Pang was my chosen next destination for a stay, before Leh.
Pang is not necessarily a village, but a stopover. In the better seasons, the
people from villages around set up tents and food stalls, for the travelers’
enroute Leh. But there is more to say about the road that leads to Pang
If you have ever watched ‘Worlds most treacherous roads’,
you have seen the road to Pang. It’s definitely not easy. The roads that were
built mostly get destroyed due to the extreme weather and landslides. Sudden
steep rises and falls, broken roads, bad roads and sometimes no roads at all.
The road demands all your attention. If you have crossed this road, you would
certainly pat your back to have lived another day. On the way, you rarely get
to see another human. If you do, you would come across groups. And then there
is silence again. Silence that is so profound, that all you can hear is the
thump of your bike and yourself breathing. If you concentrate, you can hear the
rhythm of your heart.
After living through a few near death experiences, I reached
Pang with sore shoulders. With the
constant thought in my mind, riding all alone if I fall off the cliff hear, no
one will ever know. I and my bike would just vanish into thin air. Like a page
that’s torn off a book and burnt. You
will never know what was in it and where did it go.
After reaching Pang, I stopped at a small tea stall. It was
named ‘Janta Restaurant’. Janta is such a common name; I must have come across at
least a hundred stalls, named Janta. But, I was impressed that the spelling of
restaurant was correct. I parked my bike in front of the stall, careful not to
obstruct the entrance. The lady who was
running the stall saw me take off the gloves and helmet and hang them on my
bike. She pulled out a plastic chair for me and then rushed in to get tea. She
served the tea and said, ‘chai pee lo, garam hai’(drink the tea, its hot). I
didn’t feel new to the place anymore.
After having my tea, I stretched a bit. Especially the arms
and shoulders, as they were sore. Then tilted my head up and sat like that for
a few minutes to stop the bleeding from my nose. I had slight nasal bleeding
because of the temperature and the altitude. The blood would clot in my nose,
making it difficult to breath. I cleared my nose, washed my hands and started
reading the menu of the ‘ Janta Restaurant’. Maggi was the obvious answer.
And over Maggi, I and Dolma got talking. Well one thing was
established by now; I and Dolma were impressed with eachother. Dolma set up
this stall in wilderness and was running this business year after year. She asked me many questions and I told her
about my journey. She did not know where Hyderabad was, so I showed it on the
map- the place that’s my home and the place I started from all alone. She asked
about the unusual ‘TS’ on my bikes registration plate. I told her, it stands
for Telangana State, which is the new 29th state of India.
The stall was run by Dolma and supported by her niece
Stanzin. They live near Leh city, and come to Pang to set up stall in the
‘tourist season’, which is May to October. They make money required for a year,
as there is hardly any employment in the winter seasons in Laddakh.
Dolma showed me around her stall. Janta restaurant was
actually a small room, made to last for a season. The room was the kitchen and
the place Dolma and Stanzin retired in the night. On the outside were a small
counter and 2 tables, with a tarp on it. The other side extended into a narrow
tent. The tent had mattresses spread on
both side and a narrow walk way in between. I counted the pillows and
understood that, this place is for 20 people to sleep.
I decided to stay there for the night. I unloaded the bike
and Dolma was there helping me, with all of it. She carried my saddle bag
inside, while I collected the rest of the stuff and walked behind her. It was
only 3:30 pm and too early to sleep. So I changed and went around Pang. Climbed a small hill and sat there watching
the sun go down.
I went back to the tent. Stanzin was making a huge lot of
tea to fill 2 thermos flasks. I got to
stirring the tea, so she went on to clean the flasks. We were sharing stories and were having a
good laugh, when a group of 17 men arrived.
They immediately asked for a stay and went down curling on
the mattresses. This was their first day of riding, they started from the same
place and at the same time that I did, but reached 2 hours later. I heard them talking. I felt great about my
ride too, but they were boastful to another level. There was a loud rant about how they were ‘studs’,
‘heroes’, ‘warriors’ and how nobody has balls to do what they did. Then they
took turns to boast about themselves.
This fervor was slowly going down, as they could not keep up the ‘stud’
act anymore. One of them, under 3
blankets now, was loudly moaning, ‘Mummy, daddy, I want to go back home.
Somebody call the helicopter’. And this guy continued that weeping, for another
3 hours. The condition of the rest of
the guys was not great as well; they were hit by AMS and were disoriented, but
yet couldn’t stop boasting.
It didn’t take much time to understand, that this set of
guys from Delhi, were neither well mannered nor well behaved. So I kept my
communication to the minimum, trying my best to ignore their existence.
I and all the 17 men were now in that tent, sitting in our
designated places. I chose one corner, near to the door, and near to the place
where Dolma slept.
There was a man with them, who was acting like their leader.
He must have been in his early 40’s. There was something in his manner that
would disgust you immediately. Now after settling down, in the tent he starts
negotiating with Dolma on the price of the stay. The price for 1 night stay per person was Rs
250/- but he was bargaining for Rs 150/-. When Dolma did not budge, he started
flirting with her. And the moment he started flirting, Dolma gave a reply which
struck him like a slap in his face. She snapped, “If you don’t have money to
pay, get out of here. Don’t try your non-sense on me’. I felt like clapping,
but stopped.
As if that insult was not enough, he later started talking
to me. This man in his early 40’s, starts his conversation like this, ‘Madam, I
am 30 years old and my mom keeps begging me to get married. But I live such an
adventurous life, that I don’t know when I will die. So I told her strongly,
not to search for a girl for me. One day I will bring you ‘heroine’ like daughter-in-law.” I was even more disgusted.
I started looking into my phone, but he wouldn’t stop, and
kept calling for my attention saying ‘madam, madam’. Dolma noticed that. She walked in, and then
started loudly, ‘Did everyone get their blankets? I am right here and I am
watching everything. Ok?”
After she left, he started boasting about his drinking
capacity and how much he drank in the morning. Then I picked my moment and said,
“So were you driving drunk today? And you said you were leading these kids? And
you call yourself a RIDER? , You should be ashamed of yourself”. That shut his mouth.
I then turned around to make a small partition between me
and the person next to me. I put my saddle bag, helmet, knee guards and other stuff,
to make a small space between the partition and the wall. Watching this, one of the guys said – “Aur
banalo madam wall of China” (go ahead, make the Great Wall of China).
For this I retorted loudly and rudly,”who said that”, and
stared right into his face with anger. He couldn’t hold my stare, so he went
down and covered his face. I looked
around. Almost all of them were hit by AMS, and were disoriented. I looked at Dolma, she smiled and I smiled
back, we were a TEAM.
I took my blankets, covered myself from head to toe and
slept off. The next morning I was up before any of them were. Geared up, said
my byes to Dolma and Stanzin, and was about to leave. Then I saw these guys
limping out of the tnt. One thing was clear, none of them will be riding today
and more than half of them are going back. And the 40 year old man has no
shame.
Leaving them behind, I looked ahead, the sun was up and the
road was clear. I took a deep breath and headed towards Leh.