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I’ll bE back!I fell… was it for the star-filled sky, the sweeping valley or the cold desert—as treacherous as it was spectacular? I’m not sure yet, but I know the 10 days of endless magic cannot end there. I want more…b y l E s l I E x av I E r

Photographs by a n i r b a n d at ta r o y

spot the car My friend Siddharth’s maroon

Ambassador turned out to be the star of the trip, enchanting the local

residents at every village.

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New Delhi709 ft

New Delhi709 ft

Mandi3,425 ft

Manali6,398 ft

rohtang Pass

13,054 ftrohtang Pass

13,054 ft

kullu4,193 ft

Jispa10,500 ft

Jispa10,500 ft

baralacha la

16,040 ftbaralacha la

16,040 ft

sarchu14, 070 ft

sarchu14, 070 ft

lachung la16,600 ft

Tso kar14,800 ft

Mori Plains14,500 ft

Tanglang la17,480 ft

leh11,562 ft

Mahe14,700 ft

Tso Moriri15,080 ft

lachung la16,600 ft

sun creeping up on us to the famous shadow chase scene in the old cowboy flick Macken-na’s Gold. “We don’t have horses, that’s all,” joked Anirban Datta Roy, a wildlife biologist and our trip’s unofficial photographer.

As soon as the sunrays hit the cars, the ice crystals started smoking and melting away in a magical haze. This land is full of magic, I thought while sipping tea made by Mohan Joshi, who was the most active of the lot for he had completed a basic mountain-

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being a former heavyweight wrestler has its advantages when it comes to road trips. For starters (pun intended), you are always in demand when it comes to supple-

menting the power of the engine with some muscle, especially if the vehicle is diesel and the location is among the highest and coldest motorable roads and trails in the world. And there were quite a few of those good old push-start moments.

We were on an eight-man, 10-day trip through Ladakh, where we pitched tents with our three cars as makeshift windbreak-ers near the famous lakes of the Himalayas. The water bodies ensured that temperatures remained below zero, freezing the radiators, even making greenish stalagmites out of the dripping coolant of the leaked radiator of one of our vehicles—a Mahindra MM 550 Jeep. The cold was expected as it was late September, and, as someone remarked, we had missed the best camping weather in Ladakh. “Off-season pe kaha nikle aap (where are you off to during off-season)?” said a tea-selling gentleman in Jispa, which, at 10,500 feet, was our base camp of sorts. We spent three days (two en route Leh and one on the return leg to Manali) in the sleepy, sparsely populated valley to “acclimatise”

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tripping outThe eight-man group travelled across

the Ladakh valley, through its high passes, camping next to some of the

world’s most beautiful lakes.

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in-the-bag jokes.Suresh Babu, who was driving his Mit-

subishi Pajero, seemed lost in his own world—his eyes distant and dreamy, be-holding “the Milky Way in its full glory”. I looked up and there it was, magic. I have never seen the sky so clear, the enormity of the stellar spectacle above warmed my heart as I stretched my legs near the fire, pressed my back against the Jeep, and just watched in silence, the banter around the fire drowning as the thoughts in my mind became louder…dreams, poetry, love and life from time eternity flashing in the sky.

This was what our trip was all about. A test of our resolve and bodies, like fellow traveller Shankar Chandra fighting and beating claustrophobia demons inside his single-person tent. But beyond that, it was to find a space to reflect on why we were living the way we were. No wonder the Himalayas are known as the abode of the gods and are the home of philosophers and saints, I thought, as we hit our sleeping bags for the much-needed rest before the long drive the next day—to Leh, through Tanglang La, which, at 17,480 feet would be the highest point in our trip.

Morning brought with it pleasant surprises and a couple of prob-lems. I was one of the first out of

the tent, and noticed a sparkling layer on all the cars—ice crystals had formed overnight. It was around 7 a.m., the sun was up but the rays hadn’t reached the valley yet as it had to clear the natural barriers made by the mountains. In time, we could see the shadows recede as the temperature started to become bearable. Someone compared the

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our plain-bred, summer-burnt bodies to the altitude and dips in temperatures.

Going back to the wrestler’s bulk, push-starting the car was, perhaps, my only ad-vantage, as the terrain and harshness of Ladakh’s cold deserts tested the limits of our bodies in more ways than one. Oxygen starved and giddy when we rolled into Tso Kar late in the evening on the fourth day, our priority was pitching the tents. The wind was relentless and the mercury was dipping. We did manage to erect our tents, but the exer-tion and the long drive had caught up with me as well as my friend Siddharth Saxena, who was driving his Ambassador. Yes, the good old Amby, which, I would proudly say, is built like an akhara-forged wrestler too—maroon in colour, the same hue a wrestler would take as red dust from the arena mixes with blood and sweat and sticks to his body after a bout. A real desi dangal champion this Amby is, as we saw later on the trip.

In Tso Kar (14,800 feet), as soon as the first four-man tent was up, I decided to step

in to catch my breath and get warm. My sleeping bag, brought by trip-mate Raman Kumar, an environmental scientist, was unpacked. Getting into a sleeping bag is one area where being custom-built like a wrestler doesn’t help. I realised it the hard way, more so as the bag I had was a size too small. I squeezed in and finally managed to cover the most part of the body though I couldn’t quite zip myself in. Siddharth, to my right, was already inside two sleeping bags. “Dressing in layers helps,” someone had told him. So, he decided to use an extra sleeping bag.

Things got better as the wind died down; we gradually got used to the temperature, helped partly by a campfire and some grilled sausages and the lifesaver of our trip—tea, Maggi instant soups and noodles. After an hour in the sleeping bag, I decided to step out of the tent. It was around eight in the night and I walked straight to the campfire where the rest of the mates were hunched, cooking, and cracking, well, those big-men-

as sOON as THE sUNrays HIT THE cars, THE IcE crysTals sTarTED MElTINg IN a MagIcal HaZE.

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eering and acclimatising course a month back. Joshi, nicknamed Mojo, is an excel-lent cook, and loves clicking selfies. Ladakh is selfie heaven, no matter how bad an angle you click, the background will always be breathtaking.

Soon we were about to lose our breath and the wrestler was going to be called into action. Before that, the other wrestler, the petrol-powered Amby, had warmed up to daylight at just one twist of the ignition key. It had to be reversed back onto the trail and as Siddharth maneuvered it, we heard the scraping of metal on rock. The low clear-ance of the heavy rear-wheel drive car had hit a hidden rock and we could see the plate protecting the gearbox bent and hanging.

Enter Mr Dharamvir Saini, the resident Ambassador whisperer, as Siddharth calls him. Any time of the day, at the Hindustan Motors Safdarjung petrol station service centre in central Delhi, you will find at least 10 white government-plated Ambys wait-ing for Saini or other old-timers. Saini was Siddharth’s guest on the trip and, despite being a bit groggy from altitude sickness, he quickly slid under the car, unbolted the plate, took it to a nearby rock, pulled out his hammer and beat it back into shape. All in just 15 minutes! Imagine being able to do that with one of those Japanese or Korean two-wheel drive imports.

“Yehi Ambassador ka advantage hai (this

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celebrity, with people waving and applauding the seemingly out of place maroon monsieur.

We got back onto the Mori Plains road, which was a rough ride for us—Siddharth, Saini and I in the Amby—as the loose metal and small rocks were tossing the car around. We decided to get onto the sand trail parallel to the road, which we figured would last till the start of the climb to the Tanglang La. Contrary to off-roading practice, the Amby had to be driven with care. The ruts, which are the smoothest path in a trail, had to be avoided as the Amby’s clearance was so low that we feared the undercarriage might rub against the ground and damage the fuel pipe or the oil sump, and that would spell disas-ter. Siddharth loves his Amby, and like any love affair, this one had blossomed through mutual understanding. He understands the limits of his car and has developed this easy way of negotiating the bumps and rough roads that smoothened things out, not just for us, but for the car too.

We reached the foot of the climb to Tang-lang La and had to get back onto the road. There were two trails to do it and Siddharth decided to go on the first one. A mistake. The car hit a bump on its way up and started to

roar louder than usual. The exhaust pipe was broken. We drove it onto the road through the second trail and Saini, for the second time in the day, slid under the car to inspect the damage.

“Koi nahin, jugaad toh ho jayega, Leh tak (no problem, it can be fixed, at least till Leh),” he said, before reaching for a couple of span-ners to take out the broken exhaust pipe bend. “Agar ek welder mil jaata, toh bahut accha hota (if we could find a welder, it would have been great),” he added, after inspecting the bend-pipe whose neck, where the packing comes in, was a bit damaged.

We looked around and, what do you know, a welder was at hand. The Border Roads Organisation (BRO) had a camp nearby and they had a resident welder who forged a few spots on the pipe to make it roadworthy once more. The Amby was ready to roll, after the jugaad. This car is indeed Indian, for only an Indian would be so at ease with the practice, rather the culture here we all call jugaad.

On that patriotic note, we moved up the pass, the nationalistic fervour stirred up at the sight of a few Army convoys. We overtook trucks, cyclists, a couple of local dogs (the Bhutia breed), even as the regular

is the advantage of an Ambassador),” said Saini, trying to catch his breath. “Jugaad toh aasani se ho jaata hai (makeshift arrange-ments are easy on this car).”

More of the famous Indian ju-gaad was to follow, as our Amby proved its worth on the lunar-ish

landscape from Tso Kar to Leh, through the Mori Plains and Tanglang La; and, on the return leg, through Mahe, Tso Moriri, Lachung La, Gata Loops, Sarchu, Baralacha La, Jispa, Rohtang Pass, Manali, Kulu right through to Delhi.

Back at Tso Kar, we had more glitches to sort out, and it came from the most off-road

ready car in the lot. The Pajero wouldn’t start. The Mahindra sputtered to life after its radiator warmed up to the sun, but the Mitsubishi’s 2.8-litre turbo engine stayed silent. It was time for muscle power. We all pushed, fighting the dizziness that followed with each spurt of activity, to get the Pajero back on the trail while the Mahindra pulled up behind to nudge it down the dirt road for a rolling start. After a few attempts, a torsion cable was employed, the Jeep giving the Pajero a tug as it roared to life. That cost us almost an hour, while we all joked about how the Amby, which we feared would give the most trouble, was the least stubborn of the three cars. The Amby, in fact, was the

the other side of beautyStunning scenery and spiritualism apart, Ladakh held out the reality of its residents’ everyday life, which is a perpetual struggle against the elements.

WE WErE IN laDakH FOr THaT MIssINg lINk, THE MIssINg bEaUTy IN OUr lIvEs

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taxis plying the route honked past us, to reach Leh, which, by the way, was not our final destination. In true traveller spirit, our itinerary was based on that ancient adage: sometimes the journey teaches you more about the destination.

so, after a day in Leh, visiting mon-asteries and watering holes, we hur-ried onto another rough trail—to Tso

Moriri via Mahe, negotiating a landslide that was cleared by the BRO workers, while the Pajero was fighting its own demons—over-heating thanks to a damaged radiator pipe. Suresh, a professor at Ambedkar University and a stickler for detail, had carried a spare radiator pipe for such an eventuality. Saini worked his magic and, though late, we even-tually made it to Tso Moriri by nightfall. That meant we had to see off the night to enjoy the full splendour of the lake.

Sunrise brought out the real beauty of Tso Moriri—enchanting each one of us, so much so, that we lost track of time. Raman and Suresh sat by the lake, gazing into the sparkling blue water and the horizon, while the rest went about clicking pictures. I made a small prayer mount with pebbles near the lake—contemplating life more than praying during the process. It was more like a time-out in between a ball game. But in my case, the time-out was used to refresh the weary priorities that have been piling up within a system that has been fine-tuned to suit my profession and life in a busy city.

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Our reverie was cut short by the call of another priority. We had to get to Jispa, at least 160 kilometres away. The dis-tance isn’t much, but in Leh it’s as good as 600 kilometres on a national high-way, considering the rough roads and the high passes we needed to negotiate, all the while fighting the urge to stop and lose our-selves in the harsh yet serene beauty sur-rounding us.

Eventually, the route to Jispa took us 12 hours, traversing a valley that was, well, in the middle of nowhere. We stopped to watch and click cranes, wild asses, marmots and an array of birds that were duly identified by the naturalists in the group—Roy and Raman—who used to run out toting their cameras and binoculars after spotting a bird. “Stop running behind chicks,” was the joke of the day.

But, jokes apart, serious business was at hand as night caught up with us just before the tricky Gata Loops—a 21-hairpin downhill stretch after the Lachung La. There began our list of cheap thrills of the trip. To drive around in Ladakh is great. But to go down semi-blind through the Gata Loops and then to climb up again to cross the Baralacha

La in the dead of night, negotiating rough roads as well as tricky and swollen up, seemingly angry, water crossings, was indeed priceless.

The decision to press on into the night was unanimous. It was not exactly for the thrills. The group of eight comprised blokes who have seen their fair share of thrills to know better. The logic, I reckon, had more to do with the state of our minds at the time. By then, we had spent eight days in a beautiful place that was alien to all of us. Alien be-cause such beauty is missing in our rarefied, climate-controlled city abodes.

We were in Ladakh for that missing link, the missing beauty in our lives. The decision to drive through the night was our way of trying to experience the darker side of the beauty in Ladakh: the one after sundown, where that ridge, whose brighter side the sun showcases, suddenly becomes an abyss whose depths are unfathomable. Unless you fall into it. Obviously, we didn’t!

However, I did fall for something. I just can’t figure out what. That is why I have decided to retrace the path again, again, and again…in the coming years till I find it out. A quest, a yearly pilgrimage! ±

peak performanceOur off-season jaunt meant a longer

acclimatising schedule, not just for us but the three cars as well, which were in

for a rough ride, especially on the passes.

DrIvINg arOUND laDakH Was grEaT bUT DOINg THE 21-HaIrPIN gaTa lOOPs aT NIgHT Was PrIcElEss

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