On the monastery trail in Ladakh

Have you ever thought monastery hopping could be wretchedly tiring? After the first three, the head begins to buzz, the eyes glaze over and all of them begin to look similar. And you know you want to see a few more. After all, Ladakh is known to have the highest concentration of Buddhist monasteries (gompas) outside Tibet.

And so I devise a small game to keep myself entertained. If I had to choose a monastery to live in, which would I pick? Will it be my personal favorite Thiksey, cascading down the hillside like a waterfall in hard stone? Or large and venerable Hemis, with its beautiful museum with the cold floors and friendly watchman? Lamayuru perhaps, sitting unruffled amidst breathtaking scenery referred to by guidebooks as moonscape? Why not Alchi then, set in the Indus valley and home to stunning frescos a thousand years old? Or even the unlikely contender Spituk, keeping a benevolent eye over Leh’s tiny airport?

Ladakh, which follows the Tibetan Mahayana school of Buddhism, is considered the last stronghold of Himalayan Buddhism. Spiritual life here revolves around the monasteries, which are places of worship and meditation (for both practicing monks and outsiders), as well as for religious instruction. They were used in earlier times by travelers as guesthouses although now only the serious spiritual seekers attempt to stay in monasteries. Most gompas are majestically perched on top of hills or on steep cliffs, making it difficult to access them and in the past, attack them.

The inner walls of gompas are usually covered with beautiful murals and paintings depicting the Buddha, Bodhisattvas (incarnations and manifestations of the Buddha) and other elements from Buddhist iconography. At every gompa we visit, we meet helpful monks willing to open locked doors to show us around; some are shy, some cheerful but all are friendly.

Ladakh itself has been like that – somewhat bashful, startled to find itself the focus of attention of so many tourists but waving a friendly and cheerful Juley! to everyone. Even as mobile phones and weekend tour groups are threatening to take away a familiar way of life, Ladakh is fighting bravely to hold on to its cultural heritage.

Of miniatures and moonscapes

Alchi is our first stop, a sleepy hamlet of just over a thousand people and now a hot favourite of the backpacker crowd. Alchi, unlike others is not set on a hill but sits in a valley, quiet and self-effacing. The drab exteriors of this temple complex do not reveal in any way the treasures hidden inside.

Apart from an array of clay statues of the Buddha, the highlight of the Alchi gompa is the 1000 year-old wall paintings. These paintings are of a distinct Indian (Kashmiri) style, different from other monasteries in Ladakh and without much typical Tibetan iconography. It is believed that the Alchi complex was abandoned in between and remained unknown until it was unearthed a few decades ago – maybe its anonymity has helped preserve the art inside. Great care is taken today to ensure that visitors do no desecrate the wall paintings in any way. I shine my torchlight (highly recommended, given the unlit interiors) over the hundreds of miniature paintings all along the walls, willing my eyes to get accustomed to the darkness faster.

From Alchi, we make our way to Lamayuru in the Western Kargil district. Lamayuru is a personal must-see in Ladakh; in a piece for the New York Times, famed travel writer Pico Iyer says of it that a gasp escaped his (jaded) lips when he first set eyes on Lamayuru. And so we drive up, up, up the winding mountain road. Each time I want to stop for photographs, our driver urges us on, “Further ahead is more beautiful, it is called moonscape.” Moonscape – the word rolls off his tongue easily, having, I guessed, rolled off a thousand tourist tongues earlier. Lamayuru is believed to be Ladakh’s first monastery and still one of the largest, housing over 150 permanent monks.

Of war goddesses and ephemeral mandalas

After the majestic setting of Lamayuru, Spituk seems to come easy. Very close to Leh, this gompa is home to the patron saint of all those intrepid travelers who fly in, over the magnificent Himalayas, landing on the gut-wrenchingly narrow strip that serves as the runway. And so Spituk sits, placidly overlooking the quiet of the Indus valley spread out beneath and the bustle of the airport. Apart from the traditional frescos and thangka paintings, this 15th century gompa also houses the temple of the Tibetan war goddess Palden Lhamo, who is now venerated by visiting Hindus (despite strict warning boards all over the temple complex) as the goddess Kali.

Further along the road, Phyong is quiet at that time of the morning, only four maroon robed monks at work on a mandala. Their heads bent over the low stool, they seem absorbed in their work, till one of them looks up and smiles as our shadows fall on the colorful mandala in progress. According to Buddhist iconography, a mandala is a symbolic representation of the universe and making one is part of the training for monks. Made from coloured sand, a mandala requires intense concentration, a trait that is believed to help a monk during meditation. A mandala, I remember reading, is swept away after prayers are offered to signify the impermanence of life; a pity, it seems to me, looking at the intricate patterns and vivid colours.

Of monklings and the Maitreya

Hemis, in contrast to the other far-flung gompas, is overrun by tourists when we arrive. Its proximity to Leh – just over 50 kilometers away – makes Hemis, Ladakh’s largest monastery a popular destination. Built as early as in the 11th century, it was reestablished in the late 17th century during the rule of Singge Namgyal who patronized the Drukpa (Red Hat) sect. After a quick tour of Hemis, we head to the underground museum with its impressive collection of thangka paintings, statues and artifacts. From a distance, the sounds of the loud chatter of young monks, interspersed with laughter floats in, suddenly bringing alive the setting to us. Hemis is also the site of the annual summer festival held to mark the occasion of Guru PadmaSambhava’s birth anniversary.

And then finally the 15th century Thiksey, picturesque and imposing amidst the green-brown barley fields – reminiscent it is said, of the Potala palace in Lhasa, Tibet. We are there early enough to witness the morning prayers. A group of senior monks in maroon and gold robes are already immersed in their chants when we enter the main hall. A little while later, the young monks in training file in, silent and serious, to take their places.

Soon, I catch a few of them fidgeting, restless as only the very young can be. And when it is time for the teacups of the older monks to be filled, there is a mock fight to carry the kettles. Little monks started scurrying about with large kettles and containers with yak butter, like large red bees in a hive. The older monks dip their forefingers into the butter container, helping themselves generously to the salty butter. They stir it into their tea, licking the sticky remnants off their fingers without any reticence as they carry on with their prayers. The monkling (what else can I call him?) serves us with a shy toothy smile before scampering away purposefully.

And the highlight of Thiksey, an impressive statue of Maitreya, the future Buddha with his elaborate crown and the enigmatic, calm smile on his face, is what makes it my personal favourite.

***
Published in Sunday Mid-Day on May 19, 2013…
Also read my other story on Buddhism in Ladakh

To Ladakh by air

It was mid-May when we visited Ladakh and the road from Manali to Leh was not yet open. It is considered one of the best road trips ever, and I hope to do it some day. But for then, we had to fly in to Leh from Delhi. Bleary-eyed, I sat looking out of the window for the promised glimpses of the mountains below. Dry brown slowly gave way to dark mountains with peaks capped by snow and clouds and then suddenly there was only pure white – and the sight took my breath away.

On the way in, the sunlight was harsh and direct, making photography difficult – and luckily, on the other side when we flew out. And so, we were blessed with the best possible views.

Today’s Yummies

Spotted on the streets of Leh:

I spent hours and hours walking in Leh, up and down the narrow market roads, chatting with the street vendors, stopping for coffee and snacks at the German Bakery, watching people and generally having (my idea of) a perfect holiday. After those alluring road signs all over Ladakh, what I loved most were these signboards in front of restaurants in Leh. Most restaurants were still shut for the off-season months when we were in Ladakh (this May) but the ones that were open called out to tourists with these inviting boards.

I mean, how, just how, can anyone resist those sexy Thai soups and Lazy Italian pastas? But here is the thing, what exactly makes a soup sexy? Why then can’t they add that to their noodles and curries too?

In another context, I had blogged cribbed about the Lonely Planetization of travel (food, specifically) – but signboard-spotting can still be great fun.

Some of them, though, like this one, start with great promise (Banana fat?!) but get all sober and correct by the time they end…

Ladakh on my mind

My thoughts are with the warm and friendly people of Ladakh and the devastation caused by the recent cloudburst over Leh. I take a break from my enforced rest for a bad back to quickly post this piece I had written on Ladakh for The Women’s International Perspective recently – Buddhism in Ladakh: Everyday, Everywhere.

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High in the north Indian state of Kashmir sits Ladakh, held by many as the last bastion of Himalayan Buddhism. Since Tibet is out of bounds for most tourists, Ladakh now attracts travelers and spiritual seekers who come for glimpses of a traditional Buddhist way of life; even seasoned travelers go so far as to describe it as the last Shangri La.

It is true that Kashmir is a war-torn region, however, the turmoil does not touch Ladakh, a good 280 miles from the capital city of Srinagar. Nor are there any foreign invaders intent upon destroying Buddhism to establish their own faith.

Today, the (perceived) threat to Ladakhi Buddhism is from a different kind of invasion – globalization – brought by travelers and their notions of modernity that invariably spread along with them. And with this comes concerns about the erosion of a faith and way of life that is centuries old.

Ladakh derives its meaning from La-Dags or “land of high passes”. As early as 1 A.D. Ladkah was an important trading post on the ancient silk route, hosting traders from both the West and East. Buddhism is said to have come into Western Ladakh via Kashmir in the 2nd century A.D. during the reign of the Kushan dynasty and spread later in the 8th century A.D. from Tibet. Soon, there was a well-established Buddhist kingdom in Leh, Ladakh, extending all the way to Lhasa, Tibet, some 850 miles away.

The first monastery in Ladakh was set up by Indian pilgrim Mahasiddha Naropa in the 10th century at Lamayuru, where it still sits unperturbed in the desolate moonscape scenery surrounding it.

Today, over 50% of Ladakh is Buddhist; only the small, self-contained Brokpa tribe in Ladakh practice Bonism (a faith pre-dating Buddhism in Ladakh) while Islam is followed by most in Western Ladakh.

Different sects flourished under the Buddhist kings until the Gelugkpa (Yellow Hat) order, introduced by the Tibetan philosopher Tsongkhapa in the 14th century, became the dominant path. Towards the 16th century, Ladakh fell to the Muslim invaders from the West but Buddhism nonetheless managed to survive and eventually thrive through these battles. It further flourished under the Namgyal dynasty established by Singge Namgyal in the late 16th century. And although the Drukpa (Red Hat) order gained prominence under the Namgyal kings, Ladhaki Buddhists still venerate the Dalai Lama of Tibet (of the Gelugkpa order) as their spiritual leader.

However, in my travels in Ladakh, I see no signs that validate concerns of a disappearing way of life; traditional Buddhist customs are very much an integral part of daily life. Though the trappings of modernity are visible everywhere, especially in Leh – mobile phones, internet cafes and young men in jeans – all across Ladakh, in the markets, villages and remote areas, people walk about in traditional costumes with prayer wheels in hand and smiles on their faces.

Up here, the high altitude lakes blow biting cold winds throughout the year. Monasteries and stupas serve as living museums of the faith, with their rich collection of frescoes and murals, prayer artifacts, texts and idols.

Up here, Ladkahi Buddhism is alive and thriving.

Ladkah photoessay

You are going to hear a surfeit of Ladkah stories on this blog for a long time. Just warning.

Here is my latest published work – a photoessay on Ladakh on the Matador website. Do head there now, have a looksee and leave your comments!

Memories of Ladakh

This is the scene of confluence of the sparkling blue-green Indus with the muddy blue-brown Zanskar near the tiny village of Nimmo, just a hour’s drive from Leh in Ladakh. The two mighty rivers merge at this point, and flow on as the Indus. It is a popular spot for rafting among visitors and falls on the way from Leh to the ancient monasteries of Alchi and Likir, and Lamayuru further ahead. I think it is one of the prettiest spots in Ladkah.

This is one of the images that was recently displayed at a photography exhibition at the Alliance Francaise Bangalore. This is the other:

A day spent by the shores of Pangong Tso (‘tso’ for lake in Ladakhi) is one of the highlights of a trip to Ladakh. The lake changes colours by the minute, hundreds of shades of blue, dictated purely by the whims of the sun at that time. Pangong is a salt water lake situated at an elevation of over 4250 meters (13900 feet). It stretches on for 134 km, at its widest no more than 5 km, and over 2/3rds of it lies in China.

The road to Pangong

The route to Pangong is through the ‘mighty’ Chang La, proudly referred to as the third highest motorable pass in the world. In mid May, when we headed to Pangong, Chang La was completely covered in snow, making the journey as exciting and interesting as the destination. The trip took close to seven hours, what with all the stops for food and photography, snow clearing and for letting the more impatient vehicles pass and lagging behind the slower, larger ones.

At Chang La, the tent serving the customary cup of tea to weary travelers stayed shut in this off-season month and so we made our way to the other side after a few minutes out in the biting cold. We stopped at the tiny village of Tangtse for a quick lunch and headed on to Pangong. And just the first glimpse of Pangong, from a distance, just a small circle of brilliant blue is worth the long road journey.

At Tangtse, we stayed in a tent at Camp Watermark, close to the shores of the lake, spending the evening in frozen delight, watching the water change colours as the sun slowly disappeared among the snow-capped mountains. The temperature was close to zero degrees when we stepped out for dinner at eight p.m. and later in the night, dropped to -5 degrees!Inside the tent though, all was warm and cozy; we were tightly zipped up against the cold and under two heavy blankets.

Pangong is a salt water lake situated at an elevation of over 4250 meters (13900 feet). It stretches on for 134 km, at its widest no more than 5 km, and over 2/3rds of it lies in China. A day spent by the shores of Pangong Tso (‘tso’ for lake in Ladakhi) is one of the highlights of a trip to Ladakh. The lake changes colours by the minute, hundreds of shades of blue, dictated purely by the whims of the sun at that time.

Not so fast!

Of all the things I enjoy about being on the road, the signboards from BRO (Border Roads Organization) must come somewhere at the top. The BRO itself is one of my favourite organizations ever – they make travel seem so easy and comfortable in some of the highest, steepest and most dangerous roads of India. And in return, all they ask is that you stop for a moment and acknowledge their hard work, if only as silent thanks on particularly difficult stretches.

Now back to the signboards – quirky, funny, some downright inscrutable -these are to be seen on major roads all over India, one of the best examples being the Mumbai – Goa highway. However, on the hills, where the BRO is involved, these signs achieve another level of interestingness.

On long desolate stretches in say Sikkim or Ladakh, I often had nothing better (and I would have liked nothing more) than to watch out for and make note of these signboards. And recently, I found myself categorizing these signs (blame it on a long career in market research, this urge to classify and segment).

The most common ones are those that warn you against speeding: if married, then divorce speed. Or This is a highway, not a runway (and the scarier version – This is a highway, not a dieway!) The absolute winner though is, Darling, I like you but not so fast. Cheeky! And so completely unexpected.

Then there are the ones that caution against giving in to the lure of the er, curves – I am curvaceous, go slow – declares one in a spirit of complete abandon. Also take in On the bend, go slow, friend and Steady your nerves on these curves…

Drinking and driving do not mix is the other prominent theme – and they even have different slogans for different types of liquor, like so – after whisky, driving risky and drive on horsepower, not on rum power.

Most of these warnings are stern and stark, talking of accidents and death without any thought for the less brave drivers on the roads – If you sleep, your family will weep. In between, though these are fewer in numbers are the cheerful optimistic ones: Safety on the roads is safe tea at home. There is then the one that declares – Today is my No Accident day – or another version of it – Alert today, Alive tomorrow. Er, what about losing alertness for that short time it takes for the driver to read these signs – but hush!

Highlights of Ladakh

I have just returned from two weeks in Ladakh – mid May turned out to be a great time to go, despite the severe cold and dark clouds during the first few days – the high passes kept getting shut due to snowfall and our plans kept getting changed from day to day, yet more snow and fewer people made it all a dream holiday.

A few highlights for now:

~ the cheerful Juley! greeting from everyone on the streets, perfect strangers smiling at you…

~ landing at Leh, flying over the thick snow-clad mountains and then the shock of the stark brown hills of Ladakh, and the descent on to the tiny runway bounded by Spituk monastery on one end…

~ the unpredictable weather – clouds, rain, snow and sunshine in the same day…

~ driving to Pangong up the high Chang La, totally covered in snow, the pure white and brown like ice-cream with chocolate sauce…

~ the blues of Pangong, a hundred different shades all at the same time…

~ the blues of Tso Moriri, similar yet different from Pangong lake, the route along the crystal clear Indus all the way through…

~ the monasteries with their friendly monks, and especially the monklings (the young ones in training), all surviving the severe weather conditions over centuries, all unique in some way that makes it hard to play favourites…

~ walking up and down the tiny market road, chatting with the vendors of green vegetables and dried fruit and learning their names, just to forget them the next minute…

~ hot momos and thukpa soup, vegetable chowmein and the green chilli sauce, peanut cookies and mint tea, alu parathas and rajma chawal…

~ making friends with other travelers, many of them sophisticated world travelers who lose their world-weariness in Ladakh and give in to its quiet charm, some for months on end…