Thousands of feet above the tree line. Less of oxygen and more of enthusiasm. Difficult to gauge if it’s a travellers paradise or pilgrimage.They call it the land of high passes!
Where winds are wild,
and wilder is the desert.
The land of fluttering prayer flags, arid secrets, where sunsets and sunrises write on the mountains with a blue ink of clouds (care less, about my bizarre poetic expressions)!
It is beautiful. It is treacherous. Treacherous.
Ladakh, is what we are talking!
Here’s What Happened:
As an instinct, it was going to be about “rampant photography”, on account of my first ever pilgrimage.
whenever we stopped,
wherever we stopped,
however we stopped,
I would pounce with my camera and break into a thousand pictures.
A rubbernecker, who is an amazing, like
fucking-really-amazing cinematographer, was travelling with us. Eavesdrop on our conversation:
Him: Hey, would you take a picture of me?
Me : Sure.
Him: ***Grim face on***
Setting the camera aside, I look at him. Grim face on, still!
Me: Why that face? Wouldn’t you smile?
Him: Ask that to the mountains too. Even they should smile before a picture. Even they should be “ready” before the picture. The light, the clouds, the reflections, should make the mountain smile.
Why do you think, eccentrics, wait for hours, sitting in front of a mountain? The wait for the mountain to say, “NOW”!