Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 33: Of marriages and moments

June 10, 2010

I'm at home with the terrain now. It shows me no malice - its diversity, an opium to my oxygen starved brain.

An endless sky, wrapped in blue and gold witnesses our advance. We will ride long; without consequence, without a care.

We halt briefly for tea. Our hostess takes to me like a bee to honey. For she will ask me why I sport no wedding ring. "Isn't it obvious?", I quip. She asks me of my woman. I inform her that I have none. She remarks that perhaps I should take home with me a Ladhaki girl. I state that I'm prepared to but haven't met any one of interest. Perhaps I lie, for my heart remains within the confines Leh, in a little place called Dolphin.

I never said goodbye - merely left a big tip and a hope that I will someday return. 

Or perhaps I do not lie. Perhaps I would have done more had I had any real interest. Or perhaps... the hostess breaks my reverie, recommending that I take one from her own village for they consider me worthwhile. I realize she jests, for my wives-to-be are in their early sixties. Much too ripe for a man of thirty-three. The conversation continues without direction.

She reminisces her time spent working in a Delhi call-center. When asked why she left, she raises her child into my viewport. "I got married.", she says. "I love city boys.", she adds, her eyes repressing a hitherto forgotten memory, her lips uttering nothing more. I notice one other belle looking over a makeshift barrier, smiling bashfully in my direction. I'm flattered by the attention, but mostly cynical of their intent.

Inside, the boys are sipping the last of their tea. I tell her I better hurry in. She nods. I glance at my would-be-lovelies one last time. They seem to be weaving carpets. I ask my hostess one last question - "How much do these carpets go for?". "Marry them and you'll get it for free", she replies. "I'm sorry I asked.", I think to myself. I see more bikes turning into the compound. Spiderweb exclaims that they belong to 60kph. I find one of them exclaiming to the other that our bikes were xbhp.

We make no introductions for want of time,  remount our steeds and resume the journey. We must reach Tangtse before dark. As meters melt into kilometers, I zone into a careless throttle. The Universe speaks to me no more, the terrain challenges me no more, the tarmac wobbles me no more, the open sky... shows trouble. There's a sand storm brewing in the distance. Wisps of particle combine with violent intent. From our vantage, its pretty clear we'll have to navigate right through it. We decide to pick up the pace. Experience suggests, the longer we mull around, the worse it usually gets. Of course Vishal will do everything but pick up the pace and so the group splits once more with Spiderweb cranking up the throttle to insane levels while a cautious Vishal moving to the other end of the spectrum. Drifter and RomeoMike will stick to their mate, and I will glue in to mine.



The storm pushes us around good. The R15 shivers like a new born in Alaska. We keep our heads low, our visors down and our throttles up. The pelting sand destroys my view frame. I see nothing, only the dim glow of Motorbreath's tail lamp a few feet from me. My lone rear view struggles to reveal the background; it fails every time. Fortunately, it only takes us a few, though long minutes - perhaps more than twenty, to exit the eye of the storm. We've lost the three once more.

We find ourselves close to Tangtse - 2kms if the stone is to be believed. Spiderweb suggests we keep moving and look for accommodation. It will be dark soon.  At 0 kms from Tangtse, we find ourselves at a crossroad, one leading into the township, the other, by-passing it to arrive at Pangong Tso. We are incapable of deciphering one from the other for the board seems to suggest nothing of consequence. Spiderweb decrees we take the right - we follow blindly. Turns out, his guess was right. We land at the doors of Tangtse.

Tangtse, a micro settlement, the equivalent of a short street. A few buildings on either side of the road sums up the town. We find two options for accommodation - an Inn and a comparatively modest guest house. We chose modesty over luxury - although luxury in these parts is often misleading. We get permission to park our steeds within the premises. We unsaddle as we wait for the three to arrive. When they do not, I worry that perhaps they turned towards the wrong leg of the fork. I head back see if I can get a visual on them. Luck favours not me; I head back worried.

It won't be long before I hear the rumble of three heading into town. I signal them into the house. As I do so, I see Spiderweb exiting the bathroom. He's happy with the facility. Happy enough to praise it with a Kodak smile. I decide to give it a go. Which reminds me... I need new underwear.

By the time I exit the facility, not more than 5 minutes I pretend, the family three have slipped into deep slumber. I am famished as are my two. We stroll down, have a late lunch, speak of inconsequential things and return to rest. RomeoMike will awaken many moments later and we will head out once more, him for food, I for underwear. We find two stores - selling everything from pencils, to hooch, to underwear. The one we hit seems to be selling male thongs for that is precisely what they look like - little strings with an air of a trifle bit of masculinity. We will have no such thing under our belts.

The other store is owned by a member of the opposite sex. It pains me to ask her for underwear. Lack of options is the mother of adventure. I blurt out my desire to clothe myself beneath the exterior padding. I'm too dizzy to remember her response for I now have no memory of acquiring an underwear. I do remember buying me some socks though.

Motorbreath and Spiderweb will pick up some hooch to celebrate the onslaught of darkness. Heck they'll celebrate anything if it involves a good dose of intoxication. They are not alone.

Our canteen boy had it right. Tangtse is a brutal environment. The freeze makes me question my sanity, the thin still air deprives me of it. How do you escape claustrophobia outdoors? Where do you run to? I lay still on the mattress, listening in to familiar tunes, covered in layers of clothing and sheets. I dare not move for I fear my chest will explode. Motorbreath complains of the oxygen levels; Spiderweb waves him off saying its psychological. Perhaps he's right. Perhaps I react not to the weather but to the warnings. But I dare not speculate. I will give dinner a go despite invitations from the family three. I will lay still and sink into oblivion.

I wake up to a full bladder. I try to resist, but resist I cannot. The phone bellows 3:30am - its glare blinding my sleepy eyes. The physical discomfort, in addition to the freeze is too much for my constitution to take lying down. I will have to risk visiting the john. I take two puffs of aerosol to prevent myself from going to an asthmatic shock. I can hear my chest pounding as I rise. I limp to the bathroom. A weak right ankle hurts in the extremities. I relieve myself. Much to my relief, my heart catches up with the Universe. It pounds no more. I walk back lazily. I have no temptation to tempt the Universe. I do not want to be taught another lesson; not tonight. The Universe, it would seem, is as disinterested as I.

I see the dim glow of my phone lying on the bed; searching desperately for relevance in a network. "Should have put it on airplane mode to conserve battery. We won't have any network outside so long as we are out of Leh.", I think to myself. I don't go in, preferring instead to sit on a cane chair outside and stare at the moon. It looks deceptively close. The stars shine through the clear black sky. I sit transfixed for many breathless moments. I don't feel her creep up on me...

"Where've you been?", I ask.
"Around", she says. "You've been busy I see", she adds.
"Apparently not enough", I remark wryly.  She giggles and takes a seat besides me. We hold hands, her familiar smell intoxicating my very core. I dare not move, for I'm afraid I'll lose sight of her.
"Why here? Why tonight?", I ask.
"Because I felt you needed me", she responds.
"What makes you think that?", I ask.
She brings up her finger, holds it close to my eye and collects a tear. I look away. I did not realize I was crying.
"Wanna step inside?", she asks.
 "Do I?", I wink. She laughs, squeezes my hand tight and drags me under the sheets.
"How I've missed you", I whisper.
"But I never left", she murmurs.
We hug close, falling into slumber in each others arms.

We'll cuddle all night, me and her, my loneliness and I...

Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 32: Road to Chang La (part II)

June 10, 2010

Our options lay bare, our glasses half full. For one path to Nubra goes via Khardung La - a path we dare not re-scale. The other lies disconnected from our destination - uncertain in its resolve to re-establish ties. We devour an unending stream of golden omlettes, guzzle coke and tea, discuss options - of which there seem to be none at the present moment. But the hangover of the bravado from the night prior propels us to create alternatives. It would appear that the logical choice is to inject a healthy dose of certainty into our plans and the only certainty we know off now is that Khardung La lies open for scaling. To do so, we must leave swiftly and begin the climb early, for we have already experienced its wrath as the sun sets. We will have to undo our progress for the day and redo that which came close to wiping us out a few days prior. Spiderweb seems ill at ease with the option, but given the lack of choices in our present situation, yields to its demands.

We begin winding up. Drifter heads out for a stroll intending to scour our options one last time. He will return in all of five minutes to the clock, impassively proclaiming that the bridge has been fixed, the road to Chang La lies open. His callous demeanor throws me off; I do not believe him. But as we exit the eatery, we witness vehicles kicking up dust, huddling towards the check post. Drifter's words ring true. Chang La lies open to scaling.

We remount our steeds throttle up and melt into the madness. The first four of our steeds blaze on through. We, RomeoMike and I, are waved down by an jawan who needs to see our permission slips. As RomeoMike begins to slow down, I notice the jawan is distracted by larger vehicles. I gesture "Keep riding". RomeoMike nods. We blaze on through and catch up with the others.

The road glistens, it's alloyed content reflecting sun beams like tiny diamond studs. It's a bizarre sight. I take a closer look at the tar. All I see is my ignorance for I do not understand its contents.

I'm tempted to panic today. For we have been warned of Chang La, purported to be the third highest motorable vehicle pass in the world, Khardung La, being the highest. We've heard tales of its notoriety. We've been assured of spills and then some. The Khardung La chapter has further exacerbated my prophecy of doom. We ride huddled together as a gigantic mass of men and metal. Our fear is palpable. We don't have to ride long before we begin the ascend to Chang La. 

As we begin our ascend, I wait for Chang La's wrath. At every twist, I fear the worst. But the worst never comes. The puddles seem disinterested, the potholes, indifferent, the snow, uninspired, all beautiful and serene.

I notice one other band of boys yielding two wheelers approaching us from the twists below; a medley of Pulsars, lead by a Comet. They gain on us and ride alongside. Spiderweb is notoriously competitive in all matters biking. He will not let them gain on him. I see the throttle levels rise. Motorbreath follows close. It would appear that Vishal's progress has dwindled down to a drizzle. There's little chance of our matching strides with Spiderweb and Motorbreath. Romeo Mike signals me to move on ahead; he will tail he gestures. Relieved of my responsibilities, I throttle up and blend in with Motorbreath and Spiderweb. As throttles run high, we struggle to keep our steeds in balance. In the moments to follow, we put a lot of distance between ourselves and the three, with Comet & Co. close on our heels. Occasionally the Comet will pass us, only to drop back to rejoin its troupe.

And without event, Spiderweb, Motorbreath, I, alongwith Comet & Co arrive at what we presume is our destination. A gate of rock and stone, Lung Ta prayer flags strewn across. We question the absence of boards announcing our arrival at Chang La, but Comet & Co inform us of their belief that no such board exists. We are skeptical of this claim, but take a few photographs just to be safe. With introductions made and cameras reinstated into their protective jackets, we resume our ride. Chang La was easy - and lackluster, I think to myself.

We don't ride long before we realize our folly. A large board announces our arrival into Chang La, the real Chang La - not the "smaller pass we assumed incorrectly to be Chang La" Chang La. The view is stupefying. Tents, bathrooms, signboards, prayer flags, a slew of jawans and tourist vehicles - this place was buzzing with activity. Spiderweb and Motorbreath get down to business, pixellating every nook and crany.

I will spend only moments with them before heading in the direction of the lavatory. The omlettes did not sit well with me. I reek and must relieve myself of the unmentionables. I search wildly for my stock of toilet paper but to no avail. Somewhere, in the twisties of Chang La, a lone stream of toilet paper awaits its destiny. The door marked "Gents" is soldered shut by snow. From the "Ladies" arrives my angel in disguise for she will gladly lend me toilet paper. After much trepidation, I relieve myself. Trepidation for I have forgotten to take off my knee guards. Sitting there, with my jeans pulled half way down, squatting over an Indian style shit pot, my bionic knee guards shoved deep into my chin, I can't help but laugh at the state of affairs.

I exit the lavatory much to the amusement of others waiting in line. It would appear that the Universe still fuc ks with me from time to time,  for as descend into the snow to readjust my knee guards, a micro avalanche behind me pushes snow deep into my posterior crevices. The snow melts on impact and I'm left with a soaking wet underwear. I don't have spares no more. I'll need to get new ones before my hind skin peels off.

I've returned just in time it would seem, for the trailing three have joined us several moments ago and reunited, they prepare to begin the descend. An information board educates us on the do's and dont's on high altitude. One of them suggests No Smoking. RomeoMike and Motorbreath will light up cigarettes just a few feet away from it, read it and laugh their heads off. As they put out their buts and mount their steeds, I run in for a shot of herbal tea provided free of cost to all patrons, courtesy, the Indian Army. I thank them with all my heart and rush out to join the others.

The descend is as uneventful as the ascend. Except for a few scares from a dense doze of mist, we suffer no harm. Motorbreath, Spiderweb and I that is. For as always, the three trail at a significant distance and unknown to us, Romeo Mike hits black ice resulting in his steed losing precious ground. Vishal and Drifter will rush to his rescue and they will continue the journey without any further event. Romeo Mike will escape unhurt; his steed will bruise around the foot peg as it dangles for relevance.

We halt at an army outpost at the foot of Chang La looking for warmth and tea. They do one better, a tent to ourselves and chicken clear soup. I down two bowl fulls. Our host is an army canteen boy in his late 50's. A keen listener, he chimes in with helpful advice every now and then. It is he who suggests we spend the night at Tangtse and head to Pangong Tso on the day next. He warns us; the freeze in Tangtse will be more brutal than anything we've experienced so far. I laugh at the thought. If only he knew what Khardung La did to us.

With bellies full and some semblance of sanity, we hasten to make our exit. We thank our host for his hospitality - he thanks us for our company. As we begin to remount the machines, little pellets of snow come hailing down. The clank of their impact with the machine makes me nervous. Engines begin to roar all around me. We're en route once more...

Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 32: Road to Chang La (part I)

June 10, 2010

I rise to Pink Floyd. Spiderweb is drenched in high spirits this morning and  decided to share his musical extravagance with us. We aren't complaining.

We hope to battle and survive Chang La today. The false bravado accompanying drunken stupor the night before revitalized our broken spirits and convinced us to attempt to violate the serenity of Nubra, an attempt we had chosen not to attempt when Khardung la mercilessly beat us down. The decision would add a few days to our schedule, upset a few employers and business clients and delay our return by a fraction - but it worried none for we resolved to finish what we set out to achieve.

What's left of the Puneris are due to arrive in Leh today from whence they will head to Pune. They will not attempt the route via Baralacha La, which, on the present day, remains closed due to the plenitude of snow and the multitude of avalanches. Instead, they will retrace their steps via Srinagar part of the way, preferring to load their steeds on to rails for the remainder. I hand over a pen drive to Inder, requesting him to make a replica of the Cybershot photographs offloaded on to Aman's netbook in the days prior so we may reclaim some much needed pixellation space. He gives us his word, I beg the Universe to make him keep it. The Universe says nothing. It hasn't in the days since yesterday. If only I could eavesdrop on its utterances to the plenty. I cannot. I remember what it told me:

"All I am, is a figment of your imagination."

Am I to believe that in ridding myself of my past, I have rid myself of my imagination? Am I to believe that in my desperation to regain sanity, I have laid to rest my insanity? The family three break my reverie and remind us that we must head on out.


We leave later than we expect. Then again, why do we expect to be no later? It is a pattern we have followed for many moons; it is a pattern we will follow in the ensuing sunrise and beyond.

We fill our tanks to the brim at the brink of Leh city. There's not a fuel stop for miles we are told. We would be wise to carry additional canisters to be safe, but wisdom gives in to a reckless sense of adventure and we give the canisters a go. Throttling up once more, we begin our journey to Chang La.

The addition of the three has brought sanity into the formation. I notice that the three follow a different ideology. The slowest rides at the head. Since the pathways are linear and fork no more, the lead need not know the pathways, nor protect the remains from oncoming traffic. The three therefore ride at the least common denominator of momentum. Spiderweb, though, is incapable of riding second or later. He will continue riding at the head even though he adopts a comfortable pace for now. Motorbreath moves up the ranks, from being the underdog, from being the one being protected in between a faster two, to being the one that tails the leader. I, I do what I do best, I tail them all.

As is customary, often times I will trail behind to pixellate. RomeoMike will accompany me with an equivalent fervor. In time, we will get it down to an art. Stop steed, dismount steed, pull out camera, get in position, click, put back camera, mount steed, rip, catch up with Drifter and Vishal. Motorbreath and Spiderweb are already showing signs of disengagement for they are usually beyond our view port. We often find them waiting for us to catch up.


"Catch up". Two words that I will hear often, sometimes in humour, sometimes in disdain.


For in jest, Motorbreath will often say:

"Q. What did one tomato say to the other?
  A. You go ahead, I'll ketchup."


For in disdain, I often said to myself: "All we ever do is try and catch up. Why can't we just ride together."


Riding the tail of a group has an unusual benefit. There will come a time in the ride of each of those I follow, where they will no longer be able to sustain their momentum. It could be a simple breather, a pee break, a photo opportunity or something more sinister like a complete readjustment of the luggage load to improve steed stability. In passing, they will share stories and concerns. With each story, each concern, I know them one better - a pleasure followed by a guiltily fast catch-up ride.

The three now ride ahead, for Spiderweb, Motorbreath and I have stopped for poses and pictures. The two will be done and resume the ride. I will wait to get a clear shot of my steed with the emptiness of the road ahead.

As I am about to get my desired shot, I see a trail of sand and dust rising through the dunes ahead. A large dune blocks my view of the source. The visual aberration sets off alarms within the local canine community who now growl into the distance. A few more seconds out and the trail ends abruptly in a gigantic flash of sand and smoke. The canines lose their temperament, raise the decibels and rush towards the site. I get my shot, mount onto my steed and ride towards the commotion.

What I find cracks me up good. The trail, it would seem, was one raised by Motorbreath who decided to off-road into the dunes. The gigantic puff was Motorbreath making in-roads into the off-road ie being thrown off his steed and into the wide open arms of the sandy dune. The canines have since calmed their nerves and look equally amused as they circle the spot. Spiderweb though prevents Motorbreath from getting back on track. He want's to pixellate this moment. Motorbreath complies.

With shots taken, we remount our steeds and rev up to catch up with the others. We find them waiting not far from where they left us. LNMB...

We don't get far, for at an army outpost, we are told that a broken bridge on the road ahead prevents us from going further. We aren't alone. There's a multitude of four wheelers awaiting the army's nod to proceed. As far as I can tell, we are the only two wheeler, helmet yielding tribe in the vicinity. We are told it will be a while before we are allowed to proceed. Some say, we may not be given the nod for days to come. And just like that, it would seem, our journey has come to an unceremonious end...

Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 31: The family three

[Authors note: I write this under the influence of anti-biotics. A severe throat infection has rendered me incapable of coherent thought. Excuse me if I commit murder with grammar and infidelity with logical thought. If you spot errors, by all means point them out, but be gentle.]

June 10th, 2010

I do not recall introducing Spiderweb and Motorbreath in the lines to date; or at least I do not recall expressing an opinion on their persona. Perhaps, I felt that it would be unfair to taint your judgment. Perhaps, I felt that our story would lead you down the pathways to making your own assumptions; give you time to reflect on your own dirty laundry. Perhaps, I felt that I could do no justice with shrink wrapping their individuality within the confines of a single paragraph - for as you may have recognized, a paragraph does right to no one.

But with the three that have journeyed into our journey the night before, I will do this very injustice. Not out of a desire to be unfair, nor of a desire to ruin your path to self discovery. I do this because that is what my mind tells me to do - and as always - it provides me with no justifications. It does, however, allow me to tell you that my opinions are just that... opinions. As the story continues, feel free to adapt your mental pictures of them to your own whim or fancy or both or neither. But I will say just a little, not a lot.

Raman Mishra aka Romeo Mike (rides a Pulsar 150): Soft spoken yet adventurous, a mild mannered daredevil. He rides cautiously but is unafraid to raise the stakes - and raise them he will, where our footing so governed. I have yet to hear him scream in anger or pain. I have yet to see him try and win an argument despite his higher ground for his sole desire is to keep the peace. He firmly believes in the gospel "Leave no man behind (LNMB)" - a gospel I will hear only put in words only on my return, but one that I have known in my heart all along. And yet, it is he we leave behind in the days to come, a decision I will forever regret, a decision that will demean me in the presence of me.

Ashwin Narvekar aka Drifter (rides a Unicorn): A gentle, in-your-face, says-what-he-means-means-what-he-says self who could make the act of climbing the Mt Everest sound mundane and pointless. With dilated eyes and a monotonous droid like tonal quality, he speaks of things big and small with the same enthusiastic fervor of a panda bear in hibernation. But the disinterest is just presentation, for he will sometimes ride with an aggression that could make your teeth chatter, speak of love with a zeal deserving mention in the classics, all with a startling lack of emotion. He too is an LNMB groupie, a fact will become more readily apparent in the pages to come.

Vishal Karve aka Vishal Karve (rides a Passion): You heard that right. He rides a Passion and often jests that when he's ready for higher torque, he will acquire the Passion Pro. But more than the ride, its the rider who is low on torque - a fact he unabashedly admits. But what he lacks in torque, he gains in spirit and humour. Ahhh yes, the biking spirit. But that is entirely not what I speak off. The spirit I speak off is alcohol, booze, intoxicant, liquor, catch-the-drift-before-the-thesaurus-stops-hinting spirit.  For under the influence, Vishal will speak of days when his associate, under an equivalent influence, proudly proclaimed his desire to relieve himself on the staircase of the bar - a desire that was squashed by the bouncing cavalry. I believe he has many more adventures to share. However, with us, he will share just this one. Three times. Go ahead, invite him over for a drink, listen to the story for real; I'll wait...