Restless Feet

There she sat, the lady with the most number of wrinkles any of us had seen on a human face, with a million-watt smile that was enough to light up her Rebo, a yak hair tent dug into a trench, where the only source of lighting was the sunlight that filtered through its wisps. Our motley set, including our new Ladakhi friend, had piled into Tenzin Dolma’s tent, chiming a “Julley” to instantly shed our ‘outsider’ tag. We were in a remote area near Tso Moriri (tso = lake) in the Changthang Plateau of Ladakh, that is tucked deep into the troubled state of Jammu & Kashmir, India. The lady who took us in was a Changpa, one of the last remaining nomadic pastoral tribes that used this area in the summers as grazing ground for their sheep, goats and horses. The Changpas are a fascinating people, but that day our object of interest was a steel tumbler filled with Chang, a home-brewed tangier version of beer. “Chang adds completeness to all our local festivities,” the toothy-smiled, wrinkled lady told us, with our Ladakhi friend acting as interpreter. We passed it around, each taking generous swigs. In such a landscape you are already high from drinking in the scenery, but this heady concoction made it that much better. “In our harsh winters, when we have nothing to do, people procreate, get married, have babies and make fun.” Soon, we were nibbling on a hard cheese made from yak milk, something the shepherds keep under their tongues for long-lasting flavour in a bid to stay awake and keep watch over their herd. We rounded it up with Ladakhi tea in which salt replaces sugar, and butter (yup) replaces milk. It tasted way better than it sounds. “More, more,” urged our ‘aunty’ as she preferred us jaded city folk to call her. An epiphany struck me then, sitting cross-legged and bubbly. In so many ways, this tea I held was like the Changpas themselves: breaking preconceived notions of how it should be, but beautifully different when encountered, leaving behind a warm, fuzzy feeling.