We left the madness of Delhi in a goose chase between the "New Delhi Train Station" which looked drabbed and confusing to Connaught Place, to pay bakshee service to "Government-approved" agencies to plan out our journey onwards. There wasn't a choice as everything was squeezed out in the chaos of the train station and we stood out as goose for killing. The difference was just to make sure we have enough blood left for the trail (ok, maybe I am dramatising a bit). Our instincts however, made us drove as hard a bargain in order to meet our prioritised plan in getting out of Delhi as soon as possible to start seeing something else too. Not the perfect hardened up traveller style but heck, sometimes, we just had to stoop the path less preferred.
Here I am, writing to you in our little bedroom on a house boat by one of the many beautiful lakes in Srinagar (ours called Nigeen). We were housed up in a quiet part of the town and loved every minute of it. My fingers are frozen and not much gets up to at this hour of the night. Our flight took us over the many farmed lands of Srinagar and a bigger part, Kashmir, famed as one of the gateways to this stunning landscape. Youesef, our caretaker got us comfortably settled in on the afternoon of our arrival. Our boat faced the imposing stature of the ancient Srinagar Castle built by the Great Akhbar. Today it stands as a military stronghold to watch over this city.
I forgot to mention, strong military presence is a given in Srinagar. After all we are almost a comfortable imagined sneeze away from the cold winds of the Line of Control bordering Pakistan. Our first night was a very relaxed affair of Kashmiri cuisine and spiced tea made from cardamom and cinnamon infusion of green tea leaves. Sleeping on top of our electric blanket and hugging our hot water bottle, we dreamt away into the Kashmir, paradise on earth.
A gloomy heavy rainy day greeted us. The mountain air was immensely cleansing and I was met again by the local flower man, Mr. Bul Bul whom came by yesterday to give me some free flowers. We bought some variety of flower seeds from him for hubby’s grandma who loves planting (I am completely hopeless in growing even a herb garden) and he threw in some fresh balsams to brighten an otherwise, grey day. The temperature heated up to barely comfortable for us to take a lake cruise in one of those old sampan boats. Our “cha cha” a 80-year old man that we fondly greeted as uncle took us on a slow leisurely ride to see the villages and their lifestyle of vegetable gardens, broken bridges, sprawling water lily gardens and an explosion of amber and canary leaves in the forests beyond at the hemline of the mountains. Rain came again and we admired how melancholic the place turned to be – with thousands of water droplets balancing precariously on top of floating plates of lily leaves, shimmering like precious plates that held the jewels of the Himalayan Gods. From afar, a soulful call to the faithful to perform theirazar prayers rang out like an old classical record in the mosque beyond the lake. We felt like we were the only people in the world, quietly appreciating a little show of secret of this piece of world. Cha Cha gave us his little urn of charcoal to keep beneath our blanket. Our flower man, Mr. Bul Bul adopted the same way to keep themselves warm while running about their daily business. The latter fondly called his “the little boy”.
Srinagar, survived many wars and in a strange way, carried themselves as proud Muslims professing the values of hard work, simple life and no begging. Yes, this place still carries a lot of poverty and it was common sight to see dogs and puppies finding scraps to tie up the day, goats and cows parading around rubbish bins, chickens and ducks washing off the dirt thrown off from the slush and wild Kingfishers and eagles soared high above, looking for a meal. Many adults go about their trade of woven goods, textile and drawn carts, usually by horses. Only a sharp focus brought us to a sight of a little child playing in the dump site, along with a mingle of homeless setting up camps on empty fields.
After all, it is winter setting in. Many of the rice terraces were bare. Fresh snow fell last night and we found ourselves immersed in the beauty of Gulmarg, the Flower Place up at 3,150m to try to get a view of Mount. K2 but the clouds meant it was to be. I came back to a pink sky and hoped that it will mean our 3-day trek will begin tomorrow.
Along the way home, we saw little cubicles of shops still bustling with activities and energy. An old man furiously turned his sewing machine to mend some clothes, another appeared to be uninterested in a price haggle, while another boiled fresh chai from the unit above. Kids were still playing on the streets in their huge poncho-looking garments to keep warm, another few puppies stood and drank from their mother’s teats, and a few young men peddled their meat kebabs, rubbing their palms on top of the burning amber.
People here loved tourism. They are Muslims but they do not associate with the terrorists who killed in the name of religion. Many abhorred the diversion of modernity and spoke proudly of the old values of hard work and respect. They understood that they needed to move with times and keep their own identity. Nobody knows about the future but as one of our caretakers here, Ramee spoke to us...
“I will have to choose for my daughter a good husband next time in the future. It is my duty. I cannot choose one that drinks and is lazy. I must choose well.”
Being married by arrangement at 15 and only to formally knew his wife at 22, with three children now and happily settled, working and learning in a job for more than 12 years, Ramee told us that he loves life here. In the big cities like Delhi, he spoke that “people are lazy and no work hard”.
For a man who never had the chance to learn at school and conversed very fluently in English with us, I think he knew something more than what was needed to survive in this place so far away from modern distractions yet filled with challenges. Power cut is common and I write to you from a room that is dark and cold now. Yet the people here are happy. There is a lot of “catching up” if you see it as lagging behind the flash and speed of a developed country but the people stop and talk to you, they take time to greet and gossip. The kids are never afraid. Animals intermingle with humans as easily as the sun rises.
I am bowled over by the beauty of this place. It feels like I am here, in another place far away from everything I knew but read about in books. Only now, the winter cold felt real, the conversations are real, the smiles are real. Like how they were used to say to me when I needed time to think “as you like madam” – there is so much to learn still and I never felt the pressure. Kashmir is getting to me gently in a way that Delhi had scared me a bit.
My first one and a half week in India had been revealing in so many different ways. Like how my heart was broken in so many pieces from Delhi, only to be nursed and empowered again when I befriended a stray here at Srinagar, India has a mysterious way to help and push you at the same time.
You just have to take it as it is. Her many people that I met, the eyes and intensity, the dialects, the thoughts and opinions. Sure, half of the population here looked like Saif Ali Khan (never a bad thing, could it?) and I personally think there is so much potential here to do so much as long as they want to, but sometimes you can’t help but think… India has been going well all along these times, with her ups and downs. Maybe it’s just us, who seem to think they could do it differently? I don’t know but I think I am just going to sit back and enjoy what comes along. Sure again, some of them that you meet here will test your patience to another level but you learn how the Indians had been handling it – to sheer thick skin policy – and suddenly you go “hey, it isn’t so bad now!”.
I supposed, when in India… just like in Rome.
