Freedom on the way

 When travelling in Ladakh, we try to avail ourselves of all types of transportation.

We take bikes on rent because they give us the freedom to get away as much as possible from the main highways, go into the deeper recesses, and have more independence in tasting the solitude of far-off corners.

At other times, we take shared taxis or SUVs that these days run to many popular destinations in Ladakh. Anywhere between seven and eight people share the vehicle, each paying a fixed amount per passenger.

The beauty of travelling in these shared SUV taxis is that you have a collection of different passengers, varying in age and culture. You have locals, monks, foreigners, young students, old people—everybody.

The SUV is heavily laden with luggage on top, tied very firmly by the expert hands of the driver, and they ply across these mountain roads.

Then you can talk.

You can learn more on the way.

Sometimes we even take roadways buses, which ply to popular destinations such as Hunder, famous for its sand dunes, or Pangong Lake.

Sometimes we hitchhike.

That is the beauty of travelling in Ladakh. You should be open to any type of means of transport.

We have even travelled in trucks sometimes, with friendly truck drivers from the plains.

And I particularly remember one shared-taxi ride from Leh to Padum in Zanskar.

We booked our two seats one day in advance. The fare was quite reasonable because hiring an entire taxi individually would have cost us much more. A shared taxi cost somewhere around ₹1,200–1,500 per passenger at the time, which was quite reasonable.

It was a Mahindra Xylo, an eight-seater SUV.

The courteous driver asked us to be there at exactly around five o'clock in the morning. We paid some amount in advance, and the taxi was to start from the main bus stand in Leh.

So we reached quite on time.

Our luggage was placed on the luggage grill on top of the vehicle, and then we started studying our fellow passengers.

There was a monk and the two of us when the taxi started. There were more passengers to be picked up along the way.

After a little distance, another lama joined us.

He was a Buddhist monk, very short but broad in structure, with a round face, a cute chuckling smile and glinting eyes.

He looked so, so cute in his red and maroon robes.

Then came an old woman who must have been in her late seventies. She was carrying quite a lot of luggage. Her daughter and granddaughter had come to see her off.

Her luggage was lifted onto the roof of the vehicle, and she somehow fitted herself beside the lama, who was on the healthier side.

The other lama was occupying the front seat beside the driver.

So my brother, the cheerful lama and the old woman were sitting on the middle seat, while I was at the back.

Farther on, two boys, both students, joined us. They squeezed themselves into the little cramped space beside me on the back seat.

Then I thought perhaps the seating was finally full.

But just as we reached the area where the Zanskar and Indus meet, their distinctively coloured waters coming together, the SUV took a little side road into a small hamlet away from the main road.

After travelling perhaps two kilometres, it stopped.

There was another passenger waiting there—a young woman in a jacket who, by Ladakhi standards, appeared quite modern.

She was somehow fitted into the middle seat.

And now there was absolutely no possibility of accommodating anybody else.

So we started our journey towards Padum, travelling along the beautiful, circuitous road with the Zanskar River snaking through the brown cliffs.

The Happiest Lama

The lama sitting on the middle seat was one of the happiest souls I have ever seen.

He was speaking in Ladakhi.

He must have been cracking so many jokes along the way because the old woman sitting beside him was giggling throughout the journey like a little girl in primary school.

Such open laughter.

Such mirthfulness.

Such joy.

These people inhabit a small world, but they occupy a very rich mountain of happiness and joy.

The lama continued cracking jokes.

Every now and then he would look towards us too, almost in anticipation, as though he wanted us to join in the fun.

But he did not know English.

And when I tried Hindi, he would smilingly say, “No, no.”

So I tried getting some of his jokes translated by the young students sitting beside me.

But they could not perform the task to my satisfaction.

The problem was that the lama was so fluent and in such full flow that he was continuously giving the local Ladakhi passengers one reason after another to burst into laughter.

There was no way the boys could keep pace with him.

And I especially remember the enjoyment of that old woman as the lama told her joke after joke.

There was something beautiful about watching a woman in her late seventies giggling like a schoolgirl.

On the way, we stopped for breakfast.

Our driver was a very graceful man with an accommodating nature. He told us about a few local specialties, and we stopped at a place where there were just a couple of restaurants.

We had our tea and breakfast.

And as we came out, I saw the lama carrying a packet of chips.

The Packet of Chips

I still remember him waddling cutely towards us, almost like a little boy on the fitter side, carrying that innocence and simplicity, his mind seemingly untroubled by complex thoughts.

That image is still imprinted in my mind.

He was holding the packet of chips in his fingers, dangling it as he walked, almost like a father coming home with something with which he wants to surprise his children.

I naturally thought that perhaps the lama had bought the packet to munch on during the journey.

But once we got back into the taxi and started travelling again, that notion was dispelled.

The lama indicated that he did not eat such things.

These were for us—the happy people from worldly life.

He opened the packet and began offering chips to everybody around him.

It was such a beautiful sight.

An act of such loving-kindness.

They were only chips.

But it was the way he offered them—with such a smile, with such eagerness.

I could see that eagerness in his eyes, almost as though he was enjoying the chips merely by watching us enjoy them.

His eyes were glinting with that joy.

And this particular episode has remained firmly imprinted in my mind.

Whenever I think of that happy, joyful lama, it naturally uplifts my mood.

Every Mode of Travel Has Its Own Story

So whenever you are travelling in a new world, try different types of means and modes of transportation.

All of them have varied possibilities of offering you new experiences and bringing you into contact with different types of people.

And then travel becomes more personal.

A small space shared by a few travellers for a few hours.

People sharing anecdotes.

People laughing.

People observing one another.

There is so much to learn.

There is always a different kind of fun in travelling in a group.

But yes, of course, travelling on a bike all alone provides its own type of fun.

Then you are just with yourself.

You are open to the forces of nature.

You are going, pursuing your own path.

You can stop anywhere.

There is a different dynamic to it. You have independence in planning your itinerary and deciding where to stop and where to move onward.

So perhaps we should not compare different means of transport while travelling through such beautiful landscapes and locations.

All are unique.

And all have their own specialties, offering us a different cuisine of experiences unique to the place.

A bike gives you freedom.

A bus puts you among ordinary travellers.

A shared taxi squeezes strangers together for a few hours and sometimes turns them into companions.

A truck may introduce you to a driver from the plains carrying his own stories across the Himalayas.

And sometimes, in a crowded shared taxi somewhere in Ladakh, you meet a little round-faced lama with glinting eyes, carrying a packet of chips that he does not even want to eat himself.

He simply wants to watch others enjoy them.

Happy be your journey.

Continue travelling.

And enjoy each and every bit of it, wherever you happen to be.