Traditionally, polyandry existed in Ladakh: one woman could be married to two men, often brothers, who held equal positions in the household. One might work outside while the other managed work around the home. The practice still exists occasionally in villages, but most young, educated Ladakhis now want a relationship between two people.
Development and tourism have changed women’s lives in many other ways. Young people are moving away from farming, and many women remain at home while their husbands work elsewhere, often in the army. At the Women’s Alliance Centre, I work to keep traditional skills alive and help women earn money from them.
We teach these skills to younger women before the knowledge disappears. Many of Leh’s older cooperatives have already closed, so the Centre has become even more important.
Tourism benefits women unevenly. In Leh, women may run guest houses or sell more products directly to visitors. In the villages, women mainly continue farming and selling vegetables, while their husbands find tourism-related work as guides or shopkeepers.
When a woman earns money from her own skills, she gains more than income—she gains confidence and a stronger position in her household.
The Centre sells products made by village women and organises workshops. We hope eventually to open dedicated shops for village goods. The extra income is especially valuable for women married to soldiers, whose husbands may be absent for long periods. They need to be able to support and manage a household independently.
Family bonds and mutual support remain strong in the villages. In Leh, they have become weaker, especially during the intense tourist season from June to August, when everyone is busy and has little time for anyone else. In winter, the old rhythm returns.
Tourism has also affected cultural pride. A few years ago, many young Ladakhis were embarrassed by our food and clothing because people from other parts of India spoke about them disrespectfully. Tourists often responded very differently. Their genuine admiration helped young people see value in traditions they had been taught to feel ashamed of.
Language remains a serious concern. Ladakhi has never been taught properly in schools. Most people can speak it, but few can write it. If this continues, the language may lose its written future.
Tourists helped us recognise the value of our culture, but only our own schools and families can ensure that the Ladakhi language survives.
We also learned painful lessons in the early years of tourism. Kashmiri businessmen sometimes persuaded local families to exchange antique jewellery for new pieces, then sold the antiques to tourists for much more money. People no longer accept such exchanges so easily, and the experience made us more aware of the value of what we inherited.
We have made progress on plastic. Leh banned plastic bags in 1998. Yet rubbish is still collected too slowly, and on trekking routes it is sometimes local guides and helpers, rather than tourists themselves, who leave waste behind.
Everyone wants tourism’s economic benefits, but more hotels are being built even on farmland. This makes us increasingly dependent on the very industry that is consuming other livelihoods.
Tourists will not keep coming if Ladakh loses its culture, so women’s knowledge, village products, our language and the land itself must be treated as the foundations of tourism—not as things we can sacrifice for it.