mother india

A Bus Worth Taking

The jovial atmosphere is infectious and almost convinces me I’m not in danger. Villagers sway along to the latest Indian pop song as we bump and career down the road. I make my first attempt at loosening my locked knuckles from the rail in front of me. As if hanging on could help me anyhow.

My destination is the tiny village of Chitkul situated virtually on the border between India and Tibet. The frontier town at the end of the road nestles near the Himalayan holly mountain of Kinner Kailash and is still remarkably undisturbed by modern life. The road is flanked by bottomless ravines and is so narrow our bus constantly teeters on its edge. I’ve been told it’s the second most dangerous route in India.

Cautiously I peer out my window to contemplate this lunar reality. A freezing desert of pastel chalk colours that is both vastly open and wildly soaring.

The young woman in front asks if I would like to hold her baby. She hoists a small swaddle to me over the seat – pure delight. The locals on the bus seem so calm and gentle and I feel awed by their nonchalant acceptance of danger.

On my first morning in Chitkul I set out for a walk and can’t resist the ascent of what seems to be a modest mountain. After 8 hours of trekking and unexpected rock climbing I begin to question my impulsive logic. Painstakingly I manage the last handhold and sit to appreciate the view. However, this is nothing like the meditative Himalaya I know from images and movies.

Surrounded by gargantuan white peaks looming above me in every direction and a wind which threatens to blow me back over the edge – what I actually feel is complete fear. I am cut down to my human size by an intensity and power I have never known. By the impenetrable silence of feeling truly alone.

I return to my room with mild heat stroke, severe exhaustion and a deeply renewed sense of humility.

I decide to spend my remaining days wandering gentle mountain paths and contemplating local temples with their unique mix of Buddhist and Hindu carvings. I have time to ponder my new appreciation of life, risk and balance.

Thirty minutes down the road on my return journey from Chitkul the bus stops for a traffic-jam. Everyone hops out to casually discuss the situation. A bus is hanging over the edge of the road. Two wheels are on the ground and two wheels are suspended in the air over a bottomless ravine.

What strikes me most is that no one seems worried – just curious – and when the road clears the jovial atmosphere on the bus resumes. So I decide impulsively to let go of the rail in front of me. I make the most of my last experiences of this expansive landscape and its humble people and eventually let the bus sway and bounce me to sleep.