A short trip to Kashmir

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Agar Firdaus bar rue Zamin ast, Hamin asto, Hamin asto, Hamin ast!

So much of the lyrical quality of Farsi is lost if one quotes the English translation "If there is heaven on earth, it is here...". Words from the Persian Poet Jami inscribed in many places in India and Pakistan, but we now associate these words with the magical Kashmir valley, and how rightly so!

I had visited some parts of the Valley en route to Ladakh back in 2009, but Jyoti had never been there, and living in a Srinagar houseboat was close to the top in her travel wishlist. We made plans twice earlier but they didn't materialize. Once we planned to travel during the late winter season to enjoy some snow, but ended up in Goa instead. I had booked tickets last year as well, but then I quit my job, and had a lot of time on hand during my gardening leave, and we flew to New York (Kashmir may truly be heaven, but does heaven have the vibe and energy of the Big Apple? Save that for another blog).

If things would have gone as planned, we would have been in Mauritius instead of Kashmir. A family emergency resulted in the cancelation of the week-long beach vacation. (I have a policy of avoiding, to the extent possible, booking the entire trip through a single agent. The hotel cancelation was free and I lost only 20% of the airfare) Once matters were fine, we still had a few days of leave left and figured the easiest option would be to drive down to Goa. On a whim, I checked Srinagar flight tickets before leaving from work, and got a not-so-bad price for a flight next morning, and we had to quickly unpack the beach wear and get the woolens out (even though this was July, a jacket would be useful in the higher altitudes)!

Day 1: Srinagar

An early morning flight took us to Srinagar with a stopover at Delhi. The last 10-15 minutes of the flight from Delhi were particularly scenic as we crossed the mountains seperating the Kashmir Valley from the Jammu region, and the dark green of the forests gave way to the light green and brown of the fields and meadowns. As we started the descent to Srinagar, we flew over Anantnag at a low altitude and got a relatively close view of the "sangam" of the Lidder and Jhelum rivers. Unsurprisingly, the Srinagar airport was one of the prettiest in India, with snow clad mountains in the distance.

The most standard itinerary for tourists visiting Kashmir covers Srinagar, Gulmarg, Pahalgam and Sonamarg, and quite often the last three are visited as day trips from the foremost. I had been to Gulmarg during my previous trip, and stopped for a bit in Sonamarg enroute to Leh. So during this trip I definitely wanted to see Pahalgam, and one of the newer destinations such as Yousmarg / Doodh Pathri. Given the limited time on hand, we decided to skip Sonamarg.

I had done a little bit of research the previous evening on some well-known houseboats in Srinagar and nice hotels in Pahalgam, but we had no reservations and no itinerary. As we exited the airport, we were approached by a guy, carrying the badge of some houseboat association, who offered us a package tour: a houseboat stay for 4 days including dinner and breakfast, and a Toyota Qualis to go around, all for about INR 20k. Now I knew that I could stay in the best rated HBs, and rent a car everyday for about the same price. Usually I would simply walk away (I dont quite like getting your acco, meals and transport arranged by the same guy) but since I had little time to look around for the right place, I decided to "minimize the hassle" (not a good idea when traveling) and accepted his offer. Without bargaining.

So this gentleman promises me that if I dont like the houseboat, I can just pay the airport transfer charge and look for another place. He then escorted us to the parking area where we met another young gentlemen who would take us to the houseboat. Addressing me as "sir" and Jyoti as "sister", he told me how he had friends in every city in the world that I have lived in, who kept coming back to his houseboat, or sent their friends over. He also promised us elaborate meals and an AC car. He and his family ran a bunch of houseboats (called the Palace Group), and he took us to one on Nigeen Lake, smaller and less crowded than the more famous Dal Lake. While we could reach it by road, he took us on a Shikara to make it more appealing.

Most of the houseboats in Srinagar have a similar basic design, and this one was no different: an open, but covered sitting area facing the lake; right behind that, a common room with a TV, a few books and lounge beds; thereafter a dining area and small pantry; and finally a corridor leading into usually three rooms, the last one being a little larger and called the "suite". The basic visual difference between the boats is that half of them have a dull, light colored exterior (it seemed to be that they were made from cheap wood and painted), while the other half, including ours, are made of cedar wood, and had ornate carving all over: ceilings, wall panels, bed stands, window frames etc. The carpets and linens could have been better maintained in the "suite" we were offered, but I was in no mood to spend an entire day of my four day trip looking for another place.

It was about noon by the time we checked in and we had some tea and sandwiches before we freshened up and headed out to explore the Mughal Gardens. The most impressive of the three of them was Shalimar, built by Shahjahan in the 17th century, which was our first destination. With Dal Lake in the background, Shalimar has three large terraces: the lowest one for the commeners (Diwan-E-Aam), the next one for private audiences (you guessed it, the Diwan-E-Khas), and the highest one for the royal women (the Zenana terrace). Even today, its a nice enough garden but for the crowds, and one needs to imagine Shahjahan courting Mumtaz (and hundreds, if not thousands, of other women too) here 400 years back, under Chinar trees as they changed color in spring or autumn, to understand its long-lost splendor. The next garden we visited was Nishaat, somewhat similar to Shalimar and I felt we could probably have skipped it. The last one, Chashmeshahi, is a small garden but is situated a few hundred feet higher than the other two, and gives a nice bird-eye's view of Dal Lake.

The last stop of the day was the Hazratbal Shrine, containing a relic believed to be the hair of Prophet Muhamad and thus the holiest Muslim shrine in Kashmir. Unfortunately also the site of the month long standoff between seperatists and the Indian armed forces back in the early 90s.

Going around Srinagar, one cannot help but wonder what the place could have been but for the decades-long strife between India and Pakistan. As the rest of the country is experiencing an investment boom, Kashmir is sorely lagging behind. Mercedes, Audi and BMW are opening up showrooms in Tier II cities across India, but an i10 or Swift is a top end car here. There are no modern malls (I hate them, but the cause here is unfortunate). There is the odd beautiful bungalow though. And there seem to be way too many chemist shops. I initially thought it was an observational error, so I dug deeper (which in today's world is grabbing your smartphone and typing "chemists in srinagar") and found this.

http://www.risingkashmir.in/news/turmoil-rises-drug-consumption-in-valley-18240.aspx

I wanted to have a nice bottle of wine, before dinner, by the sit out on the houseboat, so I asked the driver if any alcohol shops would be open, since it was the month of Ramadan.

He replied that there were only 3 alcohol shops in all of Kashmir, and all were closed for the month. Back at the houseboat, as we lazed around watching the sun go down, every few minutes we were approached by salesmen on a shikara trying to sell their wares: flowers, fruits, groceries, wood carvings, lacquerware. They are quite insistent you have a look: "dekhne free hai". Jyoti got attracted to some lacquerwork marketed by an old gentleman wearing the traditional phiran gown, while a younger denim clad member of his family rowed the shikara. He was really a sweet talker. "I have two daughters at home, you are my third daughter" he told Jyoti. I told her that even after bargaining, which she usually leaves to me, she would be overpaying, but she was feeling generous: we bought a couple of jewelry boxes for about 1k, which we later saw at the airport store (which tends to be expensive as well), for about 700. I didnt mind shelling out a few bucks extra, but I didnt like the fact that the houseboat guy would get a nice cut out of it.

After the little bit of shopping, I was chatting to the father of the guy who had dropped us here in the morning. The family lived in a house just adjacent to the houseboat and this guy was usually around the property taking care of the guests. Like his son, he talked about his friends in Mumbai, New York and London, and how they kept coming back. At some point of time, we spoke about Ladakh. He mentioned he didnt like it because it was too barren. I agreed on this point: I had a good time there when I visited, but I was yearning for some green after a few days. He then remarked that Buddhist temples were all the same (within Ladakh, this is somewhat correct), while Hindu temples had a variety of architecture, and that the people of Ladakh were not warm. I dont know if his resentment arose from personal beliefs or from the thriving tourist flow to Ladakh, but I was beginning to dislike this guy. The people of Ladakh were quieter, but honest and just as hospitable, albeit in a more reserved manner.

For dinner, we had some aloo-gobi, roti, rice and dal. I didnt want a spread, but some yogurt and papad would have been nice. Post dinner, I headed up to the upper deck for some stargazing. I had recently picked up Rey's classic "The Stars: A New Way to See Them" (its not so new anymore, he almost redefined how people looked at them), but it was the monsoon season in Bombay! I wasnt carrying the book, but I had read the introductory section on locating the pole star using the big dipper, and I did that, and got a nice kick out of it! Of course, Jyoti's smartphone had a compass, so all this direction finding business has no real "utility" in the modern world, but its fun, and pretty. Just as pretty was the lake with the reflection of the gently lit houseboats houseboats, with the lights of the Shankaracharya temple atop an adjacent hill adding to the charm.

Day 2: Charari Sharief and Yousmarg.

As often happens when I travel, thoug I intended to doze well into late morning, I lost sleep at daybreak. I headed up to the upper deck and did some yoga. The setting was special: the still waters of the Nigeen lake producing a mirror image of the houseboats bathed in the warm morning light, the odd shikara trying to disturb the quiet surface, and the symphonic chirping of birds providing food for the soul. After the yoga session, I was relaxing by the sit out when I was joined by a Swedish woman probably in her late forties. She was a painter and was traveling with her "guru" and presumably short term boyfriend, whom I later discovered to be a Hussain lookalike, albeit a couple of decades younger and quite portly. She told me he was at his easel all night and wouldnt be up till late. What a life: no time table to adhere to, a pretty Swedish woman for company, travel and paint, and then some more !

Once Jyoti was up, we had a breakfast of poha with tea, and around 10 am we left for a day trip to Yousmarg. We had a nicely maintained Toyota Qualis, but there was no AC as promised. Why would I need an AC while driving through mountains in perfectly agreeable weather? Because to get to the mountains, you have to first get out of Srinagar, and then pass some small towns with crawling traffic, and the mixture of dust and smoke churned up by trucks gives you a headache. The Army convoys are the worst: there probably is no PUC requirement for them. Call me a softie, but I'd rather walk or cycle for a couple of hours in clear air, rather than be stuck in a car with no AC in a high pollution zone. But there was no alternative today. Our driver, Yakubbhai, was a typical lanky Kashmiri, fair and bearded, and kept alternating the radio stations between one playing old Hindi film music (which was nice) and another broadcasting religious messages connected with the Ramadan fast (which was unmusical and incomprehesible, so I didnt really appreciate it)

It took us a good 45 minutes to get out of Srinagar as we headed South West of the city beyond the airport area. The landscape changed dramatically thereafter as the winding and undulating road traversed through apple orchards. This was a different side of Kashmir, something we had not expected, as the vegetation around was anything but dense. We stopped at one of the apple orchards: this wasnt one of those places with signboards welcoming tourists to pick a basketful of apples for x dollars. We loitered around for a few minutes till a few kids came out of the household looking at us curiously. Then a traditionally clad woman, probably around 30 (very pretty and with flawless skin inspite of all the exposure to the elements) offered us a few green apples, and a restrained smile. Jyoti remarked how nice it would be if she could spend all her time in the sun without getting a tan! Am sure many Indian (non Kashmiri) women would echo that sentiment. Unfortunately, we had nothing to offer in return to the kids, and offering money would probably have been offensive.

Moving on from the orchards, we reached the 600 year old Charari Sharief, the tomb of the Sufi saint Sheikh Noor-Ud-Din Noorani, also known an Alamdar-E-Kashmir (flag bearer of Kashmir) or Nund Rishi, the latter being symbolic of his teachings on communal harmony. Destroyed and rebuilt a couple of times, the shrine's architecture is influenced by Central Asian architecture. In fact most of the mosques in Kashmir are unlike the domed structures one finds in the Middle East of India. Though the roofs were green as one would expect an Islamic monument to be, the structure reminded me more of Ladakh monasteries than the mosques in Istanbul or Mumbai. The shrine was mostly quite simple on the inside, with the decorative element provided by the ornately carved wooden ceiling.

A half an hour drive from Charari Sharief, the landscape changed from sparse vegetation to lush green coniferous forest: this was quintessential Kashmir. The last 20 minutes of the drive to Yousmarg was bumpy, but enchanting as the road wound its way around a small lake, with horses grazing in the adjacent meadows. Yousmarg is being developed as a new destination: there were 3 or 4 cars parked when we got there, a tourism department hotel that was not yet operational and an unmanned checkpoint. Like other destinations in Kashmir, the promise is the same: grassy meadows amid majestic peaks, gurgling brooks, long walks among the pines, and little ponies to take you around. We decided to head to a nearby stream: I wanted to walk while Jyoti got a pony, with a 10-12 year old boy ferrying the animal around. I told "chhotu" that I would pay him only if he ensured that none of his friends harangued me for getting a pony as well.

The stream was pretty, as you'd expect. We were the only ones there, besides chhotu and some village boys. The takeaway from this trip was the money we had to pay chhotu for 2 hours of service: a measly 120 rupees. There were so few visitors at Yousmarg that chhotu probably got one customer a day: more likely he got one in a few days. Then there would be months of off season when he probably had no customers. He would have to spend some money in feeding the pony (its name was, you guessed it "Dabangg"! The females were named Munni or Sheila). All this for a measly hundred bucks or so! Thats like what I would pay back in Mumbai as "service charge" for an English speaking waiter to pour a glass of wine at the Four Seasons rooftop, as I savour the view of the Mumbai slums, spoiled somewhat by the ugly presence of the vast ocean and the race course. People who have nature have no money , and vice versa, and those who have both by owning sea facing homes in Mumbai, have lost the ability to enjoy nature thinking all day about the money.

We had a late lunch at the tourism department hotel (thankfully the restaurant was operational, though they only had rice to go with the dal and veggie, no roti-shoti). There was some activity back in the office in Mumbai as we headed back to Srinagar in the late afternoon. So I asked Yakubbhai to stop at a place where there was a strong signal. I had to use Jyoti's iphone to call as my blackberry seemed to be no good, though both of us were on the same network. And there I was, a la Hrithik Roshan in ZNMD, trying to get trades done, ignoring the beautiful country all around. And I wasnt even going Moshi Moshi....

Once back at the houseboat, we headed out for a shikara ride on the Nigeen lake. Whenever I am on any sort of vehicle, I get curious to figure out how it works. There is nothing fancy about a shikara, but I always wondered how it kept going in a straight line even as the boatman rowed only on one side. He then showed me how: after making a rowing stroke from front to back with an almost vertical oar that would make the boat go say left, you tilt it outward with its face resisting against the flow of water, so there was a breaking effect that would make the boat go right, thus always going straight if you could manage a proper offset in the two actions.

Talking about a few different things, I asked the boatman about his family. I dont know if what he said was true, but he mentioned how he had spent most of his life trying to make enough money for his sisters' wedding, and now had to do the same to send his kids to school. He was regretful that he never got a chance to get an education. He did not even own the boat, and most of what he made was gone to either the boat owner or as commission to the houseboat owners who would get him a ride. He even told me that if I would give him a tip in sight of the houseboat owners, they would demand a kickback from the tip as well. Maybe this was just to implant the idea of a tip in my mind, but whether he was a simpleton or had a bit of cunning about him, I felt sad for him either way.

On our short trip around the lake, we found a bit of Goa in the middle of Srinagar: a bar and a run down hostel at the edge of the lake, accessible only by boat, run by a happy-go-lucky fellow from the South, catering to the backpackers who loved a beer by sunset and wanted to shake a leg thereafter. This guy had a party going every Saturday night and we figured it might be interesting to head back there the next day, but we lost the enthusiasm overnight. For dinner, we had the same dal, roti and rice, thankfully with some palak paneer, which though wasnt enough for both of us.

Day 3: Pahalgam

We were to go to Gulmarg today, but there was some incidence in the valley the previous day and one of the political parties had called for a strike. The houseboat owner advised that the road to Gulmarg might be closed and that we should go to Pahalgam. I am a firm believer that most places on earth, including Kashmir, Pakistan, Iran, or the hinterlands of Africa, are for the most part as safe for travel as it is crossing the road in Mumbai, or living in Delhi. I trusted the guy's judgment, though I didnt like him much otherwise. I didnt bother to check what had happened: its just as said whether its a bomb going off or someone is shot. I didnt care which political party had called for a strike: Arent they all trying to divide and conquer? Without them the world would be one big boundaryless place, and we wouldnt have to grovel and beg for visas any longer.

The upshot of all this strike business was that the traffic was sparse. As we headed south on the Srinagar-Jammu highway, there were a lot of expected sights: saffron fields, shops selling walnuts and almonds, factory outlets selling Kashmir willow cricket bats, army convoys, military areas, a policeman on patrol every few hundred meters. What I did not expect was rice fields. The green meadows that I saw from the plane were actually paddy fields, one of the most important crops for the Kashmir economy.

At Anantnag, we turned left and headed north-east towards Pahalgam, the road running parallel to the Lidder river. In my book , the Lidder is one of the prettiest rivers I've ever seen: fast flowing, white, gushing, surrounded by an enchanting valley. Jab Tak Hai Jaan was for the most part an atrocious movie, but it was good to see Yash Chopra return from Switzerland to the place where he shot parts of Silsila. The latter part of the breathtaking drive up the hills was was dotted with Amarnath yatri camps.

This was a sensitive area after all: we had to get out of the car with our duffle bags at the check point before proceeding to the town center, where we shared a chole bature at Nathu's Rasoi, the most famous restaurant in the area.

Ponies were three times as expensive here compared to Yousmarg, at 300-350 rupees an hour. We spent the next three hours exploring (Jyoti on a pony, myself on foot) the surrounding meadows and trails. One of the most well known of those is Baisaran, nicknamed the Switzerland of India, where some zorbing was going on. We confined ourselves to more sedate activities like cuddling a lamb in exchange for a 10 rupee "baksheesh". I totally fell in love with the place: there are so many meadows and trails all around that I could spend a few days here just walking around. But time is a scarce resource for those who can afford many other goodies. Lunch was at Nathu's as well (we opted for Chinese for some variety) before leaving town for Srinagar. En route we stopped at the banks of the Lidder at a nice spot where some river rafting was going on, dipped our feet in the cold water and just watched the water gushing by.

Dinner back at the houseboat consisted of Aloo Gobi again to go with the same dal, roti and rice. I probably belong to the smallest of minorities, but I dont like Gobi. Actually I dont like in the vegetable form. Mash it and made kofta or paratha with it and I will relish it. Its all about the texture. I requested the manager to make something else for dinner the next day I would have liked to sit out by the lake, but there were too many mosquitoes and no repellant. So we watched Housefull 2 before retiring to bed(television makes a great movie alright and a terrible movie bearable).

Day 4: Gulmarg

An hour and a half’s drive west from Srinagar brought us to Gulmarg, home to the highest green golf course in the world as well as one of the highest gondolas in the world. The last 10 km of the drive from Tangmarg, up the Pir Panjal mountains covered with dense pine forests, was quite scenic. As we walked from the car park towards the base of the Gondola, we were hounded by the pony owners. Some of them will tell you the gondola is shut (which it sometimes is), while others will lure you into the ride overstating the distance five times. (It’s only a lazy 10-15 minute walk)

One old man followed us all the way insisting that he would wait for us at the Gondola and then take us for a ride around the meadow. I had to tell him very clearly we didn’t need a ride, lest he plead for money on our way back.

As Jyoti was standing in a “ladies only” queue for the Gondola tickets, a male guide just barged in. When I asked him to back off, a woman who had hired him told me he was buying tickets for her. I lost my composure, gave her some crap and called her “stupid”. We then get our tickets and join the queue: as it the norm in most places in India, many visitors were cutting the queue. In fact, the Gondola was built by a French company, but the experience was all Indian. The last time I had visited, I had to wait in a long queue to get the tickets, and then in another one for a refund as there was a mechanical failure. They kept announcing on the loudspeakers “People who bought their tickets at 10 am, please head back down or your tickets will be considered void”. I look at my watch (most people were ignoring the announcement), I have 10 am tickets and I still am on a queue to go up! I panic a little, then Jyoti reminds me this is India, don’t take it too literally!

So I begin to chat with this gentleman ahead of me in the queue. He happens to work in Citibank Singapore in the audit department. I am moving to Singapore in a month, I tell him! We exchange some notes, and the same lady I called “stupid” walks right by his side and he says “Meet my wife!”

Thankfully that was just when we were about to board the Gondola. For a 10 rupee tip, Jyoti and I had the cabin to ourselves. The Gondola had two stages: the first one transferred us to the Kongdoori Valley, and then next one took us to 4000 m, close to shoulder of Mt Apharwat. The winter snow hadn’t melted in certain parts of the mountain, but the little bit that remained had practically turned brown, trampled over by thousands of daily visitors. The view was breathtaking (literally, as I began to feel the effects of scant oxygen). The Line of Control, marked by a Pakistani outpost, was visible in the distance. The high altitude was giving me a slight headache and we quickly descended back to the first level at the Kongdoori meadow. We had a mixed pakoda and masala maggi lunch at one of the restaurants (almost each one of them had plastered on their hoardings: Jain Food available, which I found quite amusing)

After lunch we headed back down to Gulmarg, and lo and behold, the same pony owner, in spite of all my earlier warnings, was waiting for us at the base. It was a reflection of the sad state of affairs in the valley: too much supply of labor in the tourism industry, with demand lagging behind even as people have been flocking back in the past 3-4 years. Jyoti felt sorry for the guy and we hired him to take her around the meadow, with me following on foot. It was a picturesque walk, with the small matter that I had to walk a good 50 meters behind her pony: every time i was walking beside, this man would start off about how he waited for us for two hours, and whether he should take the long route or the short route, and maybe I should get a pony too blah blah blah! We were back in Srinagar before sundown and relaxed at the houseboat in the evening.

Day 5: Back Home

An uneventful day as we checked out after breakfast, and headed well before departure time to the airport, since Srinagar has “extraordinary security measures”. On the flight back, I was wondering what a great destination this region could become. With all the demand for adventure sports, a lot can happen here: skiing, paragliding, mountain biking, trekking and somewhat more sedate activities like golfing and fishing. But the infrastructure will not develop till there is security, and that seems like asking for the moon! I was left with one lingering thought: working for an American bank, living in Singapore, what say do I deserve in the entire matter? All the qualified, well heeled, well traveled, intellectual, modern Indians in India and across the globe have a rational theory about the past and future of Kashmir. But what physical or emotional investment do they have there? Everyone is entitled to their opinion, but ultimately, in my opinion, only those who are still living in the shadow of death, day in, day out, should have a real voice in the determination of their future.