Falling in love isn’t easy. Paeans of love automatically flow when your beloved is royal, majestic and breathtakingly beautiful. No wonder this sojourn becomes a wonderful experience if, together, you have sailed through the changing times.
We get a glimpse of this perennial love in Romesh Bhattacharji’s second book, Ladakh: Changing Yet Unchanged, which takes us to the “land of passes” and introduces us to a cocktail of facts, figures and imagination, leaving us drowsy after a certain point of time.
It is a rarity to explore such a diverse terrain with diligence and accuracy. It takes one time to understand the culture and the people, and discover trails of an unknown place. But Bhattacharji has been lucky enough. At times you would even feel jealous of the author. He has lived the dream many can only dream of—getting to ride, drive, walk, and devour the idyllic and quaint beauty of Ladakh. In a terrain which was a restricted area till 1974, and where only people carrying the Inner Line Permits were allowed to enter, he has been travelling since 1972. So, his familiarity with the region doesn’t surprise. In fact, his impeccable knowledge introduces you to many new trekking trails, acquaints you with the florid landscape and helps you to trace the makeover-drive of the people and the region.
Bhattacharji has touched various facets: starting from the journey to Ladakh from Manali in Himachal Pradesh and Kargil in Jammu and Kashmir; giving information about various valleys, lakes, villages, mountain ranges, passes and life of the locals; and even unabashedly showing his annoyance and astonishment over military intelligence and security personnel’s uninviting presence.
We can’t help but sympathise with the author. A lot has changed over three decades. The roads that were once secluded and forlorn are now bustling with travellers and honking cars; mobile phone towers are an eyesore to the panoramic view; the innocence of old times is disappearing with violent suspicion; and security threats by Pakistan and China have resulted in constant vigilance that invariably leaves travellers with a sour taste. Bhattacharji has touched upon these issues, supporting them with apt examples from personal experiences coupled with problems that the swelling tourism scenario has brought.
The author hails the developments, but laments how, in a bid to attract tourism, various myths are propagated in this region, how filth is finding its way into the “most popular destinations” and how the air is burdened with the smell of diesel and petrol.
A read through the book gives a definite boost to Ladakh’s geographical understanding. But the title that hints at the “changing, yet unchanged”, turns out to be slightly misleading. Having said this, the essence of the book gets lost in the plethora of information, at times, struggling to maintain focus. It gives a vivid account of the mountain ranges, passes, the changing landscape, the turns and the twists roads offer, rivers and lakes, flora and fauna. Yet, one wonders where the changes ensued!
The region is getting prosperous. People are earning money. There are more tourists than inhabitants during peak season, there are hotels and guests houses that operate throughout the year, and people are finding various sources of employment in this handsome dessert. But the book lacks information on how such changes have brought smiles to the people who live in difficult conditions; how parents can now afford to send their children for better education to other states, and how life is still an uphill task even after all the technological advancements. Perhaps, this lacking focus would have given readers a better insight about the winds of change. Bhattacharji wins hands down when it comes to knowing the beloved intimately. He has walked the Spiti Valley twice, has climbed peaks in the south of Ladakh twice, has been to various scenic locales 16 times and on 11 occasions, has flown in. But sometimes, knowing too much can play spoilsport.