A Trip To The Paradise On Earth: Part 2

This is the second part of my travelogue to Kashmir. You may read the first part here.

Day 5 - A day of many songs and many silences

I went for my usual walk around 7:30 am. It was still relatively cold, and most of the city was still asleep. It was mutually decided the night before that we would take a break from long trips and explore the city itself. That was the plan.

I put on “Hum Dekhenge” by Iqbal Bano on loop - that incredibly potent protest song by Faiz. It would be a day of rumination and slowing down. I was growing somewhat uneasy owing to the uncertain nature of the trip and how the subsequent days would unfold, but I was consciously pushing myself to embrace this perspective.

I booked a cab on OnCabs, and the matching was almost instantaneous. I think the driver sensed that I was a tourist (due to the 3 stops at major tourist attractions on the cab route) and called me. He tried negotiating the flat 2500 INR rate for an intracity tourist cab, but I refused. I asked him to take us to Shankaracharya Temple and bring us back, and he quoted 600, which was too much. I asked him to take us to Nishat Garden. The whole information asymmetry for tourists was beginning to blow my neck and I hated it.

I paid the driver around 300, and we got off at Nishat Garden. Luckily, we were earlier than the usual tourist crowd and avoided the nuisance. I sat down to sketch a view of the Dal Lake from one of the fountains but was interrupted by a gardener who brought me a flower. I thought that was it, but he kept standing, and then he told me that he wanted baksheesh, which meant he wanted money. I got a bit annoyed. I couldn’t focus on the sketch, so I moved on. The garden or Bagh was a masterclass in Mughal architecture - I loved the striking symmetry and can only imagine this place coming to life in the spring.

I shifted my location to sketch a Chinaar tree but was again interrupted by an uncle who told me that her wife was an IITD alum (I was wearing my university t-shirt). So much for solitude, I thought. I gave up and spent some time just walking around.

There’s a shikaara jetty just outside Nishat Garden, and we found ourselves at the jetty. I went straight to a hotel and ordered food. It was 11 am, and I didn’t want to miss out on my breakfast, so me and fam had a brunch of amazing daal, vegetables, chapati, and rice. Me and Dad went out to talk to the shikaara owner for a ride while my mom and sis disappeared into one of the clothes shops lining the courtyard.

The shikaara ride on the Dal Lake

The shikaara owners have organised themselves into a union, so it was futile to try to negotiate. They were trying to sell me their longest trip of 2 hours from Nishat Garden to Hazratbal Shrine. I rejected the idea as 1) my folks won’t be able to sit in a shikaara for 2 hours with an aching tailbone - I had seen enough of that for the past two days and 2) I wanted to explore the city on foot and not sit in a stupid boat. I agreed to a 30-minute tour to the Mughal gate, and they charged me a reasonbale 700 INR. The shikaara driver was sweet-mouthed - a quality that I imagine would be beneficial in his line of work - and he talked to us with candour and poignance about the state of shikaara drivers and his own experiences. The water was filled with wild weeds and unblossomed lotus plants. My mother was frozen with fright while my sister was angry at something. Overall, it was a pleasant shikaara ride and I got one more thing off my list to brag about to my friends.

In sooth I know not why I am so sad

My mind kept harking back to the experiences of the previous day, and somewhere deep in my heart, I could feel unrest as if someone had come into an ordered room and made a mess. I think I was afraid of missing out. The hard part was figuring out what I was missing out on. I realised I could try to convince my heart of anything, but it would always want what it wanted. Standing there in one of the most beautiful places on the planet and feeling lonely wasn’t exactly my idea of vacationing. Watching people loving and being loved wasn’t boding well with me either. As Jaun Elia once said,

Kya taqalluf karen ye kehne mein
Jo khush hai, hum unse jalte hai

Why should I hesitate to admit that
I am jealous of those who are happy.

Shopping and Shalimar

My mother and sister bought some clothes from one of the shops. I discovered that Kashmiris have been welcomed as traders in West Bengal but not so much in other parts of India, such as UP or the western states. This explained the apparent softening behaviour of Kashmiris whenever I admitted that I was from Kolkata.

I checked maps and found that Shalimar Garden was 3 km away from Nishat Garden - a commute that would require transport. My Dad asked a CRPF personnel for directions, and we discovered the public transport - a Travera model - which stuffed 10 people + 1 driver in a 8-seater. The fare was dirt cheap - like 25 rupees per head and was ideal for the commute. We would rely on Travera rides for the rest of the day, and maybe the sore arm due to being squeezed with 3 other people in a 3-seater was worth it due to the cost saving. I’ll leave a tradeoff for you to decide if you ever find yourself in Srinagar.

We headed to Shalimar Garden on the Tavera, and I spent my time sketching a Chinar tree (finally) despite all the tourist distractions around. The garden was very unhappening as it was autumn, and most of the leaves were slowly transitioning from green to yellow. There were very few blossoming flowers, and the shades were dominated by ochres and dull greens.

And now my road splits into two

Now, we had a choice to go south to Chashma Shahi and Pari Mahal (the other two of the four Mughal Gardens) or Hazratbal Shrine. We decided to go to the shrine as everyone was tired of gardens. We took another Tavera and headed out to one of the most happening and crowded marketplaces in the region. It was too crowded to even walk, and yet somehow, there was a flushing economy right here - vendors selling all kinds of wares - boiled black kidney beans (rajma) to Dastarkhaan (eating table cloths). Mother brought some succulent and sweet Kashmiri apples and walnuts. I was still disturbed, but I tried to make peace with myself. I could not point out what was making me sad. Everyone was super tired, so we took another Tavera straight to Lal Chowk, where I was squeezed between college students and ended up with a sore arm.

The Kashmiri feast - Wazwan

I had planned for an elaborate Kashmiri Wazwan dinner and looked up some places online. We settled on Mughal Durbar, around 1.3 km from our residency. We left the hotel around 7 pm and walked all the way. They had traditional floor seating arrangements with elaborate raised eating tables. The food was top-notch - the usual Kofta and Gustaba - flavourful and rich in protein. Then, there was Rogan Josh, Tabak Maash (roasted mutton ribs), a mutton curry, lots of flavoured rice (pulao), and steamed rice. The only thing lacking was some tandoori naan - my only qualm with the Kashmiri cuisine.

As it happened, my mother and sister were happy to have seen the Wazwan but contributed little to finishing it. Father and I got down to the business, but I performed poorly myself. While eating, we were joined by a couple and her little daughter, who was exceedingly cute - beyond what I have ever seen and what words could describe. I got distracted from eating. At around 9 pm, we headed out and went straight to our hotels to relax and sleep. The next day would be a trip to Pahalgam, the final stop on our tourist trinity. I was also aware that this trip was about to end as the stream of Slack and Whatsapp messages started growing in urgency and frequency.

In the mean time, I enjoyed the “Hum Dekhenge” with my family and discussed the meaning. My Urdu had improved greatly, just reading the billboards and signboards across the city. I listened to a bunch of other songs - This Must Be The Place by Talking Heads, Haal-e-Dil by Faridkot, Bulla ki Jaana by Rabbi Shergill, and Heer by Junoon. This was, of course, apart from the incredibly apt songs - Kashmir by The Yellow Diary and Kashmir by Led Zeppelin.

To sit with elders of the gentle race
This world has seldom seen
They talk of days for which they sit and wait
All will be revealed

Talk in song from tongues of lilting grace
Sounds caress my ear
And not a word I heard could I relate
The story was quite clear
~Kashmir, 1975

Day 6 - Hunger for scaling and the circles are disturbed

Unlike the other days, I didn’t sleep soundly. Slightly fatigued and mildly annoyed, I went for my usual walk and tried to cheer up by listening to the downloaded songs. I had a funny dream of people running in hazmat suits and with Geiger counters². This time I went to the other side of the Jhelum river and returned from the market side, essentially completing a loop. I saw many signboards urging people not to pollute the river and within two minutes, I saw a 40-something auntie drop two polythene bags full of waste into Jhelum and walk away.

Family took some time to get ready and we were somewhat late reaching Pahalgam. I had understood that negotiations didn’t work as they had fixed rates and any forced negotiation will lead to poor service and behaviour as I observed on our trip to Gulmarg. Mr. Ahmad was standing outside when we arrived, and he asked us not to enter while he bring the car. Apparently, there was a queue-based driver allocation but he skipped the line. Smart move.

I sensed a marked decrease in enthusiasm within the family. It was apparent, that everyone was tired of traveling. The only reassurance was that our flights were booked for the next day.

Saffron shopping

We started out slightly late and our driver stopped at Leithpora along NH44, a place known for Saffron cultivation. That’s when I had my first taste of kahwa with real saffron and chopped almonds - it was warm and sweet and extremely refreshing. We brought some saffron and dry fruits. I was impressed by the modernisation of the business as the person explained how they have taken the business online with an e-comm website and complete social media presence. This was the manifestation of from India, for the world.

Along the way, I noticed certain things that Mr Ahmad did. For instance, saying that you’re a “guest of a high court judge” makes for a speedy pass through the highways. Moreover, it was clear that he was intimately familiar with the routes as he took us through remote villages on off-beat shortcuts that made for a speedy journey to Pahalgam with minimal traffic jams. Even then, we got some traffic on the highway as some election commission machinery was being moved, given that the state elections had just concluded.

I suspect that the people in Kashmir have probably mistaken the Canadian flag as a representation of the maple leaf? I am really interested to know what a Canadian thinks about how one can find the Canadian flag literally anywhere even on tractor exhaust pipes.

Conversations were free-flowing in the cab when Mr. Ahmad exclaimed that I should be married in Kashmir, and everyone laughed. I was momentarily cringed but gradually found the idea not repulsive. And yet I could see that the driver didn’t mean what he said - he was a sycophant after all.

The trek to “Mini Switzerland”

Once we arrived in Pahalgam, I was again swamped by pony owners and tourists - almost all of them Bengali uncles and aunties. One of the owner quoted 6000 per person for the pony ride and I almost laughed. Basically, this was the usual peak season fare. I was stupefied. I was also very hungry so I might have come down too strongly on the poor guy. Mr. Ahmad took us to a restaurant and I first had a good, filling meal. Back to my senses, I decided that I would climb to the top on feet and I won’t need a guide - I could just follow the horse dung. But then, I didn’t want my fam to just sit at the base. I agreed to get three ponies after negotiating for 2000 each. This was still a rip-off but meh. I would trek all the way.

It was barely an hour’s trek LOL. Before I knew it, I was already at “mini Switzerland” - yeah, right, they named the place after a foreign country only to highlight our infatuation and subordination with European countries. I asked the guide to allow my sister to trek for some time, but he refused. That’s when I got pissed. The so-called “mini Switzerland” was basically a picnic spot with zumba, ziplining, a bunch of food counters and a lot of people just sitting and chilling. Once again, there was a group of school kids and I wondered if they also had ponies. We inquired from the group in-charge and he told us that they had just climbed on their feet. They would be 15 to 20-year-old girls in salwar kameez and school shoes. I was impressed.

The trip back to Srinagar

The trek back and the ride back to Srinagar was a quiet affair partly because I was pissed and tired. Thus, I invest most of my time in thinking. An idle mind is truly a wild monkey. I wondered about the J&K economy and its increasing reliance on India for food and grains (I read a few pages of Colonising Kashmir by Hafsa Kanjwal). I got worried about the calls for an “Israel-like” model in Kashmir by far-right Hindutva goons. I wondered what would happen to these beautiful and hospitable people. I was concerned about birth rates and mortality rates. I wanted to know what the Gini index and the wealth distribution among the population and what was the GDP per capita of the people of J&K. All of a sudden I wanted to know everything about Kashmir and I wanted to tell it to others but I knew that what I sought demanded a lifetime (or at least a PhD). I was constrained by the limitations of being human, and it bothered me. My heart grew heavy and I didn’t know whether it was still my sadness or the sadness of others that I carried without any reason.

I was interrupted in the middle of my meditations by the driver with the familiar question - “Sir, aap kal kahan jayenge?” (Sir, where will you go tomorrow?). You can sense that he knew exactly when and how to ask that question, having practised it multiple times. I got annoyed again. It reminded me that they were here to make money off me, and that question had an ulterior motive behind it.

Somewhere nearer to Srinagar, I caught the eyes of a girl sitting at the back of a Tavera in front of me. The Tavera maintained its position in front of our cab for over 5-10 minutes giving me ample time to catch her in glances and then avert my eyes when she glanced at me. Yes, we were flirting! And then, Mr Ahmad decided to hit the accelerator and my brief moment of excitement vanished.

By the time, we reached Srinagar, my moral dilemma was getting the better of me - I didn’t want it to ruin my holiday but there it was - the elephant in the room - waiting to be addressed. I started thinking and overthinking about a gazillion things and ideas and experiences and concluded that my actions and thoughts are in constant dissonance and contradiction. My heart sank and I couldn’t breath. I had to take deep, forced breaths, which might have sounded like wheezing to a person sitting beside me - luckily there wasn’t. I’ll spare you the details of my conscience hangover but it was getting ugly. I was a bit sick so that wasn’t helping either. I had to talk to someone and dumped it all on my sister who was surprisingly much more accessible than she had ever been. This trip wasn’t that bad after all.

We took an auto to the Punjabi dhaba place and had food. My sister wanted to eat chicken so I took her to KFC at the City Mall after that - it was already 9 and all the shops were closed. The mall looked like the site map for a Last of Us campaign. The cashier was incredibly incompetent - he was unresponsive, distracted, and gave me the wrong bill. I was almost laughing. Anyhow, both of us had some delicious chicken and then we retreated back to our hotel. The next day would be a lot of travelling. I checked in everyone and slept early.

Day 7 - Cooldown and return

Sunday was lazier than usual. I was getting tired of the morning walks and lowkey craved Delhi. I just rotted in bed for sometime and started drafting parts of this blog. The room was a mess and mom and sis had started packing their stuff. Our flight was at 5 pm but I wanted to be before time as this was my first time flying with my family so I decided to leave for the airport at 1 pm. I still had around four hours so me and mother went out for a walk around the Jhelum marketplace. But before that, the receptionist came in with tea and girda (baked bread) with butter. It was the sweetest of gestures, one that would consolidate the image of the Kashmiris as being A-class in khair-maqdam (hospitality). This would be the only meal for the day as I would skip lunch in haste and fail to reach campus before dinner. But it was enough, and I was happy.

I booked a cab via OnCabs and headed out for the airport which was like 30 minutes away. It showed 350 on the app but the guy demanded 500. I complied. There were a bunch of security but the journey was a breeze without any hiccups. The Srinagar airport was small and cute and my only qualm with them were that they were addressing Muslim passengers as “shriman” and “shrimati”. Maybe it doesn’t hurt being a bit more empathetic and thoughtful? Sister wanted to have nachos and made me pay for it :/ but it’s alright, she’s my sister after all. The flight took an hour and we landed at IGI airport. It took us two days to reach Srinagar from Delhi, more money, and so much hassle but only an hour on the way back.

Conclusion

And that’s it! If you’re reading this, then thanks for sitting around! It takes exceptional patience to go through my incoherent mess of a memory dump. Was it all worth it? Yes, definitely! But what made it extra special was not the place but the people - I think that is, always, priceless.

NOTE: All images are the copyright of the author (that is, me). If you wish to use any image, please write to me for permission here

Footnotes

1: I would later find out this is done in border / sensitive areas as post-paid sims are easier to track. 2: Dream-readers, wanna try to interpret this?