Ladakh, aka 'Little Tibet'

"The land is so barren and the passes so high that only the best of friends or the fiercest of enemies would want to visit us."
~ An old Ladakhi saying

This beautiful saying, framed on our hotel-room door, got glued to my heart for a very long time. True, only a very good friend would dare to traverse through this expanse of tall mountains, high passes, and cold deserts. And, only a fierce enemy like our neighbouring country would intrude with their troops now and then, every couple of months because our borders are iffy. Then there are some who would call Ladakh a No Man's land, and to some it is a land too foreign in its culture that might tickle their touristy apprehensions. To us, it was just perfect. A sanctuary full of natural wonders and kind, ever-smiling faces that make you forget the dust and drudgery of a mad, mad city. A place that heals, listens to your worries, and sometimes even talks back to you in soothing whispers. A place where one can just be.

Bald mountains and feathery poplars, the towering guardians of the place. Leh Palace, the stoic reminder of Ladakh's royal past. Prayer flags lending a hint of colour to rusty doors. The shambled past giving way to a green present. Bleached stupas, the ruins of Shey - the erstwhile summer capital of Ladakh royalty. Sindhu Ghat or the banks of the Indus River, a culturally significant place for the locals. A bactrian camel couple relaxing on the parched sands of the Hunder desert. Sweet-smelling wild roses, one of the scant blooms found in the region. Leh market, where a myriad colours and faces come together. Tibetan refugee shops, chockablock with many a treasure. The market walls adorned with inviting handicrafts. A journey to the culinary heaven via Tibetan momos. Beautiful Ladakhi buildings thronged by poplars and stumpy hills. The Royal Enfield, aka the 'Bullet', the wheels that take you through the ups and downs of the intriguing, never-ceasing-to-fascinate terrain. 
  

Night bazaar

Another revisiting, another retelling.
Another attempt at unearthing the familiar, at walking the beaten path.

The night bazaar at Shilparamam. An enchanting heaven for all art and craft lovers. A weekly pilgrimage it was, once upon a time. A forever coming together of artists from all corners of the country. A perfect microcosm of 'unity in diversity'. The midnight air swollen with nocturnal blooms. Sprinklers stirring the tired, sleepy earth. Ah, that intoxicating, balmy scent! Deserted shops, many closed. Murals reciting pages from mythology, stray terracotta urns, familiar paintings of alluring village women, Rajasthani sequin work, Kashmiri beaded beauties, marble work from Agra. There's more to this place, I know. A kaleidoscope of colours and creativity. Daylight will tell more stories, weave more magic. I know. I know them all too well. 

I will be back. Soon. To the well-trodden ruts, once again.