IMAGINING A UNIVERSITY FOR LADAKH

SECMOL, Phey campus (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

SECMOL, Phey campus (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

An old story revisited; new chapters unfold:

The pile of twigs spoke little of the story. As did a couple of long pipes, collapsed over the heap. Prayer flags, still fluttering, indicated hope; a hope that had lived through the winter. Now it was summer. Whatever was in that pile, had gone, escaped. A few tiers below on the hillside, rows of saplings planted months ago provided a touch of green to bare earth. I was near the pile of twigs, on a piece of flat land between the lower reaches of Phyang village and its monastery further up. Behind me were brown hills and somewhere behind them, snowcapped mountains. Before me, Ladakh seemed a vast expanse, all the way to the Leh-Srinagar highway in the distance. Connecting Phyang to the highway was a straight road, so impressive for its straightness that it resembled an airstrip. To one side of the road lay vast tracts of unused land.

An hour or so before, we were on an unpaved road between the SECMOL Alternative Institute in Phey and the Leh-Srinagar highway, a little less than 20km from Leh. We were cycling to Phyang from Phey. It was past noon; hot. The bike below my writer self held up well. That morning in Leh, I had hired the best bicycle I could find within my budget. The bike had 24 gears, front suspension, water bottle carriers and 26 inch-wheels. My sea level lungs were not born for exertion at altitude. Multiple gears helped. The front suspension soaked up the bumpy passage to an extent and the 26 inch-wheels devoured a fine length of terrain for each rotation of the crank. I looked at the gentleman cycling alongside. He was perched peacefully on a small folding bicycle. The wheels may be small but the size of crank and apt gear ratios made the small bike adequate for commutes in Ladakh, he explained. I can cite the excuse that he was Ladakhi; born and brought up at altitude with lungs to match. That would be childish. Not to mention, it missed the point. I had impulsively chosen the sturdy looking-mountain bike, the SUV of the bicycle family. He used his head to imagine, analyze, attempt; match me on bigger set of wheels with his small ones. Very Sonam Wangchuk I thought.

The first time I met Wangchuk was in 2010. At that time, many people in Ladakh believed that the character of Ranchoddas Shamaldas Chanchad aka Phunsukh Wangdu, in the film 3 Idiots was loosely based on Wangchuk, a founding member of the Students Educational and Cultural Movement of Ladakh (SECMOL). That may or may not be true. Ahead of making the movie, the producers are said to have met him. But there has been no confirmation on whether the film’s main protagonist was modeled on anyone. After 3 Idiots was released to box office success, tourists however, went seeking Wangdu in Ladakh’s cold desert. A few discovered SECMOL; most followed the tourist trail to The Druk White Lotus School where portions of the film were shot. Others washed up on the shores of Pangong Lake. When I met him in 2010, Wangchuk was in Ladakh after a series of events that could hardly have been pleasant for the mechanical engineer and the then 22-year-old SECMOL.

Sonam Wangchuk (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Sonam Wangchuk (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

SECMOL’s genesis can be traced to coaching high school students in a region notorious for its abysmally low pass percentage in the matriculation exams. The system was flawed. Textbooks lacked local themes. The medium of instruction till Class IX for Ladakh was Urdu, switching suddenly to English. In 1991, SECMOL’s pilot project on educational reform with village and government support, in Saspol, clicked. It saw other villages seeking the same. With Operation New Hope of 1994, planning better education for Leh district in league with local government and village communities, SECMOL graduated to a popular movement. Its work spanned redesigning textbooks and training teachers to monitoring schools through village councils. Later the newly set up Ladakh Autonomous Hill Development Council (LAHDC) accepted Operation New Hope as its educational policy. From 5 per cent pass at matriculation exams in 1996, Ladakh’s pass percentage increased to 55 per cent by 2004.

Then a rash of problems surfaced. Some disgruntled schoolteachers protested. When the executive councilor in charge of education at LAHDC — he was formerly associated with SECMOL — was shifted, Wangchuk’s observation on the matter was seen as interference. SECMOL’s media wing published a magazine called Ledogs Melong. It played the role of a watchdog, the exposes of which may have displeased some, while its patronage of colloquial Ladakhi, as opposed to the classical Bodhi of scriptures, ruffled feathers. The exact spark is unclear. The administration’s Deputy Commissioner hauled up NGOs over issues like funding and then zeroed in on SECMOL. Among other things, Wangchuk was accused of being a spy and his organization was virtually banned. This was despite SECMOL’s work earning national respect. The Ladakh model of the Sarva Shiksha Abhiyan programme had been inaugurated by the then President, A.P.J. Abdul Kalam.

In the following months, after protests far and wide, SECMOL’s freedom was salvaged to some extent and the Deputy Commissioner, transferred. Wangchuk moved to Nepal to work in the educational sector there. SECMOL hibernated, keeping a few activities alive. Ladakh’s matriculation results began to dip again. For most observers, the story was puzzling. It wasn’t the ugly moments that rankled. It was the vendetta. Why did that happen? The answer probably lay in a variety of factors. Wangchuk’s father Sonam Wangyal was a politician who became state minister; that may have made the son’s rising stature worrisome. SECMOL’s work benefited those struggling in Ladakh’s educational mess; that may have endeared Wangchuk to one side of a class divide, something likely in the magazine’s language controversy, too. Ladakh is a small society glued together by mountain life; anyone stepping out of line is instantly noticed. Wangchuk and his unconventional work were likely out of line. Were these the reasons? Nobody knows. In 2010 in Leh, I had met people who were critical of Wangchuk. But none disputed SECMOL’s contribution.

The pile of twigs (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

The pile of twigs (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

With no higher education available at home, young Ladakhis travelled to Jammu; Chandigarh, Delhi and elsewhere to study. Many of them children of Operation New Hope, they knew SECMOL. They discussed it in cyber space. In December 2009, 3 Idiots was released. Over May-June 2010, interest in SECMOL revived. Ladakhi students invited the reluctant Wangchuk to address them in Jammu. On June 15, a meeting at Leh’s Polo Ground brought together a wider cross-section of Ladakhi society. According to those who attended, Wangchuk said he would resume SECMOL’s work if the LAHDC passed a resolution welcoming the organization. “Why did he leave and why does he want a resolution to return?’’ one of his fans who was also once a student at SECMOL had asked me. In Phey, where SECMOL is, I had posed the questions floating around, to Wangchuk. He said that both his withdrawal from Ladakh and the request for a resolution were because he wanted the idea of SECMOL to live in the people. If they enshrine it, neither authorities nor politicians can derail education. Good education would become systemic.

That was 2010.

Five years later, Wangchuk wasn’t anymore in Nepal, he was back in Ladakh. My first halt to meet him this July 2015 was the eco-friendly SECMOL campus in Phey. The road leading to it was in better condition than before. Previously it used to be rough with a particularly rough patch near and above a culvert just ahead of the school. Couple of years ago, a patch of ice surviving here in the shade of the culvert had become trigger for Wangchuk’s latest project, which in turn drew much from the work of Chewang Norphel. In 2015, 78 year-old Norphel was awarded the Padma Sri (India’s fourth highest civilian award) for an innovative idea implemented in Ladakh. A civil engineer, he retired from the state’s rural development department and joined a NGO, helping with watershed development. He introduced the concept of creating artificial glaciers as a means to overcome water shortage in the cold desert. The basic principle was simple. He diverted streams and small rivers to fill a large excavated area with water. The water’s flow was slowed down using check dams. In winter, the water body froze becoming an artificial glacier at lower elevation. According to Wikipedia, the artificial glacier helped increase groundwater-recharge, rejuvenate springs and provide water for irrigation. As they melted earlier thanks to location at lower altitude, the artificial glaciers helped extend Ladakh’s growing season. These artificial glaciers were created in several villages.

The ice-stupa; Phyang monastery in the backdrop (Photo: by arrangement)

The ice-stupa; Phyang monastery in the backdrop (Photo: by arrangement)

Norphel’s work caught Wangchuk’s fancy. Upon study, he felt the artificial glaciers had a few shortcomings. Although at elevations lower than natural glaciers, artificial glaciers were still far from the villages they serviced. This meant added labor cost and at times, inadequate attention. More important, they melted fast in Ladakh’s harsh sun. Wangchuk’s questions were two – can artificial glaciers be brought to still lower elevation; can they be made to last longer? That’s why the ice below that culvert in May had intrigued. SECMOL was close to the Indus, the drainage basin for Ladakh’s streams and therefore among the region’s lowest points (it is still around 10,000ft in elevation). Ice in May, under a culvert not far from the Indus, proved that ice can survive that long at lower elevation, provided it was shaded as under the culvert. But where do you get shade big enough for an artificial glacier, in cold desert open to the elements? To overcome this, Wangchuk altered the shape of the artificial glacier from being flat and spread out to being conical. The cone may resemble a structure rising upward, almost seeking out the sun. But as he explained, it isn’t an Icarus-situation. “ Cones and hemispheres are the geometric shapes that have the smallest surface area to given volume,’’ Wangchuk said. Used as shape for artificial glacier, it meant: the lesser the surface area exposed to the sun, the lesser the melt rate of frozen water within.

The stupa is a structure identified strongly with Buddhism. Wikipedia describes it as a mound-like or hemispherical structure containing relics, typically the remains of Buddhist monks or nuns. Buddhism has long held sway in Ladakh; the stupa is a commonly seen structure. The first ice-stupa (as Wangchuk’s artificial glacier concept was called given its shape) came up as a pilot project at SECMOL. Roughly two storey-tall, it did well, lasting till May 18th that summer. Among those impressed by the ice-stupa were the authorities of the Phyang monastery. They invited Wangchuk to put up a bigger one at Phyang. The second ice-stupa, implemented over the winter of 2014-2015, was significantly bigger in size, almost as high as a four or five storey-building. It was designed with an ante chamber that could be accessed via a narrow tunnel. Water was brought using pipes and tubes from a far off stream with the sourcing point adequately high so that gravity would ensure a high fountain at the ice-stupa’s lower elevation. No pumps were used; it was all gravity at play. From inside the chamber, the pipe dispersing water as a spurt or fountain could be raised higher and higher as needed. The fallen water froze all around in the shape of a cone. Ladakh’s winter temperature is low enough to ensure that the water sprayed out, froze quickly to ice. The eventual stupa was several floors high. The chamber within the structure served as test for the possibility of an ice hotel in Ladakh (a boutique hotel made of ice). Post winter, the ice-stupa melted fully only by early July underscoring the merit in the conical design. The entire project was crowd-funded. Contributions came from all over the world. The twigs I saw had once rested on the ice as a deterrent to quick melting. Ice gone, a pile of twigs remained. “ Next year, the ice-stupa will be five times bigger,’’ Wangchuk said.

The ice-stupa (Photo: by arrangement)

The ice-stupa (Photo: by arrangement)

The success of the ice-stupa inspired plans for the open space sprawling to one side of that airstrip of a road leading to Phyang. In the ice-stupa, Wangchuk has a potential means to green tracts of Ladakh’s desert, something already underway on a large patch of land not far from the location of Phyang’s ice-stupa. Here, 5000 saplings had sprung root, the initial water for their survival having come from the melting ice-stupa. If there are many more ice-stupas around, more areas of the cold desert can be greened. Wangchuk has dovetailed this possibility to a dream project. It is a known fact that he is critical of India’s educational system. In a television interview, where Norphel was also present and both spoke of artificial glaciers, I heard Wangchuk describe the exam-obsessed Indian approach and the tendency of the system to destroy self esteem in young people. In Phyang, elaborating on his desire to see Ladakhis solve their own problems and the problems of mountain people elsewhere, he told me, “ we are not just a linguistic and cultural minority. We are also a technological minority. Nobody innovates for Ladakh.’’ Wangchuk now wants to set up a university on the vast tract of unused land in Phyang. The land is currently with the Phyang monastery and the LAHDC.

Wangchuk visualized the university as an eco friendly campus featuring mud buildings, quite like SECMOL. The SECMOL campus has often been praised for its eco friendly architecture, its use of solar energy for daily needs and the use of simple materials to provide dwellings that are warm even in Ladakh’s winters. Concept papers for the university have been drawn up. According to it the new university – Ladakh’s first – is meant to address a few basic issues. The absence of a local university so far has meant students seeking college education leaving Ladakh for cities in the Indian plains. This education is very much the sort Wangchuk is critical of. But a handful of other factors add to the concern. One of the concept papers quoted an estimate by the Ladakhi Students Union: roughly 10,000 Ladakhi students currently study away from Ladakh. The expense incurred by parents for this is quite high; the paper pegged it as almost equivalent to the region’s annual earnings from tourism. Further, the majority of these students – the paper said: 80 per cent – were apparently on correspondence courses that don’t actually require them to be away from Ladakh. “ Unfortunately, Ladakhi people are caught in this social game where it has become stigma if a son or daughter is not away in some far away city after grade 10th or 12th. In fact, it seems to be this social pressure rather than the quest for knowledge that drives the exodus,’’ the paper said, adding, “ it is important to emphasize here that all this is not the fault of students or their parents; it is society that attaches so much value to pieces of paper called ‘a degree’ that has led to thousands of youth becoming educational refugees.’’

The saplings grown with melt water from the ice-stupa in the foreground and beyond to the right, tracts of open land, potential site for the university (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Saplings grown with melt water from the ice-stupa in the foreground and beyond to the right, tracts of open land, potential site for the university (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

The Ladakh People’s Alternative University was proposed as a panacea for this problem. Wangchuk wanted the project to grow organically. Maybe, there will be a pre-university phase featuring no more than hutments – “ something like well appointed, solar heated, mud igloos or a university made of tents’’ – with the bigger, solid structures kicking in later. Eventually the solid structures take over. SECMOL has expertise in construction using natural materials, especially in Ladakh’s context of cold desert. The institute has a programme called ` Natural Building Apprenticeship.’ One of the interesting angles in the suggested educational approach was to conceive the project as a university township replete with resident enterprises, where the students gain practical training alongside theoretical studies. Day to day management of the university campus will be in the SECMOL-style. SECMOL has managed a much smaller campus in Phey – it is run by students – for the last 25 years.

Wangchuk admitted that formal recognition of the university’s courses will need the stamp of a ` degree.’ For this, the project was hoping to tie up with the Indira Gandhi National Open University (IGNOU), already home to a variety of studies and therefore hopefully amenable to the unconventional themes of the alternative university. The concept of the Ladakh People’s Alternative University had been launched with the patronage of His Holiness Drikung Kyabgon Chetsang Rinpochey. It was to be run jointly by SECMOL and the Drikung Kagyu Cultural and Welfare Society Phyang. Wangchuk estimated the total area of available land near Phyang at roughly 500 hectares. Of this, he felt, the university will need about 50 hectares. In the works was a design seminar for imagining the university. The overall cost of the university-project was estimated at Rs 40 crore (400 million) and Wangchuk was banking on the same crowd funding approach that worked for the ice-stupa to generate the funds.

(The author, Shyam G Menon, is a freelance journalist based in Mumbai. A portion of this story – the part from 2010 – was published that year in The Telegraph newspaper. Where photo credit has been mentioned as `by arrangement,’ the photo concerned has been sourced from Sonam Wangchuk.)

A SCHOOL TEACHER IN KAZA

Kaza (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Kaza (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

The story of the first Indian to climb six 8000m-peaks.

Sometime in the concluding portion of the bus ride from Reckong Peo, the Spiti valley assumes shape and begins to impress by its dimension. After much distance covered in the valley’s folds, the wait for Kaza melds into a small township in the distance, on the banks of the river which gave the valley its name. The bus passed through a gateway next to premises operated by the Border Roads Organization (BRO) and a while later rolled to a halt at the local bus depot.

I was in Kaza, Spiti; eastern part (tad north too) of Himachal Pradesh. The terrain was quite similar to that of better known Ladakh. Except – Leh is at 11,500ft; Kaza is close to 12,000ft up. The Ladakh link shouldn’t surprise for both Ladakh and Spiti share the same Buddhist culture and in times gone by, the two provinces were administratively linked. Kaza felt like a quieter version of Leh, an older version of its northern sibling before the world arrived and made Leh the Leh of today. The world hasn’t poured as much into Spiti, yet.

Getting off the bus I pulled out my cell phone. There was a story to do. We – my subject and I – had promised to connect as soon as I reached Kaza. Too lazy to hunt for my specs, I held the phone away from my eyes and checked its screen. One stick; two sticks….? There was zero connectivity on my Mumbai-phone. I had thought the bigger operator I shifted to, would deliver network in Kaza. Damn! I looked around for somebody who could be the person I was looking for. There was no anticipation on anyone’s face. A few people calmly conversed. Some others went about their daily work. A monk stood sipping tea before a teashop; quintessentially monk, alive to the moment, to the sip. Nobody seemed to be expecting anyone. On the other hand, it was becoming increasingly clear from my nervousness that I was looking for somebody. From the depth of a beedi or a cup of tea being enjoyed, eyebrows rose casually to survey my presence.

“ Excuse me,’’ I said, stopping a person passing by. I explained my predicament and sought the use of his phone. “ Sure,’’ he said extending me his phone. I dialled the number and introduced myself. “ You have reached? Give me five minutes, I will be there,’’ the voice at the other end said. I returned the phone, said thank you. The evening was slowly fading to dusk. It suddenly occurred to me that I had given no clue regarding how I looked or the colour of T-shirt I wore. I wondered how two people who had not seen each other before would meet in Kaza’s bus depot. A few minutes went by. A middle aged stocky man of short to medium height with a day pack slung on his shoulder, appeared. “ Mr Shyam?’’ he asked loudly to nobody in particular. It was like a query to the winds; rather befitting, I thought, given surrounding geography of mountains and passes with the wind as timeless spectator. We shook hands. I had found the school teacher. Next morning, in a classroom overlooking the school and beyond that, the town, the teacher narrated his story.

Bodh, on the summit of Phabrang (Photo: by arrangement)

Bodh, on the summit of Phabrang, his first expedition (Photo: by arrangement)

Bodh on Longstaff Col; seen behind is Nanda Devi main summit (Photo: by arrangement)

Bodh on Longstaff Col; seen behind is Nanda Devi main summit (Photo: by arrangement)

Chhering Norbu Bodh was born in May 1969 in the village of Lalung, a cluster of about a dozen houses then, not far from Kaza. The fourth child of his parents they were in all two brothers and four sisters; now only Bodh and a sister remain. With his father sadly caught in a dispute over family property, life was a struggle. His early school education was at Rama village and Lalung. In 1976, the family shifted to Chobrang, a village roughly six kilometres away from Lalung. After the fifth standard, he shifted to Kaza’s high school, 20km away. He stayed at the government hostel. He was good at his studies. In 1985, the uncle who bore the expenses of his education, died. A year later Bodh cleared the tenth standard. But he had none to fund onward studies. He was now an angry young man earning a livelihood doing odd jobs. Around this time, he worked for about two to three months at the local branch of the State Bank of India (SBI) as a ` water carrier.’ His responsibilities included cleaning the office premises and fetching water.

Courtesy the region’s severe winter, the pattern of life in Spiti was six months of work followed by six month of rest. Although of late climate change has been making its presence felt here too, traditionally Spiti winters have been harsh. In this remote mountain scenario with premium on usable land, the person who owned land and cultivable fields was affluent. That was the old order. Over time, as links to the outside world became more, government jobs became an alternative option for survival. In 1988, Bodh recalled, at a public function in Kaza, an official of the Indian Army’s Himachal Scouts (part of the Dogra Regiment) informed that recruitment was due to happen.  Bodh had no idea what a career as soldier entailed. He nevertheless joined the army. He trained for nine months during which time he was adjudged best student in weapons training. In 1993, he volunteered to train at the army’s High Altitude Warfare School (HAWS) in Gulmarg, Kashmir. It was on his return from HAWS that he got called for his first mountaineering expedition – an army expedition to climb Phabrang (6172m) in Himachal Pradesh. Losing his goggles after reaching the summit, the trip gifted the young climber his first taste of snow blindness.

In 1994, he was part of the army expedition to Kabru (7412m), located on the Indo-Nepal border. A year later, Bodh was in Kumaon, attempting Nanda Devi East (7434m) with an international army expedition. Their objective was to traverse the ridge linking Nanda Devi’s twin summits. But following an accident after gaining the east summit, the traverse was called off. Being part of the second summit team, Bodh didn’t get a chance to climb the peak. Following this expedition, Bodh travelled with his regimental team to climb Gya (6794m). Gya has a reputation for foxing climbers, directing them to a false summit. That turned out to be the case on this expedition; the team climbed Gya Gaar. In 1998, Bodh did his advanced training at HAWS (he was best student); he also did his basic and advanced courses in skiing (best student again). He secured instructor grading. From 1999 onward, he was posted in Kashmir. A year before this, in 1998, he was part of an expedition by the cadets of the National Defence Academy (NDA) to Kedar Dome (6940m). Twenty cadets reached the summit on that expedition, he said.

On Everest, south east ridge as seen from near the Hillary Step (Photo: by arrangement)

On Everest, south east ridge as seen from near the Hillary Step (Photo: by arrangement)

In 2000, Bodh was a Lance Naik posted at HAWS as instructor. That year in June, he was in Kaza on leave, when he got the call to report for selection to climb Everest. The selection was done on Mana Peak (7274m). Bodh couldn’t summit owing to dehydration. However he made it into the Everest team after some others, who had been selected, dropped out. Selection done, the team proceeded to Manali for winter training. In March 2001, the team was flagged off by the then Chief of Army Staff, General S. Padmanabhan. The army was returning to Everest after tragedy and death on a previous 1984 expedition to the peak, when five team members had died. Bodh was tasked with overseeing the 2001 expedition’s equipment. On May 24, 2001, Kaza’s future school teacher reached the top of Everest (8850m). As on Nanda Devi, he had been part of the second summit. “ Almost always, I have been part of the second summit team,’’ Bodh said. Soon after the Everest expedition, talk began of attempting Annapurna (8091m). In 2002, the army team proceeded for Annapurna. Yet again, part of the second summit team, Bodh had descended to Advance Base Camp on the mountain when he was informed of the first summit team’s failure. On May 6, 2002, Bodh reached the summit of Annapurna.

According to Bodh, on his way down from the summit, he met the British climber, Alan Hinkes, who was going up. Hinkes would become one of the people to climb all the fourteen 8000m peaks. As of August 2015 Wikipedia still listed his claim as ` disputed’ owing to lack of clarity on his ascent of Cho Oyu.  The world’s fourteen 8000m peaks are Everest (8850m), K2 (8611m), Kanchenjunga (8586m), Lhotse (8516m), Makalu (8485m), Cho Oyu (8201m), Dhaulagiri 1 (8167m), Manaslu (8163m), Nanga Parbat (8126m), Annapurna I (8091m), Gasherbrum  I (8080m), Broad Peak (8051m), Gasherbrum  II (8035m) and Sishapangma (8027m). Climbing all the fourteen 8000m peaks is prized in mountaineering. The first person to do so was Reinhold Messner, who hails from South Tyrol in Italy.  The second person to do so was the legendary Polish climber Jerzy Kukuczka. As of August 2015, on Wikipedia, there were 33 verified ascents of all the fourteen 8000m peaks and five disputed ones. No Indian mountaineer featured on the list. One reason for this is that five of these high peaks lay in Pakistan Occupied Kashmir, territory illegally occupied by Pakistan. From South Asia, home to the Himalaya, only Mingma Sherpa and Chhang Dawa Sherpa of Nepal, figured on the list. Unknown to Bodh, while Hinkes proceeded for the summit on Annapurna, Kaza’s would be school teacher, returning from Annapurna’s summit, was commencing a new journey.

On Kangchenjunga (Photo: by arrangement)

On Kangchenjunga (Photo: by arrangement)

After Annapurna, Bodh was due to leave HAWS for his unit, when he got a message directing him to report to Delhi. There was to be a joint Indo-Nepal expedition to Everest to mark the fiftieth anniversary of the first successful ascent of Everest. Of interest to Bodh was that the agenda included an attempt of Lhotse. The selection was held on the Gangotri group of peaks in Garhwal. The eventual team was a big one, Bodh said. It was drawn from the armies of both India and Nepal. The Lhotse climb was a smooth affair with not much of the up and down shunting that typically happened on expeditions. In all, 12 people including Bodh reached the summit in May 2003, he said. With it, Bodh became the first Indian to summit three 8000m peaks. He didn’t go to attempt Everest on this expedition because he had already climbed the peak once. Celebrations were muted for the joint team suffered the loss of one member from a crevasse-fall. In December 2003, Bodh was in Delhi in connection with the army tableaux for the Republic Day parade, when he was informed of an upcoming expedition to Kangchenjunga by the Dogra Regiment. In May-June 2004, he underwent selection procedures at Beas Kund near Manali. Asked why he consistently reported for selection despite rising stature as mountaineer, Bodh replied, “ when a man thinks he is too big for his shoes, he becomes a problem for his team.’’

The Kangchenjunga expedition was set for the post-monsoon phase, a cold period. The ascent of the 8586m-high peak happened in cold conditions. At 10AM on October 10, 2004, Bodh reached the summit of Kangchenjunga after a steady climb of twelve hours. For the Indian Army, it was its second ascent of the peak. On return, Bodh enjoyed a brief holiday and was then posted to Srinagar. Just when he got to the transit camp in Jammu, he got a call from Delhi; he had been deputed to go to Everest as part of the support team for the army women’s expedition. On that trip, which put four climbers on the summit, Bodh once again oversaw the management of the expedition’s gear. Back in Delhi from this expedition, he was told to join the team going to Nyegi Kangtsang (6983m) in Arunachal Pradesh. The expedition failed. The approach was very difficult; the weather was bad, there was heavy rain. As it turned out, the trip served as selection process for an upcoming expedition to Cho Oyu. Bodh became part of the 2006 army expedition to Cho Oyu. Not a very technical peak, all 12 team members reached the summit of Cho Oyu. Bodh’s tally of 8000m peaks climbed was now at five. He spent the next few months on UN peace keeping duty in Lebanon, attached to 15th Punjab, also known in the army as First Patiala.

Tackling Saser Kangri I (Photo: by arrangement)

Tackling Saser Kangri I (Photo: by arrangement)

Bodh got back to India from Lebanon, in July 2007. He was home on holiday when he got instructions to report to Delhi in a few days time. He was deputed to a joint Indo-Australian army expedition attempting Mt Shivling (6543m), among the most beautiful peaks in the Himalaya. It is also quite technical. Up on the mountain, the team had just finished fixing ropes, when a big ice wall broke. Additionally weather turned bad; it was bad weather across much of the surrounding Himalaya. Despite the conditions, four climbers reached the summit in that expedition. Bodh wasn’t one of them. Returning to Delhi, he was dispatched to Siachen Glacier becoming part of the team that helped raise the Army Mountaineering Institute. The institute has played an important role in commencing civilian treks to the glacier. Meanwhile, the 8000m-story continued.

In 2008, the selection process for an expedition to Dhaulagiri was done on a trip to Saser Kangri I (7672m). While the Saser Kangri climb had to be aborted midway owing to avalanche (there was one from nearby Plateau Peak that rolled in close to camp) and bad weather, Bodh reluctantly got included in the Dhaulagiri team. He wasn’t keen on going as he had much work to do at his given posting. In April 2009, the team reached Dhaulagiri Base Camp. That day, a Polish climber died in a crevasse-fall between Camp 1 and 2. The lower part of the mountain is heavily crevassed. The team leader put Bodh in the second summit team. The first summit team returned from Camp 2 as it snowed hard. The second summit team went forth. Between Camp 2 and 3, it was mostly blue ice. The newly dumped snow, helped in the climb. Bodh set out for the summit from Camp 3 at 8PM. He climbed through heavy snow. At 11.30AM on May 8, 2009, he reached the summit of Dhaulagiri, sixth 8000m peak in the bag. By the time he got back to Camp 3, he had been out on the mountain for 23 hours at a stretch. A second summit attempt by the first team was called off due to persistent bad weather.

From Dhaulagiri (Photo: by arrangement)

From Dhaulagiri (Photo: by arrangement)

Bodh considers all the mountains he climbed as challenging in their own way. But he remembers especially the descent from Dhaulagiri in a raging storm. He feels he would have died that day and was saved by the grace of God. The storm began when the team was on the summit and kept hammering periodically all the way back to Camp 3. “ Due to the storm, there was much electricity in the atmosphere on top of the peak,’’ Bodh said.

In November 2009, Bodh was promoted to Subedar Major. In the period following the promotion, he helped train an army women’s team heading to Indira Col at the apex of the Siachen Glacier; did a stint with the National Cadet Corps (NCC), was posted back to HAWS, was part of an army delegation to Alaska and was part of a Dogra Regiment trek through Zanskar following the old campaign route of the famous Dogra general, Zorawar Singh. In January 2013, Bodh was made an Honorary Lieutenant and in August that same year, he was made Honorary Captain. On September 30, 2013, he retired from the army. Bodh’s awards include a Shaurya Chakra, the Tenzing Norgay National Award for Adventure in 2006 and the gold medal of the Indian Mountaineering Foundation (IMF) in 2012. Besides being thankful to his battalion for the support he received, Bodh remembered three individuals as important to his journey. They were his spiritual guru the 19th T.K. Lochen Tulku Rinpoche, head of the Kye monastery, Colonel S.C. Sharma (Retd) of the Dogra Regiment and Brigadier K. Kumar (Retd) of the Madras Regiment, both of them mountaineers.

Retirement is tough on the army man if he has nothing to do. It wasn’t long before Bodh reached that stage in Kaza. Luckily for him, the state government had begun vocational education courses at its schools and there was a module on security related studies at the local school. The ex-army man became a teacher. A devout Buddhist, Bodh now splits his time between work at school and prayers. Whenever we met in the evening, he had his prayer beads with him and arrived at my door wrapped in a cocoon of soft chanting. Mostly staying in Kaza, he visited family in Chobrang, once in a long while. Aside from knowledge that he worked in the army, he does not think his parents knew anything of his mountaineering or how far he reached in the field.

C.N. Bodh, July 2015, Kaza (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

C.N. Bodh, June 2015, Kaza (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

At six 8000m peaks climbed, Bodh is the Indian with the most number of 8000m peaks to his credit. He recalled two other army men, close on his heels. There was Neelchand of the Dogra Regiment, who joined the army and retired from it on the same day as Bodh. Neelchand climbed five 8000m peaks. Then there was Rajinder Singh of the Kumaon Regiment, who was still serving when I met Bodh. Theoretically, keeping aside the peaks in Pakistan Occupied Kashmir, three other 8000m peaks – Shishapangma, Makalu and Manaslu – could have been attempted by Bodh. That is three peaks, critical for an Indian to reach the nine peaks tally when chasing 8000m peaks. Bodh revealed a hint of lingering regret. As against the three peaks he did not climb, he was thrice on Everest expeditions and climbed the peak only once. Having climbed it once, he wasn’t interested in attempting Everest again. On one occasion (as mentioned earlier in this story) he went on an expedition trying both Everest and Lhotse and climbed Lhotse. If only one of those Everest expeditions had been to any of the said other three peaks. Maybe one more 8000m peak would have been in the bag?

The army is a massive organization; it is a world in itself. One thing about retiring from the army is that the soldier – particularly soldier-mountaineer – leaves supportive ecosystem behind. Bodh knew that his days of back to back expeditions ended when he left the army. Born in 1969 and already retired, he was yet middle aged when I met him in July 2015. For a climber, the forties are still within his / her mountaineering-years. Bodh’s retirement happened in tune with army regulations. Having got his promotions well in time and reached as far as he can in the ranks, there was only so much time he could serve. Retired and now civilian, will he go for a Shishapangma, Manaslu or Makalu if resources and sponsors are available?  “ Why not? It is worth thinking about,’’ he said, a smile on his face as the subject returned to mountains and mountaineering.

(The author, Shyam G Menon, is a freelance journalist based in Mumbai. This article is based on interviews with the subject. Where photo credit has been mentioned as `by arrangement,’ the photo concerned has been sourced from C.N. Bodh.)

LADAKH’S RUNNING TEAM

From the training session near Shanti Stupa, Leh (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

From the training session near Shanti Stupa, Leh (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

It was a cool July morning, past 5.30AM.

I was in Chubi, Leh; on the road leading from the police station to Lamdon School and beyond that to Khardung La. Leh had been experiencing intermittent showers. It lowered the warm temperatures of July, added an occasional passing chill. A middle aged man in track pants and T-shirt slowly jogged up the road. I watched his uphill progress recalling my attempted running near Khardung village in 2011. My sea level-physiology had heaved and puffed like a steam engine. The jogger floated by smoothly, legs working effortlessly, a calm demeanour on his face. My flared nostrils and gaping mouth from four years before flashed past in the mind. Well! – I told myself; its one life and you can’t be everything, can you?  Make your peace with what you got. Cool mornings are good for healing philosophies. Five girls jogged down from the Lamdon side. That was six joggers in fifteen minutes of standing by the road. A white SUV slowed down to pick me up. “ Good morning,’’ Chewang Motup said. Beside him in the front seat was one of Mumbai’s best known coaches for long distance running, Savio D’Souza.

Years ago, Motup, co-founder of Rimo Expeditions with his wife Yangdu Goba, did something memorable for Ladakh’s ice hockey. Located at over 10,000ft mean altitude and having a winter cold enough to freeze water to ice and keep it so for long, Ladakh has long been India’s ice hockey capital. Motup and Rimo Sporting Club (the outdoor company’s sports club), along with Ladakh’s Winter Sports Club, did much work procuring adequate ice hockey gear from empathetic sources overseas and reaching it to the region’s far flung villages. The sport, originally played to stay active during winter’s deep freeze, not only received impetus, it also acquired linkages into Ladakh’s interiors, home to hardy talent. Today, the majority of players in the Indian ice hockey team hail from Ladakh. The region has several teams, including teams from the military, not to mention annual competitions.  As a sport, ice hockey has found its footing in Ladakh; it no more needs hand holding. Motup gave away all the ice hockey gear Rimo Sporting owned to its players and the club was transformed into a trust to seed new initiatives. What next?

Stretch circle near Shanti Stupa, Leh (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Stretch circle near Shanti Stupa, Leh (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

In his school days in the Kashmir valley, Motup used to be a good runner. Back in Ladakh, aside from the armed forces running (Leh is a major military base), there wasn’t any established event for civilians; certainly nothing similar to what was going on elsewhere in India. This was despite Ladakh’s earlier brush with fame; in November 1995 Rigzin Angmo had won the Bankgkok Marathon in her category. In 2010, Ladakh received its first ultra marathon, when La Ultra-The High commenced. It was and remains a niche event. In July 2012, Motup approached the local hill council – The Ladakh Autonomous Hill Council (LAHC) – with the idea of a marathon. The community in Leh is small and tightly knit. On August 15, the local youth council announced at the town’s Polo Ground that youngsters should participate in the upcoming run. In September 2012, Motup and Rimo started the Ladakh Marathon. The event had four disciplines – a seven kilometre-run, a half marathon, a full marathon and a 72km-ultra marathon that ran over the Khardung La pass and was called Khardung La Challenge. The field included runners from elsewhere in India and some from overseas. According to Motup, overall in 2012, there were 1500 runners for the Ladakh Marathon’s half and full distances. In 2013, that rose to 2200. By 2014, it was 3000 and the estimate for the upcoming edition in September 2015, is 3500-4000. “ We will be preparing for 4200 runners,’’ Motup said. Figures have been climbing for the Khardung La Challenge too. In 2012, it saw 11 runners, going up to 33 in 2013 and 47 in 2014. The estimate for 2015 is over 100. Further, starting 2015, the Ladakh Marathon is certified by the Association of International Marathons and Distance Races (AIMS) making it among select races in India to be so approved.

At the start of the 10km-training run, road to Spituk, Leh (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

At the start of the 10km-training run, road to Spituk, near Leh. Savio in lime green T-shirt (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

A few things contributed to the event’s evolution. Motup has kept the distances across the four disciplines, clear and tidy. He has a seven kilometre-run. a conventional half marathon, a conventional full marathon and an ultra marathon that incorporates the coveted Khardung La (prized by all as a milestone in altitude) but stays contained at 72km overall. This avoids confusion in how the event is perceived by potential participants. Over time, as the event stabilised and participation rose, local support for it has been more forthcoming. As travellers and hikers will tell you, life in the hills can’t divorce itself from community as in the plains because it takes a bit of everybody to get things done. Organizing a running event at altitude (Leh is 11,000ft up from sea level) is no different. Many agencies in Leh – from LAHC to village committees, medical services and the military – pitch in.

Given its cold winter, Ladakh’s tourism is seasonal. Commencing in summer, the season is into tapering phase by August. The Ladakh Marathon, set in September (fine conditions for running: 6-8 degrees centigrade when the race starts; 20-22 degrees when it concludes), helps to extend that season a little longer. And it is a profitable extension because visiting runners won’t be able to perform at altitude without acclimatizing. This means – they have to be around for a while; arrive several days before the event and stay in Leh. Motup believes, in terms of traffic, the Ladakh Marathon has grown faster than the government sponsored Ladakh Festival, which has been around for the last 20 years.

From the training session near Shanti Stupa, Leh (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

From the training session near Shanti Stupa, Leh (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

From the perspective of tourist traffic, there is another aspect. Traditionally, foreigners have dominated the inbound tourist flow to Ladakh (it has begun changing in recent years as Indians take to an active lifestyle). In 2012, Motup said, when the Ladakh Marathon kicked off, there were altogether about 120 outsiders participating. For the September 2015 edition, he was expecting 600. Similarly the 2012 debut edition of the Khardung La Challenge had 2-3 outsiders. For 2015, at least 50 per cent is expected to be outsiders. Needless to say, reflecting the old tourism trend, the foreigner component in the outsider segment is significant at the Ladakh Marathon, when compared to running events elsewhere in India.

All organized marathons and ultra marathons have aid stations set up along the route. In the Ladakh Marathon’s case, Motup said, the onus of managing aid stations is slowly being taken up by villages through whose area the course runs. Two villages – Chushool and Sabu – currently do this. Motup narrated a story in this context. In one of the editions of the event, a gentleman from Madhya Pradesh turned up to run. He was an alumnus of Doon School. After observing the land and people around him, he told Motup that he would like to fund the education of a student from Ladakh at Doon School. As it turned out, the gentleman could not finish the running race he participated in but the race he triggered to find a deserving student, progressed well. Eventually, a youngster from Sabu village, who was then studying at Lamdon School, was selected. He is there at Doon School now. Gestures like this have earned running and the Ladakh Marathon an amount of goodwill at the villages its course passes through.

Motup (left) and the support vehicle (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Motup (left) and the support vehicle (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Podium finishes at the Ladakh Marathon have been swept by Ladakhis. Altitude is easier to tackle for the locals; outsiders in comparison are running in unfamiliar environment. On the other hand, there are some good runners and great timings at the marathons of lower elevation. Opportunities to run are also more in the plains. Runners there gather experience. Starting January 2014, Rimo brought the winners of the Ladakh Marathon to Mumbai to participate in the annual Standard Chartered Mumbai Marathon (SCMM), the country’s flagship event in running.  A senior member of the Himalayan Club, Motup has friends in Mumbai. Since running in Mumbai required getting used to the local conditions, the Ladakhi team would arrive a few weeks ahead of the SCMM and stay in rented accommodation. In the run up to the SCMM, they ran and trained; Mumbai based-coach Samson Sequeira was associated with them in this regard. Some of the Ladakhi runners, I spoke to, mentioned his name. The cost of the team’s annual Mumbai trip is borne by Rimo. July 2015, I was in the middle of Ladakh’s visit to SCMM, playing out in the reverse. It was a case of Mumbaikar in Leh to coach after Ladakhi runners visiting Mumbai.

Beyond Leh’s main market, I saw a pick-up truck with a few youngsters in it coordinating its passage with Motup’s white SUV. At the junction of the roads leading to Choglamsar and Skalzangling, there were more youngsters waiting. They got up seeing the approaching vehicles. A few of them got into the SUV; the rest took the pick-up truck. On the Choglamsar road, we turned off for the bridge across the Indus River and the road to Spituk beyond. Here, next to a small clearing, an army truck from the Ladakh Scouts Regimental Centre (LSRC) was parked; waiting alongside were a group of soldiers, all ready to run. As with ice hockey before, the LSRC appeared to have enmeshed itself into Ladakh’s emergent interest in running. Some people I met in Leh felt that the concept of trained army athletes competing with civilian amateurs was unfair. But it is also true that in the past, those finishing well at the Ladakh Marathon and the Khardung La Challenge have been either noticed or picked up by the Ladakh Scouts. Savio is a former national champion in the marathon. Wards in place, he was his typical Mumbai self, wasting no time to get a stretching circle started. The soldiers joined in. Stretching done, Savio quickly got the day’s 10km-practice run going. The army truck followed the coach and his trainees. Motup had brought Savio to Leh to meet the Ladakhi runners and train them for a while.

Crossing the stream en route (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Crossing the stream en route (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Knowing that if I ran, my story would be sprinting miles ahead of me, I watched the runners’ progress from the comfort of the SUV. Motup who was driving, had taken on the role of a mobile aid station. We had water and oral rehydrants in the boot. With my middle aged, slow jogging pace as reference point, this was a fairly fast 10km-run at 10,000ft. The road was flat and inviting.  Among the runners were youngsters who had popped up just that day after hearing of the daily coaching sessions. Everyone who reported was included; all of them ran. Savio’s first couple of days running in Leh had been tough. Then he had found his pace. It was evident that day as he ran along with his wards, the whole 10km. Rain and snowmelt had caused stream levels around Leh to rise. A part of the day’s course was adjacent to a major stream and its flooded banks. At one point a second stream, knee-deep (depending on how tall you are) and filled with the ice cold water of early morning, crossed the runner’s path. All the runners waded through it. Nobody complained. A few laughed. My city self couldn’t help reflecting on that. How many of us will wade happily, uncomplainingly through ice cold water? After the day’s run, the team was treated to a hearty breakfast. This was the daily format. The training was for free.

One of the Ladakh Scouts-soldiers attending Savio’s training sessions was 21 year-old Rigzen Norbu. In 2012, he had placed fourth in the half marathon conducted as part of the Ladakh Marathon. That year, in December, he joined the army. Less than a year later, in September 2013, he finished first in the Khardung La Challenge. In January 2014, he ran his first SCMM. In September 2014, he ended second in the Khardung La Challenge. At the SCMM of January 2015, Norbu running the full marathon, finished 15th among men and ninth in his category with a timing of 3:08.

Jigmet Norbu was a lone figure near Lamdon School, waiting in the sun to talk to me. At 20 years of age, he was a year younger than Rigzin Norbu but a promising runner in the team in his own right. Born in Tsokar village in Ladakh’s Changtang region, he used to go out with his family’s flock of sheep. His parents were shepherds in Changtang, a high altitude plateau. Later, as a sponsored student, Jigmet reached Leh to study at the Lamdon School. That’s where he got into running becoming a noted runner at school level. In the 2012 Ladakh Marathon, he placed second in the half marathon. Next year he shifted to the full marathon, earning second position. His first visit to SCMM was in 2013. He couldn’t participate; he was underage! At the 2014 SCMM he completed the full marathon in 3:13, pruning that to 3:10 at the 2015 edition.

Jigmet Norbu (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Jigmet Norbu (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Rigzin Norbu (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Rigzen Norbu (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Close on the heels of the men, on both the occasions I saw the team run, was 21 year old-Jigmet Dolma, the strongest woman runner around. Hailing from Igoo village, she used to run at block, school and state level. Around the time of tenth standard, she left running for about a year. In 2012, she ran the half marathon at the Ladakh Marathon without any prior practice and emerged first. At the 2013 SCMM, she was placed 17th in the half marathon. Her main problem in Mumbai was muscle-cramping. “ I had no idea of timing, I just ran,’’ she said. At the 2013 Ladakh Marathon, she finished first in the half marathon with a timing of 1:50. In 2014, she improved her performance at SCMM to fourteenth position. Same year she retained her first position at the Ladakh Marathon. In January 2015, she ran her first full marathon at the SCMM, ending second in the open category and sixth overall. “ I wish to become the best marathon runner in India,’’ she told me, 21 year-old Tsetan Dolkar by her side, a morning at a cafe in Leh. Tsetan hailed from Lamayuru. With no prior experience, she ran the 2012 Ladakh Marathon in the full marathon category and ended second with a timing of around 4:50. Travelling to the 2013 SCMM, she was placed 13th in the open category of the full marathon. That year, she finished first among women in the full marathon of the Ladakh Marathon. Next year at the SCMM, she was placed 26th. Same year, 2014, she participated in the 72km-long Khardung La Challenge; she was placed first among women and fifth overall.

The Ladakhi running team I met was very young in age. According to Savio, his Ladakhi trainees have good endurance and strength. “ There is tremendous potential,’’ he said. Where the trainees falter and where they had faltered at SCMM, was in maintaining a sustainable rhythm. They needed to learn how to settle into a comfortable rhythm and carry on at a steady speed. Savio’s plan was to coach them in the core principles and then leave them with training modules that they can independently pursue once he returns to Mumbai. By running regularly together (as they were during the coaching sessions), he felt they would gravitate towards appropriate sub-groups that may serve as ideal cocoons for continued training. Most of the students in the training group hailed from distant villages; they were in Leh thanks to residential schools. “ I realize that some of them may not be good runners. But the point is – they are getting an opportunity through running to know themselves better,’’ Motup said. Next morning we assembled at the base of the road leading to Leh’s Shanti Stupa. The day’s practice involved running uphill and fast, on that road several times. Motup had high hopes from the training process begun. In a few years’ time, he wished to see at least one Ladakhi right up there on the national marathon scene. And that – including the process in place to move towards that goal – was what stood between Rimo, which hosted the Ladakh Marathon completely by itself and getting a sponsor aboard.

Tsetan Dolkar (left) and Jigmet Dolma (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Tsetan Dolkar (left) and Jigmet Dolma (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Motup had divided the whole Ladakh Marathon effort into two halves. One was the event composed of the marathon, half marathon and the Khardung La Challenge. The other was the training scheme he had got underway including the running team’s annual trip to the SCMM in Mumbai. The training scheme is set to get bigger. After this year’s Ladakh Marathon in September, the team is planning to spend the winter away from Ladakh, running at various events in India including the 2016 SCMM. Running in different Indian cities will help them gain experience. Ice hockey was a way of staying engaged and warm in Ladakh during the deep freeze of winter. In running, the plan is to go out to warmer areas and run for you cannot do much running in Ladakh’s winter. Motup was clear – anyone wanting to sponsor the event-half of the Ladakh Marathon must spend to make the training-half happen for the period of sponsorship. Training brought running skills to Ladakhis; the event merely showcased running. That was the difference. Sponsors may want the showcase-half. But Motup will yield only if the training-half is promised sustenance. The search is on for a suitable sponsor. In Motup’s imagination, the training phase is critical. There have been requests from competent overseas athletes to run at the Ladakh Marathon, something that will go up with the event receiving AIMS certification. Motup said he would like to consider these requests only after some time. In that while he wants to improve the performance of Ladakh’s runners so that when the world arrives in Leh to run, Ladakh will be able to hold its ground.

Photo & imaging: Shyam G Menon

Photo & imaging: Shyam G Menon

Update: The top three runners from the men’s section of the Khardung La Challenge in 2015 were: Tsewang Tokden (06:33:41), Rigzen Norbu (06:41:25) and Tsering Stobgais (07:08:43). The winners from the women’s section of the Khardung La Challenge were Skalzang Dolma (10:58:56), Khushboo Vaish (13:39:12) and Tsetan Lamo (13:41:18). Top laurels in the men’s full marathon went to Fayaz Ali (03:02:01), Padma Namgail (03:07:30) and Tsering Tondup (03:12:49). In the women’s full marathon, the top three finishers were Tsetan Dolkar (03:40:37), Jigmet Dolma (03:42:47) and Katharina Leuthner (03:47:13). In the half marathon, the men’s section was topped by Tanzin Norbu (01:22:47), Nawang Tsering (01:23:26) and Tashi Paldan (01:24:50). The winners in the women’s section of the half marathon were Diskit Dolma (01:48:05), Tsering Dolkar (01:50:53) and Stanzin Chodol (01:51:30).

Here are some photos from the 2015 Khardung La Challenge:

Tsewang Tokden / Khardung La Challenge 2015 (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Tsewang Tokden / Khardung La Challenge 2015 (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Rigzen Norbu / Khardung La Challenge 2015 (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Rigzen Norbu / Khardung La Challenge 2015 (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Tsering Stobgais / Khardung La Challenge 2015 (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Tsering Stobgais / Khardung La Challenge 2015 (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Runner approaching Leh / Khardung La Challenge 2015 (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Runner approaching Leh / Khardung La Challenge 2015 (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Lone runner on mountain face / Khardung La Challenge 2015 (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Lone runner on mountain face / Khardung La Challenge 2015 (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

(The author, Shyam G Menon, is a freelance journalist based in Mumbai. The timings and rankings mentioned in the article are as provided by the interviewees. The 2015 results are from the event’s official website.)     

NOTES FROM A JOURNEY / SHIMLA-SPITI-MANALI-LEH

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

“ For the bus to Spiti, you have to go to the new bus stand. You will get everything there, food and room to stay,’’ the helpful taxi driver said.

He delivered me to an impressive building with bus bay on first floor and a hotel, couple of floors up. I had just reached Shimla from Delhi; that bus dropping me on a road some five kilometres away and above the new bus depot. The bus to Spiti was at 6PM. Ticket booked, I took the elevator to the hotel and alighted onto a swanky lobby that contrasted the general affordability level of the transport bus-using population below, including me. The receptionist assessed me as I sought a room. The assessment was justified. It was peak tourist season. A room cost Rs 4000. I was shocked. Between airports, railway stations and bus stations, bus stations have traditionally been the most plebeian. Maybe this was a hotel meant for those hiring entire buses to travel and not a mere half or third of a seat? Or maybe the hotel catered to families – the standard unit of Indian existence – and I was too single for the economics to make sense. Or maybe I just missed the bus to riches, which everyone took in the last two decades. That’s quite possible. To live is to find one’s own time warp. I am in mine.

At the only other hotel in the neighbourhood, the sole available room was pegged at Rs 2000. I didn’t want my brief rest to cost that much. I made my way back uphill to the city’s crowd and congestion, where I had spotted a dharmshala. The dharmshala was fully occupied. It was now raining. “ Looking for a room?’’ a tout asked, extending his umbrella over my head. I followed him to a promised reasonably-priced room, down a steep, narrow path to a narrow, tall building. My request for the cheapest room yielded a space best described as the tapering end of a triangle with three walls built tightly around a cot. I wondered how they would take the cot out. Break down the walls? I settled for the second cheapest room, rested and then walked around a bit. The bus to Spiti was crowded. As we exited Shimla, I saw the city from various tiers. Hill towns have become thick with matchbox-buildings. Shimla amazed for the number of vehicles it packed in. All that steel – moving, parked and caught in traffic snarls – made it resemble a junkyard. Probably why I liked my time on the city’s Mall Road, closed to traffic. In 1972, Shimla had been the first hill station up north, I visited. I thought I saw the hotel we had stayed in then; from its balcony, on a cold, snowy morning with my parents savouring the heat from a tray of hot coals, I had seen Shimla’s railway station in the distance. I found an old hotel with an old shop selling coal nearby and if I erased some new buildings, a line of sight to the railway station. That’s why the junkyard look saddened me. It was like fungus to an old photo.

I reached Manali from Spiti via Kunzum La. At this pass, the mountains seem parked in your front yard. The small town of Reckong Peo, passed earlier on the approach to Kaza (in Spiti) from Shimla (you change buses at Reckong Peo), had hosted similar views. In the immediacy and dimension of their mountain scenery, both Kunzum La and Reckong Peo reminded me of another town from far away – Kumaon’s Munsyari. The deeply engaging parts of the Shimla-Kaza route are the portions before and after Reckong Peo. It is particularly so when done in the regular state transport bus; no frills, a seat in a metal box on wheels, jets of cold air shot in through gaps in the glass window, sleepy people sitting and standing, every pothole an orchestra of rattling vehicle parts, much ache in the butt. Ahead of Reckong Peo and just past the Kharcham Wangtoo hydro-electric project, the road, perched on steep hill sides, is stingy on space to manoeuvre and with segments eroded by the most recent spate of natural phenomena. Several u-turns couldn’t be negotiated at one go entailing manoeuvres on tricky slopes; all this at midnight and early morning (it was a night bus) with the passengers, mostly locals, utterly calm through it all.

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

I thought of our passage as a pair of headlights, high up on a mountain face enveloped in inky blackness. As if that wasn’t enough, periodically through the night, passengers got off at their stops and walked with a torch – sometimes none – to their houses, identifiable in the distance by a single electric light somebody had left on as GPS for the late night navigation on foot. Next morning the section past Reckong Peo, debuted as a muddy, bumpy road above the river Sutlej in its early stage past the Indo-Tibet border, easily one of the most furious flows I have seen. The river barrelled on churning up mud and crashing against rocks. Crumbs of earth from the road-edge occasionally rolled off into the turbulent waters below. By the time I reached Kaza, I had developed considerable respect for the driver and conductor of the state transport buses I took. It is one thing being responsible for just oneself on a bicycle or a motorcycle or a car, on these roads. It is another, ferrying people safely. I also remember Tabo. When the driver turned off the bus engine at this settlement, the afternoon silence was inviting. You felt away from everything.

Manali was bursting with tourists. I sipped coffee in the security of a first floor-restaurant, seated by the window, watching the crowds in the street below. If you seek the mountains to be away from people, this was its very antithesis. I wanted to run away. “ Two more days and the schools will reopen. Then you will see less people,’’ a hotel manager assured. I bought the last available seat on a bus and fled to Delhi the very next day. I had to be back in Manali, in a week’s time. On the return trip to Manali from Delhi, my unassertive self was quiet. Not so a foreigner lady who faced the same predicament as I did. Both of us had booked seats originally shown as on the penultimate row of the bus. The seats we got matched the numbers on our reservation slips, except we were in the last row. In the transition from diagram in cyber space to reality, the bus had shrunk! We got thrown around and as the journey progressed, the heat from the rear-engine cast us and everyone else on that row into a sauna of sorts. “ Incredible India,’’ one of them quipped. We reached a Manali that was less crowded. With schools reopened and tourists thereby less, the taxi cost from Manali to Leh had also corrected. That was a pleasant surprise.

Ongoing construction schemes took the sheen off walking in Leh’s main market. A hoarding announced it as a beautification scheme in progress. “ The work has been going on for a while and the state of the market road affects business. Fewer people drop by,’’ a shopkeeper in the main market said. Away from the town centre, despite rising tourism, Leh has managed to keep an architectural idiom in place – at least its hotels and guesthouses have subscribed to a minimum code. As yet, you see little of the garish steel and glass structures resembling giant sunglasses stuck in the ground, which is how buildings are in India’s cities and increasingly so, in its hill towns. Mark the expression – as yet. Who knows what the future will bring to the hills? Now four or five visits old, I must confess I have an emergent problem with Leh – noise. It and vehicle emissions are registered strongly in the town’s narrow roads set in the clean air of 10,000ft. Loud, thumping four strokes are music to two wheeler riders. It is noise to others; literally bullets shredding peace and conversation.

On July 21, the final phase of our journey commenced. The flight out from Leh to Delhi got cancelled. It was attributed to bad weather, except – our airline was the only one cancelling; others operated. Maybe bad weather loves this airline? Worse was the experience of cancellation. It was several announcements of continued delay leading to eventual cancellation, a junior officer assigned to face the passengers’ ire and her superior, the local airline manager, conveniently disappeared. The dumped passengers received tea and biscuits at the airport’s canteen. There was no assurance of an extra flight the next day to accommodate us. For several hours the cancellation did not register on the airline’s computer system. “ What cancellation? The flight left on schedule,’’ the airline’s call centre replied.

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Getting seats on other airlines is better said than done amid Leh’s tourist season. Many years ago, in the days preceding Internet-based reservation at Indian Railways, as a journalist working in Delhi, I used to think that Kerala was the worst-treated in terms of access. Trains to Kerala were few, heavily booked and airline tickets to India’s southern tip were expensive. Leh is perhaps a quarter of the distance from Delhi as Kerala is. But in tourist season, airline tickets from Leh to Delhi can cost as much as Rs 20,000, sometimes more.  It is cheaper to fly overseas! The market lauds it as ` dynamic pricing’ (so fashionable is it that even the Indian Railways wants to try it). I asked my guest house owner in Leh whether he got any relief being a local. “ If we plan ahead, we manage to get tickets at lower price. Else we are in the same boat as you,’’ he said. On previous visits, I learnt, this was partly the handiwork of package-tourism blocking seats in bulk. At one point, the trade’s motive was so clear that a now defunct airline used to fly in just for Leh’s tourist season and stay off the cold desert for the rest of the year.

That night the airline computer system at last acknowledged flight cancellation and promised an extra flight. Next day, Leh was due for a taxi strike from 6AM. The air travellers of the day rented wheels to the airport early in the morning, landing up in front of a still shut airport at 4AM. At least one tourist tucked into a sleeping bag at the gate. We imagined a rock concert and the faithful camped for guaranteed entry. After the inevitable Indian mess that followed, we waited patiently post-security check, boarded the aircraft and clapped when the plane commenced taxiing.

An hour later, we were in Delhi, the self absorbed capital imagining Incredible India.

(The author, Shyam G Menon, is a freelance journalist based in Mumbai)