the ladakh encounter

story of a young author who found a way to make others happy on his journey to ladakh

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

        

                   

                    THE LADAKH ENCOUNTER

 

 

THE LADAKH ENCOUNTER

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                            

 

 

 

  

 

                  Bus finally stopped after torturing me for more than twenty two hours. The seats were very uncomfortable. Jammu & Kashmir roadways transport buses are generally old and in bizarre condition but this one was the epitome of everyone.

Every part of it shook, made noises, made me uncomfortable in every way it could, my head struck thrice on the window but the barren beauty of Ladakh route made it up for all. The snowcapped peaks and the pure clean blue sky and the barren mountains which were only broken by the sinuous watercourse.

For someone like me who is willing to endure the long and un-trust worthy journey, till now I experienced natural beauty beyond my imagination. My words can just simply never do justice about the scenic beauty of Ladakh.

My name is Junaid Rashid Khan. I am an award winning and renowned writer-author. My first published book sold more than 18 million copies, in more than 31 countries (yes that is a huge number right?).

I am 29 and young and famous. My first book, ‘The Ugly Beauty of Believing’ won me Banksy Best Read of The Year award in 2011. My other book ‘The Desire Maze’ was a major motion picture and The Book of The Year. I was born and brought up in Jaiselmer, Rajasthan (India) and currently living in Netherlands.

I visited India for my completing my third book because this place inspired millions like me and it has the power to take you into the world you have never been before and so I was here, standing on the never ending sand so white of Ladakh. The scenic beauty, rugged terrain, the challenging mountains are enough for a rush of adrenaline in my veins.

As I already heard a lot about this place, so I backed myself with time. With time I mean, Ladakh is not for a quick holiday, because of its remote location and high-altitude.

a)     I need time for my writing.

b)     I need time for absorbing the beauty of Ladakh.

c)      I need patience, because I don’t want to skip any part of it. I want to experience everything which will come my way.

d)     And last but not least, as I am very filmy and dramatic in my real life also, so I need time for feeling my ‘Raabta feeling’ and to complete all the filminess I have in me.

 

The bus stopped at a Dhaba in the middle of nowhere but I wanted that stop as I was tired, not because of travelling but because of travelling in that bus. There were total of 18 passengers in the bus, one family including husband-wife and two daughters and the rest were mostly boys going for a track and some locals too. There was one lady, she was alone and old, probably in her 70’s. She couldn’t walk properly. She walked slowly.

 

I stepped out of the bus. I was wearing blue denim jeans with white shirt tucked in with brown belt (which are my all-time favorites) and over them there was a long khaki color coat. My eye sight is weak so I need to wear glasses every time and that ads seriousness to my looks. I was carrying a small bag in which I carried my DSLR, a Swiss knife (as I was a big fan of Man VS Wild, Bear Grills), my diary, two notebook, one notepad, pens of almost every color and some other necessities.

 

The Dhaba was old and in not so good condition. An open kitchen with a platform peeping outside and a sitting arrangement done in a small shaded portion. I was very hungry so I immediately entered the Dhaba because I knew there will be no stop for another couple of hours and I needed something to keep myself going. With no surprise there was nothing much in menu, but thankfully they made aaloo tikki burgers so I ordered one and sat down on one chair, kept my bag on the next and my coat on the table.

 

As I wanted to write down where I am and where I am headed to in my diary, I was already on it.

 

The burger arrived in quick time. The boy who delivered it was of nearly 12 years of age and with no surprise everyone called him chotu as every working boy in India is mostly called chotu.

 

“Chotu”, I called him.

 

“Ji sir”, he replied with a firm voice. He was wearing a torn, old and rugged round neck t-shirt of AC&DC which maybe gifted to him by some other traveller. His haircut was clean. He was in slippers and most importantly he had a smile on his face. He was looking very innocent and bright.

 

“What is your name?”

 

“Chotu”, he replied in seconds without even blinking and thinking.

 

“No your real name”, I removed my glasses and looked at him into his eyes. He was looking at me confused. He was a kid. He was just there to perform his work his master has allotted.

“Ummm”, he looked back at his master. The fat and filthy man who was sitting on the counter was busy in selling chips and soft drinks to other passengers.

 

“Prafool, sir”, he replied. There was an excitement in his voice this time. He was not scared. He stood there looking at me probably waiting for some more questions.

 

“Okay Prafool, bring me one cold drink please and an empty glass too”,

 

He went and came back with a cold drink and an empty glass. “thank you Prafool”, I called him by his name again because I know good it feels to be called that way.

 

I was of the same age of Prafool when my parents passed away. I was not from a rich family. My father had a small grocery store which usually had fixed nearby living customers only. It was a small store which earned us our two times food only. That store also went to people from whom my father had borrowed money. I was left with nothing. I had relatives but for them I didn’t exist. I was poor and I had days of hunger and grief. I had to work in a nearby factory for food and a handful of money. I learnt how to read and write and that was enough for me. I used to read newspapers and account notebooks in factory whenever I got chance. I was small and roamed in my torn out grease filled ganji. Everybody was elder to so they called me chotu only. So when I saw him it took me to my past.

     As I was about to take the first bite of the burger, I saw on the table diagonal to mine the old lady from the bus. She was sitting alone and looked very poor. She was also eating burger. There was nothing else ready to be served and the Dhaba was also cheap one so everyone was either forced to eat burger or stay hungry. The old lady didn’t know how to eat the burger.

At first she looked at that burger for a while.  There was a polybag in her hand which she refused to keep on that table as old people have habit of being too cautious while travelling and they don’t trust easily also and as she was poor also so she held it firmly in her hands. She was still looking at the burger only. she was un aware that I was looking at her. she tore that burger apart and kept aaloo tikki on the side of the plate and started eating it like chapatti and curry. For her bun acted like chapatti and aaloo tikki as curry. Her hands got dirty. She was eating like a small child.

I don’t know why but I called Prafool again.

“Bring me one more empty glass, Prafool”, he did the same. I poured the remaining cold drink in that glass.

“Give this to that old lady over there”, I said. Prafool gave me a look but when I gazed back at him he immediately responded and went to that lady. He kept the glass on that table and directed towards his finger towards me trying to explain her who offered her a drink. She looked up towards me. I took my glass in my hand and raised towards her in a manner of cheers. She looked at me but didn’t respond. She started eating her burger. She was scared. Her hands trembled. She was old and maybe it’s not easy to trust anyone in this everyday changing world right now and plus I was a total stranger to her.

I returned to my burger. I picked that up in my hands and as I was about to take the first bite, for the second time I stopped. I kept the burger down in my plate. Rolled my sleeves up and tore that burger apart. I started eating that burger in the old lady style. I took one bite and then second and then third. And when I looked up, everyone was looking at me, Prafool, the Dhaba owner and the fellow passengers.

For my surprise that old lady was also looking at me. I looked at her and this time something different happened.

She smiled.

She took that glass in her hand and raised back towards me.

Everyone smiled, from Dhaba owner to Prafool to passengers. I stared at her for a while. She just made my day. In my life I have purchased drinks for many girls back there in Netherlands whenever I used to go clubbing and parties. But this time it was different. In this world, if we can make not all but just one person smile, we definitely should. We don’t have to spend millions for that or we need to do something unthinkable. We don’t have to talk to them to make them happy.

Happiness comes from heart. Spread some happiness. Share love. It costs nothing but means everything.