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ShareMumbai: If you like the place so much, why don't you build a house and live here?" 20-something Stanzin, a pretty school teacher from a remote village of Reru in Zanskar shook me with her quip followed by a broad distinctly Ladakhi grin. I was sort of interrogating her to know more about Zanskar, after she sprang from nowhere to hitch a ride in our car from this 24-household hamlet to the taluka centre of Padum.
Her chaste Hindi, mannerisms and warmth surprised and then reminded me of how a narrow regionalism wave is engulfing all the states in this country and changing us. The anti-North Indian protests in Maharashtra, communal riots in Gujarat and so on.
The hospitality, warmth and friendliness of the people are from some bygone era, I felt. It was like time-travel. Like a true Buddhist I soon started to fantasise about a past-life connection with this wonderful land.
At the urban jungle that is Leh I walked into a music shop in Moti Bazaar and asked for some Ladakhi music and Tibetan chantings. I was in the dock -- being interrogated by the Zanskari shop owner.
After the customary Julehs (a unique Ladakhi innovation of one word that serves all kinds of greetings) and questions about who you are and what are you doing here, the shopkeeper also shook me, with his generosity: "Since you want to come again to Zanskar, why don't you come to my village...you can stay at my place. It's just a one day trek from Jammu." A visiting card was pressed into my hand.
The seemingly uncanny good run continued through our stay in Zanskar. After initial fear of the unknown and the excitement of being in a strange land, I was convinced that the people were really sweet and not just putting up a front. As we stepped into a 'restaurant' in Padum -- the headquarters of Zanskar with population of a couple of thousand, sometimes outnumbered by foreign tourists during peak season -- I noticed I was not getting a second-rate treatment vis-a-vis foreign tourists.
"The buffet is for Rs150, but that's the rate for foreigners, you need to pay just Rs100. If you don't like the bland food, I will get whatever you want," beamed the chirpy owner of Gai-Ki. My wife and I agreedwe didn't disapprove of this kind of discrimination towards lesser mortals like Indian tourists. Wish this happened also in cities, in Goa and more so in Rajasthan.
This prompted me to do an advanced Google search in my mind to figure out my past life in the land of Buddha. But as usual there was no result. The next day after fighting a heavy bout of altitude sickness and still feeling short of breath we climbed into Stongde monastery. The head, Rigzin Lama, treated us as his personal guests and lifted our sagging morale "So when did you reach here", he asked with surprise writ on his face. "I saw you at Sani festival," he revealed, much to my relief that he didn't want to break the news that I was in a continuation of some past life and he was intimated of my arrival some centuries ago.
Suddenly one morning I felt claustrophobic in the middle of the huge and expansive Zanskar valley. I realised that there's a wall of mountains all around,waiting to be covered by one huge tin roof.
Outside Leh a cop stopped us from approaching a fruit shop: "Dalai Lama reaching here soon." We soon found ourselves driving towards his Holiness's home and managed to get a dekko as he arrived. The realisation dawned upon me that this tour had actually started in December 1993 -- at least in the subconscious.
Thats when my parents -- knowing my interest in Tibet -- courtesy repeated reading of Heinrich Harrer's Seven years in Tibet; had gifted me the Lonely Planet's Ladakh and Zanskar book from their Kashmir trip. When the foggy state of mind cleared I felt that perhaps it was a déjà vu of being in James Hilton's Shangrila, but I am now sure if Shangrila ever existed it was not in Tibet but has to be in Zanskar!
