Monsoon Rumblings...

Each drop is a little cosmos in itself. When the monsoons arrive in Ladakh (I should add that it does not happen often), the first rains, the parched earth crackles and then breathes a sigh as its pores are filled with coolness. It quenches its thirst with a hiss of tremendous relief. After being cooked in the sun for the last few weeks, here in Ladakh, the land that was splintered, dusty and moaning with dry pain is now almost magically transformed into a carpet of lush green grass with a dampened soil that emits a fragrance that is sweeter than any perfume or cologne devised by the olfactory geniuses of humankind.

Water brings an incredible and primordial happiness to all – soil, leaves, flowers, insects, birds, grass, animal and the eyes of us mortals. The kids in the monastery run outside to romp half-naked in the rain. Tzos (local buffaloes), which have spent the last weeks listlessly around pools of water drying fast, plunge into a blissful concoction of squelching mud and murky water. Now the lakes and rivers overflow with the generosity of Mother Nature. The mighty sentinels standing at guard over at a distance are stripped bare by the relentless heat of the summer sun but they’re again clothed with a fresh blanket of snow and shimmer in magnificent decadence.

The bounty that the rains bring with them includes a rise in the river waters. The first time I saw the village river I was filled with an inexplicable urge to wade into it’s icy froth tumbling from the mountains and immerse myself in its gurgling water. But the depth of the water was quite low and I could see the river bed clearly but when the rains started, that same listless and rivulet-like body of water transformed into a confident, and mighty river. Its water gushing with a sense of purpose rushed on towards the plains. I remember coming up to the river one day and seeing its power for the first time as it swept a mighty branch by, stripped bare from some unfortunate tree that decided to grow too near the bank.

After consulting my fellow compatriots at the school and at home I soon received advice about how to tackle rivers and swim in them. I, being born in Mumbai, and having visited the coastal realms of Konkan, am accustomed to the water of the sea and oceans. Living in Canada has also accustomed me to the wonderful experiences of swimming in lakes but swimming in rivers is an entirely different experience, as I came to appreciate the difference on the very first day. As I waded into the water, the stones of the river bed that have been polished to a smooth and slippery finish, slipped beneath my toes and tickled the palms of my feet with much aplomb. As I trudged forward, like an awkward penguin, the sheer lack of warmth of that water attacked every nerve in my body as I slowly immersed myself in its cold embrace. And whilst all this was happening, the river forever following that brilliant pull of gravity was cascading on forward, or downward as it probably is best to describe.

So, using those same awkward feet that were having such a wonderful time finding no amount of friction to grasp onto the smooth stones, I latched onto a few stones jutting out that served as footrests upon which I could balance myself. Pushing against them helped me stay in one position and appreciate where I was and what I was doing. These waters that I was wading in were the melted snow waters emanating from the glaciers of Tibet on the other side of the border, in what is now, Chinese occupied Tibet. Those glacial streams became this mighty river and came down to India and then would go on forth to join some other rivers before calmly entering the plains of Pakistan. It needs no passport, nor any visa and the people of all three countries welcome and benefit from its waters. Rivers, like the Indus, are a powerful reminder of the immense farcical nature of borders and ‘’nationalities’’ which are nothing but a petty figment of human imagination that could’ve been used for something far greater and nobler.

But, I did not let these political bickerings inside my head get the best of me. Instead, I chose to look about and saw a few locals coming from a distance and they just happened to be the neighbours. It was our neighbour and his little 4 year old daughter who’d decided to take a swim that day, same as me, to appreciate the river in the rains.

After keeping their shirts and trousers by the bramble bush near the stone wall embankment of the river, they too waded in slowly towards the shallower end of the river as the child seemed a little apprehensive to enter. I tried to encourage her, in what was my slowly improving yet still broken and deficient Ladakhi, and she seemed even more uncertain after the process. Finally, her father decided that frolicking in the shallow end was sufficient enough and she seemed ecstatic about the decision. She ambled by the water, her little baby cheeks being lit up with a smile every time a splash from the river sprayed the cool water on her face.

Her father conversed with me from a distance as I didn’t want to go over to the shallow end, which would’ve left my upper torso exposed to the wind that was already blowing with much ferocity. So I stayed in the water, my head bobbing out, and talked about the weather, Canada, what I was doing at school, Canada, what I thought about Ladakh and again, Canada. The man seemed to be fascinated with Canada, as a group of ice-hockey aficionados visits Ladakh often, who happen to be Canadians. They do this every year and have hockey coaching camps on rinks made of frozen lakes. Ice-hockey is a huge thing in the winters here – who’d have thought! I couldn’t see any live action because its still the summer, but judging by the videos and pictures shown to be my host family, the NHL can tap into a huge reservoir of talent here. Also, the middle daughter of my host uncle, Rinchen, is quite a pro-hockey player herself. She’s even been to the states for coaching camps and some state-level tournaments.

Impressive much? Indeed!

I ambled back home from the river, my hair splayed across my forehead, dripping water down into my mouth and neck and it still tasted as sweet as the river. I heard a rumbling in the distance as an entire wall of clouds approached from the south and enveloped the mountains and the monastery in a soft white blanket. As I was trudging on home, I saw Largyal, Thokmet and Nima standing on the school wall and looking at the mountains and then they saw me coming. Their faces lit up with excitement as they waved at me. ‘’Hello sirjee’’ they bellowed out and ran to open the school gate.

Six little hands dragged and pushed me into the school compound, not caring for the wetness of my clothes or skin that had hardly dried and told me to play a game of marbles with them. They loved it when I played because I always lost and it tickled them senseless to see it happen. Seeing me shivering, one of the older boys asked if I’d like a cup of tea. I told him, I’d like nothing better at the moment.

As the cool breeze wafted on the school playground, all around me there was a cacophony of noises. Some kids were swinging on the aerial roots of the trees, whilst ‘’whee-ing’’ away in glee. Sheru, the school dog, was barking at some phantom menace as he always did. The other kids were gathered around the pit where the marbles were played with and some other little folk were running around in the pitter patter of the drizzle that had just begun.