Abdul Ghani Sheikh in front of the remnant of Leh’s historic boundary wall we ‘discovered’ during our exploration of the town in 2015.
Abdul Ghani Sheikh was a friend in a way that only he could be. We bonded over our shared interest in the joys of reading and writing. We would spend hours talking about something we had read or something we had recently written. I would invariably get a call from him in case an issue was delayed. There are times in the winter when he would request people travelling from Leh to Srinagar to bring him back issues of the magazine so that he could read them. Similarly, he would send his hand-written articles through someone who was travelling from Srinagar to Leh. And if he failed to find any such traveller, he would get someone at home to photograph the pages of the article or visit a local computer shop in Srinagar to scan the article and email it across. His commitment to writing and engaging in dialogues with his fellow scholars was beyond question.
If there is one thing I learnt from Abdul Ghani Sheikh, it is to nurture a deep enthusiasm for knowledge, writing and reading. He spent a lifetime in pursuit of these and never seemed to age in this regard. Even as an octogenarian, he retained a childlike enthusiasm for books and knowledge, enjoyed the joys of writing and the excitement of freely sharing his wisdom and knowledge with others. This makes sense as he started his professional career as a teacher in a government school in Tingmosgang and later served as a principal in a private school after retirement.
A man of impeccable principles, he would be very disturbed when scholars would plagiarise anyone’s work or not provide proper citation. He would make meticulous notes on each thing he read to ensure that he attributed sources correctly when he wrote himself. He greatly valued originality of thought and style and always strived to improve his own skills, be it imagination or expression. And when he was able to develop a new and more effective method for narrating a tale, his excitement was palpable. He also had a very engaging sense of humour that allowed him to laugh at himself while also making light of various challenges he faced. Furthermore, he had a lifetime’s commitment to secular ideas and remained unflinchingly apolitical in his outlook and social engagement irrespective of the context.
A master of Urdu, he was equally proficient in English. His one regret, which he expressed on numerous occasions, was that he never learnt to read and write the Tibetan script (Bod-yig), which prevented him from accessing Ladakhi historical texts that were written in this script. He would lament how this created a major gap in his knowledge and he had to rely on translations of these texts whenever they were available.
He wrote many books and articles in his lifetime, which provide a measure of his intellect and personality. He is known for his collection of short stories, Zojila ke aar paar, Do muluk ek kahani,as well as Forsaking paradise: Stories from Ladakh and Frozen frames: Stories from Ladakh and novels such as Woh zamana and Dil hi to hai. He has authored over 70 short stories as well as a biography of Ladakhi leader, Sonam Norboo. His non-fictional works include Qalam qalamdar aur kitab, Ladakh muhaqqiqun aur sayahun ki nazar mein, Ladakh ki kahani, and Reflections on Ladakh, Tibet and Central Asia. He published articles regularly in a range of journals and periodicals including Sheeraza, Ladakh Studies, Ladags Melong, and Stawa. However, these books and articles only provide us a glimpse into the vastness of his interest, the reliability of his memory and the sharpness of his intellect. They do not provide us any clues to his warmth, inquisitiveness, inclusiveness, and generosity, which were a big part of his personality.
In addition, he prevailed over various interests and ideas, to ensure that the land in Chuttey Rantak was used to institute the Central Asian Museum, which is an ode to Ladakh’s historical links with Central Asia. Today, the museum houses a number of historical artefacts donated by various families in Ladakh that provide insight into the deep connection and exchange of goods and ideas that took place between Ladakh and its neighbouring regions including Tibet, Central Asia, Kashmir, and Punjab. Perhaps, the Central Asian Museum could be dedicated to his memory to encourage critical thinking, diligence in research, careful documentation, and the habit of writing and reading.
His passing marks the end of an era. He lived through several different chapters of Ladakh’s history. This included pre-independence times when he witnessed first-hand traders from Central Asia, Kashmir, Punjab and the plains of the Indian subcontinent exchange goods in Leh bazaar. He was also part of the change that Ladakh experienced as it became a part of independent India and then a world-famous tourism destination several decades later. At no point, was he out of step with his times. Instead, he emerged as a keeper of memories and shone like a beacon of stability at a time of rapid change. He shared his memories, experiences, and wisdom with everyone freely, irrespective of their background. In fact, I have been ‘guilty’ of ‘rewarding’ writers with an in-person meeting with him after they wrote articles for the magazine as many of them would request for a chance to meet him. He was a veritable institution by himself in terms of the breadth of his knowledge, memories, and wisdom. Despite being a celebrated writer, historian, and elder, he nurtured a deep sense of humility and was always open about the things he did not know as well as his ignorance.
He also served as the keeper of memories of a past that has all been forgotten. I remember a time when we walked around Leh town and he would point out different locations and share memories from his childhood and teenage years. We walked around the bazaar, along Stalam, and all the way to Skampari. During that walk, he would stop and chat with people—strangers and acquaintances alike—asking them about various historical landmarks and changes they had noticed in their area. The high point of that walk for us was the discovery of a fragment of one of the walls that historically marked the boundary of the old town precinct. We spent many days after that walk, excitedly discussing different aspects of Leh’s changing landscape and the remnant of the wall that had survived the ravages of time and developmental changes.
I extend condolences to his family. They are bearing the loss of a husband, a sibling, a father, father-in-law, a grandfather, and an uncle who has been an anchor for many decades. His passing is an irreparable loss to Ladakh, Jammu and Kashmir as well as the country as a whole including all the students, scholars and researchers with whom he spent his, experience, time and energy generously. He served as a historian and a torchbearer of knowledge and scholarship with his prodigious writing that documented historical events as well as everyday changes that continue to take place in Ladakh as well as Jammu and Kashmir.
His passing is also a deeply personal loss for me. He was a very close friend and we used to spend hours discussing different ideas and books. In fact, he was the one who picked the name Stawa for the magazine from a list of potential names we had compiled. He reasoned, “It is important our youth learn the importance of perspective…”
By Sunetro Ghosal