The mountains are a flame of colour, dusty green, burnt umber, deep orange, vermilion... an artist's paradise. They rise up all around us, these ombré trees and bushes, up the side of the mountains. The yaks wander about leisurely, their black and white coats blending into the golden mountainside. The roads wind skyward, little streams and waterfalls turning ice cold in the chilly November morning.
Tawang, in autumn, is an unforgettable experience. We reach Sela Pass while it's nearing dusk, the air feels thin, the cold permeating clothes and skin. The Himalayas dominate the atmosphere at this height, 13,700 feet above sea level. The Sela lake, positioned between two mountains, is one of the 101 holy lakes. The waters are a deep placid blue. Silence settles into the soul. The sky and the lake turn a deeper and darker navy as the pass descends into darkness. There's a woodfire waiting for us as we reach back, warming both our hands and the heady local wine 'Ara' paired with a hearty corn rice, crispy pork and a yak cheese curry.
The next moming we join the young monks at the Tawang monastery for morning prayers. The prayer hall is lined with tapestries and paintings of Buddhist lore but the spotlight is the huge gold Buddha statue that dominates one wall. The huge monastery complex is clean and the flowers are vibrant. The Tawang valley stretches out to the foothills, calm and unhurried like the people who populate her.
We stop at Taste of Tawang for lunch, a restaurant run entirely by women. The Shirkyong pa with Tingmo deserves special mention for being the stuff of legend—Tibetan fluffy buns dipped in a spicy, creamy curry topped with yak milk.
The narrow roads twist and wind their way to Bumla Pass, the Indo-China border. Enroute, we are stopped by army officers who give us bowls of fresh steaming kheer infused with raisins and almonds.
As we reach the border, a thick veil of mist threatens to ruin our view. But the skies rain down snowflakes instead—perfectly formed crystals dotting our hair and clothes as we listen to the history of the Army presence in the area and the Indo-China wars.
The Indian flag flies high and proud in this harsh, remote terrain.
Our last stop before we head out of Tawang is Dirang valley, a little mountainside cottage overlooking the Thupsung Dhargye Ling monastery. Imagine a sultry moming, the wind tracing patterns over your skin. You shiver a little and wrap that sweater a bit tighter. The persimmon plants are silent spectators, the fruit lush and sweet by the time it reaches the breakfast table. Your mind is clear like the sky, no clutter. Your tea is waiting, turning lukewarm in the time it takes to dunk a biscuit. But it doesn't matter.
Your senses are alive and your heart's alight. Sukoon, that's about as close as it gets. One word. A hundred emotions.
The writer is a psychiatrist based in Kannur
