In 100 % Muslim Ladakh I had arrived into their meagre home and hence this startled expression, ‘Who are you?’Aging gracefully, a lady in Turtuk. Isn’t she pretty?The man credited with Turtuk’s first love marriage! I listened to the story as his wife giggled away.Turk was once a part of the Yabgo dynasty that ruled Baltistan and served an active trade route to Ladakh, connecting it to Yarkand and Kashgar China and Samarkand in Uzbekistan on the Silk Route.He recalls that during the war of 1971, locals from nearby villages fled to major towns in the nearby Baltistan region. But the people of Turtuk decided to stay.Innoncent, infectious smiles. The Army’s Sadbhavna Project has worked wonders for people living in this reclaimed village.
Turtuk is a very conservative village, a 100 percent Muslim settlement with a Buddhist Monastery (Surprised?!) in Ladakh.All in one room – Kitchen, sleeping room and a swing for the kids. If you ever thought money made people happy, then no. Love makes people happy.Archery is popular among the the villagers of Turtuk who are fair and rosy-cheeked with aquiline features. Locals claim that they are of Aryan descent with Central Asian and Tibetan roots.Utterly raw, almost barbaric faces from all the hardships that life has bestowed on the people of Turtuk.It is January and the trees are all crimson, the Shayok is freezing and emerald green – the most rudimentary form of cricket is being played on the road.A Ladakhi in Turtuk, fancy haircut and what not – Let me remind you; the nearest barber is almost 100 kms away in Diskit.Girls are never too shy of posing; in conservative Turtuk this was a welcome sight when she saw me with a camera and demanded to be clicked!A typical winter’s day in Turtuk, the sun is out and the whole village walks and greets each other.What would you like? ‘I would like to steal a smile.’She looks mean, but actually was the one who helped me find accommodation when everything in Turtuk is closed.Men of rare artistic ability abound in Turtuk.
Kids don’t care whether its India or Pakistan; all they know is to have fun!Shy Balti kids at the meagre home their father was kind enough to open for me. Their staple diet is buckwheat dishes and apricots in any form, the best quality is called ‘Halman’.
And I’ve saved my favourite for the last.
Her ageless features, cracked and shrivelled skin, dirty, chapped fingernails. Those half opened eyes that have seen decades go by. It almost feels as if she would crumble if someone touched her.
On my various interactions with the villagers, they tell me how happy they are after years of turmoil to become a part of India. It hurts me that the borders I am so fascinated by are important precisely because of how easily their drawing causes untold suffering of separations.
Jullay, I say; ‘seikha shokh’ they plead (Balti for – Come, sit).
