The locks have been changed. I doubt its utility if the unseen visitor is already inside the flat. I was surprised to find volumes on the internet detailing how people had been living in other people’s flats for half a life time. I searched the whole house yesterday night. Thoroughly.

The fear is still around. I feel like being watched, my movements being noted, an appreciation or a disapproval meeting my actions. I still sleep with the knife under the pillow. A couple of nights ago, when the lights were out, I heard footfalls. This time I was too scared to investigate. I just locked the door of my room and stayed put, half expecting hands to tear through the wood and close on my neck, just like in the million movies they keep showing on the TV.  It didn’t happen though. The burden of an apprehensive expectation is heavy. It tires one’s spirit and wears down one’s passion. And it triggers off a flood of sweat too. I realised it then. I never use the word sweat with men, as pigs are supposed to sweat; men can only perspire. But now, I’m the pig, fit for sweating shamelessly in my sty. Dreadful scenes from horrible movies flashed before me. My timorous self wilted under the inner attacks and I found myself lying by the door in the morning.

Returning home is becoming an impossibility now. With a dying vegetable for a neighbour, the whole apartment seems like The Hostel. While leaving for work yesterday, I happened to catch the eye of that repulsive man who lives a storey above. He gave a smile, not one of those warm and comforting ones, rather a sly smile. A sardonic leer… as if he knew how disturbed I was. That smile was actually a laugh, a demonic laugh, declaring a sadist pleasure in screwing up others’ lives, deriving satisfaction from their plight. I avoided his gaze and rushed down the stairs. I could feel his eyes on me even as I walked away. I dared not turn back.

If I had a choice, I wouldn’t return home. But I have to, to check if things still get moved around. If the changed locks don’t work, I don’t know what to do. The despair is eating me up… i’ve hit rock bottom. They say when you are at the bottom, the only way you can go is up. But what if the bottom houses a quicksand? Would one still go up?

Strange things have been happening. I could swear that there’s someone else present in the house. I find things out of place sometimes, wet towels, unwashed dishes, strewn papers… inexplicably open cupboards and misplaced books. Why only the other day when I was having a bath, I heard a voice from the bedroom. I turned off the water and the voice was still there. I could listen clearly… it was speaking rapidly… complaining about the choking of the sink in the bathroom. And then it hit me that my bathroom had been choking for some time. I opened the door and tiptoed into the bedroom, only to find it empty. It’s weird.

I wake up at night to find the fridge door open or the lights on. Sometimes, the TV’s on too. Is somebody actually there in the house apart from me? Like some guy who uses it as a natural shelter or something. Maybe he uses it to come in or go out just like that underground guy in that movie Real Genius.

When I was in school I’d read a novel, the name of which escapes me, about how a guy would come home to find it all upside down… someone would be messing his things around. He thought, in a manner so typical of these unbelievably unreal characters, that one of the paintings on his walls was a portal of some kind that led visitors to his apartment. But later it was revealed that his landlady had a set of duplicates and used to let herself in in his absence. It was fun reading that novel, but this is no fun. At least for me. Is it the same case with me? Does someone have the keys to my flat? The portal thing can’t be true though because I’ve no paintings hanging around. Can they come in through posters as well? Can the bedroom Dostoevsky or the drawing room Bob Dylan be the culprit?

I am running scared now… insecure in my own house. I get a cold sweat everytime the power goes out or noises outside die down. Nights are sleepless. Living in consant fear can drive a man insane. It’s happened before. I’ve actually checked it out over the inernet. My neighbour is of no help now. He’s almost turned into a vegetable now… fit for a vile purposeless death, almost obscene. Talking to one of my friends I got to know that he felt the same way as me regarding powerful forces that sweep over the personality, for sometime blurting it out, manifesting themselves in all their destructiveness. He has this urge just like me to burn the house down, to exorcise the ghosts… both of us are tired of being on the run. To get a control on your life sometimes you have to let go of everything. To let go is to gain control… to reclaim your right, you have to relinquish your thought.

I’m sleeping with a knife under my pillow since a couple of days just in case. If the unseen visitors ever decide to jump me at least I’ll be ready. I spend time in the office thinking up all day to do things in the night, so that I don’t sleep anymore than I absolutely have to. It’s tiring me out though. I sleep at work sometimes. I can’t help it. It’s just like in Fightclub, where everything seems to be a copy of a copy of a copy. When I go up the sairs to the apartment, I wonder if I’d really find someone inside. As I pass my neighbour’s flat, I’m tempted to put a knife into him, slicing him up like a vegetable. He’s decaying from the inside, rotting up, gathering vermins. It’s disconcerting to see a man crumble so easily and so rapidly. I need to get rid of him.

I keep putting things in their places only to find them somehow displaced, like someone used them and forgot to put them back in their places, carelessly let them be. Is this a joke of some kind? If it is, I don’t get it. It’s with much effort that I keep myself awake, setting up alarms and putting the timer on the TV. I’ve even arranged for wakeup calls. How long can a man go without sleep? Has it been tested? Should I just change the locks and see? I’m highly disoriented and off the track right now. I feel as if something is growing behind, under and inside me, waiting to take over, or already taking over slowly. Maybe I’ll wait one more day before doing something.

When I’d written Bullet in the Brain it was more of a Dylanian inspiration than magical creativity cooked up in an unexpected moment of sheer originality. It went largely unnoticed, rightfully so. But I took solace in the fact that the title was an apt fit for the piece, well within the standards of alliteration and rhyme. It gave me immense satisfaction to know that the title for a piece needn’t be searched for, it could simply be a portion of the text from the composition. Almost effortless and all the more fitting. What I’d not counted on, was that the title itself was as unoriginal and misplaced as the post.

A better short film, I’m yet to see. And I certainly can’t comment on the movie. 13.20 seconds of inexplicable paralysis should more than do the job.

I have no particular inclination to be tagged, but despite my natural non-chalance tags just keep falling on my head. This time it’s Ms Nerd who’s done it. With due apologies to her for taking up this meme a bit late (as I was busy putting out my diary on the net), I begin right away. The tag is:

List seven songs you are into right now. No matter what the genre, whether they have words, or even if they’re not any good, but they must be songs you’re really enjoying now, shaping your spring summer. Post these instructions in your blog along with your seven songs. Then tag seven other people to see what they’re listening to.

Here’s my list:

1. Lux Aeterna (Requiem For A Dream) - Clint Mansell’s composition is undoubtedly a haunting piece which rings in my ears for days together. Listen to it here.

2. Cheyenne’s theme (Once Upon A Time In The West) - Ennio Morricone’s score for Cheyenne is better than that of Harmonica. Listen here.

3. Haara (Aamir) - Undisputedly the best Hindi soundtrack of the year. Amit Trivedi has done a marvellous job of bringing together different genres, appealing to a wide variety of listeners. Listen here.

4. Bandya Re (Khuda Ke Liye) - Another of Bulleh Shah’s compositions, it does remind one of Bullah Ki Jaana. A delightful fusion of folk and rock. Check it out here.

5. Jajabara (Jajabara) - Akshaya Mohanty’s ‘75 piece has become a motif of Oriya film music. The first Oriya song to be influenced from the west, it sounds a bit old fashioned, but not if one gets the lyrics. Listen here.

6. Sorutihudu Maliya Maligi (The Raghu Dixit Project) - Penned by the Kannada saint Shishunala, it brings out the emotions of a poor helpless man. Raghu Dixit has done wonders with this song. Listen here.

7. Theme of Road To Perdition (Road To Perdition) - By Thomas Newman, it’s mostly orthodox and traditional music that is powerful and moving. Listen to it here.

And as always, I don’t tag anyone.

19th May, ‘08 - 0530 hours - I slept fitfully last night. GBS, Ms. T and BP are still sleeping. The journey’s drawing to a close. I wish the train wouldn’t stop… the stations would just fly by and the train would go on for ever. It’d get boring after a little while though. I know it. Things get boring when one has been at it long enough. How long is enough is just a matter of individual preferences. Individual preferences of preferred individuals.

19th May, ‘08 - 0600 hours - Delhi is cool. The rain has made things better. Being pushed and shoved after a long time feels refreshing. After the courteous people of Ladakh, the unruly Delhi crowd reaffirms my presence in the land of men. I like being shoved. I want to scream at them, ‘You can push me but you can’t push me around’. I doubt if the subtlety will be noticed.

19th May, ‘08 - 0800 hours - Everytime we come to Tewari’s we are the only customers here. They don’t have much to offer in the morning. Noon is their speciality. Order something in the morning and 9 out of 10 times, they won’t be there. I’ve ordered chhole batore. The others are having puri sabji. I’m envious. I plan to trip the waiter as he arrives with their food. I don’t want chhole batore anymore. I don’t want to be here anymore. But the others won’t leave. Puri sabji is coming.

19th May, ‘08 - 0830 hours - It’s started to rain. The lassi in the rain feels blissful. Ms T looks funny, cream smeared all over. GBS is his usual excited self. I wonder where he gets all the energy from. Mr. P is talking in jargons, none of which I understand. BP and I are united in our ignorance. It’s a different feeling being on the outisde and watching the others. No expectations, no disappointments, no judgements, just observation.

19th May, ‘08 - 1400 hours - We are going to the Jagannath Temple for lunch. I’ve heard so much about it from LP and GBS that I fear I’ll find it over rated. Delhites have their own way of doing things. They lazily saunter to work. The mad rush of Mumbai is absent. It’s as if everything is happening here in slow motion. Pot bellies dancing up and down with non-chalance, shamelessly sported. Clothes are cheap in Delhi, lot cheaper than in Hyderabad. Food too. I’ve never been to this temple.

19th May, ‘08 - 1500 hours - Fuck! I just had the best lunch of my life. I’m so full that I can hardly breathe. I’m writhing in agony clutching my belly. I can’t even bear to look at Ms T and GBS eating. Ms T sports a new nose ring. A bit mature, a little less flirty. Oh, my belly. Anna, dalma, khata, saaga and kheeri. Lord! I’m blessed. Help!

19th May, ‘08 - 1700 hours - I was never really excited about coming to Keventer’s. After the divine lunch, everything seems tasteless. I’ve lost the eagerness to delve into food. Rs 40 a bottle is worth every pie, so I’m being told. I am trying to remember when exactly was it when I made friends with these hedonists. Are they a reflection of me? Am I one of them? Would I like to stay away and abstain when offered the temptation of committing sin? Is indulging in the pleasure of senses a sin? What makes it so? If it is, don’t these people know it? Should I tell them? Should I help them to redemption or should I push them to damnation? Would they listen? Should I speak? Am I even thinking?

19th May, ‘08 - 1930 hours - Palika Bazar is not as I’d hoped it’d be like. The shopkeepers are a rude lot. And to my utter disappointment, there’s no shop no. 36. Fuck! There’s a shop 35 on the ground floor but that’s not as good as I’d have liked it to be. I’m awfully short of money and have no intention whatsoever to spend anymore on movies. In a way, it’s good that shop no. 36 is absent. I just saved some money. Fuck shop no. 36, it’s money that matters now. I can go without a couple of movies and a few t-shirts. How materialistic have I turned of late!

19th May, ‘08 - 2100 hours - Kareem’s is a nice place. It’s scary as well. I’m a bit apprehensive being here with the blasts and all going off in Jaipur. The lanes here are narrow and the Masjid at night is spooky. It’s an other wordly feeling roaming the streets of Old City at night. I’d prefer to do so in daytime. People look like corpses ready to jump at you, streets look like they will eat you up, the lights are eerily translucent. They say the food is awesome. I couldn’t care less. Mr. P is in tremendous form… chicken burra, mutton burra, seekh kebab, chicken tikka, shammi kebab and masala Thums Up. I can’t eat this. I can’t eat animals, now that they are on the verge of being wiped out. At least I’m true to my hypocritic beliefs.

20th May, ‘08 - 0200 hours - Shit! I’ve slept for over 3 hours. Mr. P is asleep. LP is just retiring. The others are all asleep. I don’t have the heart to wake them up just to bid farewell. They deserve a good night’s rest. Hope GBS wakes up in time to see us off. My heart’s in the highlands.

20th May, ‘08 - 0600 hours - Hyderabad looms below. I’m still sleepy but have to take the train to office. Mr. P is asleep. He never misses a chance to doze off. It’s painful when I think of when we’d left. I wish I’d taken more time to say a proper goodbye to the others. But then, it’d have been a Late Goodbye.

20th May, ‘08 - 0630 hours - I’ve never waited for my baggage. This is the first time and it’s frustrating. The shiny floors, fragrant ladies, belching men, smiling staff… make me nauseated. I long to break through the glass doors and take a deep breath, fill my lungs with the morning air. Come to think of it, I got Leh-ed… nothing can compensate for that wonderful time while it lasted.

20th May, ‘08 - 0730 hours - Mr. P is asleep again. It’s raining outside. For once, I’m glad of rain on a weekday. After the cold climates, it’d have been difficult to come to terms with the blazing sun here. Oh, how I miss the others now. When they were near, I had been an asshole, now that they are not, I wish they were. I remember this from somewhere I’d read long ago.
Strange animal man is,
When it’s hot he wants cold,
when it’s cold he wants hot,
always wanting what is not.
I feel lonely now staring at the rain from the bus window. The feeling of being lost in a big city, drowning in the noise… the sensation of being in a strange place is overpowering. I feel as if my life started with this trip .. everything that took place before it, is lost. I can’t seem to remember any of it now. Everything that happens hence will have no importance. My life has been segmented, fragmented, sliced up. I’m living it one piece at a time. Act 1 is over. Act 2 is about to begin. The stage is set for the new theme. I’m being pushed onto the stage to act out my part. I need to take control. Snap! Dream over! Welcome to life!

18th May, ‘08 - 0530 hours - Hassan and BP are scouting the taxi stand for anyone who would take us to Jammu. I stand on the pavement, shivering and marvelling at the city’s structures. Neat roads, white buildings… the JK Bank building is impressive. Taking a photo might invite unnecessary questioning. Instead, I concentrate on the birds pecking at the grains on the road. It’s too early to eat, I’m not hungry anyways. Travelling all night through the treacherous passes has kind of worn me out. I hope we find another vehicle quickly and I get back to sleep.

18th May, ‘08 - 0545 hours - We’ve found a Sardarji… an unusually short statured guy. Raju is his name. Hassan left to repair his vehicle and probably return to Leh later in the day. It’s not yet time for the shops to open, even the petrol bunks are closed. We used such a bunk’s unlocked washroom for relieving ourselves. Oh, the relief! Everybody keeps telling me to write down about the numerous stops we have had on our way throughout the trip for peeing. With the exception of Ms T, the four of us would jump out of the cab and run to pee under the open sky. Those lines from Hazaron Khwahishen Aisi come floating back… Our peeing sojourn started from Jammu railway station, continued through the road to Srinagar, rested for the night and again took up on the way to Leh. We had been advised to drink lots of water for keeping off the altitude sickness. We followed that religiously and pee-ed our way to Leh, drowned Leh and came watering the Srinagar-Leh highway on our way back. It was really fun peeing at such great heights. We pee-ed in Zozilla, Khardungla, Shok river, Pangong, Nubra, Fotula … all possible places of interest that could’ve been marked. Even dogs would marvel at the sheer vastness of the territory we marked with our pee. It was not all fun though. Peeing can be very difficult in areas of low pressure. Add the cold to that and you can have a really trying time. It took me around 2 minutes to get going in Khardungla where it was snowing like hell. I’m surprised at how the lone lady with us was so calm despite the need to relieve herself.

18th May, ‘08 - 0735 hours - GBS and BP have bought a pack of cherries. They are… well nice, and soft and juicy, but the taste is not much to my liking. I’m more interested in clicking them. They are a great shade of red.

18th May, ‘08 - 0745 hours - Jawahar tunnel hasn’t opened up yet. There’s a long queue of vehicles waiting to get in through. It opens up at 0800 hours. We are clicking the cherries and the valley. This seems like the Amarnath or the Vaishno Devi yatra - people standing in the middle of the road and gossipping, army jawans chatting leisurely, children running about, people laughing and cracking jokes. Not even an hour out of Srinagar and already I can feel the difference.

18th May, ‘08 - 0850 hours - I’m relapsing into sleep now and then… it’s difficult to distinguish reality from imagination. I’ve this urge to…

18th May, ‘08 - 1030 hours - Raju is uttering expletives as frequently as I blink my eyes. Each sentence starts with a bc and ends with one too. BP is doing half the talking. I’m content merely listening. Who’d want to delve into a conversation such as this! It’s fun listening though. I hope the others don’t wake up soon. Raju is narrating some legends from the valley. I think he’s making it all up. They are so absurd that even a child wouldn’t believe in them. BP offers no resistance, neither do I. Shattering a person’s delusion is something that doesn’t come naturally. Play on, dream on…

18th May, ‘08 - 1130 hours - Coming back to the same place to have the same food is a different feeling. This time the rajma and the chawal don’t appease as they had then. Expectations and repetitions. Even humans wilt under the burden, poor rajma-chawal has no chance. But anyways, I’m licking my plate clean. I don’t know if the others like it. Mr. P does. Of that, I am sure.

18th May, ‘08 - 1230 hours - Mr. P has just managed to click two of Dr. Bangali’s advertisements. We’ve been finding them on this highway quite many times. Dr. Bangali claims to have the expertise to duly cure all kinds of ailments that a man could possibly be afflicted with. I wish we had the time to track down this Dr. Bangali and get his picture.

18th May, ‘08 - 1245 hours - GBS just confirmed that our tickets have been booked from Udhampur to Delhi. We no longer need to go all the way to Jammu. Some 60 kms of journey by road is saved. And that gives us plenty of time to reach the Udhampur station. I’d like to roam about a little but that’d mean taxing the others. I think we’ll have to wait at the Udhampur station. It’s strange that the Indian Railways has failed to bring the capital city of a state under its fold. Udhampur is the northern most reach of the railways. It’s mind boggling when I count the personal records achieved on this tour. A commendable job I must say. Being humble was never among my strengths.

18th May, ‘08 - 1630 hours - Getting on the train out of the state stirs up mixed feelings. While I’m sad that the trip is coming to an end, I’m equally happy to be within the reaches of luxury. All the running around and little discomforts will be things of the past. It’s unbearably hot here. If Kashmir is so hot as this, Hyderabad must be blazing.

18th May, ‘08 - 1930 hours - We are talking about our respective blogs. I’ve never had a chance to visit GBS’s new blog. I’m browsing through Ms T’s blog on BP’s PDA. BP has a whole blogging domain of his own and Mr. P’s blog I’ve been to. None of them post regularly though. Am I the only one with too much time on my hands? GBS has won his bet and is understandably elated. I’ve lost two bets within two days. A pathetic record I’ve set here.

18th May, ‘08 - 2100 hours - The fires seemed to be forest fires at first. Later on we realised that they had been deliberately lighted for jhum cultivation. I’ve taken some pictures of them, but they haven’t come out well. My camera after all has its limitations. The food is tasteless, but I’ve learned not to complain about food. Among other things, I’ve known that food is not meant to be fussed over. I never have been one to have preferences in matters of food, but what little hiccups there were, have been duly taken care of now. And that is a thing my mother would be proud of.

18th May, ‘08 - 2200 hours - BP is making a fool of himself… I can’t stop laughing at him. In fact, the whole lot of people near us are laughing at him. Tomorrow early in the morning, Delhi will be waiting for us.

17th May, ‘08 - 0530 hours - It’s difficult to come to terms with the fact that our stay at Leh has come to an end. Going back seems almost impossible now, the codes, the cubicle, the machine, the mails… they mock me with an all-knowing smile. How much I wish not to, I’ve got to go back into the jungle and be preyed upon, torn to pieces each day, bring back the mutilated body each night to be bloodied the next day, day after day, endlessly. I’m ready. Even though I’m reluctant to leave, I’m up and ready - yet another evidence of my hypocrisy.

17th May, ‘08 - 0550 hours - Somebody has forgotten the sleeping bag. I don’t mind. For once, the delays are welcomed. Let me get down from the cab. The air is sweet… just like the water. I’m breathing the last offerings of the sweetness. I’ll miss this place, the people. Only one theatre screens a film here. A movie that reminds me vaguely of Akele Hum Akele Tum, a take on Kramer vs Kramer. BP, Mr. P and I are greedily snapping up pics in our last hour at Leh.

17th May, ‘08 - 0650 hours - The flight is delayed. The airport isn’t much. Leh airport resembles the set at Ramoji Film City. Everything is much too close. Fortunately, drinking water is free here, unlike the Hyderabad airport. I drink to my fill. Mr. P tells me that on the list of persons who don’t need security clearance is Robert Vadhera at No. 17. If being the husband of Priyanka Gandhi (who’s she anyways, apart from the daughter of the president of a political party of India?) is the sole criterion which ensured him a place on that list, I wonder if he’ll be off when he breaks up with Priyanka.

17th May, ‘08 - 0730 hours - Deccan Airlines is a damnable service provider. Efficiency has hit rock bottom. They are not giving out any information on the flight. I think it’s going to be cancelled. The insincere smiles and the heavily made up faces make me want to puke on them.

17th May, ‘08 - 0800 hours - Lots of people, lots of books, I’m lost. I turn around and roam about trying to make out the covers of the books being read. Ms T asks me why am I interested in finding out what books people read. I shrug it off with natural discomfort. I have no answer to her question. Having successfully persuaded Mr. P to ask a few of his questions to kill time, I find that I’m rusty. Sigh!

17th May, ‘08 - 0815 hours - They are giving out snacks for us. There’s no queue, a big jostling crowd around the food counter is all that I can see. People are fighting for food, much like the people in the cyclone affected villages back home. Leh airport doesn’t have a food counter that sells food. One can get only drinks. We are given a sandwich and a pastry each. I gobble them down.

17th May, ‘08 - 0930 hours - News has just come in that the flight is cancelled. I don’t know whether to be sad or happy. Suddenly Leh seems a place from which there is no escape. Ominous lines from Hotel California are coming to me.

17th May, ‘08 - 1000 hours - Tomorrow’s flight is booked completely. The day after tomorrow we might get seats, but there’s no guarantee that the flight will take off. Moreover, the tickets are too expensive. I’m too broke to dish out a little more than 6k to get out of Leh. I’d rather go by road however close to death it might take me. BP is calling up Hassan. We can only hope that he agrees to drop us at Jammu. My spirits are unusually high. I can’t explain it. Just a few minutes earlier I was down.

17th May, ‘08 - 1030 hours - Hassan promises to take us back in a day. None of us can believe him. A journey that had taken us 3 days while coming surely can’t be undertaken in a day, or can it be? So far, he hasn’t let us down. But this one seems too stretched, even by his standards.

17th May, ‘08 - 1430 hours - Hassan is driving like a man possessed. I still can’t believe that we’ve trusted him to take us to Jammu… it’s 434 kms to Srinagar alone. The roads are shit scary, the falls too deep. I like the man’s attitude, the calm demeanour, the reservedness, his popularity, his smile. The next time I come here (there’s a big if attached to that), I can see him as my guide. I’m scared, delighted, resigned, stoic… in short, all fucked up.

17th May, ‘08 - 1730 hours - We just came across those two guys on the bike. It’s a comfort knowing that they are still around. We are yet to mail them the pics.

17th May, ‘08 - 1930 hours - I hear only voices, see only faces. I can’t recognise, can’t relate to, can’t place them. I’m speaking as if in a dream, pre-recorded messages coming out effortlessly. The cab is shrinking, drawing us all closer… I can feel myself straining against the door, trying to push out and break free. I can’t distinguish the voices… the lines are incoherent. They are coming from far away. I am drowning in a dark sea of deep despair. Nothing makes sense now. The mountains and the dark roads, the faint moonlight, the invisible water running below making its presence felt only by its gurgle, all these are driving me crazy. I need to sleep.

17th May, ‘08 - 2245 hours - We just passed a board proclaiming out loud in bold black letters against a yellow background - Dushman ki nazar aap pe hai - You are under enemy observation. I didn’t click a pic of it. I thought the flash would invite enemy fire. I was a fool… what about the headlights?

18th May, ‘08 - 0130 hours - When Hassan had stopped at the taxi stand in that creepy place in the dead of the night, we had been apprehensive. Funny, how distrusting human nature is. We were boasting about how impressed we were with him and how he is a man who can be trusted. But even then, a shadow of doubt passed us when he took us there. Bearded people peeping into our cab, some smiling a wicked smile… it made us creep. Humans are more efficient than a chameleon when it comes to changing colours. I can’t write down how guilty I feel, how wretched, how miserable… there’s no atonement for a doubting soul.

18th May, ‘08 - 0230 hours - Of all things, we are discussing Sidney Sheldon and his books. I can’t remember the name of that particular book which deals with MPD… three girls who are actually the same girl. I think it is Nothing Lasts Forever. But I’m not too sure. In a moment of male vanity, I bet on the book knowing fully well that Ms T is going to win it. That’s why I was clever enough to bet only a rupee.

18th May, ‘08 - 0330 hours - All others are dozing off. Mr. P shouldn’t be sitting in the front seat. Having a sleeping person beside one while driving makes little sense. I’ve to stay awake. Neither Hassan nor I are good at striking up conversations. But we acknowledge each other’s presence in all our wakefulness among the sleeping others.

18th May, ‘08 - 0345 hours - I remember… it was Tell Me Your Dreams. I lose the bet. I’m as arrogant and vain as ever. It’ll take more than a stupid bet to bring me back.

18th May, ‘08 - 0430 hours - Hassan says that the brakes have failed. I knew something was wrong the moment he stopped and got out. All others except Ms T are awake now. I know the importance of carrying a torch now. The mobile torches are all weak and cast more shadows than light up things. I’m sure Hassan will be able to fix this.

18th May, ‘08 - 0450 hours - We are going real slow now. Nobody’ll ever believe that we covered the last stretch from Leh to Srinagar without brakes. Sonamarg seems different in the early morning light. We are going to Lal Chowk. Hassan’s planning to get us into another vehicle from there.

18th May, ‘08 - 0515 hours - Srinagar is as creepy as always. I find it difficult to fall in love with the city. The fear is much more tangible now. Hazrat Bal looks beautiful… colored by the many lights around it. I wish I could take a picture. I’m too tired to move a muscle. We need to find another cab. It has been a long day… shit… another has already begun.

16th May, ‘08 - 0530 hours - If I were not so drowsy, I’d get up and throw that damn thing out of the window. I want to go out and take some pics before the sun is harsh, but I’ll let it pass for the chance of sleeping for one more hour.

16th May, ‘08 - 0630 hours - Taking pics in the morning makes one realise the importance of shade and subtlety of the play of light. The colors are natural and soft, yet, vibrant. The eye scorching glare is absent. Yellow is yellow and violet is violet. No wonder film makers want to shoot in the first light of the morning.
O’ Sun, couldn’t you stay this way, gentle and benign;
I’d love you this way, though I’d miss your shine.

16th May, ‘08 - 0730 hours - If I list out all the animals and birds I’ve watched here, it’d fill up a page. After the unexpected deer sighting yesterday, I saw a hare just now. No more Himalayan marmots have been seen since yesterday though. The blue winged partridges here are fat and whimsical.

16th May, ‘08 - 0830 hours - They tell me that the Italian lady just decribed us Indians as the worst tourists there ever were. Nobody responded to her. Even I wouldn’t have, had I been there. A war of words is not what we are here for. Engaging in a discussion cannot be of much use when the outcome has been predetermined. I recall Russell Peters who had in one of his shows let me know that expressing the action of eating in sign language in India conveys the act of fucking in Italy. So much for tourism.

16th May, ‘08 - 1000 hours - I had thought the camels would be impressive. They look sick and diseased. Lots of people come here to watch the Bactrian camels. There are only six of them, all tamed. I had expected wild ones. A camel’s jaws are massive and the teeth can grind even a stone to dust. The double humps are not clearly visible due to the saddles. The desert is beautiful though.

16th May, ‘08 - 1030 hours - I’d always known that I was unfit, but the extent was revealed today when I could manage only a best of 12 secs against BP’s 6. It’s humbling and despairing. Just having a lean body doesn’t guarantee one speed and fitness. Even Ms T can beat me easily on a good day. I’m out of breath and falsity. The pride has disappeared in a whiff.

16th May, ‘08 - 1130 hours - The Shok river goes all the way into Pakistan. I want to pee into it, mark my territory in the water too. Okay, we are going down.

16th May, ‘08 - 1145 hours -  The water is damn cold. It feels good though, the running of cold water over the hands under the blazing sun. There are stones strewn across the bed… I wish to enter the water but it may scare the others. We are having an extended photo session here. I’m worried how to get back on the road. Have to find a trail up.

16th May, ‘08 - 1300 hours - We are nearing Leh. The trip to the Nubra valley was a nice one. I had never thought it’d be as enjoyable. One has to visit the valley on a trip to Ladakh. It is a must.

16th May, ‘08 - 1630 hours - This is the first proper outing we are going to have in Leh. We have but explored very little of the town. Oh, the guys here again remind me of my shabby appearance.

16th May, ‘08 - 1730 hours - They rent out bikes at Rs. 500 a day. No license required. One just has to know how to ride a bike. Helmets are provided along with it. I still am not sure if the trip to Pangong could’ve been made on a bike. The guy wants to know if I need one. How could I, on my last day here? I want to ride that Thunderbird though.

16th May, ‘08 - 1800 hours - There’s a lady sitting there sketching the Leh palace. Mr. P says she’s from France. Ms T seems like a French lady at times, at other times she looks Russian. I look like I’ve just come up from the bhoi saahi of a nearby village, if they do happen to have such saahis at all.

16th May, ‘08 - 1930 hours - I’m not interested in watching the IPL match. Last day here, I want to be out. We are going to Friend’s Corner for our last supper here. If only someone would paint us! I’m going to try the chopsuey tonight.

16th May, ‘08 - 2130 hours - End of trip. Early flight tomorrow to Delhi. I still haven’t taken it all in. I’ve come to realise a lot of things - about myself, about others, about things in general, life… What was not a trip of profound self discovery has actually turned out to be one. I haven’t written down all the things. I’ve obligations, prejudices, leanings. I’d rather keep them to myself than invoke wrath, pity and contempt. 5 days are enough for a trip to Ladakh. I wish we had more. I wish I’d talked for some more time to that monk at Thiksey, had pursued those goggle sporting Enfield riding monks and clicked them, captured the kid monks playing cricket, gone white water rafting, sat in tranquility at the Sanchi Stupa, coming down to listen to Mr. Nakamura’s fusion after sunset. I wish!

15th May, ‘08 - 0700 hours - At Khardungla, I was overwhelmed by this feeling of helplessness. I can’t point my finger at anything in particular. It was as if at the highest point, I was coming of age, being face to face with the vicissitudes of nature, falling in love with and consequently hating the characters in the play of life. Khardungla! Oh, it was a great feeling to be there, on the highest motorable road in the world. It was snowing steadily and we posed for pics naked. It was damn cold. Since I’ve survived all probable attacks of pneumonia, I feel refreshingly lucky. It was difficult breathing there. The snow, the mist, the glare, the shouts, the mountains made me dizzy for an instant. It feels nice to be back. Talking to those two guys, it struck me how strong human will was, how tenacious human determination and how egoistic human nature. They had travelled for 9 days from Manali to reach Khardungla. They had no wish to go any further, it was plainly writ on their faces. The dusty Thunderbird snow covered then, looked like a thing alive. ‘We wanted to come to Leh on a bike, reached Khardungla, have a sense of fulfilment now. What else! Make sure, you mail us the pics.’ ‘Sure!’ They then rode out of there as if their tails were on fire, not even stopping at the police check post. I envy, admire and ridicule them.

15th May, ‘08 - 0800 hours - Some of us aren’t ready yet. Mr. P is agitated. I’m kinda resigned. Nothing’s gonna change even if I worried. I’m hungry… aww… When Mr. P and I shouted in unison on seeing a poster of Batistuta on our way back, I knew I’d gone too far. Today, I’ll consciously refrain. Time to buckle up and rein in the leash.

15th May, ‘08 - 0845 hours - BP and Mr. P are talking of corruption being rampant and are groaning over the rising greed of Indian babudom. ‘Everyone who is anyone has his own price and shamelessly demands it.’ I want to speak. But I’m under leash. I won’t open my mouth. I’m wearing my sunglasses. It feels good to wear them after a long time.

15th May, ‘08 - 1000 hours - We are a long way out of Leh. Everybody is singing. I’m doing my bit too. Hassan has an amazing collection of songs. He has Bryan Adams… the last person I’d have imagined to hear here. These people never cease to surprise me. The place never ceases to surprise me. Nubra valley is around 150 kms from Leh. The beauty of the valley… words can’t describe it.

15th May, ‘08 - 1100 hours - Diskit houses a monastery, a fairly large one. Against the backdrop of the blue blue sky, on the foothills of two moutains, it presents a perfect picture of harmony and peaceful accord. There’s a yak hide drying under the sun here. I’ve to click it.

15th May, ‘08 - 1145 hours - One thing I’ve noticed here is that tree trunks serve as electric poles here. I wonder if this is due to the weight factor or the cost factor. It’s an ingenious method but I’m not very sure of their stability. The children here have sparkling blue eyes and chubby cheeks. They look like foreigners.

15th May, ‘08 - 1230 hours - Panamik is home to hot water springs. The one here is quite hot and way too sulphurous. I bet 15 minutes and one’s hand will be eaten away. The ground is all crusted and yellowish with the salt and the sulphur. The Army Captain in front of us is walking rapidly on the demanding slope. One slip and one’ll go tumbling down 50 feet. I’m scared and cautious.

15th May, ‘08 - 1430 hours - It’s time for Hondur now. Hondur and Diskit are on the opposite sides of a mountain range. So, we are now backtracking and will soon be on the divergent road to Hondur.

15th May, ‘08 - 1630 hours - This place looks like the Thar desert. It’s unbelievable, even though I’m seeing it with my own eyes, that snow and sand could be so close to each other. The sheer variety that Ladakh offers in terms of terrain and landscape is incomparable.

15th May, ‘08 - 1730 hours - This is a nice place. The owner seems to be a simple man. There are some foreigners too. The house looks great. And the small forest beyond the wall is inviting.

15th May, ‘08 - 1800 hours - Snow Leopard Guest House provides wonderful rooms at cheap prices. We are paying just Rs. 200 per room. The tiny forest is dark, not deep though. Thrushes and partridges abound. I’m not a bird watcher but one can’t help watching them here.

15th May, ‘08 - 2000 hours - The moonlight here is as dominant and jutting out a feature as it was in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Mr. P says if Renoir had come here, he’d have painted his best; if Wordsworth comes here, he’ll be able to take poetry to a higher level. I feel if … never mind.

15th May, ‘08 - 2230 hours - They are having Godfather. BP and I pretend to sleep.

14th May, ‘08 - 0500 hours - It’s hard waking up early. It’s an irony that the place we’ve come to visit, makes us want to sleep. Waking up at 5 in the morning and having a bath is arduous. BP hasn’t had a bath in the last 3 days. I’m sure he’s going to stay the same way till we depart. He was complaining of nose bleeding yesterday. I hope it hasn’t aggravated. Coming to think of it, the other day we were discussing about smells and all. I being at a disavantage owing to DNS, couldn’t smell the flowers that the others were raving about. Fortunately, I’ve had no serious breathing problems so far. Have to go and get ready. Mr. P is already done.

14th May, ‘08 - 0800 hours - We are going to see snow here too. I don’t know yet if not coming on bikes was a wise decision.

14th May, ‘08 - 1000 hours - We are stuck. One of the Toyota Innovas can’t move ahead. It doesn’t have a 4 wheel drive. On these snow covered roads, not having a 4X drive is an obvious handicap. People are trying to push it through, increasing the rear weight. Shit! The way it’s veering laterally, anytime it can go off the road into the depths below. God help all of us! The army Gypsies carry chains. I’d never known how useful chains can be in these conditions.

14th May, ‘08 - 1030 hours - It’s fun here. I’m scared no more. Whatever happens will. I remember that line from Douglas Adams, ‘Anything that happens, happens.’ I’m being bombarded with snow balls. It’s hard to… fuck!

14th May, ‘08 - 1130 hours - It was fun out there. No one would believe if I told them we’d been out there in the snow during a snowfall without warm clothes. Mr. P obliged with some lines in front of the camera. And the lady from the US was sportive enough to leave her mail id with BP.

14th May, ‘08 - 1300 hours - This place is lovely. Travelling 160 kms to be here certainly was worth it. I regret not having come here on a bike but that could’ve been our last ride. I’m going to shoot a lot of pictures here. Time for experimentation. I’ve almost recovered from the numbness that had overtaken me. For a moment I thought I was going to die. All’s well now.

14th May, ‘08 - 1330 hours - This lake is beautiful. Pangong Tso (also called Pso, meaning lake) is on the Indo-China border, with three fourths of the lake on the Chinese side. Having only one fourth of this beautiful, sparkling blue lake is good enough for me though. Pangong lake is the highest brackish water lake. It’s a great place for clicking pictures.

14th May, ‘08 - 1430 hours - The owners of this place are making loads of money. If I could, I would stay here and be the proud albeit stingy owner of a fine eating place. The food is great. The prices are great too.

14th May, ‘08 - 1700 hours - I’m dead tired. Shooting videos from the car in the midst of sleeping human logs is difficult. Only the songs and Hassan are keeping me awake.

14th May, ‘08 - 2000 hours -  We are again out. I’ve got to transfer the pictures. There’s no dearth of inernet cafes here. And they are pretty cheap too. Friends’ Corner awaits us. Time for American chopsuey.

14th May, ‘08 - 2230 hours - I’m keeping my promise of being brief. This diary most probably won’t last even a week after we’ve been back. It’s just that I don’t want somehow the memories to fade with time. Despite difficulties and my natural tendency, I’m jotting things down so that I can sometimes go back in time. If memories fade, there’d be nothing to come back to. Art School Confidential deserves to be seen in a more sombre mood.