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“Breathe in, breathe out”... ”yes, there we go, a big gulp of air in and air out" I calmly chant to myself as I clench the broken handle of my taxi door for some kind of safety assurance. As you see, it had suddenly started snowing and I was sitting on the world’s highest motorable road in the world, Khardungla Pass. Our driver had forgotten his snow chains and our taxi had slid backwards thrice. Also, the fact that I had not given my body enough time to acclimatize for 17,660ft elevation wasn’t helping my case either. The strong gusts of winds soon followed and a fresh layer of snow started settling in. I made a mental note to write a complaint to someone responsible for Daily Weather Updates’ software at Apple. I like to have a plan but clearly the weather people didn’t understand this. According to their predictions it was a clear day to bask in the Ladakh sun. Now, thanks to them, I was stuck in a snow storm where my taxi kept sliding backwards on the highest road in the world, next to a deep canyon. “This wasn’t the plan.” I whine as I anxiously bounce my leg and hold onto the broken door handle like my life is dependent on it. The panic on my face must have been visible enough for this 7 year old local girl to be amused by it. She’s sitting next to me trying hard to hold back a laugh. “Is this your first visit?” she asks me giggling. Her bright red cheeks and little hijab make her look like a doll. I manage to utter a meek yes in response. My brain was clearly in a slow-process mode today because I hadn’t noticed her this entire time. She’s accompanied by whom I assume is her mother, who’s sleeping peacefully unaware of the whole commotion. “My name is Ameena. Here, have some almonds.. they help. The air is thin in this patch. It will be over soon.” She speaks slowly as if teaching me how high altitudes work. “I’m going to Hundar Sand Dunes. Where are you going?” I make a pathetic attempt at conversation. The air is still too thin for me. Ameena answers enthusiastically, “I live in Hundar. Me and mummy travel every weekend to Ladakh to meet grandpa. People travel on this road everyday. Don’t worry, you will not die.” Her amusement makes me feel a lot better in the next few minutes or maybe it was the almonds. She then offers to get out of the taxi with me so we can watch the snowfall from the cliff. She narrates to me how these sudden weather changes on this route were normal and drivers often don’t carry the snow chains with them as the mud usually helps. My face is freezing at this point but Ameena’s information and little hand gestures seem like an important lesson which I could not miss. We spend two hours on the peak while our driver and some locals arrange the mud and clear the roads and it takes another three to reach Hundar. The driver hums along the old 80’s Bollywood song playing on the radio as he drives the rest of the road and Ameena’s mother keeps sleeping. My breathing is back to normal and Ameena is playing the Yak counting game. We seem to be leaving mountains behind as we enter the desert but they still can be seen clearly at a distance. I’m greeted by an enchanting view. Ameena observes my expressions with a smile for a while and conforms the view for me, “Yes, it’s snow in a desert.” Three hours ago I was struggling to catch a breath but suddenly now, I had forgotten to take one. The view was surreal. Ameena hopped with her mother to get some tea. I stood in silence for a while to take it all in. I reached into my pocket and I still had some almonds left from her. Maybe the wrong weather update today wasn’t so bad. I then follow everyone else because a cup of tea sounds like the next best thing to do.