Once upon a time, I decided to take a break from the city and go live in a village somewhere far away. I already had one in mind—Khalatse, a village of about 1500 people 100 kms west of Leh on the national highway to Srinagar. I had fond memories of it from childhood. My father, an army man, had been posted there and I had spent two long, glorious, sun-burnt vacations exploring the place. I’d recently learnt that it now had a small primary school and had since been fantasising about teaching there. With no running water, electricity only for three hours a night, very patchy telephone service and holes in the ground for toilets, it sounded remote and far away enough.

I got the number of the school principal, Pastor Samson Thangpa, from my brother’s army coursemate and called him. He was quite discouraging.

“Many people like you want to come here. But they no stay. They say too cold. One man become lonely and go back in one week. Its no good for my students.” he told me in as much English as he could muster.

(Please email me at bharsimran@gmail.com or buy my upcoming book for the rest of the story.)