Kashmir

Of all the things I miss losing, I miss my 'ability to get amazed' the most - to paraphrase a popular adage. You might think this is silly, but I assure you that it is not so. As I continue with my wanderings, both for work and for pleasure, the number of things that generate a sense of awe keep diminishing each year. Things start becoming mundane, more of the same, or how do they say - 'dull'. And yes, yes, I know that the great poets keep saying each day is special, and all places are different and beautiful, which is part true too. But it is only when I visit something so extraordinary and incredible as the Valley of Kashmir, that this phrase comes alive again, and the sense of excitement gets rekindled. For that one thing, I would say that the price of the 'admission ticket' is completely worth it.

Baisaran Valley - Mini Switzerland, Pehelgam

Nigeen Lake in the evening from the houseboat

And it is a steep price, no doubt. Even with some bag-packing tricks thrown in from our pre-"family & kids" stage of life, a family vacation from Delhi to Kashmir could put you back as much as an international trip to Europe would, maybe just a little less. It is not only the flights and the accommodation, but for each of the day excursions, you need to keep your purse loose. From Gulmarg's gondola (cable car) to Sonamarg's local taxi cab (from the base to Zojila pass); from Pehelgam's pony rides to the late evening Shikara rides in Dal Lake and Nigeen Lake; and from the food in the restaurants to the infinite amount of shopping you will be tempted to do (even if you have renounced worldly pleasures like pashmena shawls or a nice dress or jackets) - it is a tough bargain.

Kashmiri Gate,Zojila

Jhelum, Pehelgam

Don't get me wrong. Unless you do these things, you don't really immerse yourself in Kashmir, so they are quite necessary. Going to Pehelgam, and not taking the ponies up to the lush green meadows of Baisaran valley (called 'mini Switzerland', probably by those who have visited one but not the other) is like not going to Pehelgam at all. Going to Sonamarg, and not visiting the mouth of the glacier or Zojila top is like not going anywhere at all. Gulmarg only has the gondolas that are exciting, so if you don't feel like cable cars, then Gulmarg is anyway not for you.

A lot is written about the natural beauty of Kashmir valley. Yet, no words can truly capture the fierce and disarming nature of its beauty. The glimpses of Himalayas that we get to see in this place are unearthly. Even the pictures are poor and hazy reflections, at best, of what we experience in these mountain ranges. I may get the strength and skill to write about it some day, but today I want to talk to you about the 'people' of Kashmir, who for all the wrong reasons are in media again these days.

I want to talk about our host and owner of Akbar Houseboats, Adnan Wanganoo. Adnan is middle-aged, mild-mannered, and generally chilled out. With his scruffy hair locks, white silver finger rings, and two-day old stubble on his chin, you can easily mistake him for a cool retro drummer from a local rock band. In his heavily accented English, he welcomes us on the evening of the first day, after we reach his houseboat all tired and worn-out from the day trip to Gulmarg. When he tells us to treat his houseboat as our home for the next four days, and that his two men are available at our disposal any time - and that we can summon them like djinns with a clap of hands or snap of fingers - at first we think it is part of the typical sales sh-peel most people throw around. But, very soon, we are extremely delighted to discover that he means every word of it. His hospitality is the one thing makes the entire vacation entirely pleasurable.

Kebabs at Khayam Chowk, Srinagar

Adnan stops by the houseboat every evening to catch up, chat, ask how our day has been, suggest what we could do the next day, and also to tell local stories and anecdotes to keep things light. He tells me, while sitting on the nice carpeted floor of the houseboat, legs folded and hands waving about animatedly, about the famous Sufi Pir Syed Ali Hamadani, who apparently brought Islam to the Kashmir valley. But it could very well be the story of Bulbul Shah, or Syed Abdur Rahman Turkistani (Surhawardi). The folklore is usually ambiguous about such minutia. "Two-three years ago", Adnan starts - I soon realize that by which he actually means twelve or thirteen hundred years ago, it's his quirk of speech -  "the local king of Kashmir was a Buddhist and the queen was a Hindu".  He is probably referring to Rinchan Shah or Raja Suhadeva, who was a Buddist ruler of the valley in around BCE 1320, and his wife Kota Rani, both of whom accepted Islam later.

Apparently, the couple would quarrel and argue incessantly about whose religious beliefs were superior. This was certainly not conducive for the marital bliss the couple so desired. Finally, getting tired of the charade, they decided one night that they will sleep in their chambers, and when they wake up the next day, the first human voice they hear - whoever it is, they will ask the person his/her religion and will both adopt that religion as well as make all citizens of the valley follow it. As it happened, Bulbul Shah was traveling from Persia through Ferghana (Afghanistan) to India of that time. He happened to be sleeping in a garden near the palace. The next day morning the couple woke up to his reciting of azan (morning prayer). The royal couple called the mendicant in, asked what prayer this was as they had heard it and in fact that tongue for the first time. They soon learned about this new religion and decided to adopt it not just for themselves, but for their subjects too.

But the subjects were clever, Adnan says. They asked the royal couple what they would get in return if they changed to this new way of life. The queen turned to the mendicant, and the mendicant in return said he will give them "art". This is how Persian art came to the valley - weaving, and knitting, and painting, and paper mache, and cuisine, along with Islam - Adnan concludes, while lovingly caressing the colorful carpets on the floor of the houseboat.

Akbar Houseboat at Nigeen Lake, Srinagar

Adnan's visits are more to oversee the affairs, though. He has four houseboats in total, and he 'boat-hops' all the time, along with going on land in Srinagar town. For our time in the houseboats, our true hosts are two local boys Bilal and Manjhar. Of the two, Bilal is older and more experienced. He is actually like the proverbial Pasha - snap two fingers, and out he comes with a tray of freshly brewed Kahwa. As they say, a valet should know what the patron would need, even before the patron himself knows, and provide it. I do not think Bilal has even read Woodhouse's Jeeves or seen Wes Anderson's 'The Grand Budapest', but he is surely an inspiration for Ralph Fienne's character in the film. Bilal and Manjhar, a smiling young chap who seems to be Bilal's apprentice - like Zero Mustafa in the film - take turns in sleeping in the boat, and so we have either of them available at our beck and call 24 by 7.

Kahwa Samovar

I want to talk about Bilal. Bilal lives in Tangemarg, about 40km from Srinagar, on the way to Gulmarg. He visits his family once in a while. He misses his home snuggled in the mountains. He says the business of houseboats is brisk, and he has not visited home for 5 months nor has he taken a day off. If that is true, there is no sign of fatigue or homesickness in him. He only hopes that after we leave, he would be able to take a few days off for the festival of Eid, as we are leaving on the day of the festival. He misses his niece, and my toddler daughter reminds him of her even more. He does everything, from carrying her around, playing with her, getting her tidbits, even cleaning her mud-soaked shoes at the end of the day. Each day when we return from our adventures, Bilal gets the tea brewing, and then hurriedly sets the table for dinner. He fans over us while we dine, shares his own stories, and ensures all are well-fed.

On the second day's dinner, Adnan and Bilal get a few dishes from the Kashmiri Wazawan menu for us - Shammi Kebab curry, Seekh Kebab curry, and Goshtaba, the king of Kashmiri Wazawan. This is hard at this time as this is the month of Ramadan, and supplies are scarce. The dinner is just wonderful. On the third day, hearing that some of us would like to try the local preparation of 'palak nadru', spinach with lotus stem, they decide to feed us this speciality. But it is just one day before Eid, and lotus stems are high in demand. No matter, Adnan bhai keeps his word, visits three different markets, traces down the last lotus stem dealer in the town, and gets us palak nadru for dinner. We are overwhelmed.

Reeshta and Goshtaba - part of Wazawan, Srinagar

Let me take a moment to also talk about the houseboat, which is our home for three nights, and has a character of its own. We have the entire linear houseboat to ourselves, which is convenient. But it is not just a houseboat. It is a living system, an ecosystem, a 80-year old floating home made out of Deodar (Himalayan cedar) wood and painted regularly to keep it looking fresh. There are three well-furnished, clean rooms, each with its own toilet and bath, and three beds per room; followed by a very small pantry with some storage and sink; followed by a large-ish dining area decorated with bone china dishes and Kahwa samovar; leading to a spacious living area with TV and laced with some excellent Ferghana carpets; and finally opening on to a small deck that overlooks the calm serene waters of Nigeen lake.

Morning Flowers in Shikara, Nigeen Lake, Srinagar

Nigeen Lake, Srinagar

If you know me, you know that most of my time in the houseboat was spent on this deck - under the sky, overlooking the water, the reflection of the clouds and the lights at night in the water, drinking the occasional cups of tea, reading, ruminating about the sights we saw that day and anticipating we could hope to see the next day.

An ancient fisherman with wrinkles as old as the age of the world itself visits the nearby waters early each morning. Whenever I wake up and go to the deck in the morning, I find him already settled down in his spot, with a line sunk in the water. We sit silently facing each other at a distance. He smiles, and goes by his business changing the bait and cleaning the hook. On the third day, when I try taking a picture of him, his wrinkles deepen. He waves to me in denial, and peddles a bit further away. When he sees he's out of the shot, he turns around and smiles again. Bilal says 'chacha' (uncle) comes to fish every day without fail, but is usually quite shy of the visitors. He seems to be good at fishing though, as I see him scooping some sizable numbers out.

I also want to talk about Fayaz Ahmed. When we land in Srinagar, we have a different car. The driver of this one does not seem to know much about local places, things to do etc. He is a good guy, but could not help us in our explorations. So we ask for a change, and we get Fayaz on the second day, with a van and no air-conditioning. Normally Srinagar is cold, and this would not have been a problem, but this summer is unusually hot, and to our urban minds not having an aircon seems like a huge compromise. So on the morning of the second day, when Fayaz arrives, we board the car grudgingly. A few miles out of the city on the highway, however, and we realize that this is the best decision ever. Fayaz is more than a driver. He is a tour guide, a translator, a local patron, and a negotiator. I would take a good guy with non-functioning aircon in car any day over someone with air-conditioning.

Fayaz takes us to Sonamarg on our second day in the valley, with suitable pit stops for taking in the scenery and also kehwa. We need to take a local van up to Zojila pass. Fayaz says this is better than taking ponies to the glacier since we have already done that earlier. When we reach the base, he ends up haggling and arguing with the local drivers, almost ending in a fist fight. Alarming, but a slightly happy accident out of this brawl is that we get a van to go take us up to Zojila pass and to the snow almost at throwaway price.

Amarnath Yatra Tents, Baltaal, as seen from Zojila

The guy who takes us up to Zojila, Guljar, is a master of the curves. He drives his Sumo Traveler like my little son drives his tricycle, with aplomb and calculated carelessness - sometimes without ever looking at the road. And what road it is! In fact sometimes there is no road. Only landslides. But the scenery is breath-taking. Guljar tells me that he learnt driving from his guru for about five years. Not only did he drive, he did all chores for him - like a gurukul system, did dishes, did cooking, did cleaning - only then he learnt how to drive in the mountains. He says he has a '6 year' old daughter, then takes out her photo on his mobile, a cute cuddly infant. So he must have meant 6 months. He says he goes home each day and plays with her for hours, and that's what keeps him going. I like him.

Zero Point, Zojila Pass, Sonamarg

The weather keeps changing, as is typical in the mountains. One instant it's sunny, the next it is drizzling. "Bambai ke fashion ka aur pahadon ke mausam ka pata nahi chalta" (one cannot say when the fashion at Bollywood and the weather in the mountains will change) - as Guljar says. This must be a big draw with most of his passengers, because he repeats this a couple of times, as if it is his 'thing' - and looks at us with anticipation of laughter. Of course it is amusing, so we humor him every time, but more than anything else we are just happy to see that he is in complete control of the vehicle and of the roads.

I want to talk about Rafeeq at the Zojila pass. He runs a small business of running sledges. He asks me if I am a foreigner. When I tell him that I am local, he does not believe me (of course, he does believe it later when I haggle a good, very desi, very Indian bargain out of him!).

He takes us to an old chap with a tent renting jackets and shoes, who lets the kids hang about inside the smelly tent and dole out the goods like they own the place. I've had smellier ones before, so this doesn't seem to bad. Rafeeq and his two friends take us up the hill with the snow, and then slide down on a wooden sledge. The kids love it. I am not quite up to it initially, but finally I give in seeing how much fun it is. And it is of course a whole lot of fun rushing down the snow, I can tell you that. Rosebud!

The day trip to Sonamarg is a complete success. The next day we head towards Pehelgam. The road is through the town, and the going is slow. We regret a bit about not having aircon in the car. But soon we are out on the highway and the going is good. Fayaz shows us different places as we wheeze past them - the bakeries with food laid out for the festivities, the garden where Mufti Mohamad Syeed, Kashmir's earstwhile chief minister is laid to rest (which he built himself, like a pharaoh!), the engineering college that was taken hostage by militant a couple of years ago and which still has the marks of struggle, the cricket bat factories at Sangam. He shows us the barracks of Badami Bagh cantonment in Srinagar with a sincerely grateful tone, thankful for all the help these men provided to Srinagar last year during the time of the floods. Fayaz lives about 25km from Srinagar main, in a neighboring town called Avantipura, famous for the ruins of the once-grand Avantipur temple. It seems like a good suburb, with modern amenities, banks and all, and he is quite proud of his town.

Apple Orchards, En route Pehelgam

Once we leave the road to Anantnag and take the route to Pehelgam, the road gets less busy and more scenic. We pass by some small apple orchards with green apples, and the journey is pleasant. Shortly, however, there is a barricade where the men in khaki ask us to take a detour. When Fayaz asks them about it, they say that "upar halaat theek nahi hai" (things are not good up there). Fayaz tries to argue with them, but to no avail. After turning around and taking a different route, Fayaz says he thinks that is not true and these men are most likely keeping the road empty for some VIP movement, which is common during  Amarnath yatra. He is rather upset that people use this excuse, about things not being safe, all the time even when there is no such thing.

Reaching Pehelgam, we take ponies to go up the waterfall and the Baisaran valley. There are about three men to drive seven ponies and seven bumbling, urban riders. The kids do great on the horses, even on the steep inclines up, while the elders keep their fears in check and eyes peeled on the scenery while the horses negotiate the slippery rocks. The scenery is truly breath-taking. We get down at the Baisaran meadows, and frolic in the greenery while the ponies recover and the horsemen rest. The climb downhill is really steep in many places, and our daughter is tired of the sun. One of the men carries her all the way down without being asked, and we are grateful of this simple gesture. We see how hard it must be, carrying a sleeping child on the shoulder, while moving two horses, but the lad does it willingly and with joy.

Cricket bat factories, Sangam, En route Pehelgam

It is these little things that stick with you, along with the great visuals and scenery, and of course the food. Everywhere we go, people seem to go out of their way to help and be kind, and be just very hospitable. Don't worry, this is not part of some 'friends of Kashmir' propaganda. Not everything is great. But nothing really is. The stone pelting is a reality, even more so in these days. So is the political flipflop. So is the double-faced rhetoric. And yes, there are those who are nice to you because they know you are paying them.

Goshtaba meat pounders, en route Pehelgam

But then there are also those who do it inherently. At least I would like to believe so, and I would like to believe that there is more of them ... The shop where we buy some saffron - and you have to buy saffron in Kashmir - they offer us kahwa, twice, without asking. The guy selling trinkets - wooden shikaras, paper mache dolls, model houseboats - on the Nigeen Ghat lets the kids play with all his goods laid down on the tarpaulin without bating an eyelid. Porters at the airport lug our bags in, make way for us and ensure we get to the gate in time, almost for nothing. We find a shop selling meat pounders made of stone - those that are used to pound meat balls used in Reeshta and Goshtaba, and when we find that the stone is rather heavy to carry in the bag, the guy agrees to chisel it down to half in half a day's time without making a fuss about it. Fayaz, Adnan, Bilal, the guy selling kebabs, the shikara boatmen, the saffron seller, the guy at the kebab place who says smilingly, "you guys will come again tomorrow if you like what I sell you, not otherwise, and that's my marketing pitch to you", the two guys and the woman looking at us with pride while we are downing the shawarmas at a roadside takeout joint near the dargah.

Hazratbal, Srinagar

It is the little things that make travels memorable. Be it Kerala, or Goa, or Ladakh, or Kashmir, or any other corner of this vast country for that matter, it is the multitude of these little experiences that make you want to get on the road - again, and again, and again.

Belated Eid Mubarak!

Peace,
Shreekant
7 July 2016