Continuing from Call of the Now, for the Great Himalayan Road Reunion.
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To Srinagara, to zojila, to Leh, to Hanle, to the land that invoked my spirit, beyond the Indus, towards the Karakoram, to the parents of my children in Turtuk, to the man who flipped, to all the treks that lead to mahadeva and Gaura; to the top of that Himalayan mountain where the first tyre burst, to i don’t know what pass that came after where hundred’s of horses ran just to take left, and we took towards sky.
Stone laden river bed that kept us moving on a conical mountain all afternoon, many called it a road. Through a broken bridge, through the ditches connecting another ditch on the World Yoga day. To stopping in front of the snow, and drinking it. To dipping in the coldest river Tirthan, to filling stomach from the river Chandrabhaga. To standing all night under the milky way. To crying for my parted child, to buying eyes for Rasool bhai. While laughing at others, while laughing at ourselves. While stopping before every loop to the mountain up. Omni made it.
I need to save each penny
The river that didn’t remember me. The river that once belonged to me, never belonged to me, still leaves for Pakistan. The dancing carrier. The melancholiness of the petrol fumes over six days. The questions. Never answers, or may be for the special village. The acid that turned the land green. The music. The fatwas. The absconding Yakhs. The yelling Donkeys shouting out loud for love. As most bicycles left us behind, our omni made it across the Ma-ma Pass – Tanglang La(5,328 m/17,480 ft) and then the Papa pass- the Khardung La(5,602 m/18, 380 ft), the highest motorable road in the world. But always carry two people to push the omni through, we needed many only once.
For me this was a path-breaking and a heartbreaking journey. In one way i excelled beyond my expectations of holding onto. In making decisions, and in waiting. In changing tyres before time and making boats row straightest. In breathing with the wind and hearing over listening, and not just to humans. But at the same time fell short the moment i met the eyes of the people i once took care of or actually they took of me extremely, in an alien land which i always felt mine even before i had heard of Woodie Guthrie.
Rasool, my eyes of Kashmir was unwell beyond pain. The two nights that i stayed with him this time were mostly filled with tears and helplessness as he needed immediate care. He made me think of the possibilities or rather the directions that one man sometimes must take.
For me this journey was like going in the depths of my heart’s womb, like looking in the mirror of life, looking at oneself through so many eyes that have known me but inside them they are changing, like i am changing in me and none, no one can even say or do anything about it.
For now, I must leave with some images from the journey as sometimes diaries can be painful to read, stretching this soulful time to live a little longer, just like the flute of Krishna, which must be heard like it were the shores of Jamuna.
Also read : One night at the India-Pakistan Border
Some Images traversing the mystical landscape of Laddakh- The Land of Passes, and the land that gives way to Tibet- The Roof of the World. Its a feeling that initiates a change in the one who rests in these so silent valleys that your toughest skin starts coming up.
This was way to the majestic land of Indus, driving along the mighty river to a the last village 280 kilometres south of Leh, Hanle, and that is not even 50 kilometres from the Chinese Border.
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If today is the first time you have arrived on The Road to Nara, you are heartily welcome ~ Namaste
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