It’s all altitude

Ladakh’s stark terrain, windswept mountains and high passes all conspire to entice folks from the plains. But the most vivid memory from my recent trip to this once forbidden land is not the lovely landscape or the melting snow but a former militant who has taken to driving. We became aware of his unusual story on the last morning of our trip, the eleventh day to be precise.

Had the confession come just like that, I would have taken it with a pinch of salt, for the driver had been a great companion. Cracking jokes and waving at security personnel, he had a confident air. He knew the place, the people and, more importantly, the skill of driving at high altitude. His sense of timing was immaculate too. His confession came a few minutes after I had had an argument with him. We wanted him to cover more distance on the last day to save time and, yes, money. He had given enough indication that he was not enthused by the idea but stopped short of rejecting it outright.

As communication between him and us dried to monosyllables and his driving became that little bit more erratic, all his stories about speed being dangerous in these parts started ringing in my ears. We seemed to have been unwise in antagonising the driver on such a dangerous road.

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In another of life’s ironies, it took a terrorist strike in the Valley — that left more than a dozen people dead — for us to complete the journey and break the ice. The driver who had so steadfastly refused to go the extra mile stepped on the gas and brought us close to the destination. He raced ahead of time. The ice broke further when the vehicle broke down. In the end the man was once again his usual caring self.

In hindsight, I wonder if I am exaggerating his rage. Maybe, but not his sense of timing.