I am at Badami, and for the first time posting something when I am on the road. The journey yesterday night was mostly sleepless. The roads were smooth for first half of the way, but it was too early to sleep. In the second half, the sadists who designed the roads decided to place a hump every 25 meters, ensuring that no one can travel in comfort, forget sleeping. That means I landed here bleary-eyed, and spent more an hour or two napping in my hotel in the morning. The only good moment on the way was seeing the overflowing Tungabhadra Dam at Hospet in moonlight. It must have been full moon day or the days adjacent to it.
Later in the morning, I had my breakfast and walked towards Agastya lake. The narrow path to the lake goes through densely packed houses. Most of the houses has some women or children sitting outside and killing time. When I heard two such kids pleading for a photo, I was glad to oblige and pulled out the camera from the bag. The next was a turn of an old lady, who was equally eager as the kids. She was with a group of 3-4 women on the veranda, and had spread some grains around them for cleaning. She laughed jovially and asked to be photographed. Again, I was happy to oblige. There was a bit of excitement among the ladies when I took out the camera. They barely spoke first, but got chatty as soon as they realized that I speak Kannada. In these parts, they still think you are from a faraway country if you are hanging out with a backpack and a camera.
If I remember correctly, the lady’s name is Eeravva. She tried to pose and became stiff when I pointed the camera at her. I pulled back, smiled at her and said ‘you are supposed to smile’. The women around laughed, and Eeravva joined them too and said ‘I have a very big mouth’, indicating that she may not look very good smiling. The ice broken, I took a few pictures as she smiled. I was invited for tea soon after the photo session, but I politely declined. The conversation that ensued between us on the street was very typical – I was asked about my whereabouts, my family and what do I do for a living. Eeravva blurbed her story, and about her children unasked. I was invited for lunch that afternoon before I continued further towards the lake.
Here is an old picture from Badami.
A compassionate grandmonther who spoke to us caringly and made us feel at home, an old man who alway s wore goncha – the traditionally Ladakhi wear, a young man who was always available for help and a cute little girl who melted our hearts with her broken-tooth smile. Together, they formed the family that hosted us in Leh. We randomly picked our accommodation in the town, and ended up lucky to stumble upon this friendly bunch who ran a guesthouse.
The guesthouse at Leh
It was a simple place managed by a young man named Wangyal, a small guesthouse with a bunch of rooms built next to their residence. The one-acre enclosure had a few apple trees and a vegetable garden where they grew at least a dozen things. We had arrived there in darkness and had immediately crashed for the night after the long journey from Keylong. Waking up late next morning, I peered through the window and saw Namgyal Tsemo Gompa through a small gap between apple trees. Some branches of an apple tree brushed into the wall near the window. The tree was full with fruits, but unfortunately unripe.
The guesthouse was in a quiet place far from the market, in Sankar Village. No vehicles, no noise of any sort and no commercial activity whatsoever near by. The hours of the day spent in the guesthouse would go quiety, reading a book, having breakfast under the apple trees or over a social dinner at the beautifully decorated dining hall.
The dining room
Wangyal appeared stern when he spoke, but was a friendly and helpful man. On the first morning when we needed to find our way to the market, he accompanied us half the way and showed us the route through a maze of narrow passages. When we checked out after 10-days without paying him because we were in a hurry and could not find him on time, he was not upset about it. Of course, we cleared our dues a week later after returning to Leh.
The little kid was someone whom I looked forward to see all the time. She always had an easygoing, charming smile on her face. She would come play with us ,and say a few things slowly in her broken tongue. And the grandmother was always there, sitting and watching from her chair and pretending anger when the kid was naughty.
Sometimes the grandmother and kid would spend hours together working in the garden. So many veggies and flowers grew in the garden that I never managed to count them all. There were cauliflowers, onions, sweet peas, some edible leaves, at least another half-a-dozen vegetables and an uncountable variety of flowers. I wanted to spend an hour or two checking them all out, but it never happened.
The guesthouse was a great place to stay, but there was a small problem to take care of. I had to go to the main market for everything – to see places in the town, to have lunch, to talk to travel agents and for any other transactions. The market was a little far, and walking back and forth was a pain. The bus-stop was even farther, and meant long walks through the town when I did short day-trips out of Leh. In the later days when I stayed in Leh on transit, I ended up staying at another guesthouse closer to the town. But the old place always remained the favourite.