I am 76 years old and I still farm organically. I have lived long enough to know that something described as modern is not automatically better. Tourism has brought money to Ladakh, and I do not deny that. It provides jobs in guest houses, travel agencies, shops, trekking and cooking. But when I look at who benefits and what we give up in return, the picture becomes more complicated.
Many tourism businesses in Leh are operated by people from outside Ladakh. Kashmiri traders come during the summer and sell souvenirs in shops along the main streets. Their own tourism economy has suffered, so I understand why they come. Still, Ladakhi businesses are often pushed into less visible locations further back.
Government policy makes life difficult for local farmers too. Subsidised rice and flour are transported here from elsewhere in India and sold cheaply. We cannot easily compete. Organic food requires more work, while chemically grown products can be offered at lower prices.
Even our chang loses its proper taste when it is not made from organically grown grain.
For me, food is not an abstract environmental subject. Chang, our local beer, belongs to everyday Ladakhi culture. If the grain changes, its taste changes. That small difference tells us something larger about what may disappear when imported products replace our own farming.
Most village farmers still work organically, and many communities have resisted agricultural chemicals. I would rather see public money spent on what Ladakh really needs: reliable electricity, clean water and telephone connections throughout the region.
Tourism has another weakness: the season lasts only about four months. Summer brings visitors, jobs and income, while winter brings almost none. Students often work during the tourist season to pay for education elsewhere in India. Anyone who depends entirely on visitors must earn enough in a few months to survive the whole year.
Leh almost becomes two different towns. During summer, everyone is busy and families have less time together. Young people wear Western clothes. In winter, people stay closer to home, traditional clothing returns because it is warmer, and family relationships become more important again. In the villages, the older rhythm survives more strongly throughout the year.
A four-month tourism season should never persuade us to abandon the land and livelihoods that sustain Ladakh all year.
My greatest concern is farmland. New hotels, guest houses and shops are spreading across the fields around Leh. Good soil is limited in this high-altitude desert. Once a field has been covered by a building, it is very difficult to make it productive again. Water is scarce and increasingly polluted as well.
I do not want tourism to disappear. It can be useful precisely because farming is difficult here. But tourism becomes dangerous when it pulls people and land away from every other livelihood and makes Ladakh dependent on a short season.
Visitors can help through simple choices. Ask for locally grown organic food. Think carefully about how much water you use. Where possible, choose a compost toilet instead of a flush toilet that consumes scarce water and may freeze in winter anyway.
I am not asking tourists to reject Ladakh, only to remember where they are: a fragile oasis where land, water and a good glass of chang can never be taken for granted.