What is there to say about living a different life for two
weeks? I’m changed, I’m awed, my
horizons are broadened, blah blah blah.
I don’t know about any of those things.
Besides tangible things, I’m not sure what I left these places with. Or what I left in those places.
In terms of the project, we had a blazing success. Beautiful stories heard, recorded in memory
and in digital space, and then a week and a half of photographing those
stories. Dah and Hanu look like film
sets so much that my brain felt like it was looking at a few real things set
against a giant green screen, most of the time.
We ended up choosing three distinct stories to photograph
and write, and managed to finish all of the shooting with minimal
resources. Shivani and I even ended up
playing characters in the stories, just to take our involvement to a whole
other level.
Basically, we chose these two villages because of their
interesting history- they’re Dardic people, and come from an entirely different
ethnic group from Ladakhis. The villages
in this small area are the only Dardic settlements in Ladakh, so we were
interested in their stories and their history.
We started our adventure in the village
of Dah, which is a tiny village of
apricot groves, grape vines, apple trees, and vegetable gardens set deep in the
Himalayas, about an eight hour drive from the town of Leh.
The army actually secured us rooms in the only guesthouse/homestay in
Dah (on of the perks of being the niece/friends of a brigadier in the Indian
army), and we spent our first few days there.
Dah is set low in a valley, so the height is only about 2800 meters, as
opposed to Leh’s 3500 meters. It was
nice to be a bit lower for a few days, as I have not been having an easy time with the altitude. The road doesn’t actually go to the village-
it runs along the shore of the Indus, and then
you have to hike up into the village proper along the irrigation channels.
Both Dah and Hanu have a really interesting irrigation
system, wherein the whole village is laced with clear streams that are diverted
throughout the day to make sure that every field gets sufficient water. The streams come directly from glacial melts
and rivers, so they are clear and cold and give the impression of an abundance
of clean water.
After a few days in Dah, we managed to collect the three
stories that we ended up shooting. We
then moved to Hanu, where our lovely guide/friend Gyaltson found us a family to
stay with for a few days. While there we
learned how to harvest barley, drank chang (a type of rice alcohol) and butter
tea, ate sattu (a food made from
barley and often stuffed with yak butter), became a little extension to a
beautiful family, and found our first hero for photographing in the
husband/father of the house—Norzang—who is my age. His whole family ended up dressing up and
acting for us, as well as giving us new amazing stories.
The village
of Hanu is quite
different from Dah, even though the Brogpa, the original language of the
Dards. In Hanu, they have lost their
language and adopted Ladakhi. Where Dah
is lower and built along the Indus, Hanu lies at about 3500
meters—much-higher—and has a different landscape. Instead of lush groves set amongst stony
mountains, Hanu is a wide open plain which sports many houses and flat fields
of barley and vegetables. You never
forget the severe setting of rocky, deserted mountains in Hanu, whereas in Dah
it’s easy to think you’ve landed in an offshoot of the garden of Eden.
While in Hanu, I became repeatedly ill and managed to spend
one morning throwing up in our hosts’ garden, contracting a fever, struggling
with the altitude, etc. Also, let me say
that it’s not pleasant to have any type of consistent stomach problems when you
have to climb up a ladder to use a bathroom that is a hole in the ground. Granted, the Ladakhi bathrooms are
brilliantly set up, where the toilet is simply a hole in the dirt, and after
you use it you shovel some dirt into the hole over your business, and somehow
they manage to turn all this mess into compost later. Amazing, except when you’re desperately ill
and have trouble getting up the ladder.
There is no electricity in either of these villages (except
a few hours sometimes in the evening in Hanu), so life is a different process
then I’ve been used to. We bathed in
buckets of (literally) glacial water, so baths are few and far between unless
you want to catch a cold. Food comes
right out of the garden, and water from glacial fed streams. Medicine is quickly available in both villages,
from well supplied dispensaries. We got
eaten by bugs, and ate loads of apricots.
I’m grateful for the amenities that come with being back in
Leh- occasional internet, cafes, hot water, not having to go to the military
checkpoint to charge things, but I already miss the air, the water, the
greenery, the remoteness, and our friends.
In Hanu, preparing Norzang for his role as the youngest brother hero, running from the evil witch (played hilariously by Shivani).
Gyaltson helping preperations.
The Dalai Lama arrived in Beima to give a lecture. We were there by 5am for the party.
The sun rose over the mountain right as the Dalai Lama took his seat. Well timed! And the party that followed was Dard music and dancing and sweet rice and tea! Sunrise party!
Norzang was pretty grossed out by this cow skull that he had to hold.
Dressing up Otzal and his little brother Singey for their roles as crows. They weren't happy about the kohl!
Trash bags make great crow costumes!
Gyaltson prepares for his own hero role.
The mighty Indus.
Our makeshift workshop/eating/drinking space.
The terrace of our guesthouse.
Scouting the view above the village for Gyaltson's arrow shot.
Er, I had to play the magical goddess fairy lady.
Covering Gyaltson in limestone powder.
Final shot in Dah, the magical holy man who gets bathed by the goddess (but we couldn't get him to take off his shirt.)
