Kashmir
In Kashmir every cab driver is an orator. They are not the silent ones who pretend not to hear and dont speak. Its everyone else who remains silent and pipes up with schoolboy questions now and then…”Have you ever seen a terrorist?”..”What do they look like?”
Whoever the orator may be, the refrain is the same
“Yeh sab kursi ki ladai hai. Yahan koi Hindu-Musalman jhagda nahin hai.
Sab paisa logon ki jeb mein jaata hai. Kashmir Govt. se 1 paisa mangti hai, use 10 paisa milta hai! Lekin kuch bhi Dal lake ki safai mein yaa aam admi tak nahin pahunchta.”
(”This is all a political fight for power. There is no Hindu-Muslim discord here. All the moneys goes into the officials’ pockets. Kashmir asks the Govt. for 1 rupee, it gets 10 rupees; but nothing is utilized for the cleaning up of the Dal lake or reaches the common man.”)
So even as we cruised through deserted ghost streets at 10 p.m, we were told that militancy had diminished by 90%. Every few metres, in Kashmir, stood an armyman with a rifle and a bullet-proof jacket. The frisking at the Srinagar airport was rigorous and they pulled at all the elastic bands of one’s innerwear, in search of concealed weapons. Yet, Kashmir seemed to be a valley of peace, calm and serenity. And a lot of untouched spread out beauty.
In the true manner of India’s mountain-folk, people were courteous and gentle. The behaviour is not to be confused with small town etiquette though, as the traders of carpets and shawls dealt directly with Italy, Milan and France and spoke clipped, refined English. A touch of Arabic and the Kashmiri language Dogri was noticeable in the English as they spit out the words in their speech.
Kashmir was a chance I pounced upon when i heard of my Dad’s upcoming trip to the Neurosurgical Update at Sher-i-Kashmir Institute of Medical Science (SKIMS). The first thing I saw on my arrival in Kashmir was a roadside South Indian food stall!
Trivia:
What are Khilona, Peacock, Monarch, Canada names of?
a) horses
b) houseboats
c) gardens
(Answer at the end of the post)
It was just my luck to witness a once-in-four-years storm in Kashmir. I was in the green-tubelit Hazrat Bal mosque with five eminent, mostly elderly doctors and Ishfaq when it started. We were all concentrating on being suitably pious and doing as the Romans do in Rome when the green lights began to flicker submerging complete strangers in spells of darkness. A dust-laden wind struck up. The hijabs had to held fiercely over the head, the burquas billowed, the worship mats rolled and snagged in barbed wire and the sky churned like a scene from ‘The Day after Tomorrow’.
Our escape began as a sprint from the mosque to the bus and ended up with us half-walking, half-slipping on roadless ground towards a houseboat we could not see. When lightning flashed we caught a glimpse of the landscape, memorized it and scurried ahead. Then we stood pigeon-toed, battered by the stinging rain, hoping that a ripped and sailing tin roof would not slice us like the Sudarshan Chakra.
When we reached the mellow inside-yellow houseboat, all the doctors, seated like aristocracy on the cushioned diwans, looked with mild amusement at what the storm had brought in. Fast forward 5 minutes and I cannot describe to you what wonders a hot cup of tea can do!
Soon a discussion-debate started raging - “Do justice to the 60 patients you already have in your ward vs Treat as many people as you can regardless of the limitaion in resources and infrastucture”. Discussion, wazwan (Kashmiri feast) and Sleep. We woke up to the news of houseboats having drifted to far ends of the lake overnight and many a shikara having drowned in the Dal and Nigeen lakes.
Tumour coiling and clipping, Glioma, Schwanoma and aneurysms constituted my rendezvous with Kashmir the next day.
A medical resident, Dr.Najeeb Qazi took me sightseeing around Kashmir. We started with views of the Dal lake- breathtaking and boring and repetitive and ended with Najeeb showing his school with a choke in his voice!
Gulmarg, 70 km or so from Kashmir, was a terrific place to ski, trek and generally show off in, the next day. I befriended some more residents- a group of girls who gave me the inside information that a burqua was no testimony of morality!
Back on the plane, I opted for the window seat. The snow laden Pir Panjal range could be seen with its snaking spine.
My co-passenger Farooque asked me why I had taken a window seat, if I was sleepy, why I wasn’t looking out any longer, but then wasn’t my purpose in taking the window seat defeated, if I was single, that I should taste one each of the cream and chocolate biscuits that the air-hostess served, was I on a diet, how was the plane navigated…
Answer: Houseboats
Contact details and trip-planning info coming up soon.