Today actually feels like a Sunday. It naturally follows on a Saturday night, a night on the town with friends. Strolling down the main street, meeting and greeting. Being seated at Tashi’s for innumerable cups of coffee and lemon tea which was washing down her nutmegged milky rice pudding. Tashi’s is the one outside eating house, albeit because there are no glass windows to impede the observances and conversations from inside with those ambling by outside.
Yesterday’s rice diet – with dahl and subzi (literally ‘vegetable dish’) for main course, and for dessert – has stayed with me. My stomach is rested so, therefore, is my mind and the rest of my body. A good night’s sleep was little disturbed by the precipitation which dampened everywhere, or by the strange dream of wealth, of the conversion of a dockside warehouse into a rich man’s pad – all mine!
Up therefore, gently awakening, at 7am and I set off past the prayer flags up to and then above the palace for another sketch of the gompas, an aide-memoire of Leh.
I am mentally prepared to leave. After two months my adventure begins anew. Perhaps for the first time since my first hours in Delhi I will be alone. I have drifted since then into relationships for comfort. Having now, and at last, received friendly words from home, my existence is reinforced and is given some purpose.
It is time to gather my collection of souvenirs so that my future will be rooted in my now.