Photo Credit: © RAJDIP.IN | Photograph taken by the author.
Ladakh strips you down to zero.
Society beckons. You've lived on your own terms for a while, now they'll enforce theirs, and everything will go back to exactly how it was before you came here. The circle will be complete. I don't know how much society needs me, but right now, I desperately need a fresh start. Let's complete the circuit.
People might physically be anywhere, but their minds truly awaken when they are in the mountains. I don't know what it's like by the sea, because right now I'm at 6,700 feet above sea level, and my ultimate destination lies at a breathtaking altitude of 19,000 feet—the world's highest motorable road, Umling La Pass.
But two questions arise: why and how? Let's tackle the easy one first: how? I'm no expert rider, though I do enjoy riding a good motorcycle. The problem lies between its gears and me; we just don't give each other the time to sync up. On the other hand, I have my trusty scooter that has been my companion for quite some time. Its capabilities are slowly becoming limited now, but alongside it, someone else is also coming of age. Next month, I'll be turning 28. So soon? Well, that answers the easy question.
This journey began using the savings I earned with this very scooter. When your name is on its registration, you understand its every need, every drop of petrol. But why am I doing this all over again after three long years? That's the difficult question.
The weather is clearing up; look at how magnificent the mountains ahead appear. Initially, everything looks incredibly beautiful, but honestly, I've gotten a bit used to the views. I've been living here for a month. The weather clears up, then it turns bad—that's how it's been. I’ve looked at this mountain in this state so often that my heart is completely full. Now I just feel like moving on.
Today, we are heading to Shinku La Pass. Before crossing, I thought it would be a good idea to understand what a 'Pass' actually is. A mountain pass, or 'darra', is the easiest navigable route to the other side of a mountain range. It is often the lowest point on a mountain ridge. Throughout the Himalayas, you'll find hundreds of passes, typically crossed by trekking trails or motorable roads. In Tibet and the Indian regions bordering it, these passes are often referred to as 'La'—such as Shinku La or Baralacha La. Additionally, in various parts of Himachal, they are known as 'Jot' or 'Ghat'. In Garhwal, they are called 'Khal', in Kumaon 'Dhara' or 'Chhina', and in Nepal, the term 'Bhanjyang' is used.
My phone lost its struggle for a network connection, but right now, my bucket list just keeps getting longer. The rough roads definitely challenged my scooter's speed, but even crawling eventually gets you to your destination—and it got me there, too.
I finally reached the popular photo spot. Looking at a distant mountain, it felt as though all the light was converging on it. Going further, I learned that these mountains are considered sacred and worshipped by the locals. Yesterday, the locals helped me pitch my tent, and by observing them, I picked up a few tricks. Hopefully, I'll be able to pitch the next one all by myself. The altitude had increased so drastically that I didn't sleep very well. But stepping out in the morning to the sound of flowing water and taking in the view, I can safely say there couldn't have been a better start to this journey.
I found out that basic amenities would only be available once I reached Padum, where I also needed to get some welding work done on the scooter. A short distance later, I had to stop again. The mountain looked like an old man draped in a large blanket, silently watching over everything. Saying goodbye is always difficult. I could barely utter a farewell, but that majestic mountain lingered in my rearview mirror for a long time.
I had come a long way now, and my scooter was running perilously low on fuel. I had an extra 10 liters in my jerrycan, but I just couldn't get the cap open. The mechanic had sealed it way too tightly. Thankfully, I bumped into a kind fellow traveler along the way. His own vehicle had broken down, but somehow, he managed to arrange a siphon pipe for me. In return, I offered him some supplies—at least it would help him pass the time after I left.
Passing through a few more villages, I arrived at a place where I learned that a special guest was expected. People had gathered, filled with anticipation and excitement. But suddenly, police arrived, and there was a commotion. I soon learned that the weather between Leh and Padum wasn't favorable for the VIP helicopter flight, so it was delayed until tomorrow.
However, the weather was absolutely perfect for exploring Padum. I made a quick itinerary and started at Padum's largest monastery. It’s situated at such a great height that you can see almost the entire valley from up there. I noticed a new structure nearby—a beautiful pavilion built for spiritual teachings. Everything was going smoothly until my next stop, a place that would completely captivate me: a waterfall fed by a glacier. A waterfall in Ladakh! I had never imagined such a thing.
But soon, I faced a major issue. I was trying to capture a drone shot of the landscape when my drone suddenly lost connection and crashed. Two local kids noticed, and the three of us spent the next two hours desperately searching for it. Later, a guy around my age came by to help and graciously invited me to his home. I told him how overwhelmed I was by their kindness. If I had lost my drone in the city, no one would have even bothered to help search for it, let alone climb over rugged terrain for a stranger.
The next morning, we were back to waiting. Word travels fast here; my new friend had shared the news about my lost drone in the village WhatsApp group. In these mountains, you don't even need to ask for help; people just inherently know and show up for you.
In the evening, I went for a short, aimless ride—a "Gedi"—on a newly carved road that wasn't even listed on Google Maps. Having lived in Chandigarh, I’ve learned that a leisurely drive is a therapy in itself. I desperately needed this therapy today because I had spent the entire afternoon searching for my drone again. I didn't find it. All I found were some old, weather-beaten wooden doors and my own breathlessness from the altitude.
Right at the beginning of my trip, I had already suffered a loss of nearly a hundred thousand rupees. For the past two days, I had just been moving in circles. I knew I had to leave the next day because it was time to practice detachment. Oh, and the helicopter finally landed today; the special guests arrived in Padum.
As I rode further, I stumbled upon a beautiful lake, with towering mountains standing behind it as if they were hiding a secret. The melting glaciers turned into flowing streams, and the streams gathered into serene lakes. I met travelers who were visiting with their families, doing the regular tourist circuits. I, too, had visited Ladakh three years ago with two friends, purely as a tourist. I was on this very same scooter, but my mindset was completely different back then. I saw the landscapes, but I didn't truly know the region.
That's exactly why I came alone this time. I wanted to choose my own untrodden paths. Before turning 28, I just want to experience the world with the unbridled wonder of an 8-year-old. Why Ladakh? Perhaps this is the answer to that difficult question. And honestly, exploring Ladakh in a clockwise route was the right decision.
Just before reaching Kargil, I found the perfect spot to pitch my tent. Now I've mastered pitching it. I sleep perfectly, too, because the rugged terrains of Zanskar taught me the very first rule of being a traveler: adaptability.
And now, it's time to keep moving forward. Because there is still a whole world out there waiting for me.