LADAKH

Every now and then, my self dissolves into an eddy of confusion. The devious dance of masks, untitled grief and an insatiable quest for happiness. Abandon the rules of civilization, urges a devilish voice inside, and head for solitude. In October 2003, my sensibilities transported me to no man's land. It was destination Ladakh.

Flying over the snow-sheeted Himalayas and cruising through blinding white clouds, I arrived to a minus 4-degree, chilling welcome. What in heaven's name was I doing here? Were my sensibilities in deep freeze? I was sniffling badly and couldn't walk a hundred meters without wheezing. Inhaling icy droplets at 13,000 feet above sea level is hardly a breeze.But once we broke the ice, she began to speak. Slowly, I warmed to the seemingly frigid land of the llamas, the pink-cheeked, shaven monks draped in maroon, complimenting the land they epitomise. I spotted a few of them after every couple of kilometers; going back to where they belonged: the mystical monasteries. Each one located aeons away from the other.

I trod a lonely path, barely a soul around, only the autumn landscape, patches of orange-yellow foliage among yaks and furry donkeys. Looking out of the car window, I suddenly found a lot of people staring at me. Where did they all come from? I looked closely; they were chiselled out of the mountains and resembled people. They were everywhere. Each mountain was carved into the face of a man. My deduction; nature compensates for the dearth of people.

As my passage through time continued, an ever-changing tableau greeted me. School children waved out customarily, I realised that the Kendriya Vidyalays that I studied in stand where no other school dared. I felt a sense of pride.

I smiled and continued to the Shey Palace, the oldest monastery in Ladakh, where a three-storey statue of Buddha awaited me. The massive golden monument was intimidating. I felt small, burdened with the guilt of not contributing to his cause.

I resolved to stay back, work here, maybe with an NGO that helps provide quality education to Ladhaki children. I could work in a gumpa (monastry), or abandon religion (tired of it anyway), or journey with my mane (Buddhist religious accessory) into Tibet, wishing everyone juley (`hello' in Ladakhi). I would do anything, anything; to shun the crowd I was fleeing. I was happy here and I needed nothing more.

My soul melted into the mountains. For seven days, I had scarcely spoken; my communion with those silent, stoic sentinels was complete.

A week later, I found myself back in the crowd: taming masks, burdened with unknown grief, desperately seeking solace. Every time I lose myself in the muddle, I pledge to return. But cast iron pegs anchor me amid the whirlpool. I had fallen prey to being human again: material ambitions, the weight of responsibilities, and the illusory lure of security. But no, I don't belong. And so, head bowed in upturned palms, I pondered the human condition. I was back at the proverbial contradiction.

Sooner or later, I returned to that clichéd truism: the circle of life vexed or not, continues. Destinations abound. As for that elusive wisp of happiness, I knew I had left it far behind.