As the bus pulls out of the airport terminal and heads for the aircraft, the air is thick, warm and hangs heavy. This isn’t a long haul, the flight barely lasts an hour-and-a-quarter and minutes after the plane is airborne a bright, strong sun lights up the sky. The plane drones as it gently cuts through bales of flaky, white cloud floating freely in an ocean of blue.

Suddenly cries of ohs and wows go up, there’s a buzz, every one’s wide awake. Cameras click as passengers fall over one another capturing the white-crested mountains below in their cameras. The Himalayas are here – peaks, formidable and daunting standing shoulder to shoulder – the great white wall of ice, sheer slopes, scraggy rocks, precipitous gorges – far away yet to so near, as if reaching out to the aircraft skimming over them.

As the first rays of the sun kiss them, their colours change, pristine and milk white, sparkling golden – ethereal, unspoiled and spotless. The aircraft cuts height and eases into a sandy valley seemingly of loose, flaky soil. A serpentine turquoise river drains it. Not particularly wide, its many strands break off and merge and separate again as it meanders along unhurriedly. Its banks are green with thick, tall trees.

Touchdown

That’s Leh. Houses that appear little and lego, of stone, dull, matching the colours of the topography, some stark with white walls and typical pagoda roofs painted in red, others of asbestos and tin, mostly in camouflage paint and bottle green establishing their military identity.

The plane makes a gentle semi-circle, aligns with the airstrip, now visible from above, eases into a soft touch-down. A steward opens the door to an ice-cold draft that burns the nostrils and leaves pins and needles on the face. The sharp temperature drop jars.

At the hotel, rest is mandatory. “Just chill, lie on your back, eat and sleep,” the receptionist instructs. “Adventure is inadvisable. You need to adjust to these circumstances, the air is thin in oxygen and if you don’t give your body time to adjust, you could swoon, puke or take ill. So, follow instructions,” he cautions.

In Leh, it’s sevenish in the day and the air clean and chilly. Barring the occasional drone of a rare aircraft, it’s still. Shrill birdcalls break the quiet and the tall trees lining the hotel’s boundary walls sway to the gentle breeze, the rustle of leaves delectable, silky. Beyond are the somber, snow-capped mountains. The bed is soft, welcoming and cozy. There are instructions to follow. Sleep beckons.
 

Leh: Ladakh’s beauty spot

At the centre of town is the Kushok Bakula Rimpoche Airport, named after the highly respected monk who was also a parliamentarian and ambassador to Mongolia.

The road alongside is its main thoroughfare lined with provision stores that sell everything from cakes to cucumber. In places, this chain of shops is broken by automobile showrooms, beauty parlours, pharmacies, bakeries and stores selling Sim cards. On this road, life is hurried and full of bustle. People walk around purposefully, shoppers crowd in front of groceries picking up vegetables. Occasionally, army trucks rumble by and bikers tanking up at filling stations for expeditions in the hills.

In the mornings, the scene on the main roads and lanes that pass through neighbourhoods and meet it at intervals are no different from what plays out in other towns – mothers escort fidgety, naughty children to the bus stop, office-goers head off for work, shop-owners roll up shutters for the day’s business. Almost all Leh squares have large prayer wheels, which locals walk around and spin with a slient chant on their lips. Cheap eateries sell momos.

In another part of town, a narrow street runs through a crowded locality that has an English-medium school and the stretch gets awful, packed with honking vehicles when classes give over and children stream out, many holding their parents’ hands. School buses, oversized and clumsy, are a common sight as they mount the pavement negotiating the downhill traffic. Some parents taking children home leave an imprint in the mind. A Ladakh Scouts soldier, tough and muscular, struggles with his little one who insists he be bought a bar of chocolate. The exasperation on the battle-hardened fighter’s face is a sight.

Most schoolchildren are smartly turned out in ties and neat uniforms. Almost all of them wear caps bearing their school logos and are sweet and lovable beyond description. Foreigners love Leh and they’re all over town, in posh hotels, small B&B joints, backpackers, hikers and the normal mainstream visitor takinh in the wonders of incredible India.

The war memorial

The average Leh resident is gentle and hardworking and self-sufficient. One who makes informed choices and has taught himself to surmount difficulties with a smile on his face, he puts the visitor at ease. Some parts of town are dusty with road construction work in full swing.

Ladakh doesn’t have a cinema and night life isn’t exactly rocking. The town has a martyrs’ memorial that showcases the valour of our soldiers and an adventure park alongside manned by army personnel. For a nominal fee, tourists can do an obstacle course and an archery session. It’s creatively done and a decomissioned Shaktiman truck serves as the ticket counter.

Leh’s temperature may be comfortably cool but it oozes warmth. What Ladakh has on offer for the visitor is so stunningly beautiful and so diverse that one visit just isn’t enough to take it all in. One feels like going back many times over to experience its magical charms in full. In all its magnificence, this place has a certain mystique that is impossible to find anywhere else.