A cup of coffee for the environment

All commercially grown crops come at a cost. Of forests which apart from being home to numerous flora and fauna are essential for the ecological well being of the region, being natural carbon sinks. So as farmers expend their farms, clear more forests to derive the benefits of growing on a large scale, it leaves many species of animals, birds and plants high and dry. It destroys the already fragile balance of nature. India being so dependent on seasonal monsoon rains, we can hardly afford to annoy the balance.

 

Given all the above facts, the one cash crop which can be environmentally inclusive is coffee. Coffee, a tropical region crop loves to grow in shade and that's exactly how it used to be grown till about 20 years ago till the human greed took over common sense and 'economies of scale' became a fad. To feed the greed and comply to the fad, more forests were cleared, sun-growing coffee variety was developed which needed chemical fertilizers to grow. Machines started to be used where earlier human labour was employed providing employment to the local populace. That's when things started to go haywire. Erratic weather, delayed and deficient monsoon, fluctuation in coffee prices, pest attacks etc.. all lead UN to band this crop as a 'disaster crop'. There were coffee crop related farmer suicides as well.

 

The solution to most of these problem lies in growing coffee the way it likes to grow. In shade. Coffee likes to grow with 2 layers of shade, a lower layer and an upper layer. The upper layer shade is provided by trees like jack fruit, silver oak, orange, rose wood, fig trees (& many more) with pruning done in the pre-blossoming period to let the required amount of sunshine through. The lower level shade is through a whole lot of spice plants like pepper, cardamom, vanilla etc. This grooms a variety of birds and animals, becomes a carbon sink in the region and requires almost no chemical fertilizers making the coffee and spices organic. Coffee grown like this imbibes the flavour of the shade trees and plants, providing variety in the taste.

 

Now for a little bit of compiled statistics, before I make an appeal and sign off the post.

India for 2011-12 was ranked 7th largest producer of coffee in the world accounting for just 4% of the world coffee production(http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/business/india-business/India-slips-to-7th-spot-globally-in-coffee-production/articleshow/16637928.cms) behind a lot of other smaller countries. Coffee industry provides employment to more than 600,000 people in the country directly and indirectly to at least 3 times that number. As per statistics compiled by Coffee board of India 70% of the production is by farmers with small-holdings. We consume less than 1/3rd of the coffee grown and the rest is exported. (http://www.indiacoffee.org/indiacoffee.php?page=CoffeeData#area)

 

To quote the board, "Indian coffee is the most extraordinary of beverages, offering intriguing subtlety and stimulating intensity. India is the only country that grows all of its coffee under shade.(This is changing, but being a quasi government entity, it is yet to see the truth )Typically mild and not too acidic, these coffee possess an exotic full-bodied taste and a fine aroma" But Indian coffee is not very popular outside of the country and the local consumption patterns are such that it favours MNC's the likes of Nestle (Nescafe) and HUL(Bru) over the local brands.

 

I visited a departmental store today to check out my options. All I found stocked there was Nescafe, Bru, Tata and a few lesser known brands and not one of them had bothered to inform the consumer if the coffee was shade-grown and organic. So the next time you shop for coffee, prefer the local brands, if your departmental store doesn't stock it, step out and go to the local coffee powder dealer (He will roast and grind the coffee you want). And when you step into any of the coffee joints, ask them for shade-grown coffee. If they don't know what that is, let them find out and serve you that. You can make a difference with the choice you make and the questions you ask. For the joy a cup of coffee gives you, it is time you gave back something to nature which gave that coffee to you. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The love stories that aren't.

There was a Hindi novel written by Devki Nandan Katri named Chandrakanta which was like an Indian version of Twilight albeit with a lot more complicated storyline. This initially starts off as a beautiful love story and then, at least the TV series got so distanced from the original theme that I was completely lost and entangled in its plot.

 

Now Sanjay Leela Bhansali is producing a TV series based on a Gujarati novel written by Govardhanram Madhavram Tripathi from 1887 to 1902 and set in the 19th century India, titled Saraswatichandra. The novel starts off as a 'will be' love story and then as the poetically inclined have it, disaster strikes and the story turns on its head, suffice to know the lead male abandons everything including his love and wanders around aimlessly (mainly due to his step mom's schemes), and the lead lady marries another and when they evetually meet love blossoms again but she discovers that she has been widowed and being of the 19th century she forces him to marry her sister instead.

 

The result of having sat through all those episodes of Chandrakanta was just anguish Sunday after Sunday (how can 2 people who almost never meet continue to be in love?), mercifully the series was pulled off air due to the author's grandson accusing the team for not doing justice to the novel, exaggerating a lot and misrepresenting certain concepts (Directors doing a a script based direction should stick to the script and not let their fancies take wing even if the copyright laws are not applicable as it was in this case with the copyright expiry in 1964) and eventual financial loses. (what gave them the idea that they would get away with so much digression from the original theme of the love story that it promised to be at the beginning? or probably they just didn't get the TRP's rigged enough).

 

If I am reading this right, the viewers of Saraswatichandra will be going down exactly the same road as the viewers of Chandrakanta did. Am not predicting copyright violations, financial losses or rigged TRP's. I respect Sanjay Leela Bhansali's work too much for wishing those on him. But if anyone is watching Saraswatichandra for the love story that it promises to be, steel your will and run from it, because this story is another one of those doomed one's. If you don't believe me, do your own reading and pay attention next time Mr Bhansali's on screen and tells you that this is Saraswatichandra's love story and mark the words 'Adhuri daastan'. The serial is being shot a 100+ years after it was written so its possible that there is a happy ending to the melodrama but really is it worth sitting through all the pain over 2 years (at the very least) to see 2 episodes of togetherness of the lead pair at the very end? And also bear in mind that this comes from the same camp as Devdas, 1942-a love story, Hum dil de chuke sanam, Guzaarish, to just name a few. If you still want to know what the story is all about watch the 1960's Nutan starrer movie of the same name and be done with it in 3 hours.(Btw, this movie has the distinction of being the last B&W movie from the Bollywood stable) 

 

It's funny how I was paying tribute to Pride & Prejudice yesterday in another post for the simple, uncomplicated love story that it is and today I read the story and am opining on Saraswatichandra which is a complicated love story that will never be.

 

The 200th year appraisal of Pride & Prejudice

There are books which are based in 1700's by current day authors, where I suppose a lot of research goes into the lifestyle and historical events of that period. But at the end of the day, it is a plot woven in another period adorned by fictional characters who are at best fictional. If today, I were to go to a new place, decide to build a place of worship, the problems I would face would be so different from what one faced in another era. Am not saying that because the circumstances are so different, I would enjoy the story less, all I am saying is I will not live the story enough.

Contrast that with a story that was written 200 years ago. How much can I relate to the characters, events or story line? It will probably be more like reading a lesson in history and English put together.

If there is one author who has managed to beat these 'realistic or otherwise' criteria that I have stated here in order to enjoy a book, its Jane Austen. And if there is one book which still captures my complete attention, even if it is the nth time that I am reading the book, its Pride and Prejudice (P&P).

There is a bit of Elizebeth Bennet (Lizzy) in all of us, a bit of her prejudices, her stubbornness, her audacity, her impertinence and her disdain for others opinion.

Am sure there is a more than a bit of Mr Darcy (Mr D) in all the men around. Listing out his characteristics would read like a repeat of Lizzy's with just the addition of misplaced pride in his standing in the society, in today's context read peers.

But the beauty of P&P is, its characters could be friends, family, the person next door, or the one at work who just caught our fancy.

I lived through the anguish of Mr D who struggles with himself for the entire length of the book, initially trying to comprehend whats happening to him as he despite himself is so besotted by Lizzy, then tries to reconcile himself to the difference in their situation in life, and further grieves his way though his follies for the one he loves. Whereas Lizzy for better part of the story remains blissfully unaware of what Mr D is going through. So what a fascinating read it would be if the story were to be written from Mr D's view. Suffering, anguish, mortification, agony and pain. That's probably how it would read.

P&P published in 1813 is 200 years old in 2013 and yet it plays out like a chapter in life. Everything in P&P works out like a bollywood plot where every action is directed towards a happy ending. This is probably the only book where Jane hand held her characters to happiness. By the time, just a year later when Mansfield park was published, Jane had herself gone through a difficult love relationship that did not materialise into anything concrete and all the 'lightness' and brightness' that she thought P&P was about had gone out of the world and she took it out of her stories. She destroys characters in a span of a sentence and lets the story free fall because she believed that was how life pans out with its evils and sufferings. And that's what makes P&P that much more beautiful. There is no reason why life has to be cruel, wasn't the suffering that the characters of P&P go through not suffering enough? Lizzy could have married Wickham, and Mr D, Caroline Bingley and that would have been the end of the story or rather the beginning of another. Yes, life does have its more than fair share of Wickhams but Mr Ds don't necessarily turn out to be Wickhams overnight and if life throws lemons at you, you can always make lemonade.

Thar desert trek Feb 2013

Although Jaisalmer is in the Thar desert, it doesn't feel like a desert. My first experience of the desert was the Sam sand dunes about 40 kms from Jaisalmer. Was there for the camel races, dances and singing that was part of the concluding day fare of the Jaisalmer desert festival. Apart from the dances and the other drama that unfolded that day which was part of another post, the only bit I would like to reiterate is the beautiful moon rise on the dunes. It was beyond beautiful. The moon was the size of a car tyre and effect of the light it cast on everything was sublime.

 

Salty water, a flat expanse of land with shrubs growing intermittently, cool moon lit nights, hot days, beautiful camels, charming sand dunes, lovely forest with bee-eaters, purple sun birds and cacti with gorgeous red flowers, dunes that looked so right that it beckoned you to photograph its every angle, the beautiful black dung beetles running around the dunes (they belong to the insect family called cleoptera) (found beautiful photos of lovely beetles while looking up these beetles online http://www.fotopedia.com/wiki/Beetle) leaving behind a pretty trail on the sand. And huge cream coloured Egyptian vultures with yellow heads and black on the wing edges. They looked so graceful on the wings and so majestic on land. The desert was all these and more.

 

The 8 km odd camel ride was not half as scary as I had worked myself up to believe. For the record the camel sits down thrice. The forelegs half fold at knees first, then the hind legs go down completely and the forelegs fold down completely. One is not to hold the body stiff while the camel sits or get up. The owner kept instructing 'come front, go back', I just held my breath all the time and it was OK, anyways I never understood if the owner was instructing me or the camel.

 

Watching the camels drink water at the water holes was a very satisfying feeling. Villages on the way to someplace in the middle of the desert and the villagers had no hassles sharing the one commodity that was gold there-water, I couldn't help but wonder at the generosity of those people, the magnanimity that lets them have a kind word for the traveller and water for a thirsty beast. We cannot match that kind of generosity ever.

 

The trek post the camel ride when the limbs had completely gone to sleep was good to get the circulation going again. Walking on asphalted road, we passed by more camels (rather the camels passed by us), sheep resting and huddled together under tree shades, wind getting to raise cylinders of dust mercifully far away. After having preserved our water, we got a surprise refill mid way of earthy coloured water, was so good in the heat. so despite dire warnings of the doctor went ahead and filled the bottles. Then leaving the road, we walked through what looked like tilled fields, there was provision for filling water in small indents made on the ground for deers and wild animals, again an act of kindness in the face of deficit which is difficult for us to replicate even in abundance.

 

At the camp site, we first had to face up to the elements of nature, the wind blew high and loaded with dust pulling at the tent edges, we all huddled like the sheep in the tents trying to secure the edges of the tent, it soon passed and it was calm albeit after the storm. This is where we were up close to the vultures. The evening brought a few drops of rain and the rainbow followed suit, though the clouds quickly took over the sky, it was beautiful to see a rainbow in a desert. Evening was spent on the dunes and with the dung beetles, the sunset was mesmerising as usual (if there was just a camel there, the silhouettes of the camel would have been beautiful) the moon rise was lovely as usual. The subsequent walk in the moon light back to the camp site from the dunes was awesome.

 

The morning had us enthralled by the aura on the horizon before the sunrise. We were dropped at a village school in a goods carrier, by the end of the journey all of us were coated with a layer of sand. Spent some time with the school children, not sure if we entertained the children or they entertained us, either ways the school authorities let us. Another 4 km hike from there passing through the graves of the villagers with carved head stones and then the forest with the birds and cacti that I wrote earlier about brought us to the abandoned village of Khaba. The village was entirely deserted about 250 years ago in fear of incurring the local ruler's wrath over a village girl that the ruler had taken fancy to. Most of the houses were roofless but I wouldn't call it a ghost town, it now stands as a tribute to the brave hearts who to protect one girl abandoned everything that they held dear to them. The legend has it that there are 80+ such villages which were vacated overnight.

 

Our time in the desert was timed out too in the village as we boarded a bus to be taken back to civilization away from the shade of kindness and kinship in the midst of the endless sand back to the city where the modern version of the local ruler rule over. 

 

 

Desert festival Jaisalmer-2013

A quientessential small town with big ambitions. No matter which street you took, the sonar quila, built on the Trikuta hill is a central point in Jaisalmer. The fort was built by Rajput ruler Rao Jaisal in 1156 using yellow sandstone.

Foreign nationals and Indian tourists alike thronged the place for the 3 day desert festival (Feb 23-25, 2013) in Jaisalmer.  The schedule of the festival held promise of some fun events and a few that required a fair bit of coaxing of the conscience to sit through. The festival started with the shoba yatra from the fort gates, there were beautifully attired musicians playing on their trumpets and drums, ladies in their 'bridal' best costumes holding the sacred kalas on their heads, BSF jawans dressed to match the local royals on their equally colourfully dressed camels and all of them surrounded by enthusiastic tourists clicking away their cameras and posing for the memories of being there.

 

The festivities resumed at the Shahid Poonam Singh stadium post the procession. Starting with a dance by the kalbeliyas (the nomadic snake charmer community) and a song of 'padaro maro desh'(welcome to my land) the competitions began. There was the best safa(turban) tying competition for the locals and foreigners. Tying the 9 yard cloth in 2 minutes time was definitely a challenge. There was the best moustache competition which entertained the crowd, followed by the Mr & Ms Desert. For the crowd it was just entertainment but there was pride associated to winning the competitions for the locals.

 

After lunch we went around the many 'havelis' passing through narrow streets where many houses front facade was decorated like the havelis. One of the havelis-Nathmal haveli built by a team of 2 brother builders, where the brothers built one side each and decorated it independent of the other sans any consultation, was supposed to be different and we all stood looking up at the building trying to find the differences, this reminded me of Voldy's people waiting outside the invisible to them, 12, Grimmauld place, London, waiting for Harry Potter to make an appearance.

 

Then we visited the Gadisar lake (renovated by Maharawal Gadsi in the 14th century) with huge cat fishes that the local boatman told us were the reason the lake was dirty and they were thinking of ways to get rid of them but as it is under protection by Maneka Gandhi and a ruling by court they are having a free rein. The boatman was such a know-it-all it was completely on deaf ears that I tried to reason with him. God save the cat fishes with people like them. The ducks and the pigeons though he liked and I can assume are going to be safe. This lake once upon some kings time was the only source of drinking water and ironically today is fed by the Indira Gandhi canal.

 

As the sun downed and the evening chill began to set in, an early dinner and we were back at the Shahid Poonam Singh stadium for the cultural activities. There was a crowd of almost 3,000 people part of the completely free fare of dance, music and shopping on the sidelines of the performances.

 

The evening like the next 2 evenings saw many teams of Rajasthani artists from various cities of Jodhpur, Badmer, Jaipur and more entertain the locals and the tourists. Many of the women dancers were men dressed up as women which was not too surprising given the mood the crowd got into as the evening progressed and given the fact that here it is believed that sona (gold) and lugayee(wife) are to be kept at home.

 

The next day was the BSF Tattoo show, where BSF jawans got the camels to do all kinds of stunts. What initially started off as the best dressed camel soon gave way to camels forming all kinds of formations to the tunes of a band playing on camel back.

 

Then the jawans showed off what all could be done on camel back, standing, hanging to the hump, bum on hump riding, newspaper reading, a jawan dressed as a lady carrying pots on 'her' head standing on the camel, there was even a clown riding on a camel who changed the tyre of his 'car'. The entire platoon of jawans made the camels to lie down to exercise on the 'horizontal' camels.

 

A camel named Shahrukh Khan was made to dance like a trotting horse and made to bow his head to the presiding deity of the chief guest. It was downright painful to watch this.

 

Then the much talked of Polo match took place between the BSF jawans and locals astride on their camels. Even the trained players had trouble maneuvering the huge animal and the long polo stick and making connection with the ball. The camels being pulled up short every now and then, must have been wondering what the stupid humans were upto. There was also a BSF band that played with everyday articles available in the border areas where they would play and sing to entertain themselves and keep spirits high. The band was very good, but left me wondering if this was the 'sound' created along the border, why didn't soldiers from across the border come over for the performance?

Making most of the time between the morning session and the evening session of cultural programmes, we went to the fort. A short uphill walk through 4 gateways and shops selling beautiful bed spreads of various colours and embroideries, brought us to the palace that is now converted to a museum exhibiting armoury, furniture etc and being a muti-storied structure accorded a beautiful view of the market below, the temples and other buildings housing the 5000 strong inhabitants of the fort as well as the fort walls and the view of Jaisalmer town below. The Jain temple located across the bend was quite and beautiful. There were many cannons all over the hill and each point affords a strategic view of the town below.

The next day, the place of action shifted to Sam sand dunes, 40 kms away in the heart of the desert. The camel race took place on a levelled ground spread over 1.5 km in length. The camels seated by the end of the field were visibly jumpy as they sensed the impending run-craze and the flogging. While people gathered around the race area, the riders having picked their racing order 'number', walked their camels to the start line a km away. There were 5 rounds where the top 3 in each went into the finals. The camels were repeatedly beaten by cane forcing the camels to run faster to outperform the others. It was sad to watch such majestic animals being forced to run for benefit and pride of the owner and entertainment of the crowd. What did the camel get in return? Jaggery, ghee, methi as the camel riders claimed, or probably not even that? The camel would have been happier roaming the desert and eating what nature offered him, which would be plenty more than what he would ever get under human 'protection'.

The camel race done, there were races for men and women as well which was followed by cultural programmes on the sand dunes across the road. It was a full moon night and the huge moon rose on the sand dunes coating everything a subtle white colour before the bright lights of the stage was put on which ruined the magic of the evening. The evening's performances were almost a repeat of the last 2 days dances and songs except for a musical event played by a huge group of musicians playing local instruments which produced some beautiful music. Frankly, the dances were not something I would go to watch in my own city, having watched it once was good enough but the crowd especially the inebirated crowd in the sam dunes couldn't get enough of it and they were pretty much the same people who booed and cut-short Zia Fariduddin Dagar, the 80 year old padma shri awardee singing songs in praise of Ganesh and Durga in Jaisalmer.

The 3 day desert festival ended at around 10PM with a lot of fire works. Wonder how many local animals and birds in this desert were disturbed and jolted by the light and sound. Again a matter of how indifferent humans are to creatures around them. Did the organisers stop to assess the implications of their action on creatures whose place and peace they chose to use? Did the organisers undertake a clean-up after the event? Did the organisers follow the guidelines of the Wildlife Act while having the camel race and parade around? I hope they have cause this event apart from showcasing the area's culture, provided tourism revenue and entertained thousands of people. But it is also a fact that of late in our attempt at fun we have lost our moorings and have come a long way from our ties to nature.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Frozen river Zanskar - 'Chadar' trek Feb 2013 - A glimpse

Never in the wildest of wild imagination had I ever imagined what a -30 degree Celsius would feel like. The exercise regime prescribed for the trek did not factor the biggest challenge on the trek-cold. Spending time inside a refrigerator everyday to get used to sub-zero temperatures would have been more helpful.

The turquoise blue-peacock green waters of the Zanskar river flowing intermittently through the frozen waters, within in the high gorge walls of the mountains of the Zanskar range was just as one would imagine heaven to be. Putting up with the chill and the bitter winds complaining all night about our presence in the latter camps was just the right of passage that we had pay for to be there in the lovely place.

There were such varied forms of snow, the freshly fallen ‘icing’ snow that made the journey easier, the ‘agre ka petta’ slushy snow, that required careful treading, the downright ‘Bombay halwa’ smooth glassy surface that required a prayer on the lips to pass through. The crampons provided by India Hikes saw me safely through all of it.

On our onward journey of the trek we had an entire day of snowfall with flakes of varied sizes. We passed through boulders, big and small all coated with snow and the white on the brown mountains reminded me of Turkish delights. We admired the sights of dents and notches in the mountains which had frozen water structures of stalagmites and stalactites in them of varied hues. We lingered and stood mesmerised at many a frozen water falls, the biggest of them near Nerak, just couldn’t get enough of that beautiful sight. There were little birds, pug marks of foxes, bears and snow leopards, tiny islands and chandiliers in the water, stones of every possible colour in the melted water, all of it adding to the romanticism of the place.

The nights at Nerak and Tibb were cold as hell. We survived the nights probably due to the quality of the tents and sleeping bags. Else, outside of the tent, a couple of minutes out of the glove and the hand would freeze and the process of restoring the warmth was long and painful. The more than adequate quantity of food and the special treats of custard (just make it and keep it, it will freeze over night) and cake definitely were instrumental in keeping the warmth of body and mind.

Chadar trek once more? probably no. Would I have skipped it? Not for anything.

Frozen Zanskar - 'Chadar' trek Feb 2013

Never in the wildest of wild imagination had I ever imagined what a -30 degree Celsius would feel like.

A regime of exercise was prescribed, to be strictly followed as a preparation for trekking the Zanskar river in the Zanskar range of the Himalayas in the Kargil district of Jammu & Kashmir. Spending time inside a refrigerator everyday to get used to sub-zero degree temperatures would have been more helpful.

The turquoise blue-peacock green mixed waters of the Zanskar river meanders northwards within in the high gorge walls of the mountains of the Zanskar range and meets the Indus river in Ladakh, which eventually flows into Pakisthan.

In the 3 winter months of January to March every year, the river freezes and is called the 'chadar' meaning 'blanket' and has been used by the people of Zanskar to reach Leh for trade for ages. Though even now, there is no road that connects the Zanskar village to Leh, this route is not used for trade anymore by the locals as everything is available in Zanskar through its district capital of Kargil.

Having acclimatized ourselves to the high 11,500 feet ASL altitude and the rarefied oxygen levels at Leh for a couple of days, we headed to Tilat Sumdo, 67 kms from Leh, going past the place where Indus meets its tributary, Zanskar. We drove on till we reached the end of road, where a sharp descent from the mountain on the left side of the river and a cross over of the frozen river brought us to our first camp site of Tilat Sumdo. Another group of trekkers in similar tents and the porters in caves nearby all in close proximity made the camp site as busy as a bustling market place. Surrounded by tall brownish barren mountains on one side and the frozen river on the other we slept in 3 sleeping bags and tried to make ourselves cozy in the cold night, least aware that this would be our warmest night on the chadar.

On the first morning on the chadar, we were greeted by snow fall which kept us company through out the day ensuring the temperatures did not drop too low and the chadar remained firm for our onward journey. We fitted crampons to our gum boots and set off on the chadar heading upstream. Initially the novelty of the snow kept our spirits high but within a couple of hours were tired of the falling snow and the dullness from the clouded sky and yearned for the next camp site, some sun shine and hot tea, almost in that order.

The mountains around us, majestic in its stance seemed indifferent as we lugged ourselves past them. Everything around, the mountains, the rocks and the ground was coated in white and soon so were we as the snow fall continued relentlessly through the day. But it was this day which was a blessing and firmed up the chadar as we were to have 5 glorious days of sun shine after this.

About 12 kms later, we reached Shingra Koma camp by lunch time and were treated to some much needed hot Kichdi and black tea, which was followed by hot soup and tea again in the evening. We had hot rotis, vegetables, lentils and rice for dinner, by now completely tired of the snow and wishing it away, dreaming of the warmth of the bed back home and counting the number of nights yet to be spent on chadar.

The next day our wishes were answered, the snow fall stopped and it was much brighter although the sky was still sinisterly shrouded in the grey veil.

After a breakfast of corn flakes and porridge we set forth for the next camp of Tibb some 15 kms away.We saw the only water fall on the chadar that was not frozen and is part of a legend of how Nerak village, another 25 kms away ran dry and a holy man went to Kailash prayed for water and came back with a pot full of water and 2 fishes that he was not to place on the ground and as fate would have it, he placed it down and the water and fishes jumped out creating the water falls, and thus it is believed that the water originates from Kailash. The rocks behind the falls are supposed to have 2 nostrils of which one is said to be dry and other with water. Unfortunately neither my memory nor the photos throw light on this as then I was too pestered by my own incessantly running nostrils to pay much attention to the nostrils of some rock.

We passed the narrowest point of the river on our trek route, where the gorge is just 6 feet wide and as this part receives hardly any sunlight, the chadar is thick end to end. Else with the water flowing here, crossing over would become impossible as the mountains on either sides are quite high and the person stranded on one side would have no option but to retrace his steps to the camp he came from and wait for the chadar to build again. But the dynamics of the chadar is such that it constantly builds, breaks and reforms again.

We saw the first glimpse of life on chadar as we saw flocks of Himalayan Thrushers, the high altitude black coloured bird with yellow beak, living in the rocky mountains and fox trails all over the place. There were many caves on the way, which had stalagmites and stalactites of frozen water in them of a beautiful bluish tinge and looked like well maintained museum exhibits . The flowing river in places with no sheet on it, to hide the water beneath the surface, made for some lovely photographs, contrasting with the white of the ground around and the white and brown mountains. In other places, huge sheets of ice jutted out from the surface due to the pressure of the flowing water below and it provided relief from the monotony of an otherwise flat chadar. A few more frozen mini water falls later, we reached Tibb notorious for the chill blowing wind which was in any case to be much less colder than Nerak. We spent the time at the camp partly shivering with the bitter cold and partly by the thought of how much colder it would be at Nerak our next camp. There was this joke that the camp leader said of Tibb being summer and Nerak being winter, which we later realised was not a joke at all.

The next day was the day of a clear blue sky, a photographer's delight. There were a thousand photo worthy scenes that we rejoiced at but we had to be very picky about taking photographs as it was so cold that the hands would freeze and go numb after a minute out of the gloves. More pug marks, not just of the foxes but of the snow leopards and bears and not just on the ground but also on the nearly vertical mountains kept me so full of high spirits that the 15 km stretch seemed like a walk in the park.

And after crossing a Juniper tree covered with prayer flags which the locals revered, we came to the biggest water falls of the trek, frozen of course. It almost seemed like stuff of another legend that such a massive water falls stood frozen. over 30 feet high and 15 feet wide, it was beautiful with its white and blue colouration, the brown of the vegetation at the top provided a beautiful contrast to the light hues of the falls. The right side of the falls is spiky in the middle, like it was the first to be frozen and at the bottom was powdery like the water froze from below and rose to join the spiky frozen part above. The left side was frozen exactly like flowing water and had the bluish tinge almost making it look like the water continued to flow underneath. We couldn't get enough of it but reluctantly moved on as the stomach grumbled its disapproval.

20 minute walk from the falls, on an elevation of 200 feet from the river base was the Nerak camp where we were served hot noodles that went cold before we could finish half of the serving. Despite the beautiful sun shine, it was bone chilling cold but the wind and chill were just a teaser as compared to what we were to face later. The villagers of Nerak some one hour walk away came sliding down the mountain to meet us and collect donation for the temple they were building. We wondered at their enthusiasm and speculated over how old they were as they looked ageless.

As darkness fell, it became unbearably cold and the night saw the temperature drop to a super cool -30 degree Celsius, that even the local Zanskaries felt the chill. We had a quick dinner that many skipped and then made a quicker dash to the tent, only to spend the entire night tossing about in the sleeping bags just unable to sleep for more than 10 minutes at a stretch. When I woke up in the morning, it felt like a miracle to have survived the night.

It was with wide eyes that we saw a few non-Indian trekkers start trekking upstream into even colder places and we heaved a sigh of relief that we were retracing our steps going downstream to 'warmer' places even though the temperature there would be nothing above -20 degree Celsius. The great weather continued, though it was good for the trekkers it was doing its damage to the chadar and the ice had begun to melt in many more places making the return path almost unrecognisable to the one

we had taken a day earlier.

We  heard the sound of ice breaking in many places as we walked close to edge of the gorge, sometimes holding our breadth and many a times with our heart almost in our mouth, we walked on hastily away from the sound source like the intruders that we were. In many places the fresh snow from the snow fall of 3 days ago had melted exposing the shiny, glassy  ice sheet which is extremely slippery to walk on, but the crampons provided excellent traction and we walked on albeit gingerly.

There was a patch that so slushy that we were almost 'gum boot length' in water, we walked tentatively so as not to get any water inside the gum boots. The terrain was so different on the return leg that if we didn't have the river as the one constant and that being the only navigable route, we all could have sworn we were on a completely different path.

We walked on at a leisurely pace for the next 2 days growing more confident with every step we took that if we didn't do anything stupid, the crampons would see us through all the patches of glassy ice  and slushy surfaces. We kept meandering in and out of sunlit patches. While we were in the dark area, the sunlit side beckoned us to click photographs with the mountain positions and angle changing every few metre as we walked, but we had to literally ration out the body warmth and be very discerning about taking the photos as a minute out of the gloves and we would be nursing the frozen hand for quite a while.

The walk in the sunlit patches was warm and nice, but we knew better than to get too comfortable there, as the ice sheet directly exposed to sun melted faster and there was a greater possibility of stepping on a weakened surface and also there was always the prospect of snow from the mountain surface loosening and raining down like a avalanche. I did hear a loud thud, which later fellow trekkers who witnessed the downpour spoke of. There were many places where rocks had come down from the mountains and rested on the chadar, it was an ominous warning for us to not to linger in that stretch for too long.

The beauty of the place definitely multiplied a thousand fold with the melting chadar. The floating ice blocks on the water, the various shades and hues of the melting water on the ice sheets, the music of the rushing waters, the colourful pebbles visible at bottom of the water on the edges all compensated for the increased danger of the place.

The last night on Chadar was at the same camp site of Shingra Koma where we had spent the second night on Chadar. That entire day and night it had snowed and everything was coated white, but when we reached Shingra Koma on the return journey almost all the snow around the camp site had melted and it looked like an entirely different place like the owner had changed his preferences and got the place painted brown.

The last day of the trek the weather continued to be sunny and thus there was quite a distance that we had to cover by climbing the mountains to bypass the flowing river and in one such place the water was a beautiful light blue of the pristine seas and the effort of climbing up hill was rewarded by the elevation from which we were able to see the water below, a treat for the soul. The ice sheet in many places was cracked, we walked on them simply because we had no idea that it might give in or probably it was really thick enough. A few more places of 'gum boot length' water later, we were safely at the last camp, where we were to have lunch before crossing the breadth of the frozen river for the last time and take the steep climb up the mountain to meet the waiting van that was to deliver us to the warmth of brick and mortar building and room heaters in Leh.

On the chadar, there were a lot of things that reminded me of food, not because I was hungry all the time but because what I saw was as heart-warming as good food. The mashed up top layer on a glassy surface reminded me of 'Agre ka Petta', the sand of the river bank was just the colour of ragi biscuit, there were chunks of frozen ice on water that looked like cooked-sun dried-deep fried sago (sabakki sandige in Kannada), the brown mountains coated with white looked like Turkish delights with the icing sugar on them (surprisingly not like a pudding with the icing sugar on them. ) The   choppy turquoise blue-peacock green mixed waters of Zanskar reminded me of a Karnataka delicacy called Halbai made of milk extracted from soaked wheat.  

On the return journey, from the warmth of the shuttered van, for the last time we took in the sight of the river from a vantage point above. The numbness in the fingers, the pain in the knee and all other pains notwithstanding I smiled at the river like we shared a secret and it felt vindicated that I chose to come to this heaven to witness a great miracle of nature though the right of passage was to be obtained by a journey in hell.