Gypsynan

Views of Pang Gong Lake, boy at monastery, monastery, Indus river, and mountain lake

Leh was the base for excursions into the mountains, the most amazing of which was visiting the Pang Gong lake, a 125 km salty, high altitude sea that marks the border between Tibet and India. At the highest point in our journey we were at 17.5,000ft at Chang la pass, the 3rd highest in the world. We stayed at a series of army/ air force camps, touching base with the culture I grew up in after a long time. The 2 Scorpios were filled with family and friends and we kept going, as the air grew rare and a strange light headed euphoria filled our spirits. The landscape was unbelievable, a moon scape that is beyond my powers to describe, so here are some photos.

Leh itself was a small town in the shadow of the high mountains, with monasteries and small ceremonial gompas scattered across. The little monks dressed in red, called aengelas, glimpsed against the bleak facades like tiny exclamation points. The river Indus, an icy glittering thread meanders around Leh, providing the only green cover one can see.

Recognise that? Found it growing wild near a holy lake in the temple grounds somewhere in the Himalayas! Don't you want to know where? Holy smoke!!! Good stuff too :)

I have had one of the most awesome trips in my life. We landed in Delhi at 9 and took the flight to Jammu next morning. Jammu to Udhampur was a 2 hour drive – through the hills – with the Indus(?) river meandering below us, a thin shining, gleaming thread -reminds me of the . Jammu was a typical small town, chaotic traffic, unplanned growth, rubbish dumps, little streams turned into open sewage drains, against a back drop of the mountains and groves of coniferous trees and balmy weather to die for. The chaos of small town India is a charming reminder of our unity in diversity – from Kashmir to Kanyakumari we are a mess. Home sweet home!

Home now is a lovely bungalow, hidden among the curvy mountain roads, set against a forest of sweet and sharp smelling pine trees. Flowers in the front and pumpkins at the back. Dad and mom looking older, a little more tired each time, which is always a shock, I remember them as the dashing young couple of my childhood.

Lovely Kashmiri furniture all over. The hand carving is magnificent in detail, with the cheap shiny finish. I appreciate these things more now I guess – too heavy to ship here, but also a little old fashioned in their design and finish. I want to open a home stuff manufacturing unit – using Indian craftsmen and a fusion of modern design and finish.

A day later we drive back to Jammu, in really bad traffic. Overnight at an inspection bungalow and then flight to Leh.

As soon as the plane touches down, you know you are “somewhere else”. A bleak, brown and gray valley, surrounded by equally brown mountain ranges. Its cold and you start gasping for breath after the short walk carrying your hand luggage to the terminus. It’s the lack of oxygen – welcome to Ladakh!
(Pix road to Udhampur / View of Jammu)

I find Vikram Seth's recent announcement that he is gay, to be a most interesting piece of news. One hears of rumours and of the Doon school of gay writers from mean Mayo types and so on but he is the FIRST MAJOR PUBLIC FIGURE IN INDIA TO ANNOUNCE HE IS GAY/BI-SEXUAL.

I am very intrigued by the idea. Not that the idea of gay-dom is very interesting by itself, but the idea of Mr. Seth, the epitome of the genteel Indian author, lionized by all, writing about arranged marriages within the pastel French chiffon sari set in hill stations : being gay is somehow delicious.

Mind you I have not read any of his fiction except the Golden Gate which was great fun and his poems which are redolent with an intelligent sweetness that is quite adorable.

However, I wonder whether this would have any impact on his reputation of utmost respectability in India? To me it adds an edge… but to his readers. Or am I underestimating the Seth fan base – I see them as being literary aunties and giggly teenagers. I may be wrong, Suitable Boy came out at a point in my life when the phrase stood for everything genteel that I hated. I liked my fiction, like my men quite rough those days. Time to take a second look perhaps...

Its interesting how unique personality traits can be. How Vikram the peaceful can build his little empire and gently step out of the closet like he was never in it. Imagine if Rushdie was gay – basically. I mean… what is my point exactly???

Vishnupriya tagged me with the 55 word story thing, but I don't have a fiction bone left in my body, so here's a true story, no morals, and I can't count...

So I am on my way to the fancy schmancy shopping mall, when suddenly this hard eyed, stunted, ugly little urchin pops up beside me and starts the usual whine. And in a fit of misplaced guilt I decide to buy her glucose biscuits from the nearest panwallah. Once at the kiosk, she throws a total tantrum, biscuits nahin didi, chips do. I am bullied into buying her a small pack of chips. Two others materialise and start chanting chips, chips. But I am made of stronger stuff and sternly say its biscuits or nothing and give them half a pack each of glucose biscuits. As I pass by the first kid gloating over her chips, she does not look up. My mum later tells me that kindness is wasted on these kids.

I think of the lovely little 6 year old who dominated the dinner party the previous evening, imperiously demanding and getting piggy back rides from all the assorted corporate uncles.