The valley where I had a temporary home

by Preethy Sajan (Singapore)

I didn't expect to find India

He is a football fanatic. So, when he won the lottery bid to the football world cup in Brazil, he grabbed the tickets without thinking twice. I knew I did not share the same enthusiasm about football. I traded my tickets to his school friend who couldn’t believe his luck and I packed my bags to Spiti for a volunteer trip. Soon, we were off on your separate journeys to explore and celebrate. Landing at Delhi into the scorching summer heat, I was already wishing to fast track my retreat to Spiti. I got into the volunteer bus to find a group of 22 participants from around the world, mostly high school students. I stood there wondering whether I got into the right bus or even the right trip. Multiple thoughts of how this trip will pan out, feeling like an odd one in the company of 16 years olds, flashed like a nightmare in an instant. I gasped a sigh of relief looking at a small group of five other dinosaurs like me who got on with the same feeling. Prejudice and generational anxiety are a real thing but the journey soon mend those gaps. Nearly 40 hours of road trip from Delhi took us through the evergreen mountains of Shimla, orchards of Kalpa, evening blue landscapes of Kinnaur Kailash ranges, and then as if through a magic portal to the treacherous winding roads cut through rocky passes, with signboards warning of landslides and rocks bouldering down while driving. The meandering waters of Sutlej is the only constant while you pass through these arid regions as a reminder of the violent free spirit of the region that is often prone to landslides and flash floods. The reminder of the journey from the base station Kaza to our final destination Komic was a test of endurance, climbing altitudes where oxygen intake gets tougher. Passing by the world’s highest postoffice, I was beyond thrilled by the prospect of sharing my thoughts via post to my other half who is on his journey, estimating nearly 40 hours of multiple connection flights, to the other side of the world. Oh how I have missed the joy of writing letters and penning words to my loved one. I wondered about his experiences in a land far away. Upon reaching Komic, surrounded by the Trans Himalayan ranges, I looked down at the valley that will be my temporary home for the next few weeks. We made our way to the valley, taking in the tranquility in the air, the reverberating chimes of the winds brushing through the prayer flags. Tashi Dolma and her family welcomed us to their home with a warmth of meeting friends or relatives after a long time. Our task was to build a solar bath for the village. The early morning climb up to the construction site atop the hill near the monastery, manual labour till noon, simple cooked meals for lunch followed by a good nap under whatever heat the sun gave mercifully, work till evening and ending the day with a game of football or volleyball with the monks. Retreating downhill to Dolma’s house, all of us huddled in the living room cum kitchen around the tandoor oven, warming ourselves with the heat from the oven while waiting for hot tea and steamed dim sums. An old TV blared in the background as the family sat glued to news channels. Days passed by in the same routine and it felt like home, the place that I return to everyday. This is my escape. But is this real? One evening as I sat in my all too familiar living room, cupping my hands around the earthen glass of tea, I realised my assumption about an idyllic village life in the mountains disconnected from the humdrum and politics of city life was wrong all along. While I was enjoying my disconnect from the outside world, Tashi Dolma and her family seemed more connected and concerned about the mainstream politics and policy decisions that affect their life in that valley of less than 100 residents. And I wondered if there is a such a thing called escape. Life is same everywhere.