I first landed at Leh on duty in 1976; nearly five decades later, I have arrived now as a tourist. Expectedly, the landscape has undergone astounding changes. The majestic flow of the Indus is still dominant throughout the valley, but gone is the ribbon-like cemented airstrip. In those days, mostly the Air Force’s An-12 flew in. The distant drone of an arriving aircraft was a morale-booster, especially for those proceeding home on leave, and others awaiting fresh supplies, letters from home, newspapers and magazines.
When we used to deplane, the engines were not switched off as restarting was often problematic. We used to be welcomed by a blast of fresh, chilly wind. Landing by a commercial flight now, with the niceties of air travel, it is a different experience to pass through a mass of fellow travellers. The chilly freshness is missing.
Roads have improved; the tiring three-day journey from Srinagar to Leh is possible even in a day. For the adventurous ones, the road from Manali, over high passes on to Upshi, has been thrown open. Both routes are jampacked as hundreds of light vehicles and gangs of motorcyclists race to and fro. Gone is the sleepy township of Leh with mostly small mud houses and a stretch of shops selling local artefacts. Leh has turned into a popular tourist destination with huge shopping complexes.
Decades ago, catering to the few tourists were mundane hotels selling local food, such as chang (their brew), salty gur-gur tea with yak butter, chhurpe, thupka, momos, etc. Now there are restaurants with an elaborate bill of fare. Surging crowds are everywhere. The cab driver sums it up aptly: ‘Looks like the entire country descends on Leh every year! Though the economy has improved, new problems are surfacing.’ Tell-tale piles of tourist rubbish are everywhere.
Wildlife is rarely spotted. Prominently missing is the marmot, that lovable rodent, and the red/yellow-beaked chough. Marmots were once seen behind nearly every rock on the higher reaches. They could stand on their hind legs and scoot away on sighting a human. Now, we arrive at Marmot Point. The experience is disturbing: a well-fed marmot is cosying up to the tourists, nibbling away at whatever is offered, including chips. I recall a meeting with Dr Salim Ali, the famous ornithologist who in 1976-77 came to observe the breeding ground of the black-necked crane and the bar-headed goose. Having spotted them, he replayed the recordings of their calls. What must his spirit be feeling now from its heavenly perch?
Gains from tourism seem to be going awry. The news of the cloudburst and the flooding of Leh sends out a major message and raises apprehensions. The disaster that Himachal Pradesh is facing is a good reminder to preserve the environment. Let not these words of poet Ujjal Mandal come true, ‘With intense rage in my heart, O mother, I must go across the seven Indus to reprimand the diabolic plunderer who stole my mother’s tender smile.’