Impressions from a visit to the Kashmir Valley

Heaven on Earth, indeed, but it could rain anytime !

"Is duniya mein do cheez ka bharosa nahin - Mumbai ka fashion, aur Kashmir ka mausam" quipped our taxi driver when I mentioned that it was quite a pleasant weather. He picked us up around 3:30 PM from the airport, and zoomed through the relatively empty roads towards Dal Lake. We were coming from metro India - if the car can go at 40-45 kmph, we take it as an almost empty road.

That's a good one, I thought - though it felt like I have heard this quip before. May be in Mumbai or in England, where the weather could change in just a few minutes, especially during springs and summers.

This was a much anticipated holiday trip for the family. The kids were thrilled that they would be living on a house boat for a few days, and have looked up both Sonamarg and Gulmarg on the Internet, to see the images of people playing in the snow. My mind however was on the security situation. I read several travel advisories, and tourist diaries, and even asked a couple of questions on Internet forums about the current security situation in the Kashmir valley. The last thing one wants to happen on a holiday is to get caught in the midst of a stone pelting incident or worse, a blockade due to a combing operation by the para military forces for suspected terrorists. That is what one gets to read about Kashmir in the newspapers on the social media.

I entered Srinagar expecting it to be a city under siege. My first impressions of the city, as we drove past the J&K Police Head Quarters building, almost confirmed my received wisdom. Every 100 meters or so, fully equipped para military personnel were standing guard - sometimes on the pavement, sometimes standing behind a clump of trees or an old wall. One simply can't ignore their presence.

I tried looking at the faces of these CRPF men. Some looked very young, while some of indeterminable age. I wondered about their shifts (an 8-10 hour shift probably, before they can head back to their barracks and make those daily calls to families in various parts of the country?).

'These people are every where.." - I remarked to our driver. He said: 'Yes, sir', and lapsed into silence. My conditioning made me want the driver to say something negative about these men. He however stayed silent for a few minutes, and then added: 'These CRPF people are from India, sir. The policemen are Kashmiri."

'He doesn't see himself as Indian' - I made my obvious conclusion. Over the next one week, I realized that every one does this in Kashmir, even those who think that Kashmir will always be part of India. They refer to the rest of the country as 'India', and don't realize how weird it sounds for any Indian tourist to hear the Kashmiris distinguish between their land and 'India'. It is not done consciously though. It is an internalized reality for them. Someone told me once it is the same in many parts of the North East.

Anyway, we sped through the main roads, crossed a few landmarks pointed out by the driver, and made our way towards our destination - Dal Lake. On the way, the driver took us through a couple of residential areas, where I remarked about the walls.

Yes, Srinagar is a city where the people seem to be in love with walls. Every decent sized independent house has walls 8 to 10 feet high, not allowing any glimpse of what goes inside. And the really important buildings have walls that are probably 12 to 14 feet high - only the Chinar (Sycamore) or Akhroot (Walnut) trees showing up over them, or the slanted terraces to allow snow fall or rain water to stream down.

Houses made of red bricks, and tiled roofs reminding me of my home town Kadapa at times. Here and there, one could see Mangalore bricks as well. I could not suppress my question about the walls though. 'Why does everyone build such high walls here?' - I asked even as my mind was busy making the assumptions. 'I don't know sir..it is like this in Kashmir. Don't they build high walls for houses in India? - came the answer.

When the winds blow over the lake, the shikaris must wait till it quietens down. Life has its own rhythms here, and one can't make it go fast, even if you are a tourist come to spend money.

Again, that 'India' word. As if this is not India. 'Don't they teach in the schools here that not just Kashmir, even Pakistan was part of India till 70 years back? How did we get to this situation? ' - part of my mind was struggling with these thoughts whilst the other part was rationalizing it all.

Meanwhile, we took a few turns and reached Dal Gate. Ah..I can keep these thoughts aside for sometime, take in the beauty of the lake, and prepare to have fun on my holiday. 'Stay away from politics when you speak with people, especially strangers' - was my mom's strict advice during my teenage years when I did a bout of backpacking. Perhaps her advice is valid for this trip as well, I thought, as the car stopped at Ghat no 12, Dal Lake.

"We don't want aaram, saab. We want money"

As we got down from the car, the driver hailed one of the shikara men. There were about 10 shikara boats lolling gently side by side near the jetty #12. It was 4 PM. There were hardly any tourists. The men were lounging about on the soft mattresses of the boats, some of them smoking. Was it the haze of Kashmiri charas or ganja, making some of their eyes glossy? - the hedonist in me wondered, as one of the Shikara men came up the jetty to take our trolley bags from the car to his boat. My wife started clicking snaps with her mobile phone, and the kids wore silly smiles on their faces. The slight nip in the air, and the sheer expanse of the water body in front of us with hundreds of house boats - this is exactly how my kids may have visualized it.

'What a life you guys are having ! Just relaxing in the boats and having a good time !' - I meant this as a compliment to the men lying down in the boat next to the one we were boarding. The elder among them replied - "we don't want aaram (leisure) sir ! we want money. We want tourists to flock here so that there is no time to rest like this." 

'We have come, na ! More will come. This is just the start of the season " - I tried to sound genuine, but knew how stupid I must have come across to these shikara men, who may have seen thousands of tourists like me. 

"It has been two years, sir. No tourists, and no snow fall as well. Ever since that Wani got killed, and the patthar baazi (stone pelting) started - tourism has become a trickle. InshaAllah, this year it might be better, if there are no unwanted incidents.." - our boat man opined, as he started rowing us towards the house boat. He almost sounded like a farmer hoping for timely rains and a good harvest, after two years of drought.

We reached the houseboat, and were warmly welcomed by the house boat owner Imtiaz. (All names changed in this blog post series about my Kashmir trip).

Next post: Trip to Sonamarg, and getting lessons on local politics.