Ripples Following Ripples ~ THE
NATURE OF THE BODY
Next morning, I got a bus to the border, where I watched
long lines of porters in single-file ~ like ants ~
carrying boxes of what I learned was dried fruit from
Afghanistan; wearing long blue shirts, Pakistani porters
passed the packages to their red-shirted Indian counterparts
at the barrier dividing Pakistan from India; they
were not allowed to cross. The Indian porters then
loaded the boxes into waiting Indian trucks.
I crossed back into India without much delay. I’d
decided to go to Kashmir, in spite of the fact that
it was still a troubled place. After spending the
night in Amritsar, I took a bus to Jammu, the winter-capital
of Kashmir, and from there ~ again by bus, as there
is no train-line ~ to Srinagar.
The road had improved considerably since my visit
in ’98 ~ probably because the military needed
it for its repressive opera-tions. As we climbed,
it became cooler, which was one of the reasons Kashmir
always attracted people; and now, at this time, there
was an influx of people from further south; the situation
there had become less dangerous and permitted this.
We got to Srinagar at 4 pm, and then my hassles began.
I allowed myself to be hussled by a young guy into
going with him by auto-rickshaw to look at houseboats
on the river, but wasn’t impressed, so dis-missed
him, and was then persuaded by someone offering a
room on a lake-boat for Rs150, but when he dropped
me by car, and his elder brother took me by shikara,
I wasn’t impressed by that, either. Just then,
someone else got into the shikara and persuaded me
~ I’m a fool! ~ to accompany him to his
houseboat on the connecting lake, undertaking to pay
the boatman and promis-ing me a room for the same
price. Well, I’d really let myself in for a
long ride ~ it was the last boat on the lake, but
fortunately con-nected to the land by a walkway. It
was hard to pin him down about price, but I agreed
to pay 200/-, including breakfast of bread and tea.
I wasn’t happy, as the boat wasn’t very
good and was weed-choked, with no mountain-view. There
was no power, so they gave me a kerosene lamp until
power came on late, when I slept. It wasn’t
cold at first, but early morning, I got under the
covers. The next day, I moved to another boat, but
the house-boat owners are notorious for finding ways
to cheat their guests, and this rankles; you feel
like a sheep to be shorn; moreover, on the houseboats,
you are dependent on shikaras for getting back and
forth, and they are not always available when you
want them. I searched for a hotel, but because it
was now the hot-season, there were many tourists from
the plains, and most hotels and house-boats were fully-booked.
I was lucky to find quite a nice room in a hotel and
moved from my boat. The boat-owner wasn’t pleased,
as he thought I would stay longer than two days.
Contrary to what I’d expected, Internet-connections
in Srinagar were surprisingly good, and at Rs30, not
very expensive. In one cyber-cafe, I bumped into the
Korean monks, who told me they were leaving for Ladakh
the next day, the Zoji-la Pass having just
opened; they would be among the first to cross it.
We might meet in Leh, I told them, as I would
also be going the day after.
My bus left on time, 8 am, but we stopped at Sonamarg
for three hours, waiting for the traffic to come down
the pass, as it was one-way only. We then began our
ascent, which was very slow and involved many halts;
the narrow road switch-backed up and was quite perilous,
with great banks of snow towering over it, threatening
to collapse at any time. At the 3500 m summit, we
began our descent, but going down the other side was
also slow, as the road there was no better. We reached
Drass before dark, and the foreigners had
to register at the Tourist Office. Drass is said to
be the second coldest inhabited place in the world,
but I found that hard to believe; in summer, it is
quite pleasant, and the land around is fertile. After
a break there, we started off again for Kargil;
reaching there at 8:45, but it took a while to get
my bags from the roof, and then began the usual hassle
of finding a hotel; eventually, I got one, and dashed
to the toilet. I’d been bursting to go for hours;
what a relief! I slept quite well after that.
The bus would be starting at 5 am, so of course, I
got up early, but that wasn’t a problem for
me. I had time enough to do what was necessary, and
made some coffee, too, to have with biscuits until
it was time to go.
Not far out of Kargil, we left predominantly Muslim
Ladakh and came to the mainly Buddhist part. From
hereon, stupas and hill-top gompas are common
sights. The land is dusty, rocky, brown and barren,
but, as along the KKH in Pakistan, here and there
are cultivated patches irrigated by the Indus, which
we were again beside; it has its source in Tibet,
and recognizes no international boundaries until finally
it merges with the ocean near Karachi, and
loses its identity there.
“A wave in the sea, seen in one way, seems
to have a distinct identity, an end and a beginning,
a birth and a death. Seen in an-other way, the wave
itself doesn’t really exist but is just the
be-havior of water, ‘empty’ of any separate
identity but ‘full’ of water. So, when
you really think about the wave, you come to realize
that it is something that has been made temporarily
possible by wind and water, and is dependent upon
a set of constantly changing circumstances. You also
realize that every wave is re-lated to every other
wave.” (Extracted from “The Tibetan
Book of Living and Dying”, by Sogyal Rinpoche).
Along the way, we stopped several times for tea and
food, and reached Leh at 3 pm. At the bus-station,
a hotel-tout offered me a room for Rs200, but I said
I expected to pay Rs150, and he said okay. He took
me by van (for which I would later be billed); the
room was good, but the water had a bad smell and I
couldn’t use it for coffee. After a short nap,
I went out to get more medicine for diarrhea, as I
was still down with it, and also had giardiasis,
with a taste like rotten eggs coming up from my stomach;
I felt weak, and although I didn’t feel like
eating, forced something down any-way. Tired, I returned
to my room. Leh is 3,500 m asl, but wasn’t as
cold as I’d thought it would be. There were
quite a lot of tour-ists who’d either flown
in or come in as soon as the pass opened; it was just
the beginning of the season.
For centuries, Leh was almost-completely Buddhist,
and there are monasteries, temples and shrines everywhere;
but in recent years, there has been an influx of Muslim
Kashmiris; the future will see the Buddhists being
Many people use Leh as a base for trekking, and I
could see why; the landscape was spectacular, and
I might have gone my-self had I not been so debilitated.
My general lassitude mitigated against me doing or
seeing much, and at this stage in my trip, my interest
was at low ebb anyway. But, since it would have been
a pity to come all this way and see nothing, I walked
up to the old palace above the town, but there wasn’t
much inside, and I thought: Poor king ~ when there
was one! I then hiked further up to the gompa overlooking
everything; it was quite a climb, but I sat down at
the top to rest a while, and took some photos from
there. Later, I went in search of some medicine for
the giardiasis, and the man in the pharmacy suggested
I see a doctor in the hospital just opposite. The
doctor there gave me a prescription for which I didn’t
have to pay anything but the Rs2 registration-fee,
and advised me to return the next day with a stool
The stillness of the night was broken by barking dogs,
and I had to resort to using blu-tack in
my ears ~ it makes effective ear-plugs, better than
those commercially-available. I’d discovered
this use for it the previous year in Dogmandu.
With my stool-sample in a plastic container bought
for the pur-pose, I went to the hospital, where I
waited in line before being sent to the lab, where
I was told that I should have brought the sample in
a match-box! I envisaged doing it in such a container!
They asked me to return for the results later.
To fill in the time, I got a bus to Spituk Gompa
not far away, and was tired after climbing the hill
on which it sits. There are good views from the top,
of the city and airport on one side, and on the other,
the Indus river and the cultivated areas on both banks;
and all around were stupas, made of mud and probably
containing the ashes of lamas; most of them were poorly
made, misshapen, and in various stages of disintegration.
I sat for a while on the windy summit, then walked
down and got a bus back to the hospital, where I was
told that my stool was normal, and no parasites therein.
There was no charge. I was very tired after walking
back up the long slope to my hotel.
Internet-usage in Leh was Rs100 per hour or more,
so I refrained from using it; I would wait until I
got back to Srinagar. I didn’t meet the Koreans
there or elsewhere again.
The night before I left, there was a power-cut and
by morning, there was still no electricity, so I had
to do everything by candle-light. It was still dark
when I left the hotel to walk to the bus-station,
and the bus left promptly at 6, less than half-full.
We stopped for tea an hour out, and after another
two hours, for lunch. By that time I was hungry, so
ate my fill of dahl-baht. We reached Kargil at 2:30
and stopped there for 30 minutes, then, not far out,
we got stuck in some kind of jam for an hour; I didn’t
discover what it was all about. I got talking to a
Brit from N.Z.; he was on his way to Pakistan for
trekking. It was 5:45 by the time we reached Drass,
and by then, all the hotels were full; I resigned
myself to sleeping in the bus, but just then, someone
came and told us we could get a room nearby. We went
to see it and well, I almost turned it down, as there
were no beds or anything, but just mattresses on the
floor, and the blankets were rather suspect, but after
such a long journey, we settled for it, paying Rs50
I didn’t sleep much, and got up before 3 am.
The bus left at 4, and two hours later, we were at
the top of the pass; it was an easier ride than it
was coming, and there was no delay in getting to Sonamarg
an hour later. We halted there to eat, but from then
on, ran into heavy traffic, with long strings of military
vehicles rumbling past; we reached Srinagar at 10:45.
I got a room in the hotel where I’d stayed before,
and after washing my clothes and showering, went for
two hours of emailing, but the connection was poor
and I only just managed to read all my mail and reply
to most of it. I got a ticket for the next day’s
bus to Jammu; there was no point in staying longer.
Security was tight in the city as we left Srinagar,
as the PM was coming, and we had to go by back streets
until we reached the highway. It was a long and tiring
journey back to Jammu; we got there at 6:30, and stopped
near the train-station, but what a hassle trying to
get a ticket! There were armed police everywhere,
and all bags had to go through x-ray machines! Finally,
I gave up, and went for an a/c bus instead. A tout
demanded baksheesh for helping me, and, not
content with what I gave him, asked for more, so I
said, “Baksheesh is what I decide to give you,
not how much you ask for.”
The bus was comfortable enough, but the ride to Delhi
seemed interminable. We finally got there just before
8, and I got an auto to Paharganj, near New
Delhi railway-station, where most back-packers stay
in budget hotels. I checked into my regular place
~ Star Palace ~ and got the same room as
before; this time it had an air-cooler ~ a box-like
device that blows air through wet straw ~ but it was
hot, even so. After washing my clothes, shaving and
showering, I went to eat masala-dosa, did my email,
and made a reservation for the next morning’s
train to Jhansi; I wanted to re-visit Orccha not far
from there. While in the station, I weighed myself,
and was surprised by the reading ~ 66 kgs! My sickness
had taken its toll!
In a newspaper that day, I read that shortly after
I’d left Srinagar, there had been a number of
bombings to protest the visit of the PM, causing several
deaths. People who’d gone there on vaca-tion
~ even children ~ were among the dead.
By then, of course, I’d resigned myself to the
heat, as there was nothing I could do about it. At
the station, I struggled up the stairs with my bags
and reached the appropriate platform; at 6 am it was
already hot and humid. But oh, how nice it was in
the a/c compartment for 7½ hours; moreover,
there was only one other person in the compartment,
and we were issued with nice clean bedding, so I slept
a little. At Jhansi, I emerged into the heat, but
didn’t start to sweat immediately. I had to
wait almost an hour for the Orchha tempo
to fill up ~ and boy, do they cram people into such
vehicles! ~ and was hot and sweaty by the time we
got there. I soon got a room for Rs100, and then had
lunch of cha-patti-thali nearby. Later, I
made an effort and went to the river; I was surprised
at how much the water-level had fallen. It was so
warm that I didn’t stay long.
By this time, an inexplicable pain had developed behind
my right knee; had I pulled a muscle at Delhi train-station
or something? I really didn’t know, but it was
so bad ~ and I’m not a wimp where pain is concerned,
and can stand quite a bit if I must ~ that upon starting
out anywhere, I had to limp along on my toes; it was
quite obvious. I called in a masseur, but his ministrations
did nothing to alleviate it, and it lasted for a week
or so before disappearing as mysteriously as it had
appeared; some pains are like that.
Even so, it didn’t prevent me doing what I wanted.
I revisited cer-tain places and took some photos.
I also went into Jhansi to do my email, only to find
out after the event that my pocket had been picked,
probably while I was getting out of the tempo; the
thief was Rs600 worse off, because although he doesn’t
know it, a thief steals more from himself than from
the one he robs.
The power-supply was erratic, and my room was hot
without the fan. It rained quite heavily at times,
presaging the monsoon; I ex-pected to be caught in
it along the way, either in India or in Nepal.
The duration of my stay in Orchha was determined by
a mysteri-ous rash and maddening itch, starting on
my backside. At first, I thought I’d picked
up a flea or louse from being in close proximity to
someone in the tempo, but the ‘bites’
spread so rapidly that no flea could have done that.
It spread to my nether regions and around my waist,
and even to my upper inner-arms; I was driven to distraction,
and it was only with great effort that I could resist
scratching the raised lumps. Was it a heat-rash? Hardly
likely, as it appeared so suddenly and spread so quickly.
Prickly-heat I’d had before, and it wasn’t
that. Was it caused by something I ate or drank? Hard
to tell, and it was doubtful I’d be able to
get any-thing like Calomine Lotion for it in the village.
Perhaps it was an allergy of some sort, even though
I’d not been allergic to anything so far. I
couldn’t sleep from it. The power went off,
but fortunately returned after half-an-hour. We are
vulnerable and susceptible, and I’d been thinking
earlier how lucky I had been to travel as I’ve
done without coming down with much sickness, as there
is no-one to care for me. It is the nature of the
body to get sick and feel pain; we are not beyond
that condition. Reflection on this may give rise to
fortitude, and enable us to better deal with things.
The itchiness became somewhat less, or maybe I got
used to it, and managed to sleep a little, but by
then I’d decided to return to Delhi, giving
up my idea of revisiting Khajuraho. My leg was no
better, but the rash had subsided by morning.
Paying my bill, I got an auto-rickshaw to the station,
and tried to get a reservation for the afternoon train,
but couldn’t. I had to set-tle for a general-ticket,
and wait for the train to come. It was so hot on the
platform, even in the shade, and I filled and refilled
my water-bottles, each time adding purification-drops!
The train came at 1:45, and I got the conductor to
upgrade me to an a/c carriage ~ of course, at a steep
extra charge, but it was worth it ~ at least, I got
a berth to myself, with a pillow, so I was able to
nap as I liked. How nice is a/c after the ordeal of
One of the passengers in my compartment started to
play with his cell-phone ~ at full volume! ~ until
I refused to take it any longer ~ why are Indians
such noisy people? Everything has to be at full-blast
with them: horns, loud-speakers, radios, phones ~
and said: “Oh, come on! Stop playing with your
toy! Give us a break! You could at least turn the
volume down!” He complied, meekly, but why the
heck do they need to be told about things so obvious?
The train was late, and when I got off, the large
pocket on my backpack got snagged and tore open, and
my Lonely Planet fell out; someone picked
it up and gave it to me. A porter wanted Rs50 to carry
my bags, but I struggled up and down the steps with
them myself, and made it alright. I reached Star Palace
at 10:30, and made coffee, unable to sleep for a while.
My fasting blood-sugar-level had been falling for
a while, and in Leh reached 4.7, which I was delighted
with. Imagine how I felt in Orchha when it got as
low as 3.1, and in Delhi 2.5! I was so in-credulous
that I thought something must be wrong rather than
right, as I’ve tried for years to get it down,
without success. What was happening? I could even
eat chocolate without it sending my sugar sky-high!
It remained way below the desired max of 7.0 for two
weeks, before climbing above again. I no more understood
the drastic fall that I did the leg-pain or the rash,
but how I wish it would come down again! Over the
years I’ve tried so many things ~ tablets, capsules,
pills, powders, teas and so on, but nothing seems
to work. Even my strenuous treks in the mountains
didn’t have the desired effects. Roll on, stem-cell
The weighing-machine in the railway-station read 64
kgs when I fed it a rupee and stood on the plate.
Doubting its accuracy, I went to another, with the
same result. I’d not been this weight for many
With no reason to stay any longer in India, I reserved
a berth on a train to Gorakhpur, and the next night
was on my way. The train was very crowded, and the
carriage was hot and stifling; the 14 hours’
journey was bad enough even with a reservation,
as the carriage was hot and stifling; it would have
been terrible without.
Upon reaching Gorakhpur at 9:30, I decided to get
a taxi to the border rather than make the trip by
crowded bus, but even the taxi was slow and made two
detours to avoid police checkpoints. It took 2½
hours to reach the border, and as always, I felt good
to leave that exasperating country!
Getting the visa for Nepal was as easy as getting
the Indian visa was not; simply pay $30 and fill in
the forms, and you’re in. While looking around
for a bus to Kathmandu, the sky suddenly turned black
and a terrific dust-storm blew up, sending me scurrying
for shelter; I’d never seen anything like it.
It was followed, 15 minutes later, by a sharp shower.
Someone then led me to an agent, from whom I bought
a ticket, unaware that he had grossly overcharged
me. I also agreed to stay in a hotel ~ Blue Horizons
~ in Jatha, and paid 250/- for the first day.
The bus left at 2 pm, and thus be-gan a very bad ride
lasting 15 hours, bad, in the sense that when we reached
Narayanghat five hours later, the blasted
driver stopped there almost two hours, without any
explanation. (Fortu-nately, the rain had cooled things
down, and it wasn’t the hot ride I’d expected).
Then, five minutes after starting again, he stopped
for food, another 45 minutes. We stopped again the
other side of Mugling and the driver and
his crew disappeared for another hour, by which time
I was annoyed and tried to get others to complain,
but to no avail, except for someone sitting beside
me, who’d got on at Mugling; he agreed with
me and translated for me; the rest were an apathetic
lot who deserved what they got. I got off to search
for the driver, but couldn’t find him, so had
to wait until he returned.
Just before Naubise, he stopped once more
and disappeared to sleep for two hours! Again, I got
off to search for him, but he was nowhere to be seen.
When he finally returned at 2:30, I gave him a slow
hand-clap to show my dissatisfaction of his behavior.
Uphill to Nagdhunga went okay until 1 km
from the top there was a jam that inched forward,
taking us an hour to reach the check-point; that was
the cause of it. Most checkpoints had been abol-ished
since the tyrant-king was forced to step down a month
be-fore, but this one remained. Clearing it at last,
we quickly went downhill; there was no delay at Kalanki,
except to let people off, and we reached Balaju
bus-station. I was not surprised to find no-one from
the hotel waiting for me, as had been arranged, as
we were so late on arriving. It had taken us 15 hours
to make the trip that would normally have taken 9.
I gave the driver a final piece of my mind, asking
him who he thought he was ~ “Gyanendra II?”
I said, “You are a servant of the people, not
a king, and have a responsibility towards the passengers.
You’ve wasted five hours of my time, and of
all the other passengers. You should not be driving
a bus!” He kept quiet and said not a word; maybe
he didn’t understand English, but he must certainly
have understood my tone.
Calling the hotel, I was asked to wait until someone
came for me, which he did after half-an-hour, saying
he had no car because of the huge Maoist rally in
the city that day, and none was available. We had
to go by minibus, which fortunately started from there,
so we had no problem getting in with my baggage, but
it soon be-came horribly packed. When we got out,
we had to walk some distance to the hotel, and I insisted
that my check-out would be 12-noon next day, not that,
as it was already 6:30; they agreed. The next day,
I moved to Millennium Inn, where I’d
stayed during my last several visits; my preferred
room on the roof was taken, but the one I got was
The people of Kathmandu were still celebrating their
victory over the king; I totally agreed with them.
I had come across this in an opposition-newspaper,
“OUR PRODIGAL KING:
“Kathmandu, 30th Nov. 2005: While King
Gyanendra is in his joy-ful trip killing his
time in feasts and whimsical tours, poor com-moners
are dying in bed because of scarce service delivered
by the state-controlled hospitals. The Bir Hospital,
which is situated at the heart of the capital,
is itself an obtrusive example of this. Talking
the plight of the hospital, there are only two
doctors in the Emergency Ward. Not to talk of
other wards. Still, Kanti Bal is on the verge
“The reason behind the shortage of money
in hospital is not only because this nation
is poor. The king’s frequent ‘esoteric’
trips have been a great economic setback for
“A study conducted recently has brought
forth the remuneration of Nepalese king is one
and a half times more than that of Japa-nese
Emperor, and the queen of the Netherlands. Similarly,
the Nepalese king has beaten hollow a score
of presidents of promi-nent countries in this
regard. The report says that our King’s
sal-ary is 173 times more than that of Russian
president, 57 times than President of France,
318 times than Indian president, 301 times than
General Musharaff of Pakistan, 15 times than
English premier. Most specifically, our King’s
salary totally supplants the salary of Chinese
president in amount. It is a whooping 2426 times
greater than that of Chinese president whose
annual salary is Rs1,35,648. One can imagine
how can a king of a country like ours can afford
such a luxury?”
Although the English of this tract leaves something
to be desired, it clearly shows that the monarchy
of Nepal is anachronistic and needs to be abolished.
The crown-prince is reported to be even worse than
My trip was rapidly coming to an end, and I tarried
some days in Kathmandu, waiting to hear from DV, so
I could make a booking convenient for him to pick
me up at KL airport. Nothing much of interest happened
in this time, other than visiting my Japanese friends,
the Sakais, and staying overnight with them in Patan.
I made a reservation for a flight on Sunday the 11th,
and spent some time buying a few gifts and other things.
One night, some hooligans ~ Brits, by their sound
~ come into the room opposite mine around 2 o’clock,
talking loudly and turning the TV high. I heard the
concierge call them and they agreed to be quiet, but
still kept it up. I put blu-tak in my ears, and when
I went for my early walk, put a post-it note on their
door, saying: “This is quite a decent hotel,
and other people stay here. Please consider them and
their desire to sleep at night, and don’t make
a lot of noise.” I later saw them downstairs
~ a couple of skin-heads, like soccer-yobboes! They
left that morning.
On the Friday evening, I got that rash again, but
not too bad, and by morning, it had gone.
Subha and his brother-in-law (who had kept in touch
with me by email on Subha’s behalf) visited
me the next afternoon, but only for a few minutes;
I gave Subha a bag of clothes and things I no longer
needed, and money for his bus-fare home.
That night, the rash struck me again, and this time
much worse than before, so that even my lips were
affected; they looked like fish-lips! And I was to
fly the next morning! Nor had the swelling abated
when dawn came. I felt so self-conscious. It remained
like that for some hours, but by the time I got to
the airport, it had gone down somewhat, and when I
reached KL late at night, was almost back to normal.