Dear Lily

Dear Lily

Thursday 2nd April 2010

Dear Lily, 

I still don’t think there’s a more breath-taking place to be stuck than right here in Ladakh. Let me paint you a picture. We have the Indus river running right through our valley, the very cradle of civilisation and all around we are guarded by the grey-brown, growthless earth of a high desert - which forms arid, moon-like mountains. Framing these are the snow-crowned peaks of the Himalayan foothills which cut smooth, undulating lines into a concentrated blue fill of sky. Interrupting the foreground is an earthy toned, long, rectangular building that blends snugly into its surroundings from behind, whilst offering, from its front, a wide wall of glass to glint and flirt with the sun. Dotted about at intervals are huge, angled, shimmering solar panels, like beautiful salutations to the sun, harvesting its power for our water, our cooking, our electricity. Thin, green trees add quills of vivid colour to the lunar palette and trace themselves in dotted lines around the kitchen garden. This is our campus. There are no other dwellings for miles around. I have only to take a deep breath in this picture postcard landscape to feel a part of nature and a world away from a globally spreading virus. We remain untouched here in our present home and if we’re honest this has led us to a feeling of being untouchable in our isolation. Too much space, clear air, renewable energy and self sufficiency for a virus to take root surely? 

Yours, Rose

Saturday 4th April 2010

Dear Lily,

Today I simply want to present to you a few of my fellow volunteers: Johannes: Johannes doesn’t like playing cards and he attended a Rudolf Steiner school which he hated because he had the same teacher year after year who he constantly clashed with. Johannes used to be in a death metal band, has a spiritual guide, has previously worked as a psychotherapist, almost died of TB, has a girlfriend called Xena and has never heard of the American TV series ‘Xena Warrior Princess’. Johannes is from Denmark and speaks English using long, existentialist pauses. Everybody around here hangs on his every word, as if he holds the meaning of life. But Lily, I’ve caught him filming his video diary and philosophical silences do not feature. Ross: I know from before lockdown, from group meals out in the restaurants of Leh, that if you offer Ross a piece of your naan bread, he will try to give you ten rupees when the bill comes. And, if you take a piece of Ross’s naan in a restaurant, he will ask you for ten rupees when the bill comes. Ross is a sound engineer from Baltimore and he likes to use the word ‘boominess’. During the student discos, Ross puts headphones on as he prefers to listen to James Brown than to the same four Ladakhi pop songs on repeat. Toni: Toni (short for Antonia), at twenty, is the youngest volunteer. Toni likes playing cards, a lot, and I like playing cards with Toni. Back home in Germany, Toni only wears dresses and she plays the piano. I know that Toni gets easily frustrated because she often snaps at people - especially the boys. I like this about Toni because it makes me feel at ease with her. Toni says 

“I’m so annoyed of ...” instead of “I’m so annoyed with...” and I feel a little guilty (she reminds me often to correct her English) because I don’t correct her - I prefer her version of expressing annoyance. Toni is very sensitive and smiles so genuinely when she receives a compliment and her eyes dance when she talks about her sisters and her throat tightens when she tells me of her grandmother who died of breast cancer. I know that Toni hates the farming and gardening topic in the English Conversation classes. Toni has a secret crush on Norbu, (a Ladakhi ex-student who now works here) and she loves it when he speaks random phrases of German to her. 

Yours, Rose 

Tuesday 7th April 2010

Dear Lily,

I feel the need to explain the matter of our eco friendly toilets. Toilets here comprise a private room with two holes in the floor the size and shape of bricks, a basket of waste paper, a shovel and a small pile of compost that is replenished daily. The hole is for squatting over and doing one’s business into a long drop below, the scraps of waste paper (such as used A4 sheets and lined pages from notebooks) can be used to wipe one’s self, then compost must be shovelled down the hole to add to the biodegradable heap below. The second rectangular hole you may be wondering about? It’s so a friend can join you. 

Yours, Rose 

Friday 24th April 2010

Dear Lily,

We spend most of our evenings now gathered round the computer in Sonam’s office eager for news of the virus’s spread and of our loved one’s circumstances. We discuss how our different countries are handling the crisis. At first there was a lot of light hearted talk, and, even laughter accompanied our disbelief at so many stupid statements made by floundering governments. Then Preeti discovered her uncle had begun presenting with symptoms in Pune. Radha heard her grandmother had been hospitalised in Delhi. Then Toni got news her Grandad had died. We have begun to fear turning the laptop on and nights when no internet connection can be found are met with some sense of relief. There are still no cases in Ladakh. Students are one step removed and continue their studies as before though they don’t disguise their concerned looks in our direction. 

Yours, Rose 

Thursday 30th April 2010

Dear Lily,

We play more cards than ever to pass the time. Even Johannes joins in.

There is a rota for the computer now as all who reside here are keen to see the updates. Ladakh has 74 confirmed 

cases. A new nightly ritual has begun. The whole community sits in the large hall every evening and Dorma leads us in song. The habit of those closest to her of squeezing her hands (she has no sight) has radiated outwards and we all join our palms together as we sing. It is a simple gesture of connection but we value it greatly. 

Yours, Rose

Sunday 10th May 2010

Dearest Lily,

The virus has arrived on campus. It touches us all. I have become a nurse. There’s no time to write more. 

Yours, Rose


By Liz Churchill