ABSTRACT
On the way back from a trip to Kargil, we stopped in a small village to find a kiraiyakash, a transporter of trade goods, whose name and thumbprint we had found on an old receipt. As soon as we stepped out of the jeep we were surrounded by curious children of all ages, as in many of the other small towns we visited. We asked one of the children where the nearest house was, but before we could set out over the empty fields, a man came up and asked us who we were looking for. “Someone who worked as a kiraiyakash in the old times, named Tsering Tashi,” we answered, “or his family members.” The man shrugged and called over others who were working in the fields. After a few minutes of conversation amongst themselves, one man separated from the group and approached us. “My father’s name was Tsering Tashi,” he stated carefully. Our conversation began.
