Leh town Heritage Walk

Sofi House, Leh 

The writer takes a walk through Leh and finds beautiful stone pathways, quaint buildings and the traditional way of life still intact

In Leh, past and present walk hand in hand. If one moment you’re in a cyber café connecting with the world, the next instant you could mistakenly think you’ve strolled into a medieval film set as you walk through the winding alleys of an old town.

Monastic chants and the azan harmoniously ring intermittently through the day in Leh and the latter is a calming background score when I arrive at Manikhang, a busy inner lane in old town. I’ve decided to explore the area and this is a convenient starting point. Around me lies a maze of mud brick-houses with flat roofs and pretty wood-work windows accentuated by chequered glass-panes. Stone pathways rise steeply and lime-washed stupas stand in silence. Adding more drama to this living theatre is the 17th century Lehchen Pelkhar or Leh Palace, its under-restoration nine-storey structure spectacularly looming above the residential quarters and playing reminder of a grand era when the town was on the crossroads of Central Asian trade on the fabled Silk Road. This cluster of 200-odd houses is considered among the world’s most historically-intact Tibeto-Himalayan urban settlements.

As I walk the lanes, elderly bearded men with prayer caps curiously peep out of hole-in-the-wall shops packed with old-fashioned ware, women clad in maroon goncha (the ample Ladakhi woollen robe) exit homes and an aged goldsmith, sits bent over a design. It’s crumbling but tremendously atmospheric. So enveloping is the quaintness that I can almost hear a caravan of double-humped Bactrian camels from Bukhara halting somewhere here and merchants off-loading carpets, oriental silks, lapis lazuli, and more for a barter with local traders. If ‘back in time’ needed a visual representation this is it, notwithstanding the reality check provided by boards of cellular companies and the satellite dish, an adjunct on a few rooftops.

A significant bit of restoration work is on in the old town and two organisations quite involved in it are Ladakh Arts and Media Organization (Lamo) and Tibet Heritage Fund (THF). I leaf through their brochures and maps, and decide to follow a trail that’ll show me the extent of perseverance and triumph achieved by the two associations in lovingly preserving Leh’s legacy. A mingling of regional Buddhist traditions and those inherited from Central Asia have melded in Ladakh. The walk is all about coming up close with that way of life and not tick-marking monuments.

The first stop is the late-19th century Sofi House built with a blend of Tibetan and Kashmiri styles by a trading family from the Valley. It has striking elements of Kashmiri residential construction like dub(over-hanging balconies) with pinjarkari (wooden lattice work) shutters.

The traditional roof in Ladakh is quite an art in itself, and conservationists are taking meticulous efforts to remove all traces of modern mortar in projects they have undertaken ain order to rebuild the ceilings conventionally, with wooden beams, willow-stick joists, straw mats, local yagtses grass, soil, clay, and donkey dung, which increases solidness and strength.

In these parts, a donkey is a sturdy workhorse. Till a few years ago, once their usefulness was over, the donkeys roamed the streets uncared for. That was till a nice girl from South Africa called Joanne Lefson set up the Donkey Sanctuary here. Do stop by and meet these lovable jacks and jennys and contribute a little something for their upkeep.

My next halt is Lakruk House, a well-preserved original construction. From its terrace I get the best panoramic view of Leh old town — a sea of brown (mud) structures — cascading down the slope; the fluttering prayer flags and blue skies making it very picturesque.

After a pause I ascend the local way – up the rocky mountain path. I reach Red Chamba Lhakhang (Red temple of Maitreya) completely out of breath and what further takes my breath away are the 15th century wall-paintings that were discovered underneath lime plaster by THF. A collaboration of European and Ladakhi restorers have painstakingly brought them back to life.

Later, I get a peek into Munshi House, former home of the royal secretary that’s now being converted into an art centre by Lamo. The descent as expected was easier and I wrap up my tour at the lively Chutayrangtak Street, right behind the 17th century Jamia Masjid. This is where the delightful aroma of fresh bread and biscuits baked by Kashmiri naanwais (bakers) makes almost everyone halt for a tempting gaze.

By next season there will be another reason to stop here: the Central Asian Museum should be complete for visitors to view the cross-cultural influences, particularly from Kashmir, Tibet, Baltistan, Samarkand and Yarkand that have shaped Ladakh.

It is aptly situated in the Tsas Soma complex, which was once a caravan serai. Opposite it, quite incredibly, is a meswak tree, revered by Sikhs, as it dates back to the 15th century when Guru Nanak Dev visited Leh and sowed it. And you thought Leh was only about its airport and the jeep tours to Pangong Tso and Nubra Valley.

Published Sunday Magazine, The Hindu

Ladakh Festival 2011

Published September 2011, Deccan Herald 

Cities by cycle

There’s something particularly pleasing about twin benefits. Apart from being twice as nice, they’re doubly rewarding too. Picking up a bicycle on a holiday is one such happy union that accomplishes the vows of wellness along with laying out the thrills of adventure. It allows you to stay toned even as your bag of exciting tales fills to the brim.

Cycling gives the traveller an opportunity to uncoil and discover the veiled charms of a city and countryside at a relaxed pace. India offers innumerable escapes on varied canvas. From rural lanes to city bylanes, backwaters to deep sea, the footsteps of history to inspiring mountain districts, experiences can be found neatly stringed and almost-always a few pedals away.

Tough terrain bicycling isn’t everyone’s cup of coffee and that’s where city-cycling rides in as a worthy alternative. Whereas the honks and halts of traffic in most urban spaces can make leisure cycling tough business, there are some cities tailor-made for touring on two wheels. An all-terrain-bike performs perfectly in all conditions. It’s extremely rugged and can take ample wear and tear, even a minor collision! Do remember to keep chain-links and tubes handy; and lest you forget, fret not. This is India, and quite remarkably the UMCT—under mango or coconut tree—cycle repairmen can mend it all.  

Udaipur

One of the most beautiful heritage cities of the country, with a lake-hotel that’s been voted amongst the most romantic in the world, Udaipur is a showpiece of Rajasthan. It packs in all attributes of the desert state: vibrant colours, formidable forts, royalty, captivating craft et al in a heady package. It’s labyrinth of narrow lanes spilling over with traditional charms and local food makes the cycle the ideal transport to get up close and personal with it. Every turn throws up a new discovery and the first-timer always comes away awe-stuck. The City Palace on the banks of Lake Pichola, built by the Mewar dynasty, is its jewel in the crown. The other gems include Bagore ki Haveli;  Jagdish Temple and the touristy attractions around it; Ahar Museum and Saheliyon-ki-Bari, a garden for royal ladies; and the Monsoon Palace atop a hill.

Excursions: Kumbhalgarh Fort  (84 km/2.5 hrs) is an impregnable medieval citadel with an incredible 36-km perimeter wall.  Ranakpur (90 km) for Jain marble temples. 

Leh

The village of Choglamsar, a few km from Leh city, was devastated by flash floods earlier this year. Even in gloom, the resilient Ladakhi is managing to wear a smile. Amongst those helping in its rebuilding are travellers from around the world who had come to explore its terrain. There can’t be a better time to volunteer your services and combine that with a cycling tour of the breathtaking high-altitude desert in the lap of commanding mountain ranges, which remains just as alluring despite nature’s fury having destroyed a part of it. Leh city in itself is typically backpacker and the tarmac connecting it with nearby monastery spots as Hemis, Shey, Thiksey etc is smooth as silk. Pedaling around Leh means riding a terrain where the air is thin and requires immense stamina and determination. It’s tough but worth every muscle that’s exerted.

Excursions: Pangong Tso, a mesmeric salt-water lake; Nubra Valley, the green territory of cold desert Ladakh, was once part of the silk route; it’s accessed through Khardung La, the world’s highest motorable pass.

Chandigarh

Designed by a Swiss-French architect, Chandigarh has tree-lined avenues and wide, clean arterial streets, making it a roadies’ delight. It’s also perhaps the only city in the country to have dedicated cycle tracks, running through lush canopies, across the checkered grid town-plan.

Chandigarh is a planned city and cycling around town brings its contemporary built-heritage face to face. It also boasts of an envious green cover and the most attractive route to enjoy its verdant vistas and simultaneously follow its chief architectural trail is to cycle on Jan Marg. This goes past Sector 17, the city’s bustling shopping piazza, and the manicured Rose Garden which is an irresistible spot during the blooming season from October to February. A little ahead are museums and a string of assorted gardens. The road ends at the Capitol Complex, Sector 1, considered the masterwork of founding architect, Le Corbusier. From here begins Uttar Marg, which has the globally-acclaimed Rock Garden and the picturesque Sukhna Lake.

Excursions: The Himalayan foothills, ideal for mountain biking, are a short distance away and have numerous spots for day/weekend trips. Pinjore is known for the Mughal Gardens. Kasauli, Chail, Barog exude quietude. Further on is Shimla.

Pondicherry

There’s a constant merger of cultures at this southern India outpost in the Coromandel Coast. Cosmopolitan Pondicherry, though, is more like a mixed salad bowl, where each flavour stands out in the homogenous blend. The dominant essence, however, is still unmistakably French—dating back to the time it was colonised for France by Joseph François Dupleix in AD 1742—and this connection remains its drawing power.

In earlier times the city was sliced into two sharp quarters. Those demarcations have blurred but architecturally while the western end has developed into a bustling modern space, the eastern or the French/European-influenced side retains its quaint charms. This quarter is bordered by the rocky coast, with four beaches, and has relatively unfrequented narrow lanes, alluring French street names, elegant Mediterranean architecture with homes typically painted in soothing white or happy-bright colours, sunlit porches, languorously twining bougainvilleas, trendy shops, inviting cafes, boutique hotels and the magnet amongst them all, the Sri Aurobindo Ashram. These features combine to make it ideal for pedaling through at a pace of your own.

Excursions: Auroville, or City of Dawn, an experimental, self-sustainable township, is 8 km away; Tranquebar is a former Danish settlement; Mahabalipuram offers remarkable open-air heritage of rock-cut, monolithic, bas-relief structures dating to the 7th century Pallava period.

  

Kochi

The joys of being on a cycle saddle in God’s Own Country means slowing down at short intervals and soaking up its verdant lures: spice/coffee/tea plantations, swaying coconut palm trees under azure skies, miles of lush paddy fields etc. Kochi, a bustling city, presents a pleasing combination of nature’s magic as well as a contrasting canvas of urban spaces that include tucked country roads, spanking tarmac, terracotta tile-roofed homes and glitzy glass-steel structures, all of it around a series of tremendously-idyllic waterchannels. Cycle a short distance away and there’s Fort Kochi, the ancient port city, which stands by a calm beach dotted with Chinese fishing nets. It’s seen many a foreign influence and offers its own brand of quaint inheritance. It’s shady avenues, heritage hotels, spice shops, touristy Jew Town, Tamil temples, all add up to present a locale ideal to bike around.

Excursions: Kumarakom, about 90 km away, on the banks of the Vembanad Lake has a clutch of excellent resorts and the Kumarakom Bird Sanctuary popular with birders from around the world; Alappuzha or Allepy, is known for the scenic beauty of its backwaters. The popular snake boat races are held on Punnamada Lake near the town.

Published in JetWings, 2010

Sole Stories

Some natural fibre shoes from across India (from top) :

Pula, Himachal Pradesh; Ramacham or khus-khus

slipper, Kerala; Thickme Pabu, Ladakh; Kora grass

(chattai) chappal, Tamil Nadu

http://www.hindu.com/mag/2010/07/11/stories/2010071150320700.htm

Published in The Hindu, July 2010

Destination called Leh Road

Ladakh@Rs 924

If you thought the humble paisa can’t buy you nothing, think again. For the 1,026-km bus journey from Delhi to Leh, I paid 90 paisa per km. My entire expense, including fare, lodging and food en route, was a princely Rs 924. On a road journey that’s acquired cult status among travellers globally, it appears almost embarrassing to be paying such pittance for incredible views of a lifetime.
To begin with, the decision to board the bus had to be made immediately. All other options of travel had failed and if I was to meet my target of reaching Leh by September 1, to be in time for the Ladakh Festival’s opening cultural pageant, I needed to be on the bus right away, notwithstanding the long miles of a three-day, two-night journey and my being prone to motion sickness.
By 4 pm I was seated in a packed carrier, its overhead racks stuffed with luggage waiting to fall at the slightest jerk. All passengers aboard were proceeding ‘home’ or ‘on work’, as I discovered 17 hours later at Manali, having slept through Chandigarh, Mandi, Kullu. The bus emptied out here and when we took off after a short halt at Manali bazaar, I was one of the two women on board, the other being an elderly Ladakhi. My co-passenger now was a soldier, who enquired whether I was a duty-bound government official or school teacher. When I replied in the negative he said, “So, what are you doing on the bus?” My being a curious wayfarer bemused him. “Who in this age of cheap air tickets travels by bus to Leh,” he asked. “Only foreigners do. And, of course, helpless soldiers like us who don’t manage a warrant air-ticket.”

The journey up till Manali had been along the sprightly River Beas, on a relatively smooth highway racing past verdant hills. It was all set to change as we hit the onward trail. Short of Marhi, the popular breakfast halt before Rohtang Pass (12, 723 ft), kiosks advertising fur coats on hire had begun lining the road and a few hapless tourists, unaware that the Pass in end-August is a sunny meadow of green and not a carpet of snow, were seen haggling rates! “Anything for a fast buck,” grinned the soldier, a veteran of this route, who turned out to be a delightfully well-informed guide.
Beyond Rohtang it was a descent into the singular landscape of Lahaul district. Mountains that had appeared in soft shades were now handsomely rugged. Each seemed sculpted by the Master. Each spoke the story of creation that millions have been witness to. Within me, they evoked awe and anxiety almost in the same gasp as the bus rolled past, dwarfed by their might. The River Chandra often meandered into the canvas, sometimes as a gushing unruly brown and on occasions like an elegant silver ribbon. Its boisterous form had managed to chew the tarmac in many sections between Gramphoo and Sissu and the tyres would daringly cross such impromptu water beds. I had taken an air-pillow along which proved to be my sole luxury equipment that I would prop as a head-rest or use as a seat-cushion. Sometimes it was effectively employed as an ear muff to block the entertainment our driver insisted on providing, by playing non-stop hits of craggy Himachali music. So mandatory is such score in subcontinent buses, I’m surprised it still hasn’t been recognised as an honourable genre of music.
The moods of the mountains continued to inspire as the bus trundled past Tandi—famous with overland voyagers as the last place to tank up before Leh—and few two-shop hamlets before reaching the only major town en route, Keylong, the district headquarters of Lahaul-Spiti, famous for the Khardong Monastery. The sun was fast dipping and I needed to look for night accommodation. My single-woman status had help pouring in from all ends, and genuinely so, unlike the touts of Bombay or Delhi. The nice-looking tourism hotel was 500 meters away but my weary mind preferred something closer. I opted for a homestay a stone-throw away and hit the sack almost immediately.
At 3.30 am I was back in the bus as were some new passengers, among them a bunch of European backpackers. Sleep-deprived, I lost no time in escaping to slumberland. A monstrous bump awoke me and how providential that proved to be! Dawn’s inky blue shades were gingerly lighting up the sky even as we drove past enormous ranges of barren rock mountains in the valley of the beautiful River Bhaga, its waters reflecting silver and bronze. It was a stunning moonscape and here onwards it grew more awesome. The steady speed of the bus ensured the camera produced creditable images but to be true a lensperson has to do nothing, each frame is so perfect.
By forenoon we had summited the rocky Baralachala (16,049 ft), the second highest Pass we would cross. Soon after we hit the Sarchu plains (a favourite camping site), where ends Himachal and begins Jammu & Kashmir territory. All vehicles report at its checkpost, which allowed me to stretch my legs in starkly beautiful surroundings. The rocky face prior to Baralachala had given way to dramatically barren mud mountains. The whispers of the wind, by way of erosion, had made the mountains a playfield for creativity and carved on its face the most spectacular expressions ranging from castles to crowned monarchs.

The short break at Sarchu, though, stretched to an agonising few hours as the bridge ahead had collapsed, which meant we crossed Nakki la (16, 765 ft) and Lachung la (16, 600 ft) in the afternoon and arrived at Pang, the lunch halt, close to the evening. The menu was typical to the hills and included the ubiquitous Maggi noodles, parantha, omelette and soup, all of which manage to taste quite excellent in such surroundings. For the roadies bedding priced between Rs 80-Rs 120 was available at all tented ‘restaurant-cum-hotels’.

Up next was the fascinating Morey Plains, a 40-km flat strip, the land of the nomadic Changpa tribe. What captivated my imagination here was the way cottony white clouds speckled across the backdrop of a brilliant blue sky formed shadows over austere brown hills. The contrasting colours coalesced pleasingly and the swift movement of the clouds added fluent grace to the drama unfolding in this cold desert theatre.
The scheduled time of arrival in Leh was 5 pm and at that hour we were more than 100 km away traversing the highest pass en route, Tanglang la (17,582 ft) that fluttered with prayer flags. Its ascent had been gentle but by this time my mind had grown restless. The journey seemed never-ending and the other factor was I hadn’t booked accommodation in Leh, having hoped to walk around the pocket-size town and hunt for a suitable place.
Just before the sky wore its night cloak we reached Rumtse, where the first signs of civilization appeared after about 350 km. By 10 pm we finally reached Leh bus station. It was quiet and dark, but thankfully my cell-phone came alive. I rung up a friend’s decade-old contact, who materialised within minutes and in true tradition of Ladakhi hospitality escorted me to a cosy guest house.

It’s said 24 hours acclimatisation is a must before venturing out in Leh. I didn’t have a chance and early next morning I was on the streets capturing images of the Ladakh Festival. The road journey had naturally acclimatised me. And its magic still overwhelms.

Bus journey coordinates and suggestions:

Delhi-Leh bus (Himachal tourism)
Departure: daily (till Sept 15) from ISBT, Counter 7
Time: 3.45 pm
Fare: Rs 482 Delhi-Keylong; plus Rs 460 Keylong-Leh (The latter tkt is purchased in Keylong...the fares have gone up 15 pc since I travelled). Total: Rs 942

Tele contacts:
ISBT Delhi: 011- 23868694
ISBT Chandigarh (Himachal counter): 0172-2668943
Manali bus stand: 01902-252323
Keylong bus station: 01900-222245

Some options for bus travel are:
1. Take the morning train from Delhi to Chandigarh (Shatabadi Express), do a city tour and catch the Leh bus that departs at 9.40 pm.
2. Else, take the Delhi bus up to Manali, and stop over for two days or a day. Then take the bus till Keylong. Break journey as there is enough to occupy you around here for a day or more, and it's worth it to explore if you have come up all this way.
3. Take the morning bus from Keylong to Leh which will be around 15 hrs journey.

Published in The New Indian Express, September 2009

Ladakhi Polo

The Ladakh version of polo is played by a set of rules dating back 500 years and more. And it was on the whim of a princess that the sport arrived here. Read on...
In environs as raw and rugged as nature can sculpt it was a rousing display. The innate power of man and mount moving in tandem to conquer. Crossing hurdles and gaining an edge, sometimes letting it all slip away. Fortunes stood on shifting sands. Cluttering hoofs raised billows of dust. The conditions were tough, the weather demanding. But the spirit didn’t flag. It egged on its companions: strength and skill.

When stakes were down the trio rose; charging ahead, pushing frontiers, raising the bar, holding nerve and eventually surmounting. The crowd, sitting with bated breath, broke into an ecstatic cheer. The win was hailed. Man and mount acknowledged. Strength, skill and spirit took a bow. It had been a display of superlative horsepower at its high-voltage best.
I was amidst an eager crowd watching a gripping exhibition of polo at Leh’s Polo Ground, 11,000 feet above sea level. The duel had been fought between the local teams of Ladakhi Scouts and Animal Husbandry. Always the strong favourites, Ladakhi Scouts (corps of the Indian Army) had annexed the day’s honours in this play for pride.
As a venue, the Polo Ground has more than a touch of wild drama, with mud mountains covering one flank, the Leh Palace rising high at the other end and a piercingly blue sky speckled with cottony white clouds doming it. Every summer, between July to September, this is the ‘shagaran’ or arena where polo teams from around Ladakh’s hamlets gather and play the sport…not according to contemporary norms but by a set of rules tabulated centuries back. Nearly 500 years ago.

Princess’ whim

The Polo Ground had a vibrant mix of people. Seated around me was a group of young monks, attentively tuned to the proceedings. “Do you know how polo arrived in Ladakh?” Lama Tsering asked me. I didn’t even try speculating. “I’ll enlighten you,” he said taking-off on a ‘Once upon a time…’ track and weaving a fascinating tale.
Polo wouldn’t have been played in the ‘shagarans’ had it not been for Gyal Khatun. She was a princess of Baltistan’s Maqpon dynasty, who grew up seeing the exploits of her father and brothers astride the steeds and heard their feats reverberating in the royal corridors. The Maqpons dynasty had been established here in the 12th century by Ibrahim Shah, who had migrated to Baltistan from Iran, the cradle of polo. Whenever Gyal got a chance she would espy men playing polo and secretly nurtured a dream of choosing a suitor who was a champion at the sport, considered the mark of man. The other princesses had been wooed that way and Gyal romantically hoped for something similar. Destiny though had other plans. The Maqpons had expansion on their mind and as a strategic alliance Gyal’s marriage proposal was sent to Ladakh’s Namgyal  dynasty. It was accepted and Gyal Khatun came across the Karakoram as the bride of King Jamyang Namgyal.

The young monarch had fallen prey to the bewitchingly-beautiful Gyal the moment he had set his eyes upon here. Any wish of hers was his command. During a stroll one evening, Gyal asked Jamyang why she never saw him playing polo. Jamyang confessed being least aware of the pursuit. Crestfallen, she walked away ruing her fate. Seeing his queen upset Jamyang summoned his courtiers and despatched them on mission polo. Legend says he secretly trained and months later impressed the queen with his mastery in the mounted sport. This was in the 16th century and ever since polo has been played across Ladakh.

Ladakhi edition

The game of polo has a long past. Born in the craggy mountaineous plains of Persia some thousand years ago, it travelled to China and Central Asia from where in its onward journey it halted at diverse places. In India, it is said, Mughal emperor Akbar lent it royal patronage. During the British rule it got further impetus with the cavalry regiments and princely states becoming major nurseries for the sport; the reason the Army and Rajasthan, besides Manipur and Ladakh where traditional formats are followed, are mainstays of the game in the country.

Modern polo comprises two teams of four members each. The game lasts 30 minutes and there are four rounds called chukkers of 7.5 minutes duration. After each chukker teams change sides and the stallions are substituted, which translates into a team requiring 16 horses per game. The stick and the ball are made of bamboo and the ball travels at a speed of 50-60 kmph. A handicap in polo is from -2 to + 10 and in contrast to golf, higher the handicap, better the player.

Ladakhi polo is feverishly quicker and more demanding. Till recently, there was no system of chukker and both teams played non-stop till nine goals were scored by either. This has been amended to two halves of 20 minutes each with a 10 minute break. As per tradition, the same set of horses is used throughout the match. After a goal, sides change and the scorer gets to take strike.
With the game being played at a fast pace and in conditions quite bucolic, chances are you can miss the goal. “Don’t fret,” said Lama Tsering when I couldn’t keep tab on the score. “Tune your ears to the sound of the daman (drum) and surna (oboe). No sport in Ladakh is complete without their high-pitched strains. As a goal is scored, musical frenzy increases and someone from the crowd gets up and does a victory jig.”

Lama Tsering’s narration had been gripping, almost as if I were hearing a movie script, with the polo game unfolding on the field providing complementing action and sound track! By the time the Lama wrapped up his raconteur role, Ladakh Scouts had romped to a win. The crowd began to disperse. They would be back the next day to cheer another session. I would fly home with pockets full of dust and a story to tell.

brindasuri@gmail.com

Quick facts:

Road: Leh–Srinagar (May to October) & Leh–Manali (July to September)

Polo season: Usually begins in July and ends in September with the Ladakh Festival