reflections on the experience of reading in public with ladakh writer’s club
By Lhundup Gyalpo
Picture this: An alpine desert forest is yet to receive its share of rain. For now, all it boasts of is an overgrowth of shrubs and thorns; dull, prickly, and urgently jostling for every nook of the forest. In a busy yet insipid corner of the parched forest, a yellow dandelion blooms silently, perky yet serene, pleasing to watch, and assuredly present.
How pleasant the sight of that flower would be for a passer-by?
That is exactly what we aspired to be, the dandelion, when we sat right in the middle of Leh Bazaar with books in our hands.
There were no invitation cards, banners or even pamphlets; forget about a podium or paraphernalia flamboyantly rising higher each passing day for the audience to even see those gracing it, or, say, a loud PA system, or even variegated chairs from extravagant sofas to skeletal plastic ones arranged like a labyrinthine.
We sat in Leh Bazaar with books to read — that is the whole description.
And when onlookers beheld the sight, they were curious. Hurling queries over our shoulders about our identities, objectives, and the takeaways. Despite them swarming around us, we could manage an ecriture blanche response: “We are here to read.” Understandably, they couldn’t fathom what it entailed or what to make of us, for they would have scarcely witnessed an act that is natural, innate and inherent to humankind unveiling at the centre of an orchestrated exhibition.
Yet, a bunch of them joined us in the act. They borrowed our books, opened them, and glanced over the off-white, silent pages. I am sure the bosoms of some of the books were redolent of fragrant wood, if they distinguished it from the surrounding ubiquitous coffee brews, intrusive body sprays or the stench of drains underneath the pedestrian street.
And that was the whole point of it.
Since the experience was novel to most of us, it took a little time to settle in. One of my friends squawked, “Are you seriously reading?” I responded with a nod. Another lingered agape as if assimilating the silent, neutral and dormant proceedings of readers on the street against the belligerently stimulant world he inhabits: books, mobile phone notifications, the early rush to work or a trite yet busy home. Meanwhile, a reader friend sitting beside me quietly introduced me to an interesting book by Peggy Mohan called Wanderers, Kings, Merchants about the history of India (thus, its present) as seen through the evolution of languages of the subcontinent. The premise was enticing to begin with. Of the couple of pages I read, the book seemed a contagious one — I am sure it will make it to my private collection soon.
Needless to say, man is an ape, and aping is what he does so well. And, when he apes an act that could enlighten his breed, he must acknowledge his ancestry and do what they did best. Once the American author Stephen King was asked about the reading habit of his children, two of whom have turned into writers in their own right, he responded that his wife and he would read at home. The children took to the habit, watching them in the act.
Often, it’s easier to act rather than listen to hours of empty talk such as a sermon from a high-rise dais or a gurgling murmur of an unfulfilled dream. One can be surprised to see how humble silence delivers that which barraging loudspeakers could not, how mere gesture drives a point home that concocted spectacles couldn’t, and what absence evokes that haughty presence falters to achieve.
Ladakh Writers Club initiated this event in Leh Market on 3rd May, 2025. We call it ‘Gatheread’ or ‘འཛོམ་ཀློག’ (Zom-lok) when we read outdoors in public spaces with the objective of normalising reading — an open invite to anyone who would like to read books of any genre in any language. The club was formed a few months ago, and it intends to formalise itself in the coming days. We demand nothing; not validation, recognition, nor invitations. The club is open to all, and even from the members, we expect nothing except their keenness for reading and writing.
And that’s all there is to us.
We trade in ideas and do not fail to acknowledge them, their source and origin. Gatheread has been inspired by a similar event organised by Mumbai Bookies. Finally, among the events, workshops, and other interventions related to reading and writing that we intend to undertake, Gatheread or འཛོམ་ཀློག (Zom-lok) will be a repeated feature of the club to make room for more dandelions to bloom.
By Lhundup Gyalpo
He is the author of ‘Betty’s Butter Tea – Stories from Ladakh.’ Gyalpo has contributed to the Indian Literary journal of Sahitya Akademi, India. His literary works have been published in Sheeraza magazine of Jammu & Kashmir Academy of Art, Culture and Languages. He is a columnist at Stawa magazine, Ladakh. Gyalpo was one of the twenty-five finalists at LitMart (a pitching platform for writers), Bangalore Literature Festival, 2018. He is an alumnus of Indian Institute of Technology Bombay.
P.S. The images from the Gatheread Event are courtesy of Ladakh Writers Club.
P.S.S. A version of this write-up has been published in Stawa Magazine(May 2025 issue) and is posted on authour’s Medium account as well.
