A Trip To The Paradise On Earth: Part 1

This travelogue and the next one narrates my experiences of spending a week in Kashmir with my family. As always, I have tried to combine my personal ruminations with more useful information if you’re a fellow traveller.

Disclaimer: This post might contains expletives.

Day 0 (Sunday) - Leaving Delhi

After a punishing mid-semester, the onslaught of RDV was setting a lighter and more exciting tone for campus peeps. Being a part of RDV for the past three years, one gains the wisdom that it isn’t much of a big deal for final year students if they are not in the organising team. Basically, I didn’t give a fuck about the fact that it was RDV time on campus. My weekend was spent in the library studying. However, I was looking forward to the Qawwali night slated for Sunday evening. I was also looking forward to catching a train just after that which will take me to Jammu and then to the magical land of Kashmir.

The Qawwali programme, performed by Nizami Bandhu, ended around 8:15 pm and I headed straight to my hostel for dinner. I reached my room at 9 pm and started packing up. I backtracked the metro schedule and decided that leaving at 9:30 would give me a good enough margin. This meant I had 30 mins to pack up for the week-long trip. No big deal.

Metro took 40-ish minutes (longer because I missed the Magenta line metro towards Botanical Garden by a minute or so and had to wait for 8 minutes). Family had already arrived at the station and we got ourselves booking into the AC waiting room on the first floor of NDLS railway station. Our train was at 5:30 in the morning and it was around 11pm. The plan was to spend the night at the station (Don’t ask me why; my brilliant dad comes up with these schemes).

This time I took care to get out of Gate 4 and not Gate 3 which reads “Ajmeri Gate” but apparently goes out of the station.

My sister was kinda unwell so I gave her hoodie (the one I brought from London for her). She popped in a paracetamol (which I brought for her as well) and she dozed off.

I was anxious because the BlueDot application deadline was in 17 hours, and I knew that I wouldn’t be able to submit it if I got on the train (the journey was around 10 hours) and then we had to reach a hotel in Jammu. So, I had to submit the application before I got on the train which gave me 6 hours. I took out my laptop and started typing. I wrote answers to two questions before my brain stopped making sense of words, and I knew that I had to sleep.

23:46

Overrun by guilt and some concern, I set an alarm for 3 am and dozed off to Jharkhand tourism advert mixed with railway announcement noises mixing gently into my ears.

I woke up at 4 am. My dad had silenced the alarm :/

I took out my laptop and started typing drowsily. It was around 5. We left the waiting room otherwise, they would have charged for another hour. I was sitting on the platform and typing when my laptop went dead (great, I thought). I finished up the form and submitted it on my phone. I must say it wasn’t the best of my efforts given how fatigued I was from the day before - had to meet a couple of friends, and took a BSP meeting, went to the Qawwali night, turned in an assignment, and travelled to the station.

Day 1 (Monday) - The train journey from Delhi to Jammu

The train started around 20 minutes late, and I headed straight for the bed on the upper berth. I slept till 11 am. I forced myself to sleep more, but the constant chattering noises and vendor peddling originating from below compelled me not to. The next hour was bed rotting max as I kept dozing off and waking up as my body shuddered in sync with the metal box enclosing it cruising north.

My brilliant dad didn’t order food when he could, and I had sworn never to order from IRCTC.

At around 4 pm, all our networks vanished. I thought it might be a temporary glitch. Pre-paid sims are blocked after Pathankot.¹ I felt a bit constrained. An unnamed silence fell over the group, it felt like our freedom was being constrained.

On top of that, they decided to divert our train from Ludhiana to a station after Jalandhar, which meant that we would arrive at Jammu 4 hours late at 7 pm. Our train was sitting in the middle of nowhere in the wilderness. Everyone would be in the dark unless we get a new SIM card.

A loud whistle, and a sudden jolt, and we started rolling again. My day was spent in staring out the window or going back to sleep. Dad was constantly in touch with a native Kashmiri person who guided us for travel and accommodation.

19:07

We reached Jammu and headed to a telecom shop to get a post-paid SIM card. Navigating the next 7 days would be tricky, I thought, as we brought one SIM only for a pack of 4. The rest of the day (or whatever was left of it) was pretty boring as we checked into a lodge off the main road near the bus stand and had dinner at a cheap hotel.

The food was my first sampling of Kashmiri cuisine, and it was sumptuous and flavourful. I had koftas which were huge (around 3 inches in diameter) and roasted chicken along with thick-grained hard rice. I would soon discover that naan and rotis are not popular in Kashmir.

As I walked through the lanes, drivers were swarming around us like hungry bees to nectar. I looked at their faces and imagined a hard life filled with struggle and trying to make ends meet. I could smell the poverty in the air. It reminded me of my city.

Dad talked to a guy on call who quoted 38K + taxes for a 5-day trip. I spent the time till midnight reading up on Vargis Khan’s blogs and planning for the next day. Uncertainty loomed large, but I was excited. Perhaps, I was a bit anxious too because I had led three other people for this holiday. This was the first time I was being directly responsible for my family. I would have to prioritise comfort over cost and find the right balance.

Every family has a bit of…contention and disagreements. I think family trips help bring people who, although living in the same physical space, grow mentally more distant as they accumulate personal experiences - a dangerous state of affairs. This was my motivation for this trip. I think I have been partly successful but we’re getting ahead of ourselves here.

PS: My dad snored so loudly in bed LMAO, I couldn’t sleep. I opened my laptop and started typing.

Day 2 (Tuesday) - NH44

Woke up around 6 am to Dad moving around the chair across the room noisily. I can sleep in bright daylight but I need pin drop silence to sleep. It dawned on me that the next few days are gonna be about cooperation - a term which gradually loses its significance as people start to live alone and apart from one another. But I was pissed then so I scolded Dad to go back to sleep and slept till 7.

One of the best times to explore the geography of a locality is during the morning before the shops open up. So, I freshened up, put on my shoes, and went out to explore the streets of Jammu. There was a gurudwara in the distance and I could hear hymns blaring out of speakers in a language which I couldn’t understand. I came back to find my Dad having tea and rapturously chatting with the owner of a tea shop beneath our hotel. This would become a common pattern and something I would begin to admire as it would allow us to find out about cheap options for commute and food quite effortlessly - a form of “herd mind” that even google doesn’t have access to.

Me and Dad went out to get a cab from the stand to take us to Srinagar. It was around 250 km away and the driver charged us a reasonable 5500 INR for a 7-seater car although we were four. There were also cheaper option of a small reserved cab for 3500 and a shared cab (“service gaddi”) for 900 per person and buses for as low as 200. We paid for the lodge who cared us a reasonable 600 INR for an air-conditioned room which also had a CRT television which reminded me of the TV we owned a very, very long time ago.

We had breakfast at a vegetarian dhaba - aloo paranthe and naan - hot and dripping with butter which reminded me of comforting times of Delhi. I had a little altercation with father regarding a personal matter and I felt a bit hurt. We managed to make it a public spectacle and I could feel people staring at us. After tea, we started out of Jammu at around 10 am. The driver told us that it would take us around 5 hours to reach Srinagar if we are lucky and it usually takes 6 hours. We reached Srinagar around 4pm with a 45 mins stop for lunch at a dhaba after the Banihal tunnel on the NH44 route from Jammu to Srinagar.

The day was spent on the road watching towns and trees go cruising by. Road fatigue is a very real thing. Out of boredom, I estimated the length of one of the two tunnels to be between 8-10km based on the speed and time taken to cross it. That tunnel was 9km long. I inquired the driver about the Mughal road route to Srinagar that went through Shopian as I had read on VK’s blog and he replied that due to bad condition and longer time, that route is seldom preferred by drivers. I made a mental note to travel from Jammu to Srinagar via the Mughal road.

Along the way, I saw the construction work for a railway line between Jammu and Srinagar and thought that would be cool to have a direct line from Delhi to Srinagar.

The funny lunch

The lunch was a funny affair as the serving person forgot to get us “naan” - I thought they were making naan (as is usually done in the north). It turned out to be cold and pre-baked bread with a sprinkling of sesame - the kind that peddlers used to sell back at my naani’s place for 5 rupees. I had it with kofta (meatball) again - maybe I was getting fond of meatballs.

I remember dozing off just before Srinagar after lunch as the strong winds blew my hair strands apart. The chill in the air increased as we entered Srinagar, and it felt so good on my face. It reminded me of London. That’s when I saw armed forces casually strolling the streets with AK-47 rifles hanging from their shoulders and, naturally, got a bit scared.

Settling down in Srinagar

We went to a hotel on Court Road and negotiated a deal for the night. Dad and I transferred the luggage into the room, and I started with my sister to explore the neighbourhood. That’s when I got a call from my Dad telling me to come quickly as we had to vacate the room. I got confused but hastened to the hotel. It turns out that the receptionist was now demanding more money and Mom and Dad were waiting for us at the reception with all our luggage. The funny thing is that there were two or three more people who were showing us their rooms but as we had agreed on this deal before, we stuck to it even though the room was a little mid. As destiny would have it, we got checked into another room which was far better, better furnished and more clean, with a helpful receptionist.

It wasn’t troubling, except for the unnecessary hassle of carrying stuff around. This left an initial impression of Kashmiris being cunning and self-interested, just like Delhites, who are known to be unruly and crafty. However, I would soon debunk this experience with many more where the counter-impression outshone this minute inconvenience.

It was around 5 pm and we were all settled for good. My parents decided to stay in the hotel and relax - probably tired from the journey but I was buzzing with excitement. After my first excursion to the bridge market in the west, I crossed to the other side and had mutton kebab from a street-side food stall for 50, I started again for a second walk towards the east.

It was getting close to sunset and at around 6 pm, the sound of azaan sobered the movement and the chattering. Lal Chowk is a marketplace with a nice court that was recently constructed. There were Kashmiris and non-Kashmiris sitting on benches and gossiping, kids running around or skating, women with covered head shopping in pairs of two or negotiating a deal. I had candied fruit slice at a dry fruit shop at Makkah market which was a beehive of clothes and other accessories.

I had some non-academic conversations with my sister which I’ll leave out of this blog but suffice it to say that that conversation would not have happened in an ordinary setting. I think Srinagar’s vibe at night had uplifted everyone’s mood after two days of traveling and everyone had got more chatty.

We also booked our flight tickets to New Delhi for the 13th after collectively deciding that 2 days of travel would be too hectic, and I had classes from Monday. This would be the first flying experience for my father, mother, and sister.

I looked up a few places and somehow, Kashmiri cuisine had won my heart, so I went to a cheap Kashmiri restaurant. The food was incredibly flavourful - gustaba was a thick, spiced yoghurt-based gravy with finely minced mutton meatballs served with thick-grained rice, minced spinach salan and onion and radish pickle made with vinegar and a bunch of condiments. My only pet peeve was that they had no “naan”. The person who served us was younger than me, but it didn’t seem so because he was as tall as me. My father has a habit of…how should I put it…energetically interacting with the locals, and that’s how I got to know that one of them was named Aadil from the word A’dl which means one who delivers justice.

We walked to our hotel, which was a 3-4 minute affair, and relaxed. I started to plan for the next day. Sister and mom were a bit ill.

Day 3 (Wednesday) - Gulmarg

I woke up at 6 to silence my alarm and went back to the warmth of my blanket. My parents and sister slept on the bed and I got my mattress on the floor. I got up at 7 am.

I freshened up and went to the tourist taxi stand at Lal Chowk. Once again, due to the commanding presence of my father and his lively demeanour, all the drivers surrounded us, and we had a nice little chat. We negotiated a ride to Gulmarg for 2300, which, I think, was decent. Later on, I would realise my mistake as it was a small cab. If you’re more than two people, than I would suggest taking a larger cab (like an Innova). Our driver was a seventy-two year old Kashmiri dadaji who was as sharp and witty as ever. We started out of Srinagar at 8:47 am and reached Gulmarg at around 10:30 am, with a stop at Tangmarg for breakfast. Gulmarg is around 50 km from Srinagar.

The breakfast was masala dosa and aloo paratha - my sister exclaimed that it was one of the best paratha she had - which makes sense since this was her first time eating “northern” paranthas. The dosa was okay but nowhere near the perfection that I had at BLR. Food was reasonably priced for hilly areas.

Most of the journey to Gulmarg involved a failed attempt at meditating while cruising through the asphalt as my father kept interjecting with the most random of questions addressed to the driver. I gave up after some time and was contended with letting the cold breeze blow my hair. The driver smiled softly and answered all of the questions with patience. I mentally noted their accent, which would become a subconscious exercise whenever a Kashmiri would be speaking - for instance, triple zero is “troo-ple zero” or six is “see-kas”.

As I got out of the cab at Gulmarg, I was swarmed by a gang of shepherds (called gujjars). The place was a cacophony of tourists, mostly Bengali uncles and aunties, Kashmiri shepherds, and horse dung. I walked to some distance for some quiet and was adamantly followed by one guy who was certain to take me to the top on his pony. I think these people have grown accustomed to the art of acquiring customers - if people really want to learn about customer acquisition cost then it is from these people. Sure enough, after some nudging, we negotiated a deal of four ponies for 1600 INR.

We left for the waterfall at 11 am. Most of the people were lining up for the cable car ride. It was the first time mounting and riding a pony - for all four of us. Most of the climb was hard. It looked pretty hard, and I could only imagine the poor pony’s struggle to climb with me on its back. I felt pity for the animal. We reached the top at 1:10 pm (2 hours!) with a short break in between. What was at the top? A waterfall! I don’t think it was the top, but I noticed my parents were weary, so I didn’t insist on going any further. After the Kheerganga trek, my body yearned to go on another adventure. I thought this was it. The water was ice cold, and I went almost to the top of the waterfall. Dark clouds had gathered, and it was drizzling. The guy advised us to start descending, and we started for the base at around 2 pm and reached the base at 3:08 without any breaks. My parents were tired as fuck, and I had started to get weary too and develop some discomfort sitting on the uncomfortably-made seat.

The driver didn’t take us to the Maharaja’s Palace or the golf course and headed straight back to Srinagar. We repaid him by not traveling with him to Sonamarg and Pahalgam. He also didn’t allow me to connect my phone to the car’s music system on the pretext that it wasn’t working. It’s hard to tell when people are lying.

The journey back was faster and less memorable except for stopping for 2 minutes at an apple farm and being asked for 20 rupees to see the farm which we refused partly because all of us were tired and because why would you ask for money to show us a garden?!

I went for a walk around the neighbourhood in Srinagar, specifically to the riverfront boulevard on the other bank of Jhelum as I failed to do so for the morning walk. It was too dark so I left. I had some snacks - mutton kebab which they serve on the iron skewer with refined flour roti served with green chutneys and chicken seekh kebabs which wasn’t exactly what I would call hygienic - at the night market on the Jhelum bridge. My sister just made faces while the person at the kebab counter showed me how to hold the metal skewer with one hand, break the roti with another, slide a piece from the skewer, and have the kebab.

Day 4 (Thursday) - Sonamarg

I woke up around 7 am and went for my customary walk while everyone else got ready. It was interesting to see people naturally fall into a habit during the morning. After my meditative walk when I mostly listened to a few downloaded songs (since I didn’t have an internet connection), me and Dad started to look for a cab and ended up on the other bank of river Jhelum near the hospital. After a long and arduous negotiation primarily led by my father, to which I was merely privy, we couldn’t make a deal and left after Dad finished the cup of tea offered to us by the leader of the cab drivers at the stand. One thing which you must realise about my father is that he is a performer and he loves to yap - a quality which was on full display this time as not just the drivers but also native passers-by stopped to listen to this man from outside Kashmir in a blazer talking with passion and energy - something which I would believe lacks in the lazy, cold Kashmiri morning.

As it was already 9 am and we had planned to go to Sonamarg, which was twice as far as Gulmarg, we headed straight to the taxi stand at Lal Chowk and, without any delay arranged for an Innova at a somewhat pricy cost of 4000 INR. I allowed myself this indulgence as I was traveling with family, and the road was long. It turned out to be a good decision.

We left Srinagar for Sonamarg at 09:27 am, and after being slowed down by the hustle-bustle of a city waking up - hawkers peddling their wares, parents dropping off their children to school, and tourists, just like us, started for their destinations - we found the road comforting and stretching out into the horizon. Our driver, Mr. Ahmad, was a dark and short man who didn’t look like a native Kashmiri but whose father was from Jammu and whose mother was from Kashmir. He was very cooperative and doubled as our guide, helpfully pointing out interesting locales within the city and without. I later discovered that he was also a sycophant - a quality that pays well to inculcate, especially for people in the tourism industry. I connected my phone to the car’s music system and put together a Sufi/Qawwali playlist which helped me calm down.

The travel to Sonamarg was around three hours long, with a 45-minute break for breakfast. Although I was surrounded by the best valleys and wilderness, my heart, somehow, was not at peace. The fact that I couldn’t find the reason only aggravated my misery. The three hours were mostly spent in contemplation, occasionally broken by a random question or remark by my father from the backseat.

As soon as I reached the base, I was (once again) swarmed by locals trying to sell us pony rides. It was funny how everyone was so broken after the Gulmarg trip that I dropped the idea of another pony ride for the family. I was interested in trekking to Thajiwas Glacier, as I had read in Vargis Khan’s blog. It was supposed to be a 3 km trek which was nothing compared to the 12 km trek to Kheerganga back in December. To be plain, I was desperate to forget about the cage that withheld me, and somehow I believed that tiring myself out would lead to that escape.

I knew the trek could be completed without a guide (I only had to follow horse/pony dung and their foot patterns on the ground - no doubt, a more adventurous experience), but I agreed nevertheless. This was a good decision as the guide was only a year older than me, and we had a lot of interesting conversations - certainly a welcome change from the rather depressing, lonely walk.

My guide was a native, bearded Kashmiri who was shorter than me. He would later tell me that he was twenty-two. Although I couldn’t understand much of the Kashmiri, I was attentive enough to figure out when my guide was signaling to his fellows, and I could notice the shift to cordiality when they found out I was a Muslim. My guide was (unwarrantedly) skeptical about me finishing the trek - I think that is how they sell their pony rides. In any case, we spotted budul (pine) and bhoojh patra (paper tree), and edible black cherry trees. Funnily, our conversation shifted to the guide confided in me, his love life and it was interesting to note how people are not that much different anywhere - they all have the same set of needs, the same set of instincts. In contrast, I found myself quite lacking.

The trek to Thajivas was the most scenic and soothing for me. The guide also directed a short reel for me haha. I was more interested in understanding the Kashmiri youth’s mindset towards politics and education - you know, given it’s a sensitive zone. However, my guide was more interested in sending snaps to his girlfriend, so I let him be. Life truly has a funny way of throwing us back to the things that we are trying to run away from, I guess.

I remember walking to a cliff and only managing to utter, “Wow.” When Shah Jahan exclaimed that this was the only paradise on Earth, I was sure he wasn’t kidding.

“Gar firdaus, ruhe zamin ast, hamin asto, hamin asto, hamin ast” (If there is ever a heaven on earth, it’s here, it’s here, it’s here)
~Shah Jahan

I joked that the crows were cawing with a capital K. On the way down, we found a lot of tourists at the pony checkpoint, and the guide offered his prayers at a mosque (essentially a 400 sq ft room) while I waited amidst (mostly) Bengali and Delhi newlyweds or couples. WTF life. I suspect it was the season for school trips, and I found students from local schools camping around - groups of minor girls eyeing me and giggling was not something I enjoyed in a foreign state. I tried dipping my feet in the water stream, but it was dead cold. My foot went numb in one second and ached badly. I enjoyed the Maggi that my guide offered, and we had one each. 10/10 for hospitality. Then, we started for the base.

By this time, my guide was really invested in the conversation with his bandi (girlfriend) on Snapchat, so the descent mostly became walking in silence. He told me that the marriageable age in Kashmir is around 19/20 for both boys and girls. He also told me that his girlfriend is going to be related to him and then we had a discussion on whether he prefers to marry a relative or not. His arguments were, surprisingly, against marrying a relative as he pointed out that it’s less probable that one would incite unrest by invoking the past sexual experiences of their partner - which I think makes sense.

We reached the base at 1600 hours and, to my surprise, found that my parents and sister had taken off to the Zoji La pass, so I was left alone and had to wait. I paid my guide 1500, and it occurred to me that he should be paying me as I was his therapist during the trek, patiently listening to everything he obviously wanted to tell to someone who could understand - indeed, that’s what we most yearn for, right? Someone who understands us. They came around 16:30, and we started for Srinagar. I was utterly convinced that Kashmir was the place for healing. I already started planning how to spend my winter in Kashmir meditating. Amidst Sufi songs and Qawwalis, I allowed myself to transiently fall into sleep. I remarked how tourism might be destroying the people’s will to self-improve - it is a bad thing to be excessively blessed as it turns one complacent. I also found his overwhelming urge to study Kashmiri history. We came at a juncture and saw a mosque to my left and a temple to my right, and I exclaimed, “Yes, my India.”

My parents sneaked into the blanket and went to sleep almost immediately. I went out for my evening stroll to Lal Chowk. It was post the maghrib azaan which indicated sunset. The square was lit with golden light and there was a cacophony flux of tourists and natives. I observed the native Kashmiris and felt adoration and pity at the same time. I fleetingly glanced at the Kashmiri women and was dumbstruck - if men go to war for them, then perhaps even war is justified. Anyway, I forced myself to not stare otherwise, it might be considered bad manners. I looked at their produce, the richly colored fruits on display, the flavourful dry fruits on sale, and felt pity for a land that had the potential to be prosperous, finding itself at the crossroads of greed and jealousy and suffering for none of its faults. It reminded me of Palestine and the (para)phrase The bride is beautiful, but she is already married to another man. I sighed. It was all too distressing.

My father started making grunting noises and took support to stand up. It was due to the pony ride the day before. I googled a nearby dhaba and visited a Punjabi place at Lal Chowk to minimise traveling. My mother also had mild cold symptoms. My sister was already two days deep in her cold - I found myself traveling with suboptimal fellow travelers. We had dal makhani and laccha parantha at the Punjabi place. It was good, but I already had some snack kebabs from roadside stalls. My mother’s eyes lit up when she excitedly described how the cab ascended in circles to the pass (”gol gol gol karke upar legaya”)and I swear to God, at that moment, I knew that the trip was a success.

Most of the vendors happily accepted UPI payments - especially hotels and restaurants. It was occasion but still significant to run into a person asking for only cash. The bank ATMs around Lal Chowk - Union and PNB were quite disappointing in their sub-par quality of service. J&K bank was a cutie pie, though.

At the hotel’s reception, I saw a Sikh in his 25s chatting with the receptionist. My father and I went in, and we had an impromptu boy’s adda session. That’s how I learned about their local cab service - OnCabs. It would prove to be a saviour in the coming days. We explored quite a bit of local transport, partly to learn more about them and drive down costs. India would make for a linguist’s wildest fantasy come true - the range of phonetic variation one observes across the land is insane - I still wonder how Satra becomes Sa-taa-ra and whether that’s a travesty or a melody.

I went to bed with two thoughts: How can one ever be unhappy in his paradise? And how to be the best version of myself?

Reaching the end

Thank you for reading till the end! I hope to cover the rest of the trip in a second part to this blogpost.

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