There are hotels everywhere, along every lane of the town - but most are closed and a few that are open don't have vacant rooms. It takes a long time to finally find one open. But the owner is clear at the outset about the service. Even the simple affair of tea, toasts and omelet which I had ordered takes a long time to come.
Pipelines are frozen; electricity is available for only a few hours in the evening, labour isn’t available and so isn’t water, trees have shed their leaves, people have migrated to warmer lands and business is low and slow.
If summers are carnival like, merry, then the winters are spartan. It appears like the entire town has slipped into hibernation. It is the winter of shortages and scarcity.
When I arrived here, I knew only too well what to expect. I hadn't spent my money to buy myself a new pair of shoes or a fancy jacket. Nor did I spend to buy myself a luxurious holiday. I had come to a land, where, its own people had fled to warmers pastures. Where difficulty was etched in the very routine. I had come here to learn new things, explore a cold frozen world and practice a new way of life. I came with a lot of dreams, hope and expectations. And this welcome just seemed to be the gateway to the wonderland which I had envisaged.
The cup of tea on the table has gone cold as I soak in the cold, dry air. The drone of a helicopter, that flies overhead, reaches the ears and disappears soon after. It is almost afternoon, and I go out for a walk along the streets of the town. order momos for lunch. Apparently momos served at "momo-land" aren’t that tasty. A closed shop with "Masala Cold Drinks" menu catches my eye. The Motorcycle service center is open but there are no customers. The streets look sad and lonely. And sometimes the wind blows cold and hard across the trees and bites me, which makes me dig my hands deeper into the jacket pockets.The stagnant water in the drains have turned to hard ice and I can see water gushing under them.
An old woman, walking towards me from the opposite direction, stops momentarily and wishes “Julley” – she remained the only person whom I saw in my walk towards Shanti stupa.
I climb up the stairs, turning back often to see the scenery as I reach higher. As I reach the top, the bright afternoon sun gets mild and cold. The snow sparkles against the pitch dark shadows of the clouds. Scores of roof tops lie hidden within mazes of brown trees, the Leh palace perched precariously on a hill yonder, rows of hills that turn from brown to white as they grow higher and a jet black road that cuts a divide in the landscape with minuscule military trucks that ride on top of them – it’s a land of contrasts, one that is vivid and varied and where urbanization has plowed deeply - so typical of the Leh we all know.
Pipelines are frozen; electricity is available for only a few hours in the evening, labour isn’t available and so isn’t water, trees have shed their leaves, people have migrated to warmer lands and business is low and slow.
If summers are carnival like, merry, then the winters are spartan. It appears like the entire town has slipped into hibernation. It is the winter of shortages and scarcity.
When I arrived here, I knew only too well what to expect. I hadn't spent my money to buy myself a new pair of shoes or a fancy jacket. Nor did I spend to buy myself a luxurious holiday. I had come to a land, where, its own people had fled to warmers pastures. Where difficulty was etched in the very routine. I had come here to learn new things, explore a cold frozen world and practice a new way of life. I came with a lot of dreams, hope and expectations. And this welcome just seemed to be the gateway to the wonderland which I had envisaged.
The cup of tea on the table has gone cold as I soak in the cold, dry air. The drone of a helicopter, that flies overhead, reaches the ears and disappears soon after. It is almost afternoon, and I go out for a walk along the streets of the town. order momos for lunch. Apparently momos served at "momo-land" aren’t that tasty. A closed shop with "Masala Cold Drinks" menu catches my eye. The Motorcycle service center is open but there are no customers. The streets look sad and lonely. And sometimes the wind blows cold and hard across the trees and bites me, which makes me dig my hands deeper into the jacket pockets.The stagnant water in the drains have turned to hard ice and I can see water gushing under them.
An old woman, walking towards me from the opposite direction, stops momentarily and wishes “Julley” – she remained the only person whom I saw in my walk towards Shanti stupa.
I climb up the stairs, turning back often to see the scenery as I reach higher. As I reach the top, the bright afternoon sun gets mild and cold. The snow sparkles against the pitch dark shadows of the clouds. Scores of roof tops lie hidden within mazes of brown trees, the Leh palace perched precariously on a hill yonder, rows of hills that turn from brown to white as they grow higher and a jet black road that cuts a divide in the landscape with minuscule military trucks that ride on top of them – it’s a land of contrasts, one that is vivid and varied and where urbanization has plowed deeply - so typical of the Leh we all know.
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