Ajay Bijoor

large_yak_mdm3881.jpg

medium_yak_mdm3881.jpg

small_yak_mdm3881.jpg

thumbnail_yak_mdm3881.jpg

yak_mdm3881.jpg

Unlike most days, folks in Kibber seemed to be jostling around with a sense of great urgency that morning. Life in this little village, high up in the Himalaya, is generally very relaxed. But not today. I couldn’t tell what it was all about, so when Takpa, my young neighbour, peeped in I questioned him about the commotion. “The men are going out to gather the yak today. The herd was last seen in the pasture close to Tashigang village by the &#39;lukzi&#39;, the herder. He came home running last evening and reported that one of the yaks had gone crazy!” Spiti valley is inhabited by communities that have practiced agro-pastoralism for many centuries. This means that they combine farming, during the short summer, with rearing livestock as a dual source of living. People mainly rear sheep, goat, donkeys, horses, and cows. But the most important are the yak, and this is for several reasons. The sturdy yak is an excellent assistant in the fields, during farming. Yak wool and yak dung are a precious source of warmth in the extreme winter months. And a yak’s tail can fetch over ten thousand rupees in the local market, if it is spotless white! Chuddim—another of our neighbours—had recently purchased a yak from a trader in Manali. This old yak had spent all his life posing for photographs with tourists. He was used to a life of being fed by his master; a far cry from a yak’s life in Spiti. Here, yak are left free to wander the pastures for most of the year. This means that they roam in a herd searching for green grasses to feast on. Not used to such a hard life, this old fellow spent most days basking in the sun, even if he had to go hungry. He soon developed a nasty temper and would chase down any soul who dared cross his path.
 
 
 
 Yesterday, it was the lukzi’s turn: he literally had to make a run for his life. A group of men from the village then brought the old yak back and tied him inside a corral. From that day on, I could see the old fellow from my window. He would stare back at me and grind his teeth, as if in warning. In some days I grew used to hearing that ominous sound at practically any hour of the day or night. One evening, as I reached the village I found everyone beaming with joy. ‘There’s a party today. Meat momos!’, exclaimed Takpa my little friend. Momos—steamed dumplings—are the most favourite dish in Spiti and are prepared only on special occasions. That evening the entire village gathered to feast on meat momos eaten along with spicy tomato chutney . Full to our hearts’ content we walked back to our homes, that moonlit night. As we reached our respective homes, I realised something was missing. ‘Where’s the old yak?’ I asked. ‘He was the meat in our momos!’ Takpa had a wicked smile. My stomach gave a little lurch . It felt as if the old fellow was grinding his teeth inside my belly.
 
 
 
 
 The yak is found across the Himalayan region, and is a truly impressive animal. A wild yak can weigh to up 1 tonne! Domestic yaks are smaller, and are invaluable to their owners. Butter made from its milk is used to make namkeen chai (butter tea)—a refreshing beverage that helps stay warm in the extreme winters in these parts. Yak cheese is also prepared and consumed across this region. In addition to being extremely healthy, yak cheese is very yummy!
 
 
 
 
 
 A version of this story appeared in The Hindu on 13 Aug 2014 and can be accessed
 <a href="http://www.thehindu.com/todays-paper/tp-in-school/meat-momos-for-everyone/article6309873.ece">
 here
 </a>
 .

Meat momos for everyone

पागल हो चला याक और मोमोज़ की पार्टी

Kibber

At present, we can only accept donations in Indian rupees by Indian citizens. All donations made to the CounterMedia Trust are eligible for exemption under Section 80G of the Income Tax Act, 1961. Here is a copy of our exemption certificate.


India is bigger than New Delhi. And people need to know more about the rest of this vast nation.


Younger, media-saturated generations are growing up knowing little about their country, but a lot about the elites of a few metros and towns. For a narrowly-owned, commercially-driven media, the dumbing down of a nation is part of standard operating procedure. The last available data of the Centre for Media Studies (CMS, Delhi) show us that reports from New Delhi account for 66 per cent of news on the front pages of major dailies. The CMS data also found that just about 0.24 per cent of front page news came out of rural India. The TV channels are not much better.PARI exists to change that.We are a non-profit organisation. We publish under creative commons, and do not charge readers a subscription fee or put-up advertisements. Nothing is behind a paywall and we are completely free-to-access by anyone. We guard our independence and receive no direct grants from governments and corporations, nor any funding that could dictate our content. So, we are dependent on volunteer labour, donations from individuals, foundations and institutions that see value in independent and free media.PARI is changing the way Indian journalism reports and documents the rural.India is more than the elite of a few metros and towns. We report on rural lives and livelihoods, languages, communities, migrants and more. We need your help to pull off this most ambitious of Indian journalistic endeavours. The scale of this effort costs money. Donate generously - and spread the word about PARI.&nbsp;

Donate FAQs


Let’s get you acquainted

Welcome to PARI

All our content is, and will forever be free to consume. If you enjoy our work, you can support us by becoming a volunteer or by donating to help fund our work.

Want to republish this article? Please write to <a href="mailto:zahra@ruralindiaonline.org" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">zahra@ruralindiaonline.org</a> with a cc to <a href="mailto:namita@ruralindiaonline.org" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">namita@ruralindiaonline.org</a>

Meat momos for everyone

Life in the little Himalayan village of Kibber is usually relaxed. But not today.

Related stories

A rain-scented walk in Sivagangai

Living on ravaged land

Biswas and the bamboos on his bike

Recycling energy, Godda style

Bhadels of Goa

Pookadai: still throbbing with morning life

Koli Kadlas

Malnourishment high among children of migrants: study

Wheels of the rural Indian West

Living Under a Red Cloud in Bellary

Vedla – earrings of the Maher community

Dreaming of water, drowning in debt

Kali: the dancer and his dreams

Farmer's diet worse than a convict's

In Yavatmal, life goes on

Suicides are about the living, not the dead

Death of a carpenter

Hoisa Shigmo!

Women farmers: weaving a life in Anantapur

Defiant in Dhinkia

Spice and all that's nice

Kerala's Green Army

The ‘jugaad’ not-a-mobile

Health as someone else's wealth

Calibrating in a Kudumbashree assembly unit