"Can you see the yellow painted marking? That's the No Man's Land," said 50-year-old Rukiya Bano, a local from Thang, the northernmost hamlet at the Leh-Baltistan border. I squinted my eyes in the direction she pointed.
After handing me her binoculars, Bano continued, only pausing at the right places for impact: "Across the Shyok River, the green fields you see belong to Pakistan. Now, look carefully—there's a zig-zag path on that mountain slope. Even the smaller peaks have Pakistan army bunkers, where their soldiers are stationed. Look behind; that mountain is part of India, where we have our own bunkers."
I tried to keep up, focusing harder on each crevice of the mountains that loomed over us. It all resembled a giant painting; in it, the LoC seemed like only a faint graphite imprint bleeding into the canvas. For Bano and others of the region, these few kilometres of separation have ruled their lives since the Indo-Pakistani war of 1971.
Turtuk, located about 8 km from the border, is the largest village among those that were made a part of India in 1971, with about 7,000 residents. Change has been most visible here, guided by the slow surge of travellers. While this may have slowly pushed Turtuk out of the shadows of pain, it still lurks silently everywhere.
Mohd Ibrahim, a local and a guide, was born after '71, but the Kargil War is fresh in his memory. As we walked on a wooden suspension bridge connecting Yul and Farol, the two hamlets comprising Turtuk, separated by a glacial stream, he said, "A lot has changed since those days. This riverbank used to be lined with military artillery." Now, river-view cafés have taken over.
"The village is still dotted with bunkers built during the Kargil War. Families hid there for weeks; some were later converted into cold storage for butter and perishables," he said.
The most prominent one is the Ashoor family's wartime refuge bunker, which was constructed in 1991 but remained in use until 2003, when occasional shelling still occurred. The entire structure only rises to a few feet and is made entirely of large stone bricks placed over each other. On the surface, a layer of rubble camouflages the entrance.
In 2018, the family converted their 300-year-old underground cold storage and their 140-year-old ancestral home into museums. Both sites give visitors a glimpse into traditional Balti living, marked by unshaken resilience in the face of a harsh climate and geopolitical skirmishes.
Walking into these spaces, I realised how deeply life here is intertwined with loss and longing. Ibrahim, who has family across the border that he has only met through a screen, told me, "Families here have deep ties across the LoC. Many have relatives in Lahore and Karachi. In 2014, some elders managed to get visas and meet their relatives after decades. There were emotional reunions, but many families could never reconnect. Despite the tense border, life goes on."
Even though all villagers live with the reality of never meeting their kin again, their relations with the Indian Army personnel are harmonious. In the few days I spent in Turtuk, seeing children being transported to schools in military trucks and soldiers walking unarmed was a daily sight. "Our bond with the army is powerful. During the war, every family sent at least one member to help the soldiers—cooking food, carrying supplies, or transporting goods on donkeys where vehicles couldn't go. Even today, our boys prefer to join the army before thinking of becoming doctors or engineers. Their presence also nurtures and protects tourism in the region," said Ibrahim.
However, earning a spot on a traveller's map was not an easy journey for Turtuk. "Till 2010, people here were often mistaken for Pakistanis," said Rashidullah Khan, founder of Turtuk's only luxury boutique hotel, Virsa Baltistan. "There were no good schools or proper infrastructure. The government even shut this place for both domestic and international tourism. After years of petitions, it was finally opened up in 2010. That year, just one tourist came. The next year, there were five. Now, Turtuk is one of the most popular regions in Ladakh."
In the early years, Turtuk was just a pitstop to catch a glimpse of the LoC. Now, every second house is either a homestay or a café selling fast food alongside Balti dishes.
"If all those who visited stayed overnight, the homestays would not be enough," said Ibrahim.
This rise in footfall has also empowered women, who now run small businesses in addition to farming.
The village is still dotted with bunkers built during the Kargil War.some were later converted into cold storage for perishables
Parched from the harsh sun and desperately searching for something to drink, I chanced upon two women running a small kitchen in an alley. Over freshly brewed blush-pink noon chai and just-off-the-stove khambir, Rukshar Bano and Sher Bano told me how things have changed. "Earlier, we used to work the farms, look after our family, or carry fruits on our backs over long distances. Now, we also run shops, cafés, and homestays. Five years ago, about 20 women, including us, formed a Women's Association and opened this café. We take turns to work here, and on the days we don't, we help each other with farming."
They also told me how they'd just started to recover from the losses caused by the lull during Operation Sindoor. "But it's important to keep at it," said Sher Bano.
While many Indian travellers have started trickling in and spending at least a night in Turtuk, foreign backpackers who stay longer outnumber them. "It is not that domestic travellers don't want to stay for longer, but there's limited infrastructure. There are many homestays, but they don't even have road access, so you need to carry your bags for a mile," said Khan of Virsa Baltistan, the only proper hotel with 12 rooms. The property was opened to guests last year after it had been under construction for almost a decade.
Built as an ode to the Balti way of life, each corner of Virsa features traditional architectural details shaped by the hands of local artisans.
The community here has always fought to preserve its identity and culture. everything we do is about our roots
"It could have been completed in one or two years if we had outsourced everything, but we wanted to rely on local artisans and gradually build with their skill and knowledge. Some artisans had left their trades—like stonemasonry—for decades. We tried to revive that, gave them tools, encouraged them, and slowly they returned to their craft," said Khan, who video-called his family on the other side of the border to learn more about the traditional intricate carvings particular to the region.
Even the experiences offered to guests—which include a traditional Balti meal, dance performances, or a session with local craftspeople—have been designed to bring locals closer to their heritage. However, getting them to participate took time.
"Getting artisans to see value in turning their crafts into experiences required patience. We have worked hard to change mindsets and show people that their skills can translate into sustainable livelihoods," said Khan.
"The challenges never end. I taught myself to drive an excavator by watching YouTube, built a swimming pool, did carpentry and repaired coffee machines. Every day here forces you to adapt. The barter system is also a part of how we survive. For instance, I started trading dry fruits with partners from South India who send us coffee," said Khan.
Despite the difficulties, the people of Turtuk, such as Khan, are keen to share a slice of their Balti culture with people, be it through a hot meal prepared fresh over the hearth, teaching you words of a traditional Balti folk song, or stuffing your hands with plucked grapes and apricots from their gardens.
Even the king of Turtuk, Yabgo Mohammad Khan Kacho of the Yabgo dynasty, which ruled over the Baltistan region for 2,000 years, doesn't wear his royal title like a shield from the masses. He sits with the visitors at his 14th-century royal house, now a museum, patiently answering all the questions about his lineage and his memories of living both as an Indian and a Pakistani. "This palace has seen many ups and downs. It has witnessed the grandeur of kings and then the heavy presence of Pakistani soldiers. At one point, it was turned into an army headquarters, with the Pakistani flag hoisted here and soldiers saluting it daily," he said.
In 2010, Kacho turned it into a museum, giving Turtuk its first. Made entirely of walnut and apricot wood and featuring Buddhist and Islamic designs, the palace reflects the village's key position on the Silk Route. About a hundred visitors walk in every day.
The fate of Turtuk and its surrounding villages has always rested on others. People have had their nationality changed overnight and have been made to leave behind homes they could never return to. Yet, their Balti identity remains firmly anchored in their traditions.
Polo, which has deep roots in Baltistan before it was exported and popularised in the West, is one of them. Khan, who has been playing since he was 14 and is now trying to build a team to revive it, shares that the word "Polo" is, in fact, derived from the Balti word for ball. Although few people in the village actively practise the game, it remains an integral part of festivals.
"The most important festival we celebrate is Navroz on March 21, which is marked by polo matches at the 16th-century ground in the centre of the village, horse riding, and cultural dances," said local guide Ibrahim.
Even in winter, when temperatures hit sub-zero, Balti people celebrate a festival linked to the old Bon religion, which was prevalent before Buddhism and Islam arrived. In this festival, villagers carry torches to the waterfalls, light fireballs, and celebrate with music and dance.
This spirit of the Balti people and their innate pride in their culture have carried them through the years of estrangement from their land, family, and history.
"The community here has always fought to preserve its identity and culture. At the heart of it, everything we do is about our roots and sharing them with the world," said Khan.
How to reach
From Leh, drive to Nubra Valley and continue onwards to Turtuk. After first acclimatising in Leh, the journey can be completed in two to three days.
When to visit
April to September is the best time to visit Turtuk, with sunny days and cool nights. October is ideal for autumn colours, albeit colder.
Where to stay
There are several homestays where you can find shared or private accommodations. Virsa Baltistan, with a curated spa programme and spring-fed bio pool, is perfect for a luxe yet sustainable getaway.
Things to do
Visit the Turtuk Monastery, walk along the Shyok River, try traditional Balti food at The Balti Kitchen, visit the Royal House of Yabgo Dynasty, shop for apricots and dry fruits at The Hill Tribe, explore the historic Polo Ground, visit the Balti Heritage Museum and Cultural Centre.
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