Misty mountains. Nose numbing cold. Thin but fresh air. Spiraling roads flanked by dense pine forests. Industrious locals. With broad smiles. Passing army trucks. Lurking inside are pining souls, itching to get back to their sweethearts and family as soon as their duty ends. A young captain, waiting serendipitously in the mist, to invite you to join him for a walk - and in the course and bends of the mountains, you unravel intriguing stories - about him, his work, his mates and 'border'-line realities. A proud strong fellow, surrounded by death and harshness. But weakness doesn't show. Neither he sounds like a fatalist. He's just that. A man. With a job. A duty. A regular. And you silently witness the Indian army's 'bear hug' sized hospitality. Playing a game of cricket with the locals during leisure time or just inviting us over for a glass of chai and 'biskoot'! Tinged with ginger and fragrant with cardamom, the warmth spreads beyond the finger, tongue, throat and makes way to our hearts. Sitting on their bunker beds, surrounded by jawaans, eagerly sharing their stories, with fogs setting down heavy outside and temperature dropping sharply: our experience couldn't have been better.