Starry night in the 'middle land'

by Deepak Sunil Valliyil (Netherlands)

A leap into the unknown India

The walk was arduous and had left me gasping for my breath. We had reached our first stop for the day and I felt like my heart was about to burst through my chest. The revelation that I had signed up for this volunteering program without fully comprehending what it entailed, failed to provide any reprieve. I looked at Aanchuk bhai, our guide for the trek. He was carrying my tripod bag, which was also filled with a few items of clothing (I really didn’t want to waste the space inside the bag). I once again reproached myself for carrying it with me on a 3-hour trek through the valley. The fact that I had never done something like this before was no excuse for being unreasonable. I looked around the village. We had reached Hikkim, the village with the highest post office in the world (4400 metres above sea level). The group had settled down to have their lunch. I resorted to do the same. Yet my hand wandered over to the postcard first. I had picked it up from the town of Kaza, so that I could send her a piece of Spiti. A smile crept onto my face knowing that I could finally mail it from here. And while I was eating, I was pondering over the decision to go through with it. “Will it get lost?” “Will it reach her?” “Is this the cheesiest thing to do or what?” Aakash got up after finishing his lunch. He was here to document and write about the whole experience in his blog. He temporarily served as the eyes, ears and voice of Ecosphere Spiti, the NGO who had organised this for us. He said: “Does anyone want to mail something from here? We’re leaving in a bit. Now’s your chance.” I didn’t realise that I was twirling the egg in my packed lunchbox, until I heard Aakash’s voice again. “Is the egg going to make your decision for you? (laughs)” Everyone laughed. I smiled sheepishly. Honestly, I didn’t know. In the end, I chose to go through with it. And I hoped that it would somehow reach her without getting lost in transit. Later that night, I was trying to stay warm in a small room in a local homestay in Komic village. Sharing a room with Allister, who had come all the way from the UK to teach the monks English, a sudden restlessness engulfed me. We had been talking for a while. And the notion of two complete strangers from different parts of the world sharing a room in a remote village close to the Himalayas suddenly seemed too far-fetched to be true. I had an impulsive thought. I said: “I’m heading out to take some photos. You wanna join me, Ali?” Allister said: “Will join you in a bit. I’ll follow the light from your flashlight.” Walking up a higher elevation in the freezing cold, carrying your photography essentials and a flashlight, was no walk in the park. But as I walked up, I felt a burst of unimpeded joy. The elegant Tangyud monastery looming over the village with the beautiful starlit sky in the backdrop was a sight for sore eyes. After having set up the camera on the tripod, I couldn’t stop myself from clicking away. Despite the cold, I had rooted myself to the spot. I was craning my neck upwards at the sky to admire the view in between shots. Despite the obvious discomfort, I was smiling like a giddy child. A part of me wished she was here to see this spectacle. A part of me realized that it didn’t matter. Because she would get to see what it looked like. Or at least a part of it. The postcard I sent had a picture of the same night sky on it. I forgot to keep my flashlight lit and Allister couldn't find me that night. As I walked down to my room, I realized something. The night was forever young and I was still smiling.