Sharing Stories - A Glimpse into Another's Life - Ladakh- A Tryst

compulsivewanderer — Thu, 18 Apr 2013 20:53:39 GMT

"Madam tagdi lagti hai", I was told. "Madam seems strong." I wondered if this was an appropriate reaction to what had just chanced. Minutes before, I had been this close to accidentally piking myself to death with an icicle. The clean weapon made of frozen liquid glistened with a few discarded drops of water and reflected the rays of sun filtering through the window of the car. Ang Chook, the driver and my constant companion for these 5 days in Ladakh, smiled.

"Madam tagdi lagti hai." Because I had tried to chomp down a humongous icicle in a moving car? Or was it because, despite the swaying roads, the sudden break and the icicle jabbed in the throat, I had managed to come out with only a mild throbbing pain in the back of my throat? Maybe it had nothing to do with the icicle at all; maybe he was referring to my skeletal frame. It was the first day of my tryst with Leh and Ladakh and with Ang Chook, and it was no understatement that I was having a fairly hard time figuring him out.

After a few stray comments were exchanged, and the icicle was gently put down beside me where it would continue to shed tears of ambiguity, we resumed our journey in relative silence. The wind blew, sometimes taking flecks of snow with it. The clear waters sparkled down below as our journey upwards to a "gompa" continued. At the gompa, the silence deepened and I told myself, my 5 days here was going to be 5 days of introspective silence.On the journey back downwards, I would be proved wrong.

Well into the evening, nearly touching plain land now, the swerves left far behind, I sat in the backseat looking intently at the icicles that still adorned the place where my nemesis had come from. As I looked away, I saw Ang Chook smiling at me through the rear-view mirror. I smiled back. "Madam tagda hai". He repeated, this time asserting my strength instead of speculating about it. My curiosity final took the better of me. "Why?", I asked.

"My niece once did the same with an icicle. She was five. Se had to be rushed to the hospital and things were touch and go for several minutes." My moth gaping, my eyes round like saucers, I listened. Ang Chook smiled again. "She was fine. She in 6th grade now."

The tears of ambiguity which had turned the icicle into a wet patch on the seat beside me now glistened in my eyes. It had turned an awkward tryst with my driver into five days of shared lives. Ang Chook left me with less ambiguous tears when Ladakh turned from a journey to a memory.

My Scholarship entry - Understanding a Culture through Food

compulsivewanderer — Sat, 21 Apr 2012 00:42:00 GMT

Red. Orange. Brown-red. Pale-red. I stand over the glass case looking into what can best be described as a desolate aquarium. Though devoid of the charms of a regular aquarium- no colored pebbles or swirling artificial bubbles - the life within is unusually active. A man dressed in white walks up to me and I’m asked to choose. It seems almost like a pet-shop story, yes? It’s not. This is dinner- one among these crabs carelessly indulging in mock pincer fights. I swallow as I’m told that it’s customary for tourists to choose their platter pals. One of the locally acclaimed restaurants in the heart of Port Blair, meat eaters have since forever been lured in by the fame and come back delighted- swearing by the food.

Yet, as I stand looking at my prospective dinner, I quail at the thought of having some unlucky fella butchered at my command. I’ve been hovering for too long, strange looks from fellow diners are in order. Giving in to gnawing hunger I look away and arbitrarily pick out a mate. A good choice, I’m told. I’m feeling guilty as hell. 'Never again. Local customs be damned.'

The steaming bowl of bright orange crab curry with a gazillion garnishing would soon change my mind. In 20 minutes my table is full- curry, white rice and an elegantly arranged grilled red snapper. Ten minutes into the meal and I’ve nearly forgotten all about the guilt ridden process of food picking- the food is, if food can be, transcendental. When the waiter picks up the cash he asks, "Food okay?" "Perfect, yes"- I reply. I realize later that the crab has now become food. I’m adjusting.

On my way back I stop at a local handicraft shop. Souvenir shopping. Suddenly, a boy on the street stops to share info- "Not here. He overcharges. Try the shop three blocks down." He is chased out by the shopkeeper but the damage is done. As I excuse myself with a sly smile, a pattern forms. Live crabs on display, exposing sham- it’s not cruel. Just a brutally yet refreshingly honest world.

It's These Little Things

Sharing Stories - A Glimpse into Another's Life - Ladakh- A Tryst

My Scholarship entry - Understanding a Culture through Food