Quiet warmth of Ladakh's winter

The pilot’s voice broke through the cabin’s quiet hum.

- Indraneel Vartak

“Everyone, look to your right. We are approaching the great Karakoram range.”I turned to the window, and there they were — the mountains, bathed in a golden morning light. The snow had not yet fallen in Leh, but up in the higher reaches, a dozen feet of it had already gathered, glistening like polished crystal. The wind swept across the ridges, carrying swirls of fine snow that shimmered briefly before dissolving into the thin, dry air. Few moments later, the plane began its descent, a graceful 180-degree turn that brought into view the rugged brown expanse of Ladakh. The tiny strip of tarmac that serves as Leh’s airport stood out sharply, a black line against the vast, barren canvas of rock.

I was here for a purpose, a Vipassana retreat in the depths of winter, a ten-day meditation course in complete silence. Afterward, I planned to stay a few days in Leh, to observe, to simply exist in the rhythm of its winter life.