Prayaan: A journey to Ladakh and Within (Part 3)

The silent waters of Pangong on a cloudy morning. (courtesy- Akanksha Srivastava)

Really calm and still waters. The colour of the lake reflecting a shade of the grey sky. The sky was overcast that Sunday morning, a remainder of the mild snowfall that had occurred the previous night. Steady winds could not depress the groups of tourists into their tents, many of them were out walking by the roads along the lake- the engineering marvel of the Border Roads Organisation to reach places and points where there is no human presence otherwise. The sun is constantly playing peek-a-boo, and with its shine teasing the water to display the many shades of blue that Pangong Lake is known for. The barren and harsh mountains surrounding the lake and the gloomy weather notwithstanding, there is an amazing sense of serenity in this place. A couple of gulls from behind the far mountains close in steadily. Their beaks and eyes focused intensely, they just grow from tiny to big, majestic creatures that swiftly spread their curved white wings and swoop down into the waters to join a few of their friends. The waters ripple. After a couple of minutes everything is still- the water, the birds, the sky and the mountains.

Just to sit on the odd, jutting and bigger rocks for a few minutes, completely basking in the silence, despite the many tourists moving about the other side of the banks, Pangong Lake is a meditative zone indeed. Of the 130 km of the lake area, only 40 km lie on the Indian side and the rest with China. Just to remind us of the fact, some non-offensive firing happens on the other bank of the Indian side. Some smoke and the flock of brown headed gulls take flight.

Somebody flicks a flat stone across the surface, it skips once, twice, thrice and sinks into the massive lake somewhere. The ripples track its movement and silently drown with the stone. Silence again. Still, serene and surrendered.

Thr flight of a brown headed gull over Pangong's waters. (courtesy- Angarayan Sundarakalatharan)

****

Technically, that Sunday was the only holiday in our travelling workshop- Prayaan. The Saturday afternoon before setting off to Pangong Lake, a 6 hour journey from Leh Town, we visited the Ladakhi Women Travel Company. It was started by the young Thimlis Chorol in 2009. She did not want to go back to her village after schooling and remain her father's farmhand. So she chose to come out and start the travelling company that now arranges treks and home-stays in the villages across Ladakh's different valleys. In three years' time she had 15 women working with her on the initiative; though the company caters to male clients, it primarily focuses on employing women as trek guides and travel planners for the tourists. She pointed out how Ladakh was losing its charm because all the people who came there were "tourists" and not travellers. Everybody had a schedule and a list of places to go and see and be in, no group of people just wanted to experience Ladakh at a leisurely pace. It was quite challenging at the start, Chorol said, to start and manage a company employing just women. "In Ladakh, biggest challenge is everybody wants a government job!" Understanding that context because of our previous interactions at SECMOL, Nang and Umla villages, we could truly see why Thimlis Chorol was an everyday revolution- she was breaking many stereotypes!

At Pangong Lake looking at all the tourists, who were piling in one evening and scooting off the next morning, just like us, clicking a few photographs to register their footprints at yet another travel destination; it sunk in what a refreshing change in attitude Chorol was. To stay with the villagers, to employ women, to experience Ladakh as a traveller.

But what followed on the couple of days after the contemplative break at Pangong Lake was a full fledged attempt at understanding and helping PAGIR in making Ladakh an equal-for-all society. People's Action Group for Inclusion and Rights (PAGIR) was started in 2006-7 by Mr Mohd. Iqbal. A person with multiple disabilities himself, Iqbal's whole intention on starting PAGIR was to advocate for an equal society for all Persons With Disability (PWD) and push the local government to implement its schemes and policies effectively to benefit the same group of people. It was heartening to see the hope and enthusiasm in PAGIR's work to create a difference, if possible in all sectors- education, health, social welfare, tourism, livelihoods-, for PWDs in the villages of its outreach area. In 2010, PAGIR also launched the Himalaya on Wheels- a tourism initiative to Travel Another India.  As with previous experiences in rural India and few others in the cities, I could only imagine how challenging it would be for this group of people to fight for their rights and inclusion. Our visit to Stok only made it evident.

It was a village like any other in Ladakh. Small brick and mud houses, poplar and apple trees, overseeing Mountains and the bright, clear sky. Five of us trooped past the barking dog at the gate and climbed the weathered down staircase to meet Mr Rigzin and Ms Stanzin. Both were residents of Stok and beneficiaries of PAGIR; but their heart-rending stories of personal difficulties and challenges threw us completely off-guard. Rigzin had lost both his legs in childhood and he stoically admitted to have never travelled beyond the confines of his village, ever. Earlier he used to help his father run a small shop, but competition from another resident forced him to shut down the shop. Now his father, mother, sister and brother-in-law provide for his needs through whatever they make of their living. And there was Stanzin, who was affected from Polio. Her husband deserted her with two children and all the help she gets from the government, like Rigzin, is a meagre Rs 400 per month as pension. That is less than 10 USD at the going rate and how does  one manage to not only look after oneself, but manage two children with that paltry amount?! It was hard battling overwhelming emotions of empathy, and anger, looking at the sad eyes of Rigzin. And how easy I have continued living a life without bothering to make a little space for PWD! All of us have had those momentary thoughts that advocate for equal accessibility to all, but what after that?! My questions were taken up at the Department for Social Welfare and Justice, Ladakh District, the next day. Two of us, from the five met the Deputy Director, Ms Tsering who seemed all motherly and concerned about the issues of PWD. But nothing more. When we asked pertinent questions about the reservations in jobs, accessibility and completion of correct data of disability forms, maybe an increase in the pension and definitely health camps at frequent intervals, ambiguous answers, passing the buck and plain apathy met us. This was the altruist, paternalistic Welfare State that our forefathers dreamt of and the one that we beget! The same response met all our other friends from the Departments of Education, Public Works, Health and Tourism. It forces me to doubt the intentions of such governments. It would take immense resilience of a PWD travelling across the harsh terrains of Kashmir only to be knocked down like this and yet, try again, with hope to get something  out of the Government!

Ms Stanzin (Left) and Mr Rigzin (Right) of Stok village narrating their difficulties in coping with their individual disability. However, what I find as the biggest disability is the apathy of the government in ensuring the implementation of schemes and policies benefitting PWD.

PAGIR was not the only organisation that seemed to be doing more for Ladakh than the Government. We had the chance to interact with Mr Jigmet Wangchuk, the Director, at Snow Leopard Conservancy and Himalayan Homestay Program (SLC). Started by his father, Rigme Wangchuk in 2002, the NGO has been doing phenomenal work in preserving the snow leopard and at the same time augmenting the incomes of the villagers in those valleys with the Homestay program. Their modest, but immensely valuable collection of photographs, sightings, pug-marks and other specimen samples of not only the snow leopard but also the Blue Sheep, Himalayan Wild Fox and few rare birds of the region is a remarkable step to maintain the eco-system of a fragile zone intact. By creating the Homestay rotation system and the Conservation linkage funds- where all the villagers will take turns to host homestays and contribute to the conservancy- they have made the residents of Marka and Sham Valley partners and stakeholders in the process. Something that the Ministries of Environment and Forests and Tourism must definitely take up as their own tasks- to conserve the wildlife of the place as well as generate income through tourism for places that have no livelihood options during winter.  Browsing through SLC's souveniers and wildlife 'museum', my mind rushed to graceful flight of the gulls at Pangong. What a sight that was! It will take dedicated efforts of an entire civilization to keep such winged friends in their habitat….

Mr Jigmet Wangchuk, director SLC. He has had an inspiring and enthralling journey of preserving the wildlife and promoting livelihoods in Ladakh's mountains.

On the way to and from Pangong Lake lies a village called Tangtse, far away from the rest of the civilization in by Ladakh's standards of remoteness. I had first heard its name from Chuskit, a student who hailed from Tangtse, at SECMOL. She had described how far and unconnected the village was, way beyond the army checkpost at Chang La too. This village however seemed to be well electrified, not just from the grid, but a lot of solar panels lined the roofs as well. It must have been one terrific effort to reach such a nondescript place, I had thought then. On the last day of our stay, we got know how. It is a projetc village of LEDeG. The Ladakh Ecological Development Group (LEDeG) in collaboration with the Indian Army had installed a solar plant in the village, a project worth 1 million Euros. LEDeG, our last NGO visit, was started with an objective to provide and promote eco-friendly and sustainable livelihoods for Ladakh's residents. They are involved in several initiatives including few micro-hydel power projects, creating and building eco-friendly, solar heated buildings and processing of agricultural produce. They provided livelihood options to women SHGs by marketing their Pashmina wool products, seabuck thorn cosmetics and Apricot jam/squash, etc. LEDeG are hence pioneers in Ladakh creating many "green jobs". With a visit to their apricot processing warehouse, our workshop in Ladakh came to an end.

A bird's eye view of the Leh town and adjoining villages. Poplar trees dominate the vegetation, just as the mountains dominate the skyline. 

*****

"… and right now, the sun is bright, the air is cool, my head is clear, there's a whole day ahead of us, we're almost to the mountains, it's a good day to be alive. It's this thinner air that does it. You always feel like this when you start getting into higher altitudes."

Buddhist flags adorn the skyline near the Shanti Stupa in Leh. The beautiful Himalayas are the omnipresent wonders of the district.

It is true that there is a stillness, an inner calm and a opportunity to introspect that only mountain spaces can provide. If two completely opposite words can be juxtaposed- like barren and beautiful- it befits a place like Ladakh alone. Prayaan had pushed me on to some planes of thought that I had ignorantly missed earlier. A narrow perspective of even rural issues, I had limited my thinking only to the problems and lifestyles of the villages in the plains, coasts and deserts. Why I never thought of the mountains, I do not know. A prejudice when shattered, perhaps, offers a greater learning than to learn something afresh. Hence, when exposed to the  travails of Ladakh's mountain rural communities in terms of  climate, livelihoods, education, ecology and whatnot- there was a cloudburst of new questions, thinking and learning. Through the sweeping roads of the mountainside, along the curves of River Indus, across the brown rocky terrains, amidst the lean towering Poplars, beneath the gigantic bright blue umbrella- there was all the time in the world to unlearn and relearn. That perhaps is the biggest learning- the necessity to constantly unlearn.

As long as that, everyday is a good day to be alive!

Panorama of the Pangong Lake, just as the sun peeped for a small bit. The iridescent colours of the lake- myriad shades of blue and green and occasional grey- was a sight to behold. (Courtesy- Akanksha Srivastava)

Prayaan: A journey to Ladakh and Within (Part 2)

It took us close to 2 and a half hours to reach this village from the town. The road to Umla was smooth and without any potholes or abrupt break-aways like the ones that have usually greeted me in the rest of rural India. The air was thin, but pure and clear, just like how mountain air has forever been. No other vehicle was on the road for miles at an end, occasionally some riders on Royal Enfields and other bikes zipped by; we knew for a fact that none of them was heading to Umla though. Beyond the windows of the van, on all sides, there was an unending brown barren range of mountains, the trees became grass, the grass became patchy and then they were no more. We were travelling way above and beyond the timberline. All the mountain tops were covered in ice, teasingly like upturned icecream cones. The sky was a blue, so clear, bright and pale, something that the cities in India had rarely offered me. The vast horizon, dotted with tuft-white clouds had been like that ever since we had come here. The sun was looking down on all our activities, not scorching us, not tiring us. What a sight, all of this together- the Zanskar mountains, the sky, the scattered poplar trees and absolutely nobody, nothing else. Just there, in a valley, beyond the snaking roads of the mountain was Umla.

The side view of Umla- a nondescript hamlet of few nondescript households. They struggle t o make ends meet is overwhelming to say the least.

We could have easily missed it. The houses were in the same tone of grey-brown that the mountains behind them were. Neither were the houses all clustered together. They were scattered over many many acres, adjoining the sloping and terraced fields. The earth in the fields was freshly upturned, the a darker brown than the mountains, it was the sowing season. Nice! We eagerly stepped out the van, the air was much colder outside and a fresh gust of wind hit us. Before we knew, small, precious drops of snow were smoothly floating down. Ever so gracefully, so soft, and Kashmir came alive somehow. By the community hall- a single room with a wooden rack- by the road, a smiling woman greeted us and the volunteer from LEHO. She smiled, waved and muttered something fast in Ladakhi to the volunteer. The plump woman, dressed in a black overall, a belt at the hips, held a rosary in her other hand by the back, constantly rotating the beads. Soon a middle aged man, in trousers and a sweater joined her. He seemed to understand hindi, and acknowledged us with a nod. Few other villagers joined them. And we all got chatting, sitting in that room that just about managed to seat the 30 odd people.

Ladakh Environment and Health Organisation (LEHO) was started in 1991 by Ms Razia Sultan. They are involved in a range of projects in Ladakh ranging from helping villagers to build passive solar houses to encouraging them to practice natural methods of farming and marketing the same produce. In their improved greenhouses, where they aim at supplementing the agricultural produce of Ladakh by tapping solar energy during the non-farming months, they have employed nearly 1000 villagers; "green jobs" they are called. Through a Participatory Gaurantee System they are involved in organic certification of the villages in their outreach area. This helps in marketing their produce at fair prices and hence, ensuring the farmers a good income. It is quite a commendable effort and task because in Ladakh every village is facing problems of migration to the cities and a shortage of livelihood options as farming doesn't provide much. And that is how I found myself in Umla, a beneficiary village- to talk to the villagers there with a hope to understand what livelihood challenges they face and how do such mountain rural communities get by.

For a village where all the farming happens only between May to August, and any cow gives only a maximum of 5 litres of milk, there is a pressing need to find other sources of income. Kunchuk Paljor, the 52 year old man that I was in conversation with, was a workman with the Water Dept, so he was in-charge of checking the pipelines and irrigation in his village. Though he had a government job, there was no work for him too in the winters, when the water is frozen and there is only snow all around. Neither do government employment schemes like NREGA function properly in Umla nor do they have any private companies employing them. The women in the village did get together as a group and processed wheat as a part of LEHO's initiative; some of the others found jobs, food and income through LEHO's improved greenhouses. But the money was hardly anything to get by during the winters. The flashfloods of 2010 had even destroyed the single government institution in the village- a primary school. There are a couple of public transport buses that ply twice in a day, to reach whose bus-stop the villagers of Umla have to trek 6 kms. So all their children are sent away to boarding schools; the youth- only 3 of whom have seen a college- are all away too. Umla is a village of old people, middle aged farmers and no livelihood. 6-7 families have members in the Army and Paljor grimly informed me that 3 more families had migrated to Leh town to pursue some other careers. This in a village of, maybe, 20 households.

Mr Paljor, standing against the backdrop of Umla. The hamlet suffered heavily in the flashfloods of 2010 and it  has been a struggle since forever to maintain sustainable livelihoods in the harsh conditions of Ladakh

So remote, so cut off- just not from India, but from the rest of Ladakh too!-, so much at the mercy of only Government and NGO interventions. Stepping out of that community hall, the cold air hitting us once again, this time however what glistened more than the snow was the light in the eyes of the villager who told us of their plight and sought some hope in the form of some income-augmenting intervention. How were we to know that the same scene would greet us in all the other villages too. Like at Nang the very next day, where we met the family of Mr Stanzin, the village head. They were all farming together. One lady and a man were ploughing the land with the help of the local cattle animal, dzo. Just behind them was an old lady scattering the seeds, looking curiously at these urban people in hats and caps and jeans and jackets shooting questions about them and their village. Their small house behind could be on one of those home-stay catalogues advertising holidays in the Swiss Alps. A small and beautiful mud house with wooden roof, lined with a little straw by the sides. One slightly dirty glass window on the wall, with a potted flowering plant by the sill. A small shed behind the house- the ladakhi dry compost toilet and another small shed on the opposite side of the field to house the cattle . Of course the Ladakh landscape and this time the sound of a gurgling stream to boot! That day we were at Nang, courtesy LNP to understand how an artificial glacier had affected their lives and what changes could be made to the process to make their lifestyles any better. A very tough and tricky chance to suggest anything better, because the situation was atypical Umla, atypical any Ladakhi village- remote farming community seeking better lifestyle. A very tough and tricky job because the man behind the idea of artificial glaciers was thorough in his efforts to keep nature, its people and their livelihoods in sync at their best.

In the late 1970s, a period that I can not imagine for Ladakh in terms of how remote and unconnected it could have been, there were many starvation deaths in the district. The Leh Nutrition Project (LNP) was started then, to do something for the villages to the south of the River Indus. They started working on several food security and water harvesting initiatives to increase the food production in Leh. Mr Chewang Norphel, called the "Glacier Man", joined them in the following decade and touched the lives of many many villages in that region. He designed what is now known as the artificial glacier, a process of simply diverting a little of the melting glaciers during the summers, leaving them frozen during the winters and again redirecting them in late spring for the next farming season. Absolutely in tandem with the natural water cycle and not changing the course of the streams, the amount of water flowing into the villages and its fields is all controlled by the villagers. It helps provide water in a constant volume and to places that were earlier out of reach. This ensures that the farming cycles are not disturbed by unpredictable weather changes. Also, it recharges their groundwater and spring in the villages. As Stanzin had pointed out, their productivity had increased and they were assured of a fixed yield. Moreover, these villagers themselves had the decentralized power to control the supply of water.

The visit to Nang village was preceded by a small guided tour of the artificial glacier at Nang, by the man himself, Mr Norphel. He has been showered by the Government with accolades, titles and covered by enough media houses as a pioneer and a hero. However, at 78 years, well past his working term at LNP he was as enthusiastic as a child to take us through his masterpiece. The passion that he displayed in explaining how the glacier worked, painstakingly pointing out every lever and canal in the system was just an inspiration. To see how keen he was in taking questions and brusquely walking across those tricky rocks and slippery slopes at his age was to take a knock on any little ego one possessed. He did not have any compulsions to be with us, he was not even an active member at LNP any longer. But to see how his eyes shone, how his feet took to the mountains and how his heart spoke was a lesson in modesty and magnanimity. Topped with the experience that this was a classroom at over 3800 metres above sea level, with an idealism to know more about a people of our own country- such a beautiful confluence of man, mountain and mind- this was indeed one of my greatest learning experiences ever!

Mr Norphel, explaining to the group how the water levels of the outlet is adjustable through the iron gates and locks. To just watch him stride the mountains and recognize every nook of the mountains and valley, is an inspirational experience indeed.

There were some more things that I had the opportunity to notice and learn in those two days, that made it a journey with each step quite as a unique event in itself. The challenges that we sought to deliberate with the villagers, were typically what an "outsider" might see as a challenge. Wondering what they did for festivals, marriages or emergencies that required a lot of money at one go, I asked them how did their meagre income support such events. I was told that it was not a chance for individual resplendence or worry, it was a matter of the community getting together. The entire village got together to celebrate Losar, the Ladakhi New Year. The able people in the village trekked miles to fetch medical help for the persons in need. They took turns in farming everybody's land. Everything was a community act- right from organic certification to caking the mud walls of a passive solar heated house. "Then it didn't matter if you had one cow and your neighbour had a dzo. The village always pooled its resources for all its people.", Paljor had put it. How beautiful, how economical and definitely, how harmonious! Between the passing poplar trees and the darting white clouds, the insignificance of Nang's and Umla's existence in the material world was completely overshadowed by the big lessons those village-schools gave me. In our fast paced and exceedingly independent worlds, it is only a privilege to be an exception that is undoubtedly more human! Still more of Ladakh to come...

What could be easily out of the picture postcard from Swiss Alps is but the humble Nang Valley, home to Nang's artificial glacier in Ladakh. 

Prayaan: A journey to Ladakh and Within (Part 1)

The largest district in the country, in terms of land area. The highest motorable road in the world, Khardung La. Many ancient Buddhist monastries. The Magnetic Hill. All the lakes. Definitely one of the most exotic and slowly off-beat-becoming-happening tourist destinations in the country, if not the world-  Ladakh. Parked right at the top of the country, wrapped on all sides by the Karakoram and Zanskar ranges of mountains, the sky all clear and blue, the snow glistening on the Himalayan peaks, River Indus gracefully meandering through the valleys- it is a dream holiday. An exciting getaway from the hustle-bustle of hot and dry India of the summers. The second two weeks of May, when unbearable heat waves ride across the country, few of us had the chance to ride above it and wander into the cool climes of Ladakh. Not as tourists, as seekers, students and travellers earnest in a query to understand mountain communities and their issues. And what do you know, the ten days from May 6th to 16th showed us how much Ladakh was different and same as the rest of India, sometimes specifically rural India.

"Welcome to Kushok Bakula Rinnpoche airport, Leh. The outside temperature is 6 degrees celsius, we hope you enjoy your stay here." And a motley group of many honeymooners, few monks, large Bengali families and us, the Fellow Designates eagerly rubbed hands and nervously ventured out into the single most modest and spectacularairport in India. The hangar has space just enough for two planes and the hall for the luggage conveyor belt can maximum accommodate 200 standing passengers. So small was the airport. However, the hangar was surrounded by a glorious range of mountains, some of them inscribed with messages from the Border Roads Organisation or the Indian Defence forces. A huge "Don't drink and Drive" screamed in red across the slopes of a barren mountain, just as a billboard signalled that we were in the territory of "The Clue Finders" of the Indian Army. A little beyond, as we got out of the airport, we found "The mountain tamers", walking in files to their barracks. Ladakh, now broken into the two smaller districts of Leh and Kargil, is scarcely populated by its own people and has a denser population of the Indian Army. The Indian Army is one of the pillars of the Ladakhi economy, because it forms the biggest market segment in Ladakh. Most of the Ladakhi farmers, mechanics, merchants, etc have the defense forces as their clients. Throw a stone in Ladakh and you will probably be serving a sentence for hurting a soldier! This is also one of the reasons, why you should not be throwing stones for no good purpose. (Just Kidding) This is also a reason, why almost every household in a Ladakhi village has a member serving in the Army.

A Ladakhi village. I never thought about it really. Ladakh was always a tourist destination, and an ignorant me was quite oblivious to the fact that just like every other district and block in the country Ladakh could be having its own villages. What presumptions! Why it never struck, that there could be rural communities here too, famers, artisans and the whole lot of them going about their daily lives; not only the hotels, lodges, shops and cafes serving the steady stream of tourists who populate the Leh town. Well, I am not completely to be blamed, that was all that the media, advertisements, Government ever portrayed about Leh-Ladakh. All the tourist hot-spots, not once about its farmers or the soldiers or the students! Maybe because the tourism industry, after the army, is the strongest pillar of the economy. Not to say that in the coming days it will only grow stronger, even as the rest of Ladakh's socio-politico-cultural dynamics may take a downward slump, like how Shimla is today. Streets and streets of the Leh town cater to every need of, guess who, ONLY TOURISTS. Handicraft shops (obviously selling their wares at indignant prices!), cafes serving international cuisines, T-Shirt shops, bars, shops renting out Royal Enfields for all the biker-tourists, outlets selling Buddhist trinkets, and ALL the hotels! Throw a stone in Leh and you would probably smash the window of a Hotel. A reason why you shouldn't be throwing stones at buildings. (well, couldn't help this) Anyway, this is just the reason why the youth from almost all the villages that we visited and interacted with, steadily moved to more "favourable" destinations like Leh, Srinagar or even as far as Chandigarh and Delhi.

A Ladakhi village, Umla, tucked in a pocket miles away from the town. All alone in a barren and rocky lowland, amidst towering mountains, the rural communities go about their daily routines.

Again a Ladakhi village. Really do they exist? What do the obscure communities do there? What do the farmers cultivate? What do the artisans produce? How does the government function in these places? Finally, we were getting to the challenges of the mountain rural communities. Our first destination within Prayaan was SECMOL- Students Educaton and Cultural Movement Of Ladakh. It is an institution that now caters to providing residential education for class 10 drop-outs/failures to help them get back to mainstream education. Apart from these fully funded students, there is also a group of college going students who use SECMOL's hostel facilities. SECMOL is a school/gurukul like none another I have seen earlier. Classes are interspersed between "responsibilities" and leisure time. So a bunch of them have the responsibility to milk the cows at 4.30 in the morning, just as another bunch of them look after the solar heating and lighting facilities. So the food that comes from SECMOL's kitchen is chopped, ground, baked or stirred by the students. Why a few of them would have even planted and nurtured the vegetables, in SECMOL's own greenhouse! And then, there is folk music and dance and volleyball and soccer during the leisure hours. In between all of this, the students put in a little of their efforts to learn Math, Science, Urdu or develop their "Conversation" skills. At dinner, with no TV to distract, or no point of gossip, they all listen to the Ladakhi News to understand the current affairs. One student by schedule, stands up and delivers a short two-five minute talk on anything. On one of the nights that we stayed there, Sajad Hussain spoke of archery competitions in his village and about his family in Kargil. He had travelled across the district with the hope of getting into a college sometime in the future. Scarce in number, very poor in content, absent teachers and partly uninterested parents. The less I say about India's deteriorating government schools, the better. There is always private education, one could say. But the cost of it and the number of them in rural areas are inversely proportional. The villages, like in Leh, deserve way better.

'Becky' explaining to us, how SECMOL makes the best of nature's replensihable and free resources- solar cooker, as in this picture.

A student at SECMOL fixing a crack in the roof of the dining hall with mud plaster. Students know it and do-it-all, operating and maintaining SECMOL campus and fields.

SECMOL, the lifestyle, the curriculum, our interactions with the students and the volunteer-teachers there gave us a peek into what might be going on in Ladakh's villages. The building at SECMOL was passively solar heated, meaning that it was constructed with insulating mud, by indigenous methods that could keep the rooms warm even during the severe winters that drove the temperature down to a minus 35 degrees celsius! But, Rebecca Norman, the Chairperson at SECMOL, pointed out that the classrooms would be still warmer than the electrically heated living rooms in Delhi on a December night. These days, however, she said villages and towns are slowly giving up on these local methods and choosing to spend money and precious fuel by adopting "modern" methods of electric heaters and kerosene burners. Just like the toilets, we later noticed. Traditionally, Ladakhi homesteads, like at SECMOL, have dry compost toilets- without the use of water, using sand and dry degradable material to convert human excreta into manure. In the Leh town, where numerous hotels and lodges have mushroomed into being, toilets are the normal water-using types. The water to the toilets and the dirtied drainage water both come and go back into the same ground, hence polluting and depleting the water tables beneath! The cycle of nutrient regeneration is abruptly cut-off with the introduction of modern toilets and water enabled sewers. The students at SECMOL were aware of all of this, much to our surprise and recognised the importance of other traditional techniques like natural farming methods. During the course of our interactions, we got to know, that almost all of them had set their sights on moving to the town. Nobody wanted to continue with agriculture, something many many generations of their elders had been practicing. It was then that the hypocrisy of that judgement dawned upon me.

Kashmir is so geographically poised that winters are cruel and harsh. The only spot of green that we could see in the barren mountain desert of Ladakh were the poplar trees. And it was end-spring and early summer. If at time when everything should be blooming and bursting to life, the only shades of green were from the few poplar trees, maybe an apple tree here and there, what shade was the desert in winters? Absolute white, we were told. For months at an end, from October end to March, the Ladakhis hardly came out of their homes. There would be snow everywhere, the temperature unbearably cold and the soil most uncultivable. All their food rations come through flights, in crates and sacks, in tin and packs. For four months, Ladakh is closed. Roadways don't work, the glacier's all frozen. How do they irrigate their fields, even if they managed to clear the snow and dig the soil up?! Sunshine was the only assured part of the photosynthesis, so few houses have improved greenhouses. These support minimum cultivation of countable crops like potato, peas and lettuce. So all their cropping happens between May to September- a little bit of wheat apart from the earlier mentioned vegetables, apricots and apples. What hope did I see in agriculture? None. What hope did the youth see in agriculture? None.  Nobody in the city strictly follows what their family elders do for a living. Why is it then, that we expect the rural youth to continue farming?! Only an uncomfortable silence follows this question everywhere. Farming is strenuous, city lifestyles seem luxurious and one is not hypocrite less to pay that price.

A typical sight in Ladakh: snowcapped mountains peering down on scarce poplar plantations and villages. The normal clear, blue sky, sometimes, like on this day spotted with cotton-tuft like clouds. 

Well after the 72 hours at SECMOL, talking, working, laughing, eating and playing with all their students, gradually many troubling questions started popping in my head. What about their school was it that really fascinated me? Traditional methods? Shared responsibilities? Community living? A sensitivity towards local problems? Why did not, as is the majority, most urban schools offer such education- educating young minds and not manufacturing products, in the truest sense of the word?! Why did these youth, like rural youth everywhere else want to migrate to the cities? And more importantly, is the State doing something about it? Who should, who must? I was finding it exhilarating just to be in the vast desert of Leh. Such an eye-opener and provocation to think about these mountain communities was only a sign of things to come. A week left, I could still rub my hands, inhale the clear mountain air, look at the majestic snow-capped mountains beyond the poplar trees and think to myself, "Prayaan continues…"