The Stars at Leti

The dry grass plateau of Leti has more to it than cricket matches and sunrise breakfasts. Of course, the 360 degree view of the HiraMani glaciers on the left, the plunging Ram Ganga valley in front and Leti village on the right are breathtaking in their sheer serenity; however, for me the high point, the feeling “I have arrived” only came when evening set in.

The stars here are beyond written or photographic delineation. Thousands (literally) of them look down upon you, twinkling at what seems to be, within your hands’ reach.

It reminds me of the floating lanterns of Thailand, that fly away and above us, into oblivion. The eternal wonder of constellations will remain unchanged in a scenic setting such as this; city life not only numbs but also blinds one. Slowly but surely we are reaching a stage where we create our own bubble of grey around the earth. Here in the mountains, there is time to perceive, to behold the simpler, keener beauties of life steeped in nature.

In my first few days here, the silence of the mountains screamed into my ears while my mind became instinctively alert to each buzzing bee, to the flapping wings of a majestic and proud Himalayan Griffin.

A few days in this peaceful haven and I am one with the purity of its silence. It speaks volumes to me—in the chirping of birds, in the crunching of leaves underfoot, in the smoky trail of remote hill houses, in the laughter of its people and in their strengthening diligence.

The soothing yet firming contrast of the hot afternoon sun and the cold evening, convey to me, a lesson of life. The only way to sharpen yourself, and to truly feel the rewards of your fight in life, is to face the adversity with as much contentment as cherishing a warming sun. A friend once said, “contentment is easier to pursue, and slightly more long lived, than happiness”. At Leti, it is contentment I find, and happiness than causes smiles in being so illusory, in the remoteness of this place.

I am sitting in candlelight, jotting down memoirs of a greedy mind—stuffed with experiences and wanting more, fretting over its smallness. While a fire crackles warmly in the “bukhari”, ideas jostle for space in my head, wanting to be the first to have an outlet. The fire of the “bukhari” blazes domineeringly, asking me, mocking my short stay, “Where does your life lie?”.

Leti invests a sense of want—to capture every grain of it on camera, in writing, tattooed to memory, for a lifetime. The living room, lit in surreal tea lights, stone walls effervescently glowing, reminding me of the Himalayas towering all around me.

The cottage boasts of a delightful sitting area, besides the pampering warm bed. A fire pit, a planter’s chair and a miniature stool for a book await one, while mustard flowers frisk playfully in the wind.

In the evening, the clear contrast of white peaks, blue skies and brown rock is transformed into a riot of colours. The snow peaks become tinged with a delightful shade of pink, as of blushing and glowing to the onset of its fearsome, awe-inspiring love—the night.

I am greedy to be here for poetry, for writing. The place inspires one to write feverishly, maddeningly, into throes of an uncontrollable creativity that pushes aside rationale and calls for a euphoric, insane love. Of mountains, of people, of life—penned to histories of the self.

Photo copyright: Paul Kennes