30/03/2026
Stayed once with a Buddhist family in the icy valley of Pin River in the Himalayas. The glaciers were touching the village on all sides and the tall peaks from where the River was coming were right behind. There was Lobden, in whose little house I stayed. A young boy with ever accomplishing smile. His 67 years old Grandma did the cooking. Below the floor of my room I was constantly reminded through little sounds and smells about presence of something. Lobden told me next morning that they were his yaks in the room below my room. That explained the logic of pungent ‘aromas’ creeping through the gaps in the wooden planks of my floor the earlier night. Does he always keep the yaks like this? Enclosed in a room. He told me that they do have a practice of letting the yaks loose for grazing in the places further up in the direction of the snow peaks. How do they return? They do. They come back on their own. No search party. One of the yaks didn’t yet return though. And it was more than a year now. My question was would he not try finding out. He said it will come. I realised that there are these places where the concept of time hold no value. Time is immaterial to them.
senseoflivinginindia
