Ladakh Festival

The bus ride through the Manali-Leh highway--which was at times a pitched road, at times a narrow strip of land studded with stone chips, at times a dirt road and at times just plain heaps of sand and rock-- was undoubtedly the most exhausting and arduous 8 hours of the trip so far and yet I wanted the journey not to end.  Cut across a gorgeous terrain with jaw-dropping rock formations creating some mind-blowing landscapes devoid of any hint of vegetation, the bus ride offered a rare chance to experience the rugged, raw side of nature that was at the same time scary and stunning.  But then Ladakh was known for its picture-perfect unique landscapes. I was more interested to know about the people and culture of this land shrouded in myths. And Ladakh Festival provided the perfect opportunity. 

Just before the winter starts to set in and the extreme weather condition isolates the region from the rest of India, the people of Ladakh dress up in their brightest best and put up a grand show for the last lot of tourists. However, Ladakh Festival, unlike other festivals, is not organised by any monastery but is a government initiative to stretch the tourist season and offers glimpses of various local customs and festivals.

When we finally reached Leh, the evening sun had weaved a magical golden mesh over the town that looked decked up in all finery. The streets, lined with shops selling trinkets, books, Buddhist charms, Ladakhi handicrafts, and of course ‘German bakeries’, were teeming with tourists and local people, and all seemed to be already in a festive mode!

But the real show started the next day. The opening-day procession was supposed to be the highlight of the show and it certainly lived up to its reputation. When we made our way through the festooned lanes swarming with locals in traditional elaborate Ladakhi and Tibetan dresses and camera-laden tourists looking for photo-ops, we hardly expected the carnival that awaited us. As we got closer to the main market area, the heady mix of drum beats and robust melodies of various indigenous wind instruments and gongs announced the grandeur of the event. The main road was throbbing with activities and various small groups hailing from far-flung villages of Ladakh were serving a heady cocktail of folk dances, music and street theatre. Apart from pretty girls performing their traditional dances sporting distinctive and colourful costumes and elaborate hairdos, there were masked dancers, dancers dressed as yaks and lions, hugely-built men dancing with open swords, and when it came to celebrations age was certainly not an issue-- wrinkled, old women were matching steps with girls barely in their teens.

 The pageant was headed by the local polo team. Although the performances were well-rehearsed and designed to entertain the tourists, it was difficult to contain the free-spirited Ladakhis within set rules-- dancers would suddenly stop their performance to touch up their lipstick and comb their hair; girls engrossed in gossiping would forget all about the performance and burst out laughing scaring the rest; jesters would leave their acts midway and indulge in some free-style dancing with the foreigners; and what not. Yet there was method in that madness. As the procession approached the polo ground, where the inaugural event was to be held, the cheering reached its peak and so did the antics of the photographers. I even discerned a sombre-looking shutterbug lying on the street hoping to get a good shot of the gorgeous hand-crafted boots of the dancers! At the end came the king and the queen who joined the procession followed by an entire entourage of soldiers, ministers and priests.   

The polo ground was huge and the inaugural function was held at one corner of it. The shamianas were reserved for delegates and foreign tourists and we the ‘natives’ had to huddle together on the ground. Not that I mind sitting on the dust, but this kind of bias did put me off. The mercury outside was rising too. Due to less cloud cover the sun rays in this corner of the country are harsh and sitting under the open sky felt like sitting under a magnifying glass – I was scared I might go up in flames. Although, next day the newspaper headlines didn’t scream of any spontaneous human combustion occurring during the festival, sitting directly exposed to the sun for an hour my linen clothes had turned scalding hot and I could see blisters on my skin. It was then that I realised why the people living in these parts of the world wear such thick clothes even in summer.

After an inaugural speech by one of the most handsome and soft-spoken chief minister of India, Omar Abdullah, the main event started. The groups that were part of the procession staged various dances, dramas and dance dramas based on folklores, religious stories or events from daily life. Some even presented glimpses of various local festivals. I was quite surprised to notice the diversity among the people of Ladakh. Each of these remote isolated villages had their own unique traditions, customs, food habits, and costumes adding layers to the cultural matrix and colour to the otherwise monochromatic palette of Ladakh.

However, the best part of the show was the dance drama performed by school kids. It was a story of people living under extreme weather condition, the trials and tribulations of their daily life. There were children dressed as hunters, farmers and cattlemen; children dressed as yaks, deer, and bulls; and children dressed as children. While the older ones worked hard to put up a truly entertaining show, it was the younger ones who won most hearts by doing what they could do best—look as cute as cupcakes! Life indeed can be so unfair!

The event ended with a dance in which the chief minister not only matched steps with the performers raising security concerns but also invited the tourists and local people to join him. And when such a handsome man invites you for a dance it is a sin to refuse and most people chose to hit the dance floor and rot in hell! Soon, the elegant European lady, the prayer-wheel holding old Ladakhi woman, the matted-hair hippy, the on duty reporter, the ever-smiling monk, the saree-clad mother of two, were dancing together like one big happy family. Indeed festivals bring hearts closer and it was just the 1^st day of the Ladakh Festival!