Rare are the moments of peace in chaotic city life; rarer still are the moments when we truly pause to appreciate them.

I had the pleasure of spending quite a few days in the last month in the vastness of Ladakh. Even when I have returned to the usual city life, things don’t feel usual – simply because I have been addicted to those peaceful nights. Yes, peaceful because it was flawless as the mind could gather itself without any worries of waking tomorrow to a call bell or an alarm tone.

If you have a high expectation of knowing what my itinerary was or where I stayed, this blog might disappoint you. I am here to just talk about the conversation with myself during the days I did nothing. Frankly speaking, I have not been able to get over the last few days spent in a quaint village by the Siachen river near Nubra valley, called Kyagar. Life returned to the slow pace it was always meant to be lived at, unlike the rushed rhythm of city life that makes you uneasy if you stay still for too long.

Having spent approximately three nights here, I observed that I was not my usual self. Things unfolded naturally, and in their own quiet way, they gave me a lot to reflect upon. As I have been living in metropolitan cities for quite some time now, electricity is a non-compromised necessity that thrives in households in cities. Thanks to multiple government schemes, the remote villages seem to enjoy this luxury too. But in Kyagar, a village untouched by fame, who would expect the electricity to disappear sharply at 11 every night?

Automatically, you have to be prepared with a mandatory night kit – torches, a water bottle, lip balm [thanks to dry weather and chapped lips], and a warm pair of socks by 10ish. That automatically meant early dinner- a phenomenon that is unknown to me since aeons. One fine night, just after dinner, I thought of taking a small stroll near the property by the sand banks of the river Siachen, which was glistening like silver because of the full moon. (The safety of the region is something I can vouch for, even while I travelled solo!) The feet felt cold but relaxing. I did want to dip my legs in the knee-length water level, but the fear of crocodiles never leaves my side (I know there cannot be crocs at high altitude freezing glacial waters- but mind game !!!) I walked from one point to another with the thoughts of how beautiful a full moon night can be.

The snow-capped Himalayan peaks glowed under the moonlight, while the crowded galaxies appeared clearer than I had ever seen them beneath the open skies.- a rare sight in any city these days. I could spot Ursa Major, the Dhruv star, Scorpion, and Taurus in the night sky based on my past geographical knowledge of sighting them in the sky. That moment felt priceless, and my mind wandered as I tried to understand the vast beauty of nature that lay right in front of my eyes to explore.

While it might not be so appeasing to someone for whom this feeling might seem over exaggerated, looking the same from the eyes of a weary woman who went there without any thought or planning, it seems like a nature’s gift to calm her soul. I returned to the room before the main power went off and opened the curtains right in front of my bed to view the Karakoram peaks that seemed as if someone had placed pieces of silver on barren rocks that night. I tucked myself into the cosy, feather-like comforter and a relaxing cot and opened the retractable glass skylight on the terrace ( a highlight of the property to let visitors stargaze on the clear sky nights).

Even before I could think, the moonlight peeping inside the room, the silent lullaby of stars and mountains led me to a peaceful sleep. What I could remember next was waking up to a sunlight-filled room early in the morning with a clear view of peaks in front of me, and my eyes trying to adjust to so much light in the room.

Somewhere between that moonlit silence and the next morning sunlight, I realised- As a kid, what seemed normal, now felt like a lost wealth- sleeping without trying. That night, I do not remember falling asleep because of exhaustion or the hour, but it was a pure joy of Mother Nature putting her baby to a peaceful sleep in her lap. Can we return to days when our hearts felt as calm as glacial lakes- where we lived without hesitation, enjoyed without complaining, relished nature without trying to capture it, and appreciated everything without expecting anything in return?

Seems like a dream, far-fetched, right? Maybe someday, when you are weary, try to silence the noise bear you and return to your land of dreams, and be lost in nothingness. Maybe then you might feel that life is not just about the race we all have participated in, but a halt that we much need for our souls.