Religion Beyond Rituals

Image attribution: Harisingh at the English-language Wikipedia

A tall, lean Amrit-dhaari (baptised) Sikh, a milkman, rides his motorcycle into our apartment complex every day around noon. He wears a saffron-coloured turban on his head and a saffron scarf around his neck. He has a flowing white beard and carries a small kirpan (ceremonial dagger) attached to a cloth strap worn over his right shoulder. All in all, he seems to be inclined deeply towards religion.

He parks his bike at a spot visible from our drawing room (or living room) window. He then brings out a measuring vessel and a bottle of water and measures and adds copious amounts of water and milk from the bottle and a large can (loaded on his motorcycle), respectively, to smaller cans. He then delivers the mixture in the smaller cans to his customers living in various flats in our building, a practice that is not only unethical but also illegal.

Milk adulteration is punishable under Indian law with imprisonment of up to six months, and Sikhism also advocates against it. Guru Nanak Dev says, “Truth is the highest of all, but higher still is truthful living.”

It is a stark contrast -- the milkman, who has adopted an outwardly religious appearance and probably follows rituals such as saying his prayers regularly, seems to care scarcely about the essence of his religion or the law of the land. 

When I spoke about the milkman to a childhood friend, who also happens to be an Amrit-dhaari Sikh, he tried to underplay the offence the milkman commits daily. At first, he told me a joke about city folk falling ill if given pure milk to drink, accustomed as they have become to drinking adulterated milk. When that did not cut any ice with me, he tried to justify the milkman's actions by saying that everything had become so expensive and the milkman needed to mix water with milk to make a handsome profit.

Now, it so happens that the childhood friend is a businessman and probably does not pay his taxes honestly, among other illegal practices adopted to increase his earnings. So, he seems to have felt obliged to defend the actions of someone in a similar situation concerning the law and his religion.

The essence of religion, beyond the rituals, is certainly not everyone's cup of tea.

A Canine Friend from Chail

There were many stray dogs in Chail. Some we would find asleep on the raised berm on the roadside. Others would walk around, perhaps looking for food or just going from one place to another for some reason. 

One day, during a long walk on the Chail-Kufri road, while my father was chatting with a worker at the local sub-station (housed in a centuries-old building), I managed to attract the attention of two of three dogs sniffing around the place. One let me scratch his head for a while, then moved away to sit on the road. The other one enjoyed my attention for much longer. We left the dogs behind when my father finished speaking to the electricity board employee.

Sometime later, when we returned to the same spot on our way back to our hotel, I saw another dog seated on the edge of the road from where the hill sloped steeply downward. He was white with dark brown spots. I stopped to take his picture, but he got up and walked towards me as soon as I aimed my camera phone at him. He wagged his tail and seemed friendly. I bent down to speak to him and played with him for a while. Then, I asked my father to take our pictures, and he obliged. I spent a long while speaking to my new canine friend and playing with him. He seemed to be just as happy as I was.

When it was time to say goodbye, he sat down unsmiling, his forelimbs crossed. He appeared stoic, almost like a sophisticated gentleman.

In any case, he gave me a memory I shall cherish in my heart for a long time.

Walking in The Woods

Perhaps the best part of our recent visit to Chail in Himachal Pradesh was the long walks in the woods. As I mentioned in a previous post, most roads in Chail were surrounded on both sides by verdant slopes populated with tall Deodar trees and thick shrubbery below. Being monsoon season, the sky was mostly overcast, and when the sun peeped out of the clouds, not much sunlight reached the road, filtered as it was by the tall trees. 

Except for the main Chail-Kufri road, passing through the centre of town, there was not much vehicular traffic on any of the streets. There were not many pedestrians either. So, my father and I mostly had the road to ourselves and enjoyed the clean mountain air and the serenity of the place while out and about, whether walking to the local Gurdwara, the former cricket ground or the elusive wildlife sanctuary (Google Maps showed there was one but we could not find it. We later learnt it had been de-notified.). 

We often heard birds singing, which soothed our ears. It was a treat to watch monkeys swinging among tree branches or sitting on the ground and plucking the leaves of certain plants to eat. They did not pay much attention to us as we walked by, sometimes even when a few of them were resting on the roadside as we passed them. 

During our long walks, I took several pictures, including those of some wildflowers growing by the roadside or on the slopes.

When we walked past the Chail Palace on the Chail-Kufri road one day, away from the centre of town, we came upon an interesting sight about a kilometre from the palace. In a clearing on our right side, several stones piled upon one another formed a circle. It was grown over with bushes and plants, and it was hard to see what was inside. It was surrounded by another circle where the ground had been dug to a level a few inches lower than the area around it. We felt a draught of wind as we stood there, probably because of its location among the surrounding hills. My father and I surmised that the circle of stones may have contained a fountain or something of the sort built by the erstwhile Maharaja of Patiala.

A gentleman who owned a homestay and restaurant in the centre of town and was an old-timer told us that the total population of Chail had not changed much since the Maharaja developed it in the early 1900s. Most people, he said, were engaged in horticulture or running homestays. That may have been why there had been no rampant deforestation as in other hill stations such as Shimla. Another reason may have been that the place was not as high on the priority list of tourists as others. I did see an advertisement for a new apartment complex being developed at Chail on our way back to Kalka, though, and wondered what the future would hold for the place.

At The Highest Cricket Ground in the World

From the Gurdwara Sahib at Chail, we walked on to what was once the highest cricket ground in the world. It was about two kilometres away but seemed farther while walking up the winding mountain roads that often rose steeply. I used Google Maps to navigate. It guided us to near the ground and then seemed to lose its way. We had to ask passers-by, including a few local Rashtriya Military School students, for directions. 

Ultimately, when we got there, it turned out that it no longer was a cricket ground but had been converted into a playground for the Military School students. Basketball courts and football fields had been built over it. There was no signboard to announce that it once had been a cricket ground. One announced that it was a restricted area owned by the Indian Army, so we did not venture too far inside. I could see what must have been the pavilion and stands in the distance but could not go closer to take a picture because of the restrictions.

While on the way, we found nearly half of a short stretch of the road leading to the part of town where the former cricket ground was had been swept away as the soil on the hillside where it had been built was gone, probably during a heavy spell of rain. So, only two-wheelers or pedestrians could go across. We crossed the stretch gingerly. 

Earlier, most of the way, there were tall Deodar trees on the slopes on both sides of the road. There were knee- to waist-high shrubs beneath them; the entire slopes were green. It also meant it was impossible to photograph the valley below or the hills in the distance through the thick vegetation. I could only take pictures when we reached a model farm of the Himachal Pradesh horticulture department, where the tall trees had been cut off to make way for flower and fruit beds. I clicked away happily when we got there. 

Except at 2 to 3 places on the way and back, we were the only ones walking on the road, and it was great to experience the clean mountain air and serenity without the kind of hustle and bustle back home in the Delhi NCR. It was an overcast day, and even when the sun peeped out of the clouds, the sunlight was filtered through the tall trees, and not much reached us.

While my father had to take several breaks while walking up to the ground, he walked continuously on the way back as it was mostly downhill. 

Soon, we were at Chail's main market, where we had lunch before returning to our hotel.

At The Chail Gurdwara Sahib

The morning after we landed in Chail, we visited the local Gurdwara. It meant climbing up a steep path after a few hundred metres of walking through the town's main market. My father, who is almost 79, had to stop a couple of times to take a break before we covered the nearly 200 metres to the bottom of the stairs leading up to the Gurdwara. Earlier, I misinterpreted the instructions given by Google Maps to take a road to the left of the one going towards the Gurdwara. It was when Google Maps told me that my destination was on the right, atop the hill that stood there, that I realised my mistake! We had to walk back to the intersection to take the correct path.

While going up the stairs, a few paces behind my father, I pointed out to him a dog that lay peacefully at the top. As soon as I had done that, the dog got up and started barking at us as if reminded of his duty to bark at strangers. As we climbed up the staircase, more dogs joined the welcoming party. The noise attracted the attention of the Granthi (priest), who came out to calm the dogs and to greet us. The dogs followed his instructions and took up positions in the courtyard. He told us there were five of them and also told us their names, which I do not recall now.

We removed our shoes and socks and washed our hands and feet before entering the beautiful building Maharaja Bhupinder Singh of Patiala constructed in 1907. I took several pictures before and after paying obeisance to the Guru Granth Sahib in the hall, which had a wooden ceiling with a cutout in the centre to provide light through a few glass fixtures below the sloping tin roof above. The entire building was based on a European architecture style, rather than the oriental one Gurdwaras in the plains usually are. An old chandelier, probably from 1907, hung from the ceiling.

The Granthi told us he was an employee of the Himachal Pradesh government and not any Gurdwara management committee. He told us that the place of worship was taken care of by a government department looking after heritage structures. However, he said he often had to resort to posting on social media to appeal to Sikhs around the world to fund repair and renovation as the funds provided by the government were insufficient. He seemed to be doing that well since the building was in prime condition inside and outside. He said enough accommodation could be arranged for up to 100 people around the Gurdwara, although they would have to bring their rations.

Since there were no other visitors, we could have a long conversation with him, and he also told us about his family, including his daughter, the first female Granthi in India. He said she was presently employed at the Gurdwara Nanak Durbar in Dubai. His son lived in Birmingham, he said. He told us he had travelled to 12 countries, including neighbouring Pakistan and several in Europe.

The dogs sleeping in the courtyard were unconcerned as we walked out, put on our shoes and socks, and left.

At The Chail Palace

The Chail Palace (converted into a hotel several years ago) was about 600 metres away from our hotel. The evening we landed in Chail, we walked there. The fellow operating the entry ticket counter had locked his booth and gone home. So, we went straight in unobstructed. A short trek up a steep path led us to the palace itself. We landed at the backdoor and clicked a few pictures in the fading light of the misty evening, as we had done a few times on the way there. 

The backdoor of the majestic building with outer walls constructed from rectangular blocks of grey-coloured stone was soon closed, and we learnt from a staffer that we could access the restaurant, which would open at 8:00 p.m. through the front door on the opposite side. However, my father did not want us to wait until then, as it was getting darker every moment. So, we went back to our hotel, down the path Maharaja Bhupinder Singh of Patiala, who constructed the palace, must once have taken. It was a tranquil and beautiful evening.

I returned alone the next afternoon as my father was a bit tired after the trek to the Chail Gurdwara Sahib and what formerly was the highest cricket ground in the world (now a playground for the students of the local Rashtriya Military School). I purchased the ticket worth Rs. 200 this time and decided to make it worth every paisa by taking many more pictures of the beautiful palace building and its interiors. 

I found the Maharajas' old furniture and some paintings hung on the walls fascinating, and I took pictures. Maharaja Bhupinder Singh, an avid traveller who visited Europe via the sea route several times, supposedly purchased the paintings from there. A piano lay unused in the lobby, and I wondered which of the Maharajas was a good piano player while photographing it.

The Maharajas' old bar was still in use, and I took a quick photo before the barman noticed me. However, the doors to the billiards room and the lounge were closed, and I could not gain entry.

The doors to the Maharani suite on the ground floor were locked, and I could not sneak a peek.

Once outside, I photographed the beautiful fountain that featured figurines of two children and a couple of swans.

A few steps across a lawn took me to the cafe, where I ordered a sandwich I later shared with a female stray dog, who zeroed in on me out of everyone eating there.

On my way back to the main gate, I noticed an abandoned lawn tennis court that the Maharajas must have used and an old building with a collapsed roof, which I later learnt had once housed a mushroom factory owned by the Maharajas. 

I found the old lamp posts along the road leading from the palace to its gate wonderful and photographed one, although I did not photograph any of the monkeys playing along the way because I was unsure if they might want to snatch my camera phone.

A mist had begun to descend the surroundings soon before I exited the gate.

An Innovative Water Trolley at Gurdwara Pathar Sahib

During my recent long motorcycle ride to Himachal Pradesh, Ladakh, Jammu & Kashmir, and Punjab, I discovered something unique at Gurdwara Pathar Sahib, near Leh. It was a water dispenser at the langar (free kitchen) hall. As I finished lunch, while seated beside other devotees on a carpet spread on the floor of the langar hall, a volunteer pushing a wheeled water dispenser came into view. 

It comprised a large metal cylinder on wheels containing water, being pushed using a handle on top that resembled a bicycle's handle. He wheeled it next to the steel tumbler that lay on the floor next to the steel plate I was using to have lunch. When the small water outlet was directly over the tumbler, he pressed what looked like a brake lever on the bicycle handle on the contraption. As soon as he did that, water gushed from the outlet into the tumbler. As soon as it filled up, he released the lever, pulled the dispenser back a little and moved on to fill the next person's tumbler similarly. It was undoubtedly a step up from the garden watering cans I have seen used for the same purpose at other Gurdwaras. 

A quick internet search later revealed that similar devices are used in several other Gurdwaras, and some people have filmed them in use and posted videos on social media.

The Punjabi Spirit of Service

During the recent long motorcycle ride through Himachal Pradesh, Ladakh, Jammu and Kashmir, and Punjab, when we reached Mohali, near Chandigarh, we were met by a bunch of people running a 'chhabeel' (a stall serving sweetened, cold water to passersby for free). The cold water they were serving contained a dash of milk, Rooh Afza sherbet, and sugar. My fellow riders, who were from Bihar and Kerala, were mystified. They asked me if the free service marked a special day. I told them it was merely because it was the peak of summer and too hot outside. They had their fill and filled their water bottles with the sweet liquid.

Beyond Mohali, we were met with roadside chhabeels not only in and around Amritsar (on our way back from Kashmir) but also in a few villages in the Jammu region, which shares a cultural and linguistic affinity with the state of Punjab.

Apparently, the Punjabis do not want you to go thirsty on a hot day, no matter the day or date. I do not know why people from other North Indian states do not seem to care about that, although it's equally hot there. Perhaps it is a cultural thing. Not for nothing are the Punjabis known as large-hearted people! My non-Punjabi fellow riders would certainly vouch for that.

A Wish at Wagah

Image attribution: Stefan Krasowski, CC BY 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons

As we watched the evening 'parade' at the Wagah-Attari border crossing, which was more of an exercise in sabre rattling than a parade or a flag-lowering ceremony, I saw a stray dog cross the fence from India to Pakistan towards one side. He did not need a visa to cross from one country to the other. I envied him. I have friends in Pakistan whom I would love to go and see as and when I please.

I sat on a balcony facing the gate between the two countries across the Grand Trunk road. As the gates opened during the flag-lowering ceremony, I could almost imagine thundering down the road on my Royal Enfield bike from India into Pakistan, riding down to Lahore and Peshawar, stopping at various places on the way. Perhaps I will someday when the jingoism gives way to more friendly relations between the neighbours.

The Puppy at Lamayuru

Image attribution: Fulvio Spada from Torino, Italy, CC BY-SA 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons

We stopped for lunch at a dhaba near Lamayuru during our recent long ride through Himachal Pradesh, Ladakh, Jammu and Kashmir, and Punjab. As we parked our motorcycles, we were greeted by a little puppy. He was quite enthusiastic, smiled, and licked my gloves as I sat on my haunches to speak to him. After a moment, he ran off to greet a white Caucasian couple who had also stopped by at the dhaba and got a few belly rubs in the bargain. However, he had moved away from them a moment or two later. "He's probably looking for some food," it led the girl to remark. She or her partner did not offer him anything to eat, though.

Soon, the little guy was under the table of another small group of patrons having lunch, looking for tidbits, but they shooed him away.

When our meal arrived, we saved a chapati for him, which was broken into small pieces and fed to him. Our mechanic had a pack of cream rolls in his car, and the little guy was also given one. I hope the food filled his little tummy. He was still munching away happily when I rode away.

The Chemist at Kargil

Image attribution: Saurabh Lall, CC BY 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons

I carried a small laptop bag on my shoulders, in which I carried essential stuff such as my rain gear, pyjamas, patka (a small turban), water bottle, slippers, towel, mobile phone charger, toothpaste and toothbrush, besides my bike's papers, during the recent long motorcycle ride to Himachal Pradesh, Ladakh, Jammu and Kashmir and Punjab. By the time we reached Kargil, after having ridden through Kullu, Jispa and Leh, parts of my shoulders and back had become stiff. So, I made a mental note to acquire a fuel tank bag or something similar for the next trip whenever possible. However, I needed immediate relief for my back and shoulders. So, I set out in the evening to look for a chemist's shop to buy pain relief spray. I rode for several kilometres without finding one, from the hotel on the outskirts into Kargil town.

I stopped to ask for directions on the way at a grocery shop operated by a little girl, who said she had no idea when I asked if there was a medicine shop in the vicinity.

A few kilometres ahead, a board pointing towards a side road said, "District Government Hospital." So, I turned off the highway onto that road and rode on for a few minutes without finding what I was looking for. At another grocery shop I stopped at, I was told I would find a chemist's shop a little way ahead on the same road, and indeed, I did.

The young couple who owned the chemist's shop operated it, and I wondered whether it was the only one in town. It was chock-a-block with customers, including a few uniformed men of the Indian Army. I watched as one soldier described the symptoms a colleague was suffering from, and the chemist promptly provided a few tablets, capsules and a bottle of cough syrup, along with instructions on how to consume them. It made me wonder if there were no army doctors posted at Kargil.

When my turn came, the chemist explained that an ointment would provide more prolonged relief than a spray. He laid out tubes of three such ointments on the counter and recommended one as the best. I took his advice and bought the ointment. It stood me in good stead the rest of the way through Srinagar, Banihal, Amritsar and Chandigarh.

The next time, I shall try to remember to carry pain relief ointment in my medicine kit.

Guns and Khukris at the Kargil War Memorial

Image attribution: By Ulfberth at German Wikipedia - Own work, Public Domain

At the Kargil war memorial in Drass, we were greeted by a sentry in full battle gear, which included an assault rifle and a 'khukri' (a short sword with a distinct recurve in its blade). I presume he was from the Naga or Gurkha regiment, soldiers who proudly carry a khukri into battle. I have heard talk about the Government of India's plans to abolish regiments based on ethnicity from the Indian Army, replacing them with regiments with soldiers from mixed backgrounds, named 1, 2, 3 or something as inane as that. I wonder if Naga or Gurkha soldiers will still be allowed to carry their khukris as part of their battle gear when that happens.

Meanwhile, I was also excited to see a puny little howitzer at the memorial that could be disassembled, the parts loaded onto the backs of mules and carried up mountains across trails, and re-assembled there to rain fire on the enemy ensconced up there. I had heard about the role of the larger Bofors guns during the Kargil war, but not so much about this one, and I was pleased to see it in person.

I also saw a heavy machine gun up close for the first time and remembered Sylvester Stallone firing it in one of the Rambo series movies based in Burma (Myanmar).

Another thing I noticed was that the army had either hired very creative writers or some of its officers themselves had been able to come up with very creative captions for the war photographs on display at the memorial.

I bought an insulated water bottle as a memento from the souvenir shop for the princely sum of Rs. 1425. I hope the government will use the premium they charged me for a good cause, perhaps related to the Indian Army and its soldiers.

The Homestay With a View at Kullu

Following the first day's ride (during our recent long ride to Himachal, Ladakh, Jammu & Kashmir and Punjab), we spent the night at a homestay on a hillside on the outskirts of Kullu. The homestay was owned by an Indo-French couple: a French man and his Indian wife. They said they had two children studying in a boarding school somewhere. The French man, who spoke a smattering of Hindi and English, told me he had come to India during the early 1980s and stayed on. He said he had lived in a village up a nearby hill until he and his wife bought their current residence. He said it often snowed in the higher reaches of the surrounding hills but hardly ever where the homestay was. I didn't ask, but it seemed like the French man had converted to Hinduism, for there was an elaborate pooja room on the top floor beside the bedroom he shared with his wife. On the other hand, it could have been used only by his wife. I can't say.

Both the French man and his wife were fit and slim. In fact, the wife had told us when we arrived that we could use the terrace only after an hour and a half because she would work out there for that long. The French man did smoke, though, which would considerably lower his score on the fitness scale.

As I discovered the next morning, the terrace had spectacular views of the river valley below and the hills all around. Unfortunately, I could only take 3-4 photographs from there. I could not sit and enjoy the surroundings for any length of time since we were supposed to get ourselves and the motorcycles ready and leave for Jispa as soon as possible. I wish we had started from Delhi earlier than we did, and a group member had slept well enough the previous night not to need a nap on the way so that we could have arrived while there still was daylight and enjoyed some time on that beautiful terrace!

Meanwhile, the house itself was pretty charming. Like most houses on hillsides, one had to descend from the road to reach the lowest floor. The furniture, crockery and glassware looked exquisite. Evidently, the couple had good taste.

Also, the French man and his missus were friendly towards and fed stray dogs in the vicinity, two of whom made themselves home around the house. I have posted photos of one sleeping peacefully on the mat next to the front door. He was there to greet anyone entering or exiting the house during the day and at night. So, that gave me one more reason to like the couple. Perhaps I can revisit them to see their dogs and sit on their terrace for a while if nothing else.

A Shikara Ride on Nigheen and Dal Lakes

The early-morning shikara (small boat) ride from Nigheen Lake in Srinagar, where we stayed on a houseboat (during our recent long motorcycle ride through Himachal, Ladakh, Kashmir and Punjab), to Dal Lake was very enjoyable. Since it was early in the morning, many birds were around, most looking for breakfast in the form of fish. They were pretty colourful and good-looking, and I would have loved to photograph them, but I did not have a camera with a zoom lens, and they did not come close enough to the boat for me to take a good picture. It was a treat to watch them sit on the lotus leaves floating on the lake or hop about from one such leaf to another. The young ones were actually running on the leaves.

On the way, we saw floating vegetable gardens, where, I was told, vegetables such as bottle gourds are grown. The roots of the lotus plant are also harvested and sold for use as vegetables. There were floating fences around the gardens, and people in boats tended to what they had planted within them. There is supposed to be a floating vegetable market, too, where the buyers and sellers both come in boats to conduct their business, but that is relatively early in the morning, and we missed it.

Many people who live on the lake-front don't have road access and use shikaras to commute. I even saw construction material being ferried on shikaras. There was even a school there, with floating fences on either side marking the waterway to approach it from the lake.

We also shopped at shops on stilts within the lake, where the shikara could be parked.

A kahwa (Kashmiri tea) seller came along on another shikara, and we all enjoyed a beverage.

At Dal Lake, I was disappointed to notice that they had built a couple of fast food joints on stilts almost in the middle, which spoiled the view.

Even at Nigheen Lake, sports such as water skiing have been introduced, which could spoil the serenity of the place. Fortunately, not many people indulged in such sports while we were there, and we had a good experience.

A Motorcycle Ride through Himachal, Ladakh and Jammu & Kashmir

For the uninitiated, I have had an unseen enemy for the past 12 years. They act through numerous stooges and never come into direct contact with me. The reason for the enmity is a police complaint I filed in late 2012, and their stated aim is to drive me out of India somehow. However, during my recent long motorcycle ride to Himachal Pradesh, Ladakh and Jammu & Kashmir, the enemy's actions were little more than a sideshow. There were plenty of unrelated memories and experiences I would cherish for a long time.

First of all, there was the motorcycle ride itself. I rode in my natural style at a speed I preferred, which was not very fast and allowed me to enjoy the natural beauty of the regions I rode through. I wished I had a camera attached to my head so that I could record long videos of all that I saw, including the glances I cast at the surroundings while taking my eyes momentarily off the road ahead. I am told that a small digital video camera can indeed be worn on the forehead in that manner, using an elastic band attached to it. However, the only thing is that I wear biking goggles, which I sometimes push up my forehead when I do not feel like looking ahead through them. That might interfere with a camera worn on the forehead, and I need to figure out how to work my way around it. I am told the camera can also be worn on the chest, but that will not account for the occasional sideways glances I mentioned earlier. So, I must find a way to put the camera on the head. Not pushing the goggles up while I am wearing the camera might be one way to do it, perhaps.

In any case, as I mentioned, I did not speed up to catch my fellow riders this time, nor even the mechanic supposed to follow us in a car which overtook me and raced ahead almost every day because he was frustrated by my slow riding speed. So, I often rode alone for several kilometres on mountain roads with no other vehicle in sight, listening to the steady thrum of my motorcycle's engine and enjoying the views. Now and then, I would stop to click a photograph. I enjoyed doing that a lot! The only place I missed clicking a picture was at Baralacha La pass, where the path had been cleared of snow, but there still was several-feet-high snow on both sides. The mechanic was virtually biting at my heels, honking behind me in his car. So, I did not stop. Perhaps I should have. The pictures I took were clicked after we had cleared the highest part of the pass and everyone had stopped to take a break. Needless to add, they were not as impressive. So, maybe next time I will get a good one!

Riding across the highest mountain passes encountered on the way, Baralacha La, Takalang La, and Zoji La was almost an other-worldly experience. It was challenging and exciting at the same time. At all three places, I rode through clouds (which seemed like thick fog) and faced a rain of icicles (frozen raindrops). It was biting cold, and I had to wear a double layer of chef's gloves (made of thin polythene) under my protective riding gloves to keep my hands from freezing. There was no road across Baralacha La and Takalang La, while a paved surface comprising interlocking footpath-style tiles had been laid across most of Zoji La. At Baralacha La, I had to ride across a couple of streams of flowing water somewhere between ankle- and knee-deep. I rode across smoothly, but one of my fellow riders keeled over when his bike's front tyre hit a big rock during the water crossing. Not tall, he could not use his feet to steady himself and his motorcycle. Fortunately, he did not get hurt. The rest of the offroad path across Baralacha La included small, almost round rocks, across which one had to ride in low gear at a slow and steady speed while gripping the handle firmly to avoid falling over. At Takalang La, there were huge potholes, all filled with water, that one had to ride through. I wore water-proof trousers and shoe covers and rode straight through the water crossings and water-filled potholes without a second thought or getting wet. It was kind of fun.

Then, there was the ride across the Morey (or More) Plains, where I rode across the undulating road, which goes up and down every few metres. There are vast plains on both sides, where sheep and ponies can be seen grazing here and there, and tall mountains beyond that. It's a sight to behold! I was in a bit of a hurry there because I was told we had to reach and ride across Takalang La before sunset or else black ice might form there, making movement almost impossible. So, I did not stop to take any pictures there either.

The short ride on our day off at Leh to the Leh Palace and Gurdwara Pathar Sahib was exhilarating. As usual, I was riding alone and had all the time in the world. So, I thoroughly enjoyed the landscape and stopped several times to take pictures, which came out very well.

The only place where riding was not much fun was when a road was being constructed across a long stretch between Pang and Morey Plains, and the riding surface comprised a mixture of loose gravel and fine-grained soil. I rode slowly there because I felt the bike would skid out of control if I were to brake hard. Also, whenever another vehicle drove past, there would be a cloud of dust, and it was impossible to see anything for a few seconds. The other group members rode/drove much faster, but I rode at my own pace without a care in the world.

That was a theme that stretched across the entire 10-day ride. I did not care what anyone would say or think about me and rode the way I wanted. Google Maps helped me find each day's destination, and I enjoyed mainly riding solo through each day, meeting the others usually for breakfast and lunch and at the place of stay in the evening. I rode tension-free and through some of the most beautiful places on Earth. I loved it!