Twenty five years, is a lot of time. That's exactly the number of years I have been around for. Perhaps we've met. Now, I am not, what one would call the "well-traveled", but over the years, travelling with friends, family and by self - I have learnt a thing or two. Two. The two facets of travelling, as per me, and essentially, as for me. One, all that exists by the road - the views, the works..., and then, The Road. My fascination with the latter, possibly the most under-commemorated thing ever made by man, continues - and grows, unexplained, till date.
Travelling on the road through the hills and valleys of Ladakh, perhaps for the first time, I began to think, or I think I began - my fascination for The Road.
Reflections, by the Road
Ladakh is a painted landscape, only, in motion, dazzling you with an impressive Dali here and a Monet there. The monasteries, that dot the landscape, stand with a quaint spirit of timelessness. If you've had the good fortune to see the 'World of Albert Kahn', Ladakh might just come across to you as a living, breathing autochrome. Anachronism is a concept lost in Ladakh, for all that ever existed is now. From people to places, thatched huts to the palaces - all defy time in ways their own, one moment at a time.
This is where, you could wake up everyday, day after day, and live the same day - all over again, a la Groundhog Day. I can't say, at least for now, if I'd want an out. May be. But not just now.
As you go along the road - you'd see glimpses of everyday valiance. For these are harsh terrains, and some battles are fought everyday. What Sun Tzu, did not give the world was the art of the everyday battle. Perhaps it has been lying, scattered, somewhere by the road, for centuries. Waiting to be compiled and compartmentalized.
And then, somewhere by the road, you would see the wisdom of centuries. Centuries, compiled and compartmentalized, neatly in red. I ain't no dharma-bum, yet was happy to know that in these places they've let God be.
Days to centuries. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes.
Snaking our way to Kargil, through the cold inhabitable desert, sometimes, the road was the only sign of any human connection the place has had. The roads here, so I've been told, do not get washed away, in-spite of the extreme weather. An art which other, more developed, cities have not yet learnt.
The war memorial at Kargil brought back some memories and mixed feelings. While the fervor was palpable, so was the sheer disappointment in the establishment.
'War is young men dying, and old men talking', centuries after Achilles was told this, I felt the chilling accuracy of the statement, in all its brutality, while seeing the names and pictures of the soldiers martyred in another war, the world could have done without. Operation Vijay.
Take a bow here. Thank, and take a moment to think before you hit the road again.
The road ahead leads us to 'the valley'. Few years back, I wondered (here) if fighting for Kashmir, still holds any value for India and should we not simply let Kashmiris decide the fate that beholds the land. I was young, and like all people young, swayed and foolish. While I still do not agree with the policies which originate from New Delhi's Lutyenian elites, I stand firmly by the view that Kashmir is an indispensable part of our nation.
We spent a day in Srinagar, where people were as welcoming as the Hazratbal dargah.
A major part of the time in Srinagar was spent on the deck of the houseboat, playfully named Khilona. Khilona stays by the banks of the Nageen lake. We spent our time watching the smokes rise up. Watched as the night bled a purple haze. There were reflections from the road.
Reflections, on the Road
Reflections, by the Road
Ladakh is a painted landscape, only, in motion, dazzling you with an impressive Dali here and a Monet there. The monasteries, that dot the landscape, stand with a quaint spirit of timelessness. If you've had the good fortune to see the 'World of Albert Kahn', Ladakh might just come across to you as a living, breathing autochrome. Anachronism is a concept lost in Ladakh, for all that ever existed is now. From people to places, thatched huts to the palaces - all defy time in ways their own, one moment at a time.
As you go along the road - you'd see glimpses of everyday valiance. For these are harsh terrains, and some battles are fought everyday. What Sun Tzu, did not give the world was the art of the everyday battle. Perhaps it has been lying, scattered, somewhere by the road, for centuries. Waiting to be compiled and compartmentalized.
And then, somewhere by the road, you would see the wisdom of centuries. Centuries, compiled and compartmentalized, neatly in red. I ain't no dharma-bum, yet was happy to know that in these places they've let God be.
Days to centuries. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes.
Snaking our way to Kargil, through the cold inhabitable desert, sometimes, the road was the only sign of any human connection the place has had. The roads here, so I've been told, do not get washed away, in-spite of the extreme weather. An art which other, more developed, cities have not yet learnt.The war memorial at Kargil brought back some memories and mixed feelings. While the fervor was palpable, so was the sheer disappointment in the establishment.
'War is young men dying, and old men talking', centuries after Achilles was told this, I felt the chilling accuracy of the statement, in all its brutality, while seeing the names and pictures of the soldiers martyred in another war, the world could have done without. Operation Vijay.
Take a bow here. Thank, and take a moment to think before you hit the road again.
The road ahead leads us to 'the valley'. Few years back, I wondered (here) if fighting for Kashmir, still holds any value for India and should we not simply let Kashmiris decide the fate that beholds the land. I was young, and like all people young, swayed and foolish. While I still do not agree with the policies which originate from New Delhi's Lutyenian elites, I stand firmly by the view that Kashmir is an indispensable part of our nation.
We spent a day in Srinagar, where people were as welcoming as the Hazratbal dargah.
A major part of the time in Srinagar was spent on the deck of the houseboat, playfully named Khilona. Khilona stays by the banks of the Nageen lake. We spent our time watching the smokes rise up. Watched as the night bled a purple haze. There were reflections from the road.
Reflections, on the Road
Why do I like the road? Perhaps, for it is the perfect companion. When you pay for the spirit, the road comes free. It may not belong to you - but, it will let you own it. It shall, or let you believe that it shall, long for you. You ain't the well heeled traveler, for you are just the wanderer, yet the road says it sees no difference.In these funny mobius strip ways of my world, the road, becomes the sanctum sanctorum.
And when all is said and all is done, take a final look at the road. For that's whence I heard the words - where next?
