Imagine the feeling of spending hours writing – only to have your copy editor send your work back with a bazillion corrections. This isn’t a snide remark at the editors who fine-tune my articles – they have a job to do, after all. Just saying that it can be a tad dispiriting. I felt something similar when I drove all over Ladakh this past week and saw the work of the Border Roads Organisation. Their crews spend hundreds of hours building roads, retaining walls and whatnot—just to have nature destroy them with a landslide or a simple snowmelt. I don’t know about you, but that would utterly break me.
If you have been following ThePrint’s social media handles, you would probably know what I’ve been doing up in the high passes of Ladakh. Over the past few years, I have been very fortunate to drive through Arunachal Pradesh, Srinagar, Kargil and Sikkim. I have seen first-hand the tremendous work being done by thousands of engineers of the BRO. And I got a sobering reminder of the fact when I crested Khardungla at 17,982 feet on the way to Nubra Valley.
A plaque at the top commemorates the 13 men who lost their lives building the road. Hundreds of tourists today drive up to K-Top, as the place is colloquially known, and take selfies. Many others come here on their Royal Enfield Himalayan bikes, with GoPros and 360-degree cameras in tow. I don’t know how many of these people ever stop to think about these men.
Along with ThePrint videographer Danishmand Khan, I travelled between Leh and India’s first ‘Dark Sky’ Reserve in Hanle down the valley of the Indus River. The roads, for the most part, were fabulous and I was very glad I had a smart-handling vehicle.
Shifting gears on tricky roads
The drive was great, despite some bad stretches and the occasional inexperienced motorcyclist. Not taking a dig at bikers here; a large majority did know how to ride even on single-lane roads. But some really didn’t. Mountain driving or riding is not easy, especially at altitude. I know it is a bucket list item for many folks, but please, please practise before going on these roads. There is no margin for error. One mistake, and you’re in a gorge 2,000 feet below you.
But back to the road-builders. There has obviously been a huge increase in activity after the Galwan Valley clash four years ago. On the road between Leh and Nubra Valley through Khardungla, there is widening work going on. Wherever the work has been completed, you mash through the gears as if the spirit of Michele Mouton has taken over your soul. But then there are stretches where there is no road and little to no mobile phone signal. Here, you look at Google Maps inquisitively, wondering where to go until a friendly labourer points you in the right direction. Then, you try and tiptoe around the work crew trying not to cover them in dust as you release the clutch gently. But even if you don’t, a 22-truck Army convoy will zip through the stretch and do exactly what you have been trying to avoid.
The Atal Tunnel under Rohtang Pass, which I traversed for the first time, is an incredible engineering achievement that makes tourism to Lahaul-Spiti and even Leh much easier. Thanks to the roads that the BRO has built, the economy of Manali has rocketed. Baralacha La, where the valley is blanketed by fresh snowfall even in midsummer, attracts tourists and riders from all over the world. Yet, the road between Tanglang La through Nakeela Pass and Baralacha La is packed. Some stretches in the high mountains have become single track as the snowmelt has destroyed the surface.
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Value BRO’s work
Some argue for restricting tourism or charging tourists heavily, a la Bhutan. Yes, tourism has an environmental impact, but these are elitist solutions. In any case, a state levying ‘Green Tax’ on tourists after making them enter, say Manali, through a three-kilometre traffic jam, would be ironic. Sure, something must be done; perhaps the BRO, which is clearly stretched to its limits constructing these roads, should levy a toll fee. It could copy some European cities and charge a reasonable daily fee, say Rs 100 per day per adult, not pricing anyone out of the market. This would help improve civic services such as the inevitable clean-up of trash. There is already a fee for acquiring an Inner Line Permit (ILP), which one needs in order to visit the many areas beyond Leh. Those charges can easily be increased.
If we are happy to pay such charges when we zip down the Delhi-Mumbai Expressway, we should have little problem paying for these roads too. These are strategically important roads and at the end of the day, your money and mine is being used to build them. And frankly, the people building these roads deserve a raise because hard, physical labour at altitudes above 12,000 feet is no joke.
Heck, people around me could not deal with altitude sickness at those heights, so moving huge boulders, by hand, I can’t even imagine. Then, to see it all go down the drain because of a landslide caused by a light earthquake? Can’t be easy.
So yeah, I had a lovely time driving through Ladakh, when the roads were good, particularly around the Tso Kar salt lake on the Rupshu Plateau. I even wondered why these stretches weren’t part of the World Rally Championship. But when I was stuck for an hour in Lahaul and Spiti on the way to Baralacha La, I felt frustrated. Avalanches, landslides, bad driving by tourists, and trucks with brake issues had done their fair share of damage to these roads. Moreover, I had, like an idiot, mismanaged my fuel. It put me in full panic mode until the next petrol pump in Keylong, which I reached with just 25 kilometres of range left.
But amid this frustration, I reminded myself of the BRO’s plight. To the workers and officers of the BRO involved in projects Himank and Vijayak, thank you for what you do.
@kushanmitra is an automotive journalist based in New Delhi. Views are personal.
(Edited by Zoya Bhatti)
I will give zero cheers to BRO. Their roads are fourth rate.