got credit for laying the foundation for you to learn everything else that you know. If it wasn't for their patience, you'd probably be a fraction of what you are right now. </div>
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Here's saluting everyone in my life who shaped me. The one who taught me how to write the alphabet, the one who taught me how to count, the science teacher in fifth grade, the math teacher in the tenth grade, and the people who followed them and left an indelible mark on my life, and are continuing to do so. </div>
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</div>Wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17394340788831335608noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981310338409264388.post-31159149297705083362011-08-10T19:51:00.000+05:302012-01-23T14:36:59.970+05:30A Tale of Three Suburbs...And a Fourth One Really Far Away <p style="text-align: justify;margin-bottom: 0in; ">The tale of three suburbs has rather painful intermissions. They involve an upwelling of emotions that are better locked away and stored safely at the bottom of the ocean. They involve plenty of smoky eyes threatening to breach and then a lot cajoling oneself that something better lies in store for the future. After countless pep-talking soliloquies, one manages to put up a brave front, only to find it crumbling within seconds of hearing the voices of those who will not be there to see, or feel the comforting touch of, for a while to come. A while, that has in the past, proved itself to be fleeting; but at the present moment seems like eternity. “This too shall pass, and we’ll all return to the warm company of each other soon”, says the voice of reason. The voice of reason is right, but fails to strike a chord with every other nerve in the body that wants to bolt in the opposite direction. Some choices in life are difficult, and have to be made; for a future that is uncertain, but is conceivably better; for a future that may not exist, but holds a lot of promise. And such a choice has been made. <i>Hum bhi chal diye.</i></p> <p style="text-align: justify;margin-bottom: 0in; ">Why do I call my story thus? The three suburbs are what my life revolves around, but it’s the fourth, halfway around the world that always manages to drag me away.</p>Wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17394340788831335608noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981310338409264388.post-24732709427468096342010-12-31T18:19:00.002+05:302010-12-31T18:36:23.612+05:30It'll Soon Shake Your Windows and Rattle Your Walls...<div style="text-align: justify;">It sure will. In just over four hours if you're reading this in the same time zone that I'm writing it in. This blog has now outlasted the use of the title "Curtains" for my new year's eve post. And even though the blog is on it's last legs (and for good reason), I've still managed to pop in for a few minutes to bid farewell to what has been one of the most eventful years of my life. I think this year deserves its twenty one gun salute for the change it has brought about in my life and the lives of many people around me. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It was a year full of struggles, and victories for all of us. Victories were always preceded by setbacks and doubts, but they came nonetheless. One of those victories has nearly managed to kill my blog, but save my blog I must, and save my blog I will; next year. It's a little hard for me to match last year, when it comes down to writing my targets for the next year on a little sheet of paper (something that I have been doing for 6 years). But the more I think about the coming year, the more I run into questions that need to be answered, hence populating my tiny sheet of paper.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">As for what's going to happen to me in the next few hours- as one of my friends put it a couple of days back, the non-resident Indian is in demand this year round. To put it more accurately, the non-resident Indian is scrambling to spend as much time as he can with all the people who are dearest to him; at least the ones that are around, because his friend circle has seen a large scale westward migration this year. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">So, I bid you a fond farewell, 2010 (fonder than you'll ever know). May you have made changes to my life that I will cherish for many new year's eve posts to come. A very happy new year to all of my readers as well. For those of you who think this is all consumerist humbug, I grudge you not; but I also hope you find time to celebrate the act of wiping your slate clean and starting over, be it today or some other glorious day. For all of my friends who're still being tortured by the <i>Kappal Antry </i>gang, my heart goes out to you. Someday we'll form an army and overthrow the evil empire. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Someday.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div><meta equiv="content-type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8">Wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17394340788831335608noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981310338409264388.post-36538663724069744892010-10-31T21:10:00.001+05:302010-11-01T09:55:59.762+05:30Déjà vu- Chapter 5- Then There Were Two (Nubra Valley)<div style="text-align: justify;">Travails of grad school have almost ensured the death of my blog, and with it, my travelogue; but every story, regardless of whether anyone reads it or not, deserves an ending. This story is etched in my memory like it was yesterday, and so I shall labour on till I bring it to its rightful conclusion. Bring it on grad school! Now read on...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;">I had a similarly named chapter in <i>The Circle of Life</i>, primarily because in every trip, something changes when the number reduces to two. I am yet to reach a level of understanding that allows me to articulate what this something is, but something changes. The morning of the 25th of June saw the departure of Manav and PP, leaving Mohsin and me as the final two survivors of this trip. Of course, Khalid would join later with his friend Balli, and double up that number yet again. Enough about numbers though, the thing about being just two travellers in Ladakh, is that one gets to meet a larger number of strangers in the shared cab rides. Mohsin and I were quite excited about the idea of visiting <i>Nubra</i>; I personally was very excited about crossing <i>Khardung La</i>, the highest motorable road in the world.</div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A rainy and gloomy morning welcomed the two of us, something that seemed rather out of sorts in Leh. We got ready and hurriedly headed to the crossroad near our hotel where the familiar face of Jigme stood with his familiar car. Two new faces, however, had also materialized. These two gentlemen, would be our co-travellers for the next 36 hours. One of them was Himanshu, a doctor from <i>Chandigarh</i>, and very little will be said about him in this post, and even less in a very flattering tone. The other gentleman, however, was a very interesting person to be travelling with. Enter, John Vass, the travelling septuagenarian. I only realized John's age a few hours later as we sat and discussed war (where he shared experiences as a kid in the second World War) in the heart of the <i>Nubra </i>valley. John had been travelling for the last five years, from country to country, spending all the money he had earned for the past forty-odd as a Company Secretary in England. On this leg, he had started in South-East Asia, moved up via Thailand and Myanmar, gone into Tibet and finally landed in Ladakh. His future travel plans were even more interesting. He was planning to go to Indonesia in three weeks and then finally land up on one of the islands of Vanuatu in the Pacific Ocean. John seemed to like the hermit way of life, constantly seeking to get away from civilization. Even on this trip, his plan was to stay on for a few days in Nubra and trek around. Those plans would be thwarted by a surprise obstacle, but I'll get to that later. For now, we were slowly motoring up the mountains to Leh's north, under a constant, sharp drizzle. As we climbed further up, towards <i>South Pullu</i>, the checkpoint on this side of Khardung La, the laws of nature had taken their course and the rain turned to snow.</div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRt42X8HJnxRZPA15miFsdRUkqeue0VeXB4GqWKLxkANnlmni30WvfmsAm-b8AjYtWD8xx0zRrhsVRUa1HDDfidnOJoR3Ty5TJsXE-j9qEmjA5mN7s6XtY2ZGI9yaX4ejobeJOA3efOATw/s1600/Kashmir+1193.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 208px; height: 306px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRt42X8HJnxRZPA15miFsdRUkqeue0VeXB4GqWKLxkANnlmni30WvfmsAm-b8AjYtWD8xx0zRrhsVRUa1HDDfidnOJoR3Ty5TJsXE-j9qEmjA5mN7s6XtY2ZGI9yaX4ejobeJOA3efOATw/s320/Kashmir+1193.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534417856288191410" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9fFzPMPndE3xsxVuTafaopREDaqh_PijKjuKi2iToVYuDJ078JAUpvW4-59hHpHXILoztUQcQqNVDo5hswKChW67-7kQm4Zm9zK_9ywCp_-4HMq6YKtCH3aUa6LpdkaSOlqe_RyrPzVe8/s1600/Kashmir+1198.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 232px; height: 309px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9fFzPMPndE3xsxVuTafaopREDaqh_PijKjuKi2iToVYuDJ078JAUpvW4-59hHpHXILoztUQcQqNVDo5hswKChW67-7kQm4Zm9zK_9ywCp_-4HMq6YKtCH3aUa6LpdkaSOlqe_RyrPzVe8/s320/Kashmir+1198.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534417879756914210" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimUfHzJtXnlj-pSanKJH9Huo5_XYYaUhW7u9k3MmWf0IWLTIUMMHj9IiJMBPcIyG-MnHNQ3dJ1X7rHIwgYy-LKLatpklXRUJpSsoyu343EoxLgJGoHQbshj70nhq9tZjd2Jw2w79S3iEme/s1600/Kashmir+1224.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 257px; height: 246px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimUfHzJtXnlj-pSanKJH9Huo5_XYYaUhW7u9k3MmWf0IWLTIUMMHj9IiJMBPcIyG-MnHNQ3dJ1X7rHIwgYy-LKLatpklXRUJpSsoyu343EoxLgJGoHQbshj70nhq9tZjd2Jw2w79S3iEme/s320/Kashmir+1224.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534417887506129122" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhutdlQ0Z7qMj9KDC3rj9vgePbVwbYnNDNbinyO0mMPD2QClAA9M31Kifc7Kkhyg4A0HW6tCVQDcpYZE4pWSF6JZEM4oQAIfEN-4QGVd8_n7la_PFT2eXwzlJkLmf27u4qtpXt36A2JjB4W/s1600/Kashmir+1197.jpg"> <img style="cursor: pointer; width: 186px; height: 248px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhutdlQ0Z7qMj9KDC3rj9vgePbVwbYnNDNbinyO0mMPD2QClAA9M31Kifc7Kkhyg4A0HW6tCVQDcpYZE4pWSF6JZEM4oQAIfEN-4QGVd8_n7la_PFT2eXwzlJkLmf27u4qtpXt36A2JjB4W/s320/Kashmir+1197.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534417874454529554" border="0" /></a><br />(Above: Clockwise from top-left: A snowy drive to Khardung La, at the Khardung La zero-point, Jigme on a frozen floor, North Pullu)<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It was snowing quite heavily as we drove right up to the zero-point at Khardung La. The floor of the local Army cafe had frozen over in places. Jigme, the frisky man that he is, proceeded to perform an impromptu moonwalk on the frozen areas of the floor as we bought some supplies. The toilets, the highest in the world, were outside, and by now filled with snow. Khardung La is at an altitude of 18,380 feet above sea level. This is the highest a car can go anywhere in the world. This road is also a key supply route for the army to get supplies to the soldiers posted at the <i>Siachen </i>glacier, which is the highest battlefield in the world. More soldiers die in Siachen because of the cold, than due to enemy firing. On moving further, we found that the road had narrowed considerably and we soon ran into a bottleneck, as two trucks tried to pass each other in the distance. Mohsin and I decided to take a walk while the traffic jam abated, and were pleasantly surprised at how well acclimatized we had become to high altitude. In the last four days, we had traversed the three highest motorable passes in the world. The traffic jam eased out soon, and so did the snow; so the sun was out by the time we reached <i>North Pullu</i>, the check-point on the other side of the pass. North Pullu also offered us a glimpse of the valley of the Nubra river in the distance. As we drove down from North Pullu, it was really hard to miss the Grand-Canyon-esque structures that the Nubra river was creating. Of course, it wasn't as grand as the natural landmark in the US, but one could think of this as a scale model of the same. The drive down was smooth and swift, and following a quick lunch where John was given a short tour of Indian food, we were at a fork. Right ahead were <i>Diskit </i>and <i>Hunder</i>, and to our right, across the bridge on the Nubra river, was the monastery at <i>Sumur. </i>Right next to the bridge, was also the conjunction of the Nubra and <i>Shyok </i>rivers. We took the right and drove to the <i>Sumur </i>monastery. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbExMbY3TnRf1a0oMfD3uGmHFTxqC1qA0WeNd6Cru8ew5dn1hi4BlJDGbJ9ctJm-f9VarPlG1ftkmM8qr0IMe_FI8_wlxWT4Gsox323FNabb6me95Mu7Nrt_OLN_AuUnntk7mY8Wnp7B_s/s1600/Kashmir+1230.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 180px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbExMbY3TnRf1a0oMfD3uGmHFTxqC1qA0WeNd6Cru8ew5dn1hi4BlJDGbJ9ctJm-f9VarPlG1ftkmM8qr0IMe_FI8_wlxWT4Gsox323FNabb6me95Mu7Nrt_OLN_AuUnntk7mY8Wnp7B_s/s320/Kashmir+1230.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534419126055696626" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2i4tf6bOiKWV3jhEAUODD-W31EomYoaU0Ue8HD_WJU7IzrfvaU1izMTJKQCOW8JO-a-7AdBgFChhx3JE6yDQuwf96PmH_KuXQZPBi3a__BaTkv_wJxF6f4rqJHw_X4ScnBFQ4cFNkpzfv/s1600/Kashmir+1247.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2i4tf6bOiKWV3jhEAUODD-W31EomYoaU0Ue8HD_WJU7IzrfvaU1izMTJKQCOW8JO-a-7AdBgFChhx3JE6yDQuwf96PmH_KuXQZPBi3a__BaTkv_wJxF6f4rqJHw_X4ScnBFQ4cFNkpzfv/s320/Kashmir+1247.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534419150932443090" border="0" /></a><br />(Above: Left to right: "Grand Canyon-esque" structures, main prayer hall of Sumur monastery)<br /></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The <em>Sumur </em>monastery is located on the ancient silk route. In fact, the route at the base of the mountain is vaguely visible from the huge courtyard of the monastery. The drop in altitude was apparent; we didn't puff our way up the hill and we certainly weren't puffing as we marched into the main prayer hall at Sumur. Then followed a small guided tour of Mahayana Buddhism, courtesy Jigme. He explained to us, the meaning of the murals of the Buddha and the parables painted on the walls of the monastery. Not all of it made a lot of sense, which leads me to believe that Jigme didn't know a whole lot. Mohsin would concur on that line of thought. The visit to Sumur was short, given that there really wasn't much to see. We piled back into Jigme's car. The plan was to head to <em>Hunder</em> and spend the night there. We headed straight back for the fork and took the other turn. We headed straight down the flat road leading to Hunder, crossing a bunch of small waterfalls on the way. We also crossed the monastery at Diskit on the way, but that was something we had planned to visit the next morning. I was staring out of the window at this point, but one of my ears was recording a rather interesting conversation between Himanshu and Jigme. This is how that conversation went:</div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong>Himanshu:</strong> Can everyone become a Buddhist monk?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong>Jigme:</strong> Yes, everyone can. Even you can.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong>Himanshu:</strong> But if everyone becomes a monk, where will everyone stay?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong>Jigme:</strong> Err...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">(<em>5 minutes later)</em></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong>Jigme:</strong> Look! That's the statue of Buddha Maitreya.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">(<em>Everyone looks towards a giant statue of Buddha Maitreya</em></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong>Himanshu:</strong> Who is he? Isn't the Buddha someone else?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong>Jigme:</strong> We believe that this world order will be destroyed and a new world created. Buddha Maitreya will be the Buddha in the new world order. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong>Himanshu:</strong> But if the whole world is destroyed, that statue will also be destroyed!<br /><br /></div><strong><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><strong>Jigme:</strong> Err...</span></div></strong></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div> </div><div style="text-align: justify;">Needless to say, that conversation Mohsin and me entertained right until the point where we began to see the sand dunes at Hunder. We stopped the car and got out to look out over the valley floor, and we found that this was a really strange place. In the same field of view, we could see greenery, mountains, water, clouds and grey sand dunes. Hunder is an amazing combination of many different kinds of landscape. We drove into the village to look for a place to stay, and after looking at various places, we finally chose a homestay run by Sonam and his family. The family had Sonam, two children and the grandparents; supported by one Mr. Sharma, originally from Uttar Pradesh. Sonam's wife lives with their third child in Srinagar, where she is working as a teacher. The family, like most other families I had seen in Ladakh, lives close to the earth. They grow their own vegetables and fruits and have some animals for milk, meat and butter. This, aside from the day job that everyone has. The remoteness of this area would become apparent to us, as we incessantly tried to contact people, barely 300-500 kilometers away, without success most of the time. Having exchanged pleasantries with the family, we realized that the sun was beginning to set, and now would be a good time to hit the dunes in Hunder. An interesting feature of the dunes are the two-hump Bactrian camels. Originally thought to have been brought in from Central Asia, there's a fair number of them here (most of them domesticated) and are used to offer camel rides to interested tourists. Mohsin and I weren't really fond of animal rides, so we decided to explore the grey sands on foot, unintentionally ruining some photographs of an American photography group that had probably paid through its nose to get photographs of what it was convinced was "Real India". John headed off in a different direction, and group clown Himanshu decided to take the two-humped camel for a spin. The sand dunes themselves are rather interesting. If you were to look at the sand closely, you would find a very wide range of colours, which from a larger distance appears grey. The dunes are also pretty high, some going as high as 50-100 feet. There wasn't really much to do aside from sitting on the sand and reminiscing about the trip that was already behind us, now that it was just the two of us left. That being said, there was still over a week to go before we would go back home.</div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCBmZjU2VbdhTOcDuhh7LoDG0ZmZR2GFoX-dtAKYjd7zG9yZvuFRm0yFxJ-oBDdTtA2kLtTBVw6dh8yjd7zZU8t-sAFu8vndke_j9abd4NZTavNm9QFTD3jZP7xyTZLYy8XBjdA74e0RMj/s1600/Kashmir+1273.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 135px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCBmZjU2VbdhTOcDuhh7LoDG0ZmZR2GFoX-dtAKYjd7zG9yZvuFRm0yFxJ-oBDdTtA2kLtTBVw6dh8yjd7zZU8t-sAFu8vndke_j9abd4NZTavNm9QFTD3jZP7xyTZLYy8XBjdA74e0RMj/s320/Kashmir+1273.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534419156542743170" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglD0tryhAoaU2PD2slEuHkK9kxTg63r_njmHOv4-SEjsjSvq_8Aw7sbD_E1Zumb3CS9yPqpmRZ4FLvoEzYYGADC8yIX3enrWm9ivY9EBHM9azhaaJrUT3bAF6zq60Rxm2S1DHa42F82Pom/s1600/Kashmir+1287.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 209px; height: 157px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglD0tryhAoaU2PD2slEuHkK9kxTg63r_njmHOv4-SEjsjSvq_8Aw7sbD_E1Zumb3CS9yPqpmRZ4FLvoEzYYGADC8yIX3enrWm9ivY9EBHM9azhaaJrUT3bAF6zq60Rxm2S1DHa42F82Pom/s320/Kashmir+1287.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534419164344984050" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK7ppP8cAt-kvfJfLnzOhicux2VajUjO8Drro3DGWzB6OmT1nTJ6Y6PhH4tEV8HG7iZv1Pg3diZ067LHRFOPtbxZvyE_LZan1RgnzorAjZyA2jcxXAgN2Ra8QVjb7D1aLvPVC4BcOaosan/s1600/Kashmir+1306.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 183px; height: 244px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK7ppP8cAt-kvfJfLnzOhicux2VajUjO8Drro3DGWzB6OmT1nTJ6Y6PhH4tEV8HG7iZv1Pg3diZ067LHRFOPtbxZvyE_LZan1RgnzorAjZyA2jcxXAgN2Ra8QVjb7D1aLvPVC4BcOaosan/s320/Kashmir+1306.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534420546706642386" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSaGclS3rsAraZfVGivyhfvCiz4gSr20ee6tE4z3eJKMSVjzF7Vlathvw2ZsIl7Ef0G9cvUO3IYPGMAv4orxnA_9iLHNr2OiVl7rUDZCMbIi1s0R6nIEiSSsNzosX5Sxs95ijEvIMSt6AX/s1600/Kashmir+1313.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 269px; height: 245px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSaGclS3rsAraZfVGivyhfvCiz4gSr20ee6tE4z3eJKMSVjzF7Vlathvw2ZsIl7Ef0G9cvUO3IYPGMAv4orxnA_9iLHNr2OiVl7rUDZCMbIi1s0R6nIEiSSsNzosX5Sxs95ijEvIMSt6AX/s320/Kashmir+1313.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534420560871534098" border="0" /></a><br />(Above: Clockwise from top-left: Everything in one place at Hunder, two-humped Bactrian camels, tea at Sonam's house, on top of the dunes)<br /><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;">By the time the sun had gone down, a happy and hungry bunch headed down to Sonam's, where a meal of garden fresh vegetables was being prepared for us. By now the two of us were getting used to the warm hospitality of the Ladakhi people. A big part of their hospitality is the butter tea, to have less than two cups of which at any time (and there are about 10 such times in the day) is considered rude. Ergo, a giant flask of butter tea was drained amongst the four of us (John refrained from "rancid" butter tea) as we sat there chatting about Ladakh, and life in remote areas. At this point, the moon began to rise from behind the mountains that bound Hunder. The clouds, the moon and the shadow of the trees that blocked parts of the moonlight, created a very scenic set-piece, one that I refused to not photograph. Himanshu would also join in the action, with his fancy D-SLR set on the automatic mode. Living close to the earth was quite an enriching experience. Fresh food has a different flavour altogether. We retired early that night; for one we were quite tired, and everything else aside, there was really nothing to do.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYlgZFSk5Hmq-o6No8P-PH3VUAf24MQEnqvVOi3SB9pYk0jNxL3bPNhmrCccaPS8BpwTbs9eBYnZb4quPU7GNg-855z4U02TxSSZLTJC-Eq1qVH1hqdgkwzf4_VrNSdgSVikQsWgdvyt-8/s1600/Kashmir+1332.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 229px; height: 171px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYlgZFSk5Hmq-o6No8P-PH3VUAf24MQEnqvVOi3SB9pYk0jNxL3bPNhmrCccaPS8BpwTbs9eBYnZb4quPU7GNg-855z4U02TxSSZLTJC-Eq1qVH1hqdgkwzf4_VrNSdgSVikQsWgdvyt-8/s320/Kashmir+1332.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534420564919713074" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_OnX9PTzH0y6V6DheLLbvswtTX5gdmEBWXcyYC-psunavXWk5AXaa0O2cllrkqFoUKgIkYMXWAVAQtIgq1Tm0_MvrWaRccWV0r9isFsfXGpk_6Yjn0tXYoIQKUVzvanikczGg4jxX_4HP/s1600/Kashmir+1337.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 298px; height: 172px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_OnX9PTzH0y6V6DheLLbvswtTX5gdmEBWXcyYC-psunavXWk5AXaa0O2cllrkqFoUKgIkYMXWAVAQtIgq1Tm0_MvrWaRccWV0r9isFsfXGpk_6Yjn0tXYoIQKUVzvanikczGg4jxX_4HP/s320/Kashmir+1337.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534420571144785746" border="0" /></a><br />(Above: Left to right: Night at Hunder, with Sonam (white hat) and his family (gradma missing in action))<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We woke up to a bright sunny morning (and you guessed it, more butter tea). Sonam's father was busy beating fresh butter to serve to with our morning bread. John materialized from his cabin after a while, and looked worried. An old sinus infection he had picked up in China had resurfaced, derailing his plans for a longer stay in Nubra. He decided to leave with us for Leh. A sumptuous breakfast, and a few bright and smiley photographs later, we were on the road again. Our first stop, was the monastery at Diskit, that we had crossed the previous day (also the scene of a great conversation between Jigme and Himanshu). Jigme gave us another quick lesson in Buddhism (which, again, I suspect was utterly erroneous) whilst we puffed up the steep steps of the Diskit Monastery. The whole area was undergoing renovation in preparation of the Dalai Lama's visit in July. From the main prayer room of the Diskit Gompa, we got a stunning panoramic view of the Nubra and Shyok Valley, with the statue of Buddha Maitreya in the foreground, followed by a vast expanse of flat land and then the towering mountains in the distance. Unfortunately, the upper levels of the statue were closed because of renovation, but we did manage to get close enough to it to admire the sheer size of this colourful creation. About half an hour later, we were driving on the road back to Leh, smack in the middle of the Enfield India Himalayan Odyssey. The Himalayan Odyssey is an annual Enfield motorcycle rally that usually tours Ladakh around June-July. This was a pretty dispersed set of over hundred bikes. At North Pullu, where we had to wait for a substantial period of time, so that the army convoy coming from the other side could pass, Mohsin and I engaged one of the participants of the rally, Harsha, in conversation about his journey so far, the intricacies of Tamil politics and other sundry things. Over a smoke, he told us about his struggle to get across Khardung La two days ago, where he'd nearly been frostbitten. Towards the end of that conversation, Harsha was joined by Inayan, his friend from the south whose biggest contribution to my life has been to teach me a word in my own mother-tongue that I wasn't aware of- I still educate people about toasting drinks with the word "<span style="font-style: italic;">Magilchi</span>" ("happiness" in Tamil). Soon it was time for all of us to leave North Pullu and we bade farewell to Harsha and Inayan, two more eccentric additions to this story.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqbQs-tjfsermgrtVWxIe9iYvFduR1s4P1tG5SzJvD_3iZZF1OTbd5R2mjgZ6V1xkg5sSoOvIvIu3piaT_yi1IfJVgSkBpO3RAMWYbbS2zMDAK7uV7sGba1qu0TPXhSOFPDdxZO7h01Q1h/s1600/Kashmir+1348.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 187px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqbQs-tjfsermgrtVWxIe9iYvFduR1s4P1tG5SzJvD_3iZZF1OTbd5R2mjgZ6V1xkg5sSoOvIvIu3piaT_yi1IfJVgSkBpO3RAMWYbbS2zMDAK7uV7sGba1qu0TPXhSOFPDdxZO7h01Q1h/s320/Kashmir+1348.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534420571948658130" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvR4nHnNnMtV80yP3pZ3Q9JVdubvF3DAWcXhZjyKdUU23yJsCyvr_Fic2oW4aeV_rtvzXGFKm_bDqsfSbjXwegvXV_cv2UIaZ4vfsNVmB2r1ZI1yZIiJt4XiqQrzN0SjNcGUkSiqdOMOd2/s1600/Kashmir+1374.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 211px; height: 188px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvR4nHnNnMtV80yP3pZ3Q9JVdubvF3DAWcXhZjyKdUU23yJsCyvr_Fic2oW4aeV_rtvzXGFKm_bDqsfSbjXwegvXV_cv2UIaZ4vfsNVmB2r1ZI1yZIiJt4XiqQrzN0SjNcGUkSiqdOMOd2/s320/Kashmir+1374.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534422013417450370" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidZG-VI83DHw0jzo7Yv0SPkdelBcQwgrCyIk7wKycSNDk1XulYx0NN9ZIdwVf1qC4xCWV7ImV4d5vYvbeTG5J7bxDxNN5i2ilPFvCm8NGakJwv2DrL5dwVN6E8A3aGpOjklly3sFtACv-W/s1600/Kashmir+1392.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 248px; height: 140px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidZG-VI83DHw0jzo7Yv0SPkdelBcQwgrCyIk7wKycSNDk1XulYx0NN9ZIdwVf1qC4xCWV7ImV4d5vYvbeTG5J7bxDxNN5i2ilPFvCm8NGakJwv2DrL5dwVN6E8A3aGpOjklly3sFtACv-W/s320/Kashmir+1392.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534422019884769954" border="0" /> </a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA3RaDieANE8TdLvgWCVS-lvUWpE0bXxKX3kgMSlAfjtTSe7fxti-nc0U2qT2QwHo7oZilwCC61YoNCgl6y-RBZX3PFHj6XxOEo7Z07Mo7ihpZCjdhIu-z9XAbLRnIudjKf8ItFKIF73H_/s1600/Kashmir+1383.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 219px; height: 141px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA3RaDieANE8TdLvgWCVS-lvUWpE0bXxKX3kgMSlAfjtTSe7fxti-nc0U2qT2QwHo7oZilwCC61YoNCgl6y-RBZX3PFHj6XxOEo7Z07Mo7ihpZCjdhIu-z9XAbLRnIudjKf8ItFKIF73H_/s320/Kashmir+1383.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534422018925805858" border="0" /></a><br />(Above: Clockwise from top-left: The view from Diskit, riders from the Himalayan Odyssey, just below the Khardung La zero-point, Leh and the Stok range)<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We were slowly labouring our way up the steep roads leading to Khardung La, flanked on three sides by Enfield bikes and on the fourth by a steep and unpleasant drop into the Nubra valley. A blockage near the throat of the pass gave Mohsin and me some more time to walk around in the snow and admire the view. It was bright and sunny as we crossed Khardung La, as opposed to the previous day, when it had been snowing. In the bright, clear sky, we got a great view of the <span style="font-style: italic;">Stok</span> range that forms the western wall that bounds Leh. The highest peak in the Stok range, the <span style="font-style: italic;">Stok Kangri </span>was also clearly visible. Right after we crossed Khardung La, we were also finally able to get through to Khalid- well, not really, he seems to really love being at the market (more on that later). A quick half hour long descent followed and we wheeled right back on to the <span style="font-style: italic;">Upper Tukcha </span>road where Ifti's assistant was waiting for us in the office of Snowfield Tours and Treks.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We parted ways at the Snowfield office. Mohsin and I would leave for Kargil the next morning, John headed his own way, and I would receive an email from him about three weeks later, telling me that he was on a remote island in Indonesia.This was also the last time we would see Jigme, who had been such a great friend to have around during our travel through Ladakh. Mohsin and I spent a relaxed evening, and made another trip to our favourite, "World Garden Cafe". The night came with its own sense of melancholy for me, a return of that sense of déjà vu, because I wasn't too happy about leaving Leh the last time around either. But there was more to look forward to. Khalid was waiting in Kargil and had plenty of places to take us to. For now though, this was the end of Leh; or at least that's what the plan was.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglmCzJKdj9dF8WP9OL1DY4VBpkuiIJ0itye4JrM4Q9WbBCWna9tQwPZMWdHJlKHVUfKUVNx1zNiunNb7qol4ZoLVjkjAKo25r_ibhOag6CuA9yONzYFhDolslmTXl5ShkZlDnAlPIqdcDs/s1600/Kashmir+1394.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglmCzJKdj9dF8WP9OL1DY4VBpkuiIJ0itye4JrM4Q9WbBCWna9tQwPZMWdHJlKHVUfKUVNx1zNiunNb7qol4ZoLVjkjAKo25r_ibhOag6CuA9yONzYFhDolslmTXl5ShkZlDnAlPIqdcDs/s320/Kashmir+1394.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534422028810720706" border="0" /></a> <br />(Above: One last picture with Jigme and the white Qualis) </div></div></div>Wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17394340788831335608noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981310338409264388.post-55956310945623931912010-09-08T10:51:00.000+05:302010-09-09T11:22:36.464+05:30The Big Move<div style="text-align: justify;">"<em>Vilayat</em>"- I've been fascinated by that word ever since I read Salman Rushdie use it in his own special way. Literally translated, <em>vilayat </em>means "foreign land"; but I think it stands for a whole lot more. I think the word, on some level conveys the enchantment of the subcontinent with foreign lands and their apparent greener pastures, particularly the far flung lands to the west.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div align="justify"> </div><div style="text-align: justify;">I want to take this small intermission from writing my travelogue, which I had determined to finish before I moved base, but the chaos of my last few days at home, combined with an extremely busy schedule filled with emotional goodbyes and also some laziness, made sure that I got absolutely no writing done. Checklist after checklist was made in preparation for my departure and until the day finally came, it was some abstract point of time in the future. For about three days after I began packing my bags, the pang of leaving home came and went from time to time. Of course, there is no stopping time, regardless of how much one wants to, and I found myself on a direct flight to Newark from New Delhi on the night of 2nd September. Another round of extremely emotional goodbyes followed and I prepared for what was going to be an inhumanly long haul of 14 hours followed by a dash through customs and then another haul of 6 hours. The babies on the flight thankfully kept quiet for most of the 14 hours, and only began to scream in unison a short time before we landed.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div align="justify">What followed was a hurried transit through Newark. Everything was new. The people weren't familiar, nor was the place. The body wasn't working according to the law of the land either. But a pretty boring (it has to be, when even your entertainment system is charged) six hour flight later, I found myself on the beautiful final approach to San Francisco. I was picked up by a very kind volunteer who drove me to my new house, and stuck with me when the key didn't open the doors it was supposed to open and had to be replaced! I had landed before any of my friends, and I spent a few miserable hours in a city where I knew no one- homesick, jet-lagged and dazed. The cars went in the other direction, the locks turned in reverse, the measurements were made in unfamiliar units and even the light switches worked the other way! But even in that condition, I didn't fail to notice how beautiful this place is; especially by sunset.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div align="justify"> </div><div style="text-align: justify;">I have now spent nearly a week here. Things have progressively become better. My house is every bit a feel-good house, and it makes me very happy to walk into my living room every morning and see the bright sun shining into it. The weather has been beyond great. As of today, all of my friends have arrived. The last few days have been a process of discovery. My flatmate and I have walked about five kilometres (I remain loyal to the metric system for now) everyday. Each day we discover something new about the place, and become more confident of our bearings; so much so that we are able to guide our friends who came after us. I'm still a little disoriented about the direction of traffic, even more so about the light switches; hopefully that will go away soon.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div align="justify">This intermission is to note that posts on this blog from this point on, until further notice, will be coming to you from the confines of Stanford University, California. :)</div>Wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17394340788831335608noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981310338409264388.post-36589162796144782592010-08-24T11:59:00.012+05:302010-08-26T13:57:32.567+05:30Déjà vu- Chapter 4.2- Seeking 'Tsolitude' with a Vengeance (Pangong Tso, Tsomoriri and Tsokar)<div style="text-align: justify;">I was woken up by the same sun-in-the-face alarm clock the next morning, and I found Shao almost packed and ready to leave. We picked up her bags and headed to find a cab to take her to the airport, but the illness had taken a pretty heavy toll on her. She was finding it really hard to walk, let alone carry her luggage (another little reminder to take AMS seriously). We were supposed to leave for Nubra that day, and that wasn't until atleast ten in the morning, so I accompanied Shao to the airport and made sure she had entered safely. That done, I wound my way back to my hotel and waited for the others to rise and shine. It was around ten-thirty that I got a call from Ifti, our tour operator, who informed us that there had been a avalanche on the road Nubra. PP and I went over to his office, where we met Rohit, who was to accompany us on our journey to Nubra. We were asked to wait for about an hour until someone received a word about the condition of the road. About half an hour later, we were told that the road would not open the same day. Just last evening, Mohsin and I had been gloating about how the trip had gone off completely according to plan, and I had heard a voice in my head that told me I would regret gloating so much. We were in quite a fix because of this sudden change of plans. A waste of a day would mean that one of the two places that were left would have to be scratched out of the itinerary. We had some quick discussions after which we decided that we would move around the plan a little bit. We decided to leave for Tsomoriri the same day, and moved Nubra to the days that we had initially planned for Tsomoriri. Rohit (who had been in Leh for about three weeks because of an internship), who is quite the bird-watching enthusiast also decided to join us, despite the fact that he had been to the lake about a month ago. Ifti scrambled to arrange the fresh set of permits as we relaxed in our hotel rooms, and it was beyond noon by the time we left for Tsomoriri, which is a part of the <span style="font-style: italic;">Changthang </span>plateau (which extends into Tibet and also houses Pangong) about 230 kilometres away from Leh.<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />We were quite excited as we piled into Jigme's car; we would get to stay next to the lake at night, and we'd still get to visit all the places we had planned to visit. Manav, of course, dozed off within minutes into the journey, and kept drifting in and out of sleep till our first lunch stop at the small village of Upshi on the banks of the Indus. We had a fantastic meal at Upshi; the food was great and we were being attended to by a very pretty waitress. The road from Leh bifurcates at Upshi- the left fork goes to Tsomoriri and eastern Ladakh, while the right fork heads southward towards Manali. Right after a very nice filling lunch, we found Manav rather jolly and active, contrary to his usual sleepiness on the road. This was something we had been noticing for quite a while. Ruchira had first pointed it out on our way to Leh from Srinagar, and the phenomenon was unmistakable. "Manav is like an infant on the road. He sleeps, wakes up, eats, plays around and sleeps off again as soon as the fuel has run out", Ruchira once said; and Manav was doing just that. We took the left cut from Upshi and headed towards Eastern Ladakh, with the Indus keeping us company. The road unlike the previous day, was flat and the drive was quick. The Indus, itself was changing moods and colours as we went along. On the way, Jigme pointed out some villages and bridges where some sequences of "Three Idiots" were shot. Soon, we were within touching distance of <span style="font-style: italic;">Chumathang. </span>The Indus had gone from a raging green torrent to a calm, milky blue stream. The valley floor had suddenly opened up, so the river snaked its way past the rocks that littered its path. Here, we also saw a memorial erected for the Indian army. Many memorial headstones covered the mountainside, one for every battalion that fought in the 1962 war with China.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHN-Y5WD5U4QvzTD5SxIHQI4Qy6bn9VI8bx1Yej_5T1Wm2t6J1fLSOK98OCqtyhvqN0G7oyCIuH9WSV4y-sP3ntAe3ZXcCcQuh2JUx5Xh4UXXqQl7oKelo2ckWe780xD8yh1va6zeWKZsV/s1600/Kashmir+894.jpg"><img style="width: 178px; height: 238px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509619073802602546" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHN-Y5WD5U4QvzTD5SxIHQI4Qy6bn9VI8bx1Yej_5T1Wm2t6J1fLSOK98OCqtyhvqN0G7oyCIuH9WSV4y-sP3ntAe3ZXcCcQuh2JUx5Xh4UXXqQl7oKelo2ckWe780xD8yh1va6zeWKZsV/s320/Kashmir+894.jpg" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSgTCDbBV0B2ZcKPVhhh_z8SctujTbd2zZUW3Ag0uK2Hbi6_Q0ykuB70CjgmqITfrYDQVpLGIzRC0Fo1p9XOP02045-pqE0aV-ssCvvo96Cc9MqX1qKELWaE9dZSOGWeGe4IBedVY_46Dl/s1600/Kashmir+897.jpg"><img style="width: 301px; height: 158px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509619081640692258" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSgTCDbBV0B2ZcKPVhhh_z8SctujTbd2zZUW3Ag0uK2Hbi6_Q0ykuB70CjgmqITfrYDQVpLGIzRC0Fo1p9XOP02045-pqE0aV-ssCvvo96Cc9MqX1qKELWaE9dZSOGWeGe4IBedVY_46Dl/s320/Kashmir+897.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIcyQ5LotcLjplgCIGAQHWLiFvapnqip-Fx4KMUNU-uVy3PI2UF_z-18hikX4CFaChoBrULC32OgerK5YkhZeHa9j68fYl2r2ncLNo4Crc0LnaUeTs0rFIUe5SBJFvQSkZMVkj2WDaCyel/s1600/Kashmir+899.jpg"><img style="width: 239px; height: 178px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509619092020910722" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIcyQ5LotcLjplgCIGAQHWLiFvapnqip-Fx4KMUNU-uVy3PI2UF_z-18hikX4CFaChoBrULC32OgerK5YkhZeHa9j68fYl2r2ncLNo4Crc0LnaUeTs0rFIUe5SBJFvQSkZMVkj2WDaCyel/s320/Kashmir+899.jpg" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvdK2hbTRjz31Qbbq7SsYRcFkPLJi-nAsnBEnUNKsU1Wm5whDjF7AGyrbc2b6mfsYQW7Uwpm0rn-ZDG0dcemrGk9DEd3veddfWYsPFy7PNd4QBEpl0ONhBQSrif3C3XL-TDe5WDWSRPm2Q/s1600/Kashmir+908.jpg"><img style="width: 243px; height: 177px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509619099106345138" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvdK2hbTRjz31Qbbq7SsYRcFkPLJi-nAsnBEnUNKsU1Wm5whDjF7AGyrbc2b6mfsYQW7Uwpm0rn-ZDG0dcemrGk9DEd3veddfWYsPFy7PNd4QBEpl0ONhBQSrif3C3XL-TDe5WDWSRPm2Q/s320/Kashmir+908.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />(Above: Clockwise from top-left: Chinese war memorial, multicoloured mountains, the Indus slows down near Chumathang, hot springs at Chumathang)<br /><br />We stopped for tea at Chumathang, which is famous for its hot springs. The putrid smell of Sulphur filled the air, and water could be seen bubbling out of various gaps in the rocks. The sulphur salts were also doing funny things in the water, turning into a strange colour as they mixed with the river water. The stop at Chumathang was short, and about an hour later we arrived at a checkpoint near the village of <span style="font-style: italic;">Mahe. </span>The road straight from Mahe goes to <span style="font-style: italic;">Nyoma</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">Hanle</span>, near the Tibetan border, the road to the right goes to <span style="font-style: italic;">Sumdo</span> and on to Tsomoriri. At Mahe, we were approached by three friendly locals, who were looking for a lift till the Sumdo. We gladly took them on board and the ten of us, including Jigme squeezed into the car and drove on. On the way, we learned about their way of life and how hard it was for them to travel everyday from Sumdo to Mahe, considering that ours was the only vehicle we had seen for about twenty kilometres. Sumdo itself is divided between Upper and Lower Sumdo, separated by about 3-4 kilometres. We dropped off one of our companions at Upper Sumdo and the other two at Lower Sumdo. It was quite a joy to meet the people of Lower Sumdo. There were many children in the mix, who were very excited to see all of us. Right here I re-emphasize the beauty of being on the road. You come across some of the most beautiful people, inside and out, and every such interaction leaves your life enriched in some way.<br /><br />The road had been very pleasant thus far . We drove past <span style="font-style: italic;">Namsung La </span>in a hurry, the pass neither being very high, nor very dramatic; unlike its siblings in the area. But a few kilometers past Namsung La, right in front of us, was one of the most stunning sights we had seen during the entire trip. A small lake called <span style="font-style: italic;">Thadsang Karu </span>with its milky blue water lay right in front. It was quite a beautiful sight- the sun was about to take a nosedive behind the mountains on the right, there was a straight road leading into the blue, and right behind the blue was a white snow clad mountain. What's more, there weren't the usual hundred people contaminating the view. Aside from us, there were only three bikers near the lake who were fixing their bikes. We made a quick photo-stop and stood there for a few minutes admiring the scenery, before Jigme signalled that it was time to leave. The paved road ended at Thadsang Karu; the next twenty odd kilometers down to Tsomoriri would be on a muddy track, sometimes dissecting a huge flat plain, other times negotiating the side of a mountain. Along the way, many nomadic tents appeared, along with their flock of sheep. A little stream flowing down from the mountains had frozen over at several places.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaeCMA5yFS47qwCrBqu6ohDEO02sdoBE98-nNjgpmTmi6Bt4dyXedEJNezgOTmOjeThgfpZA7n24e3yJqMaiZCdUSP9nBs5BBTfi2z5_nS1eii9VlKKfTzQNvwh5xlWeJrdfP_3z8f-XuU/s1600/Kashmir+930.jpg"><img style="width: 245px; height: 184px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509620216349306834" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaeCMA5yFS47qwCrBqu6ohDEO02sdoBE98-nNjgpmTmi6Bt4dyXedEJNezgOTmOjeThgfpZA7n24e3yJqMaiZCdUSP9nBs5BBTfi2z5_nS1eii9VlKKfTzQNvwh5xlWeJrdfP_3z8f-XuU/s320/Kashmir+930.jpg" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2CEX08tbB3SCM-1cCfWg5iRWQEu9uFVSOf4Uyh2_V5NF_UrUDQrF4gTWsKOPA2xiEEv5KvM6rm-dIaTKRRv3kRsBv0eqO0Sy_SPDddXgoVG4oiuh2WTTwBV5BO42WwlxPZxpgzf0i-Ykq/s1600/Kashmir+943.jpg"><img style="width: 246px; height: 138px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509620227031223218" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2CEX08tbB3SCM-1cCfWg5iRWQEu9uFVSOf4Uyh2_V5NF_UrUDQrF4gTWsKOPA2xiEEv5KvM6rm-dIaTKRRv3kRsBv0eqO0Sy_SPDddXgoVG4oiuh2WTTwBV5BO42WwlxPZxpgzf0i-Ykq/s320/Kashmir+943.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx2XkUSb9bLeK_kVJtkheaNVsRlvp-nHzGB2YIwn62K4dmIg5Eej9HZe8sJYgPvbgQCVS3Vxdl8-LD9TvigyTU0lDLLhWrkJu4yIsyHW5bKXJefQUIoIQy92HBHbhBnzk-EsnMLrbAuZen/s1600/Kashmir+968.jpg"><img style="width: 244px; height: 183px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509620253441653906" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx2XkUSb9bLeK_kVJtkheaNVsRlvp-nHzGB2YIwn62K4dmIg5Eej9HZe8sJYgPvbgQCVS3Vxdl8-LD9TvigyTU0lDLLhWrkJu4yIsyHW5bKXJefQUIoIQy92HBHbhBnzk-EsnMLrbAuZen/s320/Kashmir+968.jpg" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6MVibmI9520uHFxt3yMv6CFYagpZthMBayp1yO3gtctNcDEZgRxRa6y8An_-TA9tSCIqPj82VUuf0NSHLBh9x9ekN36r-catNwB7nXZS8Kx5LkXlqPo0zwQzJemTW-iEl5AVTpyKgkN04/s1600/Kashmir+961.jpg"> <img style="width: 247px; height: 138px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509620239061375250" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6MVibmI9520uHFxt3yMv6CFYagpZthMBayp1yO3gtctNcDEZgRxRa6y8An_-TA9tSCIqPj82VUuf0NSHLBh9x9ekN36r-catNwB7nXZS8Kx5LkXlqPo0zwQzJemTW-iEl5AVTpyKgkN04/s320/Kashmir+961.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />(Above: Clockwise from top-left: The charming people of Upper Sumdo, approach to Thadsang Karu, Thadsang Karu, nomads and sheep)<br /><br />Tsomoriri's appearance in this story was quite similar to that of Pangong, only more beautiful. About ten kilometres away, we saw the lake appear at the base of a mountain in the distance, and soon our car had bumped and banged its way to the banks of Tsomoriri. The lake itself is much smaller than Pangong, but I found it far more beautiful, perhaps because it was much less crowded. Its also a haven for migratory birds and other forms of wildlife, something that Rohit was rather excited about. We proved to be somewhat of a good luck charm for him, because within minutes of our arrival, he spotted what had eluded him the last time he was here- Black-necked cranes (a rare migratory bird I'm told). The scene was stunning- the sun had almost set, casting a beautiful pink-0range glow on the mountains, the moon had risen and the sky was clear. To top it all, all of this was being reflected in the clear water of the lake. We spent some time clicking some really good pictures, after which we moved on to the village of <span style="font-style: italic;">Korzok </span>on the banks of the lake where we would be spending the night.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVbrYapbeExKC4TYM7MT6iCq4Vl_8WrCegaWLO19R0xswRCvYZZoJdyv47Ug9mcy7FlS4xJA1WzQo5ihfqxf2wafbd7zQc-h3S8RBniRwiBM6JYBvUtkB8mwk8-8Eva9m4y4PshSnlUDdp/s1600/Tsomoriri_eve2.jpg"><img style="width: 410px; height: 92px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509620260752119138" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVbrYapbeExKC4TYM7MT6iCq4Vl_8WrCegaWLO19R0xswRCvYZZoJdyv47Ug9mcy7FlS4xJA1WzQo5ihfqxf2wafbd7zQc-h3S8RBniRwiBM6JYBvUtkB8mwk8-8Eva9m4y4PshSnlUDdp/s320/Tsomoriri_eve2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDFxr683cwGh7yMHPK0sK9ifzkZZWuFIIWg8HMHPJIv-AsbPDcbJVBx_aAyFDxtkPPas5Iorj0aZSxcla1HGZBPYJp8rQko12XgsXP266wzinkmVk5fCFpEOxLlj8GW8WxiFLdQrBo6wsO/s1600/Kashmir+1034.jpg"><img style="width: 277px; height: 208px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509621702513739058" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDFxr683cwGh7yMHPK0sK9ifzkZZWuFIIWg8HMHPJIv-AsbPDcbJVBx_aAyFDxtkPPas5Iorj0aZSxcla1HGZBPYJp8rQko12XgsXP266wzinkmVk5fCFpEOxLlj8GW8WxiFLdQrBo6wsO/s320/Kashmir+1034.jpg" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT1MrxQaFHbJV6_JHMgi38yqZV-p4HiwesWrcu_Lzy7h7vijPr4XSp-PC9iJOwYov52xYuqSb1ndtrPWaBnb5k5r3ymdnedV1HCYMdOWE85LO9b1PEgarwYVrPCFFh95cWOtdOjCXxkmsH/s1600/Kashmir+995.jpg"> <img style="width: 127px; height: 207px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509621693187801186" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT1MrxQaFHbJV6_JHMgi38yqZV-p4HiwesWrcu_Lzy7h7vijPr4XSp-PC9iJOwYov52xYuqSb1ndtrPWaBnb5k5r3ymdnedV1HCYMdOWE85LO9b1PEgarwYVrPCFFh95cWOtdOjCXxkmsH/s320/Kashmir+995.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />(Above: Clockwise from top: Tsomoriri, mountains and the moon reflected in the water, Tsomoriri by moonlight)<br /><br />Remote areas of Ladakh have few staying options, and some of them can be rather expensive. At <span style="font-style: italic;">Korzok</span>, one can either stay in one of the luxury tents, which will cost you a mini fortune, or at a small restaurant which has a community tent that has about thirty beds which costs you barely hundred rupees a night, but the loo would be a hole in the ground. The third option, which we found feasible, was the option of a "homestay". The villagers are given funds by the government to refurbish their houses and open them for tourists. The rooms are neat and clean and you get some semblance of a drainage system from your loo. Its ironic that water is scarce in Korzok. The lake is a saltwater lake and most of the fresh water freezes into ice which increases fuel cost if more water needs to be used. Manav, PP, Mohsin and I went out for a short walk at night and the lake presented to us, a new side of itself. This time the moon was up, and was casting a beautiful shimmering glow on the surface of the water. Upon return from the walk, we went to the restaurant and had a really welcome meal, along with some much needed rum. Jigme introduced us to the concept of having warm water before every meal to boost digestion. For some reason, Manav had lost his appetite, which is quite a rare occurrence. After a fulfilling meal, Jigme and four of us went back to our room at our homestay, whereas Rohit chose to stay at the restaurant. He hadn't carried many warm clothes, so we were rather concerned about finding him in a popsicle-d condition the morning after. Rohit and I had plans to wake up and photograph the sunrise. Everyone else also volunteered to come, but I knew how that was going to turn out.<br /><br />The night was rather uncomfortable for the four of us. It's not easy spending your first night at high altitude. Korzok is at 15,000 feet and the lack of oxygen makes your head hurt a little bit, and also makes your body very restless. I tossed, tumbled and drifted in and out of sleep all night, with Manav snoring loudly in the background. I know it sounds stupid now, but when Manav (who suffers from asthma) suddenly stopped snoring at around 4 am, I really thought something had happened to him. As it turned out from our discussions next morning, everyone had thought something was wrong. The reader is not allowed to ask why none of us got out of bed to check. I guess in our sleep-induced stupor, it probably had something to do with the thought of hauling a hundred kilo body down from 15,000 feet. My alarm went off early in the morning, and much to my dismay, it was already beginning to get bright- the sun had come up earlier than estimated. I was relieved to find Manav still breathing, and wasn't surprised to find no one willing to watch the sunrise. I got myself ready quickly and went down to Rohit's tent where he was standing ready. He went off to fetch his batteries which were charging in Jigme's room, and never returned. I later found out that he took to long to find his batteries and the sun had already come up by then. In the absence of Rohit, I walked down to the lake by myself, just as the sun began to peer over the mountains that border the lake. It was a nice, peaceful walk I hadn't had in quite a while. A couple of horses that had come out to graze in the meadows near the lake kept me company. On the way back I also discovered some litter strewn around the lake, another disturbing sign of a beautiful place beginning to wither. By the time I returned, everyone was just about waking up. Jigme was bounding around, rejuvenated by what I'm sure would have been a great night's sleep. We got ready, splashing ice-cold water on our faces and brushing with water that made our gums go numb. The taps need to be shut off for most of the year because the water freezes and causes pipes to burst. We reunited with Rohit, and after a quick breakfast, I took a short walk to the Korzok Gompa, which supposedly houses one of the Buddha's teeth.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW0lt6BSFBOWc-5p35hGHZ8RSyGwrr9-miJSVh30QQbCr88euYxrTU8OLDwuQeGVQLvDsDOAYyHVV4rJfYmpPeAHGg1sv3C4lN2UIuCP756tsZgyHjDC7ObHUQ-nrEGkIoS9f9VB8pnkL4/s1600/Kashmir+1063.jpg"><img style="width: 226px; height: 127px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509621715616799362" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW0lt6BSFBOWc-5p35hGHZ8RSyGwrr9-miJSVh30QQbCr88euYxrTU8OLDwuQeGVQLvDsDOAYyHVV4rJfYmpPeAHGg1sv3C4lN2UIuCP756tsZgyHjDC7ObHUQ-nrEGkIoS9f9VB8pnkL4/s320/Kashmir+1063.jpg" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfkUxHyGJ_DKuYlihBN79_kg6hYSBbsUlAgmhspuCbdH5ViZepbs3xnJVBl6srs6d5vI7qfigsuQt5cUILSfBy3cFHLunWF02frVfAFpeeoGrg-7njjee4FtUJVPag5TcygBYryhOVqHi_/s1600/Kashmir+1064.jpg"><img style="width: 230px; height: 127px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509621711189857474" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfkUxHyGJ_DKuYlihBN79_kg6hYSBbsUlAgmhspuCbdH5ViZepbs3xnJVBl6srs6d5vI7qfigsuQt5cUILSfBy3cFHLunWF02frVfAFpeeoGrg-7njjee4FtUJVPag5TcygBYryhOVqHi_/s320/Kashmir+1064.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghaNNyZa2YYEfq8wqrH78N81Ar64Z_2e28RPo0FDJ_mOgkM60QYPoAszqg_XuafFB19fvC6BjS64S6hTgIvDjrNx2W-jpcpJMywPUSbwRgYWM7dcdLf2lGHADQHTfKy5QRXZ2lk0W7J4UZ/s1600/Kashmir+1108.jpg"><img style="width: 230px; height: 172px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509622485512738306" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghaNNyZa2YYEfq8wqrH78N81Ar64Z_2e28RPo0FDJ_mOgkM60QYPoAszqg_XuafFB19fvC6BjS64S6hTgIvDjrNx2W-jpcpJMywPUSbwRgYWM7dcdLf2lGHADQHTfKy5QRXZ2lk0W7J4UZ/s320/Kashmir+1108.jpg" border="0" /> </a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuHOaB7dIhLgQldxqa18F74sZrNZ8dMvDIswJf_Fxeqas8svYMK3jtqo7GsA5TC81ceWEpZYLOMKgkqfpqLtAXeUdUWAeBBDtnZGP9nOTAeROBJSA1LQzYwDHRO46kC2k6t9upucNOOn2c/s1600/Kashmir+1097.jpg"><img style="width: 228px; height: 171px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509621723343857698" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuHOaB7dIhLgQldxqa18F74sZrNZ8dMvDIswJf_Fxeqas8svYMK3jtqo7GsA5TC81ceWEpZYLOMKgkqfpqLtAXeUdUWAeBBDtnZGP9nOTAeROBJSA1LQzYwDHRO46kC2k6t9upucNOOn2c/s320/Kashmir+1097.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />(Above: Clockwise from top left: Korzok by first light, sunrise on Tsomoriri, from Korzok Gompa,<br />a Himalayan Marmot)<br /><br />We began our return journey fairly early, picking up Rohit along the way, who had headed off towards the lake after breakfast to meet some of his friends who had also come down to visit the lake. This morning happened to be a good one if you wanted to spot wildlife. Along the way, we found scores of Himalayan Marmots frolicking around in the sun. The Marmots here, I found, were much fatter than the ones I found near Pangong. We drove down to Upper Sumdo where we had dropped off our co-travellers the previous day and took a turn to the left, heading straight towards Tsokar. On the way we stopped often to spot birds such as Bar-headed geese, Brahmini ducks and some other birds whose names only bird-encyclopedia Rohit is capable of remembering. Jigme, of course, had his share of fun by first indulging himself in an off-road race. He somehow also decided that it was a good idea to burn a block of sulphur that he found in the sulphur fields near Upper Sumdo. He went on to smell the consequences of his actions, of course. Soon, we were on the approach to Tsokar, which resembles the approach to Thadsang Karu a fair bit.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPUiUdAd082Cr2-JaBPuVPMo3c02toEYHjWCj6YegQDC89gIfWBf7-mU6dDwi0sLgAbalFm7CUHdpfdaKmv7OhthFfULe4pw_SWk7TMQUKktdEmw2GsGW-Pc6-FATPH9qd4BZ-UdHPnM8w/s1600/Kashmir+1115.jpg"><img style="width: 201px; height: 157px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509622493549550738" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPUiUdAd082Cr2-JaBPuVPMo3c02toEYHjWCj6YegQDC89gIfWBf7-mU6dDwi0sLgAbalFm7CUHdpfdaKmv7OhthFfULe4pw_SWk7TMQUKktdEmw2GsGW-Pc6-FATPH9qd4BZ-UdHPnM8w/s320/Kashmir+1115.jpg" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeDIgPDWLZSNU9c3tIGvpo5lg1OqyztnMa18G1YeqB_G2il360zRpE5Hgbf0vXT8N5_q0Pudk83qB6Wof-OysY-gVIfRu6Me2xZaQoJTvI4Vf91cConbn6XwNAN6qdOSrNs1Y8c60CL_2l/s1600/Kashmir+1134.jpg"><img style="width: 272px; height: 156px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509622502647637538" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeDIgPDWLZSNU9c3tIGvpo5lg1OqyztnMa18G1YeqB_G2il360zRpE5Hgbf0vXT8N5_q0Pudk83qB6Wof-OysY-gVIfRu6Me2xZaQoJTvI4Vf91cConbn6XwNAN6qdOSrNs1Y8c60CL_2l/s320/Kashmir+1134.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />(Above: left to right: Jigme gets frisky with sulphur, alone in the wilderness)<br /><br />Tsokar is very different from the other lakes we had seen. In fact, its more of a salty wetland than a lake. We were the only six people around for miles. Two Tibetan wild-asses (the animal. Not Jigme and some friend of his) called the <span style="font-style: italic;">Kiang </span>briefly halted their grazing as they ascertained whether we posed a threat to them. Most of us took a walk around the lake as Rohit tip-toed his way in the direction of Black-headed cranes. While we were leaving, we ended up spotting a very large flock of cranes having a gala time near the lake. Rohit brought our car to a screeching halt, got out excitedly, dove into the mud and got into all sorts of positions humanly possible in order to get the best photograph he could take. About half an hour of clicking later, we had a very satisfied Rohit in the car and we drove onwards, and intersected the road going from Manali to Leh just after Pang. I remembered the wide, flat plains from last time. They had been a huge relief after having been stuck overnight in a gorge (read about that life threatening experience <a href="http://siddharthkrishnamoorthy.blogspot.com/2008/07/circle-of-life-chapter-4-knockin-on_06.html">here</a>). Soon, we were winding our way up to <span style="font-style: italic;">Tanglang La</span>, the world's second highest motorable pass at 17,582 feet. By now, our acclimatization had ensured that we didn't feel the effects of altitude. The drive down from Taglang La to Leh is quite fast. The road was being widened for a short stretch just after the pass, after which the drive was very smooth. We descended into the Indus valley, with its serrated mountain edges, which had acquired a very strange colour and headed straight for Upshi. At Upshi, we had our lunch, served by the same pretty waitress, after which Manav, with his batteries charged began to dance in the car. Somewhere, I think this is where Rohit must have questioned his decision to travel with us for the first time. After about an hour, we had crossed Karu, Thiksey and Shey and finally wheeled into Leh, which was perhaps recovering from a rainy afternoon.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdcpYU0BzG72Vosj9VDvmOinAaZFaOXq9HLWRHnttnU-DW0YNaPk-mccYmG2s-hWmUp1dqvxx81ODvzIdT_aBLt_mx2alNmVCAxEKY6PvMPhgwbrCOFzadr17xqIf_3Convq3rrZbaWkFX/s1600/Kashmir+1156.jpg"><img style="width: 272px; height: 153px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509622505371123714" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdcpYU0BzG72Vosj9VDvmOinAaZFaOXq9HLWRHnttnU-DW0YNaPk-mccYmG2s-hWmUp1dqvxx81ODvzIdT_aBLt_mx2alNmVCAxEKY6PvMPhgwbrCOFzadr17xqIf_3Convq3rrZbaWkFX/s320/Kashmir+1156.jpg" border="0" /> </a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi10-8GP0sfjqNjyuYgqCEHrwmQKiDCuF6XEcsUwUbnaJzb1N1EDo-iiVuRYiosVXN-HjAt3X1Sb9nK7m_3XayqSHcYuvYtPc7ElvY8QT7IOGtkeFckDv6emZxpp3RGXrT7deAZrRpR2t8S/s1600/Kashmir+1158.jpg"><img style="width: 177px; height: 236px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509622513556030018" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi10-8GP0sfjqNjyuYgqCEHrwmQKiDCuF6XEcsUwUbnaJzb1N1EDo-iiVuRYiosVXN-HjAt3X1Sb9nK7m_3XayqSHcYuvYtPc7ElvY8QT7IOGtkeFckDv6emZxpp3RGXrT7deAZrRpR2t8S/s320/Kashmir+1158.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE2NUTRwH6cM0UjAgoZa5s6pPzjx4b14QHJJG5qcdbSyQLJByvPdZgSQQVayCCIY4GU3WNx0BWbN73bBFISLxkq7obN7s92amyYME6q5ck9c9G0PRZHg81WPmyrU7E1AVRN5hxZT6g4ZAL/s1600/Kashmir+1174.jpg"><img style="width: 246px; height: 184px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509622733423028962" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE2NUTRwH6cM0UjAgoZa5s6pPzjx4b14QHJJG5qcdbSyQLJByvPdZgSQQVayCCIY4GU3WNx0BWbN73bBFISLxkq7obN7s92amyYME6q5ck9c9G0PRZHg81WPmyrU7E1AVRN5hxZT6g4ZAL/s320/Kashmir+1174.jpg" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaIw3_Ji6Rr0eD5klf2CDF_XtrIUID3h9UmQY2SUyohsqvEtc0ZS5wcjwuw9867A8ptsUvf2Otu92GQJhCQdrRYYUrQ57Bhf81WP3c6dszWQCtcYQMUUtRW378xdqtDsZfV4a2bkmOTNl7/s1600/Kashmir+1163.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 199px; height: 264px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaIw3_Ji6Rr0eD5klf2CDF_XtrIUID3h9UmQY2SUyohsqvEtc0ZS5wcjwuw9867A8ptsUvf2Otu92GQJhCQdrRYYUrQ57Bhf81WP3c6dszWQCtcYQMUUtRW378xdqtDsZfV4a2bkmOTNl7/s320/Kashmir+1163.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509628413688950898" border="0" /></a><br />(Clockwise from top-left: Tsokar, a black-necked crane, Rohit loves his birds, at Taglang La)<br /><br />Manav and PP, having decided that neither of them would undertake a bus journey of about eighteen hours back to Srinagar, had changed their tickets to depart from Leh the next day. That night, we went off for a farewell dinner, the aftermath of which found me sleeping very early, whilst the others yapped most of the night away in the balcony of my city-view room. Mohsin moved into my room to replace Shao.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHW9_0_-R863bzcog8KUn7pb_903TZcx53r6stK46KYRsXeITyd2di8SsxnM_hpnzX5N6erxYnYaYP6AQnocls1jHalAqlsFMHPUk5dfSuxxWwZVIS9BD-9QYgkSqapSFoNc4kH0e5vTG0/s1600/Kashmir+888.jpg"><img style="width: 204px; height: 272px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509619066840037122" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHW9_0_-R863bzcog8KUn7pb_903TZcx53r6stK46KYRsXeITyd2di8SsxnM_hpnzX5N6erxYnYaYP6AQnocls1jHalAqlsFMHPUk5dfSuxxWwZVIS9BD-9QYgkSqapSFoNc4kH0e5vTG0/s320/Kashmir+888.jpg" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4gDiHe1Rsq9DyhdmPJTSvPwj70vYHSFp-oZtX41SzuGfvEJr195jQaThyphenhyphenrvy2OH6AKoDNcjvx7sG-FifPdirJHR6-wKF2WroUQskHXZFx4ZP2ELGs-QDMT1fDyuB1ZgRfuejATWBqFHgj/s1600/Kashmir+1178.jpg"><img style="width: 259px; height: 194px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509622742983556978" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4gDiHe1Rsq9DyhdmPJTSvPwj70vYHSFp-oZtX41SzuGfvEJr195jQaThyphenhyphenrvy2OH6AKoDNcjvx7sG-FifPdirJHR6-wKF2WroUQskHXZFx4ZP2ELGs-QDMT1fDyuB1ZgRfuejATWBqFHgj/s320/Kashmir+1178.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />(Above: Proof: Left to right: Manav before meals/sleep, Manav after meals/sleep)<br /><br />Today, there were four. Tomorrow, there would be two. </div>Wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17394340788831335608noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981310338409264388.post-66038038436653513732010-08-22T19:19:00.013+05:302010-08-24T12:38:17.527+05:30Déjà vu- Chapter 4.1- Seeking 'Tsolitude' with a Vengeance (Pangong Tso, Tsomoriri and Tsokar)<div style="text-align: justify;">Today, we would visit a place, without a visit to which, any trip to Ladakh is incomplete. Today, our group would also start declining in numbers, leaving only Mohsin and me by the time the next chapter made an appearance. The decline of numbers also brings in a motley crew of characters into our story, as promised long ago. But first, today, pandemonium would break loose before we left on our scenic sojourn.The trouble with the morning we left for Pangong, was that there were too many things happening- too many moving parts in our machine. The Pangong Tso is a saltwater lake at an altitude of 14,400 feet, about 135 kilometres away from Leh. The road's pretty bad, and tends to get flooded because of melting snow as the day progresses. Needless to say, one needs to leave fairly early. First, there was the part where we woke up a little late. Shao was still not a hundred percent fit, but her enthusiasm made up for what her body couldn't. Ruchira also needed to be dropped at the airport, so there was that time constraint as well. In the middle of all of this, one man called Siddharth Krishnamoorthy refused to be photographed beside a beautiful, azure lake with a four-day stubble and made a hurried attempt to remove any trace of beard or moustache from his face. In the process however, I (I shall now stop referring to myself in third person) somehow managed to slice my upper lip. Not cut, slice. Of course my lip gave my brain the customary half a second to send an "uh-oh" message to the rest of my body before it began to spout blood. The end result of the time wasted because of the sudden injury, was the Mohsin went off in another cab to drop Ruchira at the airport, and the four of us met Jigme about 40 minutes after the designated time, and then drove to the airport in the opposite direction to pick up Mohsin. It was about 8 am by the time we finally set off in the direction of Leh. There was Jigme, the five of us (with me with a tissue over my lip that remained as it is for about an hour), and the first of our interesting co-travellers- Gill. Gill, a dentist from "Ludhiana, Punjab", as he put it. Here's an interesting fact about Leh. Travelling by cars is very expensive. To minimize costs, one can approach one of the many small tour organizers, who put out a board asking for people to join your trip and divide the cost. Not only does this reduces costs, but also leads to meeting many interesting people. Gill's story was one of betrayal. He had apparently been abandoned by his friends in Srinagar, and had proceeded to Leh on his own. He now occupied the front passenger seat, and spoke little during our ride.<br /><br />We first crossed Shey and Thikse as we exited Leh, where I gave Shao a quick introduction to the place (because she'd missed out on the local sightseeing). We soon went past our first check point at Karu, and began the slow climb to the world's third highest motorable pass- Chang La, at an altitude of 17,382 feet. The usual dozing-off disease struck one passenger after another, and most of the inhabitants of Jigme's white Qualis were sleeping when we reached Zingral- the army's check post about 20 kilometres before Chang La. The road from Zingral is narrow and steep. As we slowly chugged our way up to the pass, we were bounded on one side by the mountain, but to our left were the beautiful, stark colours of Ladakh- starting with green near the valley floor, then brown (as the dearth of water withered away any chances of finding greenery) until the snow began to appear and everything turned white, and finally the clear blue sky. We soon found ourselves in touching distance of Chang La, and two changes from the last time I went, were immediately apparent. First, there were telltale signs of the violent weather that had preceded us, because there was a lot more snow this time as compared to the last time I had crossed the pass. The second and more disturbing change was that there were at least fifteen cars parked at Chang La. Last time it was just our car and this other couple. There was this Bollywood movie called "Three Idiots" which released late last year, and used Pangong as a location for their last scene. This, combined with the increasing popularity of Ladakh as a tourist destination has made sure that there has been a massive increase in the influx of tourists going to Pangong. The realization of this fact had me alarmed, and a little angry to be very honest. There wasn't much time for that, though, because the lack of oxygen was catching up fast with some in the group. Shao had to go the army's medical tent and get medicines for altitude sickness. Manav also decided to partake, since he was also beginning to feel breathless. We took a few pictures, had the casualties take their medicines, and were on our way back down the mountain. The medicines knocked out both Manav and Shao as we drove through some very scenic stretches on our way to Pangong. Just before the lake finally began to peek at us from the base of the mountain, we also came across a small patch of land that had small dunes of grey sand- another one of Ladakh's quirks.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJDn0Kkm9GBst18tNJrH4OVnjG8xT3XzvJkonx08KepfIpKxyI48qAXTFT5gydM_fuY0r3Zqbt4xTbaaY9W0S_h5_hiiCRYBHz_GbQSEzIxUYbnUokZ5nUU19sj3GIPvHxEW0-DE1aus4Y/s1600/Kashmir+771.jpg"><img style="width: 266px; height: 170px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508864578448345810" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJDn0Kkm9GBst18tNJrH4OVnjG8xT3XzvJkonx08KepfIpKxyI48qAXTFT5gydM_fuY0r3Zqbt4xTbaaY9W0S_h5_hiiCRYBHz_GbQSEzIxUYbnUokZ5nUU19sj3GIPvHxEW0-DE1aus4Y/s320/Kashmir+771.jpg" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzHEz06g2rRtrRkmovYn7nMhzrRucD0C_6II8U1k4Ab3coNfZnj-JqHudarUfA1BqF9ZycOwVMlVdSe58O9KZD3oG7_aVQIy1uEgaCGIOTAMGcLU9Mn6AvA7HIWKhkSBnN9uvVgsl2F97f/s1600/Kashmir+779.jpg"><img style="width: 226px; height: 170px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508864591835847730" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzHEz06g2rRtrRkmovYn7nMhzrRucD0C_6II8U1k4Ab3coNfZnj-JqHudarUfA1BqF9ZycOwVMlVdSe58O9KZD3oG7_aVQIy1uEgaCGIOTAMGcLU9Mn6AvA7HIWKhkSBnN9uvVgsl2F97f/s320/Kashmir+779.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8muHouExwPM6PqQ_aCAYYecsiQtbwPeMfiiD8fT4YgUCbJFg8y1ltopiotZVxofs08Ex-j49FoKoEM0IKUkSeqPsFySnc7osTu8Ddy0R8q99uOU_w3ka9AuPz37nfB6uFZV8x3VHj806T/s1600/Kashmir+793.jpg"><img style="width: 237px; height: 194px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508864615927193202" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8muHouExwPM6PqQ_aCAYYecsiQtbwPeMfiiD8fT4YgUCbJFg8y1ltopiotZVxofs08Ex-j49FoKoEM0IKUkSeqPsFySnc7osTu8Ddy0R8q99uOU_w3ka9AuPz37nfB6uFZV8x3VHj806T/s320/Kashmir+793.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="text-decoration: underline;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIULh7AvI5MwG2g-D3Rapb4U50FGBsECK-_IUdb959bcEGkPEpPXVwikquXEwE1iPR3QTrqht3bV6cJqkr7hW0eCElfCLsoIcb-Moske91wUd-jqVum6gFMguZ9HDenKdvN3p3224GS19P/s1600/Kashmir+782.jpg"> <img style="width: 254px; height: 194px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508864604007228802" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIULh7AvI5MwG2g-D3Rapb4U50FGBsECK-_IUdb959bcEGkPEpPXVwikquXEwE1iPR3QTrqht3bV6cJqkr7hW0eCElfCLsoIcb-Moske91wUd-jqVum6gFMguZ9HDenKdvN3p3224GS19P/s320/Kashmir+782.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />(Above: Clockwise from top-left: The colours of Ladakh, on the way to Chang-La, at Chang La, Pangong sneaks a peek through the mountains)<br /><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span>Pangong, like I said is a lake at 14,400 feet above sea level. Like all other lakes in the area, this one too seems to be a snow-fed remanent of a primordial ocean. Th reason I say this is that all of the lakes in the Ladakh area are saltwater lakes. Arrival at Pangong was bittersweet- of course the lake was beautiful, with its pristine, blue waters that would often change to blue-green as the sun played hide and seek with patchy clouds; but there was also this giant horde of tourists that had populated the place at the same time. Along with the increase in tourists influx, there was the customary feeding the few seagulls that populated the place (a really bad practice), some chips packets lying along the shores of the lake, and also children toppling over piles of stones that locals sometimes erect as memorials to the deceased. All of this made me really irate. The last time I was here, we had gone about seven kilometers further down the lake to a place called <span style="font-style: italic;">Spangmik, </span>which requires an additional permit. At that time there were just seven people around the lake. This time there were more than twenty families.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUmx4Od6tquJwszzj5rsS8MIKFeNxp4H85a3P37Jv9PnbPCrAI1Hi_whZlb1FBTJf0y55spsVka77jvE4ZUKyGrTtcP-OID_jYN9WBr2gHU_BRa2t2ltVRXisbTBoxEwKC6W_o7wlgIlz7/s1600/pangong2.jpg"><img style="width: 470px; height: 125px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508865600364707618" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUmx4Od6tquJwszzj5rsS8MIKFeNxp4H85a3P37Jv9PnbPCrAI1Hi_whZlb1FBTJf0y55spsVka77jvE4ZUKyGrTtcP-OID_jYN9WBr2gHU_BRa2t2ltVRXisbTBoxEwKC6W_o7wlgIlz7/s320/pangong2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />(Above: The Pangong Tso)<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieFa867bOF-NkqtWJTDoLX6yhiie_MdBxyI14cP3bDJErOnHGXz99NKUMQZcCYuAn6r9KplK0RcBQ5d3izIZExrWRZ_3ThMIcCdsLO2akBXs2n1E1vqUmvB82teCHO73-WERhURs3z2Pgr/s1600/Kashmir+806.jpg"><img style="width: 179px; height: 237px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508864626902085698" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieFa867bOF-NkqtWJTDoLX6yhiie_MdBxyI14cP3bDJErOnHGXz99NKUMQZcCYuAn6r9KplK0RcBQ5d3izIZExrWRZ_3ThMIcCdsLO2akBXs2n1E1vqUmvB82teCHO73-WERhURs3z2Pgr/s320/Kashmir+806.jpg" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmfRUbn1tj1FISOz4oRfnmDpXPpw3wkoaR0Wm25-LDsNyc-m-lpR3AdE77O6zJis1F9bOhOiG7gyQWrqHZIBR_BSA8iYUe_C2RQU2G6aJk5V0-DuuAspJD4oBjr-rsvuqTeIkVDYb86UAX/s1600/Kashmir+823.jpg"><img style="width: 287px; height: 238px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508865591036208786" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmfRUbn1tj1FISOz4oRfnmDpXPpw3wkoaR0Wm25-LDsNyc-m-lpR3AdE77O6zJis1F9bOhOiG7gyQWrqHZIBR_BSA8iYUe_C2RQU2G6aJk5V0-DuuAspJD4oBjr-rsvuqTeIkVDYb86UAX/s320/Kashmir+823.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />(Above: Left to right: Seagulls at Pangong, a typical Buddhist memorial pile)<br /><br />We clicked our pictures, sat by the lake and philosophised for a bit, before heading for lunch at the army-run restaurant. Lunch seemed to have put some words into Gill's mouth, as he discussed his preference for Ladakhis over Kashmiris; because he believed that Kashmiris "<span style="font-style: italic;">chhoti baat karte hain</span>" (are narrow-minded). While this caused some irritation to Mohsin, Manav and I were smirking to ourselves, because of Gill, and also about a running gag that Manav was involved in, along the same lines. The drive back from Pangong was fairly uneventful. Most roads had been flooded by the melting ice in the afternoon, which made the going a little slow. But this also meant that we were able to spot a local resident- the Himalayan Marmot, an oversized rodent that populates this part of the world. Manav and Shao needed another dose of anti-AMS medicine, which meant that they slept most of the way back home.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh-E5wM56gMtUUQINkBk1hcp-ltEGQl6YhyphenhyphenTVRuTiRQNQSz0Gb8nc-jo5tLzzvhTEhXuddcnd_pVIVTnC00M_xy0M8fxlMcRJhHx1bU7_kO5aa9E4-YvNZ2C5dgc8cWAwxNwFyXcVRnrpE/s1600/Kashmir+861.jpg"><img style="width: 226px; height: 169px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508865614498478898" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh-E5wM56gMtUUQINkBk1hcp-ltEGQl6YhyphenhyphenTVRuTiRQNQSz0Gb8nc-jo5tLzzvhTEhXuddcnd_pVIVTnC00M_xy0M8fxlMcRJhHx1bU7_kO5aa9E4-YvNZ2C5dgc8cWAwxNwFyXcVRnrpE/s320/Kashmir+861.jpg" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBnmPN5I4pM1u-enwq6pyzplKcGCjVjKSq741maDVv3QBKui9NV_FPZogrFE2q6kU3XQZR7OM3uvR-EyxAAlYodlHsjqxd82KxEusuFYMSlB7s80r-HlX9w5HIjaPp8xfBvJBUC0H6j0WN/s1600/Kashmir+860.jpg"><img style="width: 224px; height: 169px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508865625998427122" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBnmPN5I4pM1u-enwq6pyzplKcGCjVjKSq741maDVv3QBKui9NV_FPZogrFE2q6kU3XQZR7OM3uvR-EyxAAlYodlHsjqxd82KxEusuFYMSlB7s80r-HlX9w5HIjaPp8xfBvJBUC0H6j0WN/s320/Kashmir+860.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />(Above: Left to right: Chang La on the way back, Icicles hanging along the road)<br /><br />The ride back seemed a lot faster, and we were back in our hotel rooms by about six in the evening. Shao wasn't feeling well, so the rest of us went out for a nice dinner at the "World Garden Cafe" where we ended up having most of our meals from that point on. I returned to the hotel to find Shao feeling rather ill, and since all of us had travelled almost three hundred kilometers, we too were very tired; and decided to call it a day without further delay.<br /><br />*(To be continued)<br /></div>Wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17394340788831335608noreply@blogger.com0