Ju-le!

Ju-le from Ladakh. I’ve had less internet access here than I thought I would (none, in fact) so I’m doing my best now to type something to post the next time I make it to town, which should be this coming Friday, 2/17.

I think I’ve been in India for twelve days now, but as one of my students recorded, “time passes strangely here.” The days blend together, and so far there has been little reason to keep track of days of the week. We arrived in Delhi in the early hours of February 2^nd, boarded a bus, and fumbled our way through a dark alley of the Tibetan Refugee Colony in Old Delhi, making our way to the guest houses we’d be split between over the next three nights. Our introduction to India in Delhi was absolutely something I need to blog about, but I’ll backtrack later since my true purpose here is in Ladakh…

Ladakh, “land of high passes” is one of three regions in India’s northernmost state, Jammu and Kashmir, and sits snugly between the vast Tibetan Plateau and the Kashmir valley. A former Tibetan Buddhist kingdom, it has only been open to tourism since the 1970s. Some scholars here believe that tourism has renewed a sense of self-appreciation in Ladakhis, after they were made to feel “backward” and “inferior” by Indian army and administration stationed in the area as a result of conflicts with China and Pakistan. I am here as one of three teachers during a semester abroad program for American high school students, and will be based at an alternative institute, a solar campus twelve miles outside of Leh, eastern Ladakh’s main city.

Since we flew into Leh airport instead of driving, the altitude change was sudden. Everyone suffered minor headaches, fatigue, and confusion. Looking back, the experience in the airport seems surreal because of the general confusion, especially when recalling the two Ladakhis draping our shoulders with traditional white scarves of honor (Kataks). We took a few days to acclimatize in Leh, during which neither students nor teachers were required to do much of anything. Many of us experienced worse symtoms of altitude sickness—nausea, vomiting, and downright confusion of time and place. But these effects were lightened by the hospitality provided at our guest house—we were given tea and meals virtually any time we pleased and warm Ladakhi smiles, an unmistakeable part of the landscape here.

Just bumming around the guest house grounds was an experience—at all times a light brown calf skipped around the walkway leading between buildings, occasionally kicking its back legs out playfully. An old man seemed to be forever spinning a prayer wheel on the same walkway, while little Ladakhi girls rode tiny three wheeled bikes behind him. These scenes will be cemented in my mind forever. Feeling ambitious on day three, some of us went for a very short (and short-winded) run up the hills around the guest house, overlooking the town of Leh, its five-colored prayer flags everywhere, and commanding peaks across the valley. Afterwards we made our way to SECMOL, our home for the next three and a half months.

The Students Educational and Cultural Movement of Ladakh (SECMOL) was formed by former Ladakhi students as part of a movement to reform the education system here. In short, students weren’t being taught the things that they could directly benefit from in this very unique part of the world, and were further handicapped by language requirements ill-suited to the region. Ladakh is unique for many reasons, one of them being that its villages are some of the highest and most remote in the world. Living conditions are therefore similarly specialized and it is impressive that humans have survived here for so many centuries. The food is basic—lots of tsampa (barley) butter tea, root vegetables, rice, lentils—nothing to write home about, but nourishing. Ladakhis young and old have a great appreciation for their traditional music, although younger generations have added poppy beats behind traditional melodies. Over many centuries, until the border was closed, Ladakhi culture was inspired directly by Tibet, although by now the languages of the two places are mostly unintelligible. Interestingly, there is now a controversy over whether or not the written form of Ladakhi, known locally as Bodyik, should be taught and used in the media, since formerly only high lamas were literate and they use only the traditional Tibetan script. Here at SECMOL, Bodyik is taught and used in the campus’ own publication, Ladags Melong and the trend across Ladakh is generally in favor of the colloquial tongue.

A bit more about SECMOL. This is a solar campus—all energy is supplied by the sun, and water is heated by solar heat. The Ladakhi toilet, the composting kind, is the norm here. Also, very little of anything is wasted. Near our kitchen there are eleven bins for dumping, labelled according to material, as well as a larger general re-use bin. The campus is situated at about 11,500 feet. Fortunately all of us have become fairly used to the height, and have been able to exercise and even take long jogs along a scarcely travelled road above the Indus River. The students here are almost entirely responsible for running the campus, and each one has a specific responsibility, for which they will team up with one of our students. Since we arrived, the top priority has been unfreezing the pipes. I’m told this has been Leh’s coldest winter in 45 years, and it has been unusually cloudy, thus preventing the solar equipment from functioning maximally. We are in a high altitude desert so solar technology is normally ideal, but now, in mid-February when the sun should be shining all day, snow still sits on all of the mountains around us. The past two days have been promising though, and things seem to be normalizing. I’ve never been so thankful to be able to pour a glass of water so much as this morning.

Living here is beautifully simple, and I think we are all gaining a greater appreciation for simple things like cooking and bathing. I should walk you through a typical day for me here at the campus. The schedule for the Americans is not the same as for the Ladakhis, but it overlaps in several places, giving everyone ample time to interact and learn from one another. This schedule refers to our time at SECMOL only; we’ll be off trekking or at other events about 40 percent of the time.

6:00—Ladakhi morning exercises (optional for our students). This takes place in the “big hall” but will move outside when it warms up. The temperature has been around Zero Fahrenheit, but the sun is coming.

7:00—optional VIS exercises (oh yeah, our program is called Vermont Intercultural Semesters. It’s based out of Vermont and most students are from there. One is from Massachussetts, and the program is open to all other states but the word isn’t out everywhere).

8:00—breakfast. Usually some kind of bread or roll, leftovers and tea

8:45—VIS morning meeting

9:00—first class

10:10—second class

11:10—tea

12:30—third class

2:00—work hour (anything that needs to be done around campus)

3:00—open schedule until 5:30

5:30—responsibilities (milking cow, solar maintenance, water heater, etc.) divided between students

6:00—English conversation with Ladakhis (whose English is pretty good as is)

7:00—Ladakhi language (Khamzang ina-le?)

7:30—dinner

8:30—evening activities (T/Th only for VIS students)

This schedule seems to be altered at least slightly every day for many guest speakers, treks, festivals, and other events. This Friday, for instance, we’re going to the Stok Festival. The following week we depart on our first trek and homestays in Ladakhi villages.

There’s a handful of college students here, but most Ladakhis on campus are those who failed their tenth year exams and are taking time to study before returning to local schools. It is hoped that SECMOL, not just comprised of this campus, can have a large impact on the education system in all of Ladakh, a goal that has been achieved in many ways already.

It is refreshing to be in a place where one needn’t worry about violence. It pleased me to read that when conflicts do arise in Ladakh, the parties in disagreement often look to the nearest other person—even if it’s a young child—to resolve the issue objectively. I look forward to diving deeper into this fascinating culture. Sadly, Ladakhi traditions have been whittled down a bit by exposure to the outside, although one can’t ignore the benefits the trend has brought at the same time, concerning health and energy practices for example. It is hoped that a good balance between tradition and modernization can be achieved as development inevitably works its way through Ladakh.