It wasn’t my first trip to the lap of the mighty Himalayan ranges. But it certainly was the first time that I experienced what is it being remote. It was during the peak of Indian summer this year, to be precise on May 28, the jeep carrying me, Harikrishnan my friend and his family reached Leh, the administrative headquarters of Ladakh District in Jammu and Kashmir. It was evening time with a bit of overcast sky and a slight drizzle started as we arrived. The town was instantly refreshing for one aspect. There weren’t too many gun trotting security personnel unlike that in Kashmir valley.  

My rendezvous with remoteness took place on the fourth day of my stay in Leh. Out from the comforting warmth of our rooms and leaving the adorable company of our hosts – Dawa and his sister Stanzin of Oriental Guest House, we left early morning for Hunder, a small village, about 300 km northwest of Leh. Hunder…to me, the name of the village sounded a bit shrouded in mystery, aloof and things like that.  

Why Hunder? We were told by our hosts in Leh that Hunder is one of the remotest villages in the whole of Ladakh, en route to Siachen Glacier on the Indo-Pak border and what else other than that? Well, those were things, if at all any, to experience oneself. Those were enough reasons for me to set my mind on Hunder and nothing else during the entire course of the journey. 

As our jeep proceeded towards Hunder, my mind started creating imageries of the village; its people, houses, terrain, layout and of course the quintessential Budhist monastery. And there you go! My train of thoughts occasionally would get derailed by a mixture of intellectually challenging queries from my fellow little traveler Kesav, the young son of my friend Harikrishnan. He is the ultimate source of energy and often radiates that to rest of us during some of the tiring stretches of our journey in Ladakh. After duly responding to Kesav’s queries, I drifted to take a nap, only to be waked up on reaching Khardung La – the world’s highest road at 18,348 ft. After registering our presence at Khardung La by taking snaps and videos and exchanging pleasantries with the Indian army personnel, my mind got overwhelmed once again by the thought of Hunder, which made me hurry back to my jeep for the onward journey. In my desperate mood to reach Hunder, I even tired to spot Hunder by craning my neck towards the direction of the village from the heights of Khardung La.




In between Khardung La and the village of Hunder the reasons for triggering my curiosity were many….the jagged rocks of mountains on either side of our way; herds of Yak blissfully grazing on the fresh meadows on the slopes and valleys; the wind eroded rock structures that resembled castles of Scotland, the Himalayan Marmot that often tested the braking condition of our jeep, the wayside family run refreshment camps serving hot ‘tukpas’….but none of these towered over the unknown village of Hunder.






Soon River Shyok made its appearance towards our right. Flowing like a lace of shining blue ribbon, the sight soon made way to the broad Shyok Valley. Hunder was nearing, our charming young driver Stanzin reminded us. And by now, I was literally on the edge of my seat. Then came the Nubra valley with its sand dunes and of course the double-humped Bactrian camels.

We stopped at Nubra valley for Kesav and her sister Nini to enjoy the ride on Bactrian camels, before proceeding towards Hunder, which was by now within 10 to 15 kms. On the way to Hunder, we spotted the Disket Monastery, which we decided to visit the next day. It was around six in the evening and the daylight was still looking good. Our jeep took a right turn on to a narrow road, taking us to Hunder. We checked into Snow Leopard one of the delightful home stay facilities available in the village. I checked into my cozy little room with my travel roommate, the little Kesav, who by now was feeling hungry as well as sleepy.

Leaving Kesav with his parents, I soon got out of my room and took a road, which looked like the arterial road leading to the heart of the village. Not a single soul was there on the road. And I wondered, whether this was part of the remoteness already tagged by the outside world to the village. I found several stone-paved lanes towards by right, leading further into the heart of the village. The one I was walking along eventually turned out to be a peripheral road, which again joins the highway that we came by, which further goes northwest to an army base that supplies men and material to Siachen Glacier. As I walked further, I spotted houses on either side, which were surprisingly not closely spaced with each house having fairly large areas of land, where the inmate did cultivation also. This I took as another dimension to the remoteness of this village and my fascination about Hunder by now reached a new level.

Most of the houses in the village had fences of wild roses in red and yellow colours. I stopped at the sight of a small stream passing amidst white shiny boulders and large fern like plants with different shades of green. It was literally looking like a landscape work of a painter. As I stood there, the humming of the wind began to feel stronger in my ears and along came the rumbling sound from beyond a turning on the road. To my delight, a tractor appeared with a man on the driver’s seat. His weather-beaten face was proof enough that I was looking at a native of Hunder. With a nonchalant look, he drove past me towards the direction of my home stay – Snow Leopard, which reminded me the need to get back before it gets too dark. It was only seven in the evening and the daylight was still good. I decided to get back to my room and on reaching there found my fellow travelers already fixing their menu with our host’s family. I too joined them, gave my choice, and after having my food stepped out of the house and on to the beautiful little garden. There, leaning back on a chair, I first scanned the star-studded sky and then roved my eyes around at the imposing mountains encircling the village. At some point of time, I drifted to sleep only to be awakened by the shrill call of a night bird, prompting me to hit the sack.

Next morning, I was up at six. I waited impatiently till seven for the day to break and I was off again walking on the same road that I took the previous day evening. This time I was equipped with my shooting gear. My Nikon still camera, Sony handycam, and tripod. As I walked, I spotted a trekking camp, which by now was getting ready to move with supplies being loaded on the mules. Spring of more life in this village was awaiting me and soon I was greeted by the sight of a woman dressed in typical village attire and three children wearing school uniform. I smiled at them. The children paused, had a good look at me then said something among themselves, and walked away laughing. I still don’t have a clue as to why the children found me so funny! May be this too has something to do with the remoteness of this village, I suppose.




One of the best things during my walk the next day morning on the village road was that, I was able to place my tripod right on the middle of the road, sometimes to frame my subjects without getting disturbed by too many vehicles. But the biggest ones on the move that I spotted on the village roads of Hunder was the sight of two, big domesticated Bactrian camels, walking obediently with their master. Continuing my walk further down the road, I came across some more villagers, who all looked pretty relaxed, as if they don’t have anything particular to do. Except for the children, the grown ups in the village just acknowledged my presence as if I was one among them.



Soon the road I was walking got wider and I was approaching a small bridge that was in a bad shape; but obviously attended upon daily by passersby in whatever possible ways they could, to strengthen it. From the other side of the bridge, I saw an old lady, marshalling two of her cows to cross the bridge. She looked very old and I tried to guess her age, which was a daunting task as many of the villagers here have their facial skin crinkled and heavily sunburned, making them all look above sixty years of age. Was that yet another aspect of remote life…I wonder!




By now, it was nine in the morning and that realization reminded me of my remaining travel schedule. I am supposed to bid goodbye to Hunder in another two hours, in order to get back to Leh and catch up with rest of my travel plans to Manali in Himachal Pradesh. As this bitter thought of leaving Hunder in a short span of time began descending on me, I heard a thundering sound that began to echo and I looked around to spot a low flying transport aircraft, of the Indian army, slowly descending to the valley. It was about to land on an airfield further beyond my sight. For a moment, I fancied the idea of gaining some height for a bird’s eye view of the entire village of Hunder. I looked at the slopes of adjoining hills and then to my watch, only to realize that time was not just on my side. As I stood there, a village boy approached me and was getting curious with all the gadgets hanging around my neck and shoulders. I allowed him to have a feel of my camera and showed him how to work with a tripod. All these were done without uttering a single word. And the boy did appreciate my efforts and stood there with a pleasant smile. Not a word uttered and yet we communicated enough. Is this again one of the traits of being remote? I am still not sure. In spite of the fact that I am in Hunder, the village is still remote to me. I am yet to gauge its perimeters and still far away from touching its soul.    

I got back to Snow Leopard, only to find my breakfast waiting for me with rest of my fellow travelers ready to move on. Our jeep driver Stanzin was encouraging me to get ready for the next leg of the travel and I responded by getting ready, pretty quickly.



For our hosts at Snow Leopard, Hunder is their home during the summer months, when they do business with travelers coming to the village. By October, they leave for their winter homes in Leh, because the travel season comes to a close by that time due to heavy snowfall. But there are others, the people who belong to Hunder, who stay back irrespective of extreme weather conditions. For them it is their home and for us a remotely placed village.