CAPTIVATING KASHMIR

The doubter in one says its sheer business and nothing more. Just matters of commerce and not to read anything more into it.

But something chisels away the cynicism but by bit and the realisation sinks in that in India, syncretism is still alive. 

Chandanwari, about 16km or so from Pahalgam in Kashmir, is the starting point for the annual Amarnath Yatra, scheduled in a couple of days, and the place is abuzz with activity and people. Preparations are on full scale almost along the lines of a big fat Indian wedding. 

Tents housing Bhandaras (free kitchens for pilgrims), eateries, shops, chemists, trinkets. daily needs, heavy jacket and snow footwear (on hire), what-have-you snake up the hillside shoulder to shoulder covering a couple of kilometres. Barring the Bhandaras, financed by devotees from outside the state and manned by volunteers again from outside the state, all others are run by Muslim Kashmiris. There are trucks being unloaded, horses and mules carrying sacks strapped on both sides, loud voices all around. In short, all the chaos that are inbuilt while making preparations for thousands of pilgrims. The whole atmosphere is festive infused with positivity and highly infectious. Then there are many who want to know why we are not making the pilgrimage!

The scenery around is stunning, the hills rising above and beyond while the River Sheshnag bursts through the bottom of a hill, beside the climb up for Amarnath and flows down even as the last of the snows create some slippery paths. Among the tented shops is the Kashmiri bakery or Kandur Vaan complete with a tandoor and display of breads run by the Ahmed brothers, Danish and Rashid. While Rashid the reticent one deftly rolls out girda or tsot the traditional Kashmiri flatbread, the voluble older Danish gives a running commentary on just about everything including how the two travel to Delhi every winter to hawk shawls.

When there are plenty or people especially tourists there always be some who will be the man-for-every-job. Ours is Irshad Ahmed.  There is nothing he cannot arrange from Kehwa (Kashmiri tea) to straight off the tandoor girda and tsochwor, a bagel like bread. You haven't gone for the horse ride or had piping hot Maggi he keeps repeating. We disappoint him. 

B Ahmed runs a shop that has a bit of everything including hand beaten metal ladles. The Yatra season he says last for two months and it is something he looks forward to every year. My son is in the police department, he says. Earlier he used to be one of the ghodawalla (horse-man) taking pilgrims up the hill; he prefers his new role. Sumit Kumar has travelled all the way from Uttar Pradesh to be a volunteer at one of the Bhandaras. He gets free stay and food but no payment. He has been volunteering for some years now and wants to do so every year. That's my service to Lord Shiva, he says

Many moons ago a leading Bollywood star produced a film for his first born. Much of the movie was shot at a particular locale in Kashmir and today the place is known as Betaab after the movie. It's a down ride from Chandanwari; rolling meadows, a giant park, streams et al crowded to the hilt complete with traditional costumes, rabbits, a very downy sheep and, of all things, pigeons on hire for photo shoots. It tugged at the heartstrings to see the mute creatures, the pigeons with one foot tied  to the wrist of the holder being peddled for a couple of bucks and thrust on tourists. Well, some might call it enterprise.

Back to Pahalgam, our first base and we find all shops shut and a handful of eateries open on account of Id. We go to a golf resort where we are refused entry by the security guard on the management's orders. But then we find no management around because of Id. Thankfully, another restaurant in the main market of Pahalgam gives us a table. In fact, the drive from the Srinagar airport to Pahalgam was an indication of how things would be with shut shutters all the way. Maybe the mood was such that even the saffron fields of Pampore looks empty and dullish. Its not the season, our driver Bashir says. We cross Sangam, the graceful willows visible long before the signboard and the small cricket/sport goods manufacturing units. Sangam, Anantnag district, is where the famous willow cricket bats are manufactured. But of course, everything is shut.

Nature is the antidote to all mood downswings. The expansive parks and lawns, the towering hills and the Lidder river gurgling away just a few yards away from our room is the best pick-me-up. And the bonus is the tandoor trout, just rightly done, and the luscious walnut fudge. 

Aru Valley, about 12 km from Pahalgam is where we want to go next. But sigh! the politics of 'unions'  is at play again.  Our vehicle and driver is from Srinagar which means he cannot ply his trade outside of the limited zone sanctioned by his current 'permit'. It was near farcical that our driver Bashir would have to stop within the periphery of the permitted area and then we would have to hire a local taxi or trot up all the way to Aru Valley. No thank you, we say and drown our sorrows sitting by the Lidder, gaping at the awesome views all around and ad nauseum whining that it was not fair that Kashmir seemed to be specifically singled out by nature goddess for extra blessings.  

Then there was the most heartfelt beautiful episode.  A car stops, a young girl in a red lacey dress with hennaed hands leaps out, followed by her father from the driving seat. A ghodawalla, mounted one one and holding the second horse by the reins trots up as close as he could get to the car. With a one-hand swing he places on the girl on the horse and they canter off, the little girl's joyous giggles fading out as the distance increases. Her father  waves continuously.

Aru Valley is clearly meant for a  longer stay but unfortunately, we can spare some hours only. The drive to it from Pahalgam is an unforgettable experience with the Lidder accompanying one all along, lofty trees and the mountains and snow capped peaks standing tall.  Aru Valley has a small pocket of houses and shops and a place that needs further exploration and more time. The trekking trails, we are told, are quite popular. 

Its a toss between entrancing and delightful when it comes to Cafe Wilo, plonk on the Lidder bank. Better still, its both. A long deck like  sitting and a largish hall inside, there is nothing to dislike about the cafe especially at night time with the twinkling lights outside and the soothing serenade of the Lidder river. With the Id holidays still continuing, manpower is at the minimum but the attitude and service despite the little delay more than makes up. There is indeed something magical about the whole atmosphere and the dishes match up equally.

The travel time between Pahalgam and Gulmarg via Srinagar is said to take less than four hours. Hah! tell that to the hordes of tourists and innumerable vehicles. One pleads guilty alright of adding to the throng! Towards the end, as one nears Gulmarg it is like being part of a cavalcade with the rains in between adding to the woes; guess a price to be paid for escaping the scorching heat of the North Indian plains. Like Murphy's law, more is in store that came in the form of traversing over sloping wet meadows to our rooms. That wasn't  the end - the cottage comes with wall to wall carpeting with a lovely cream base! Think muddy shoes......But Faiyaz the always smiling caretaker handles everything adroitly

The morning is electrifying. Endless meadows rising up and down,  bright blue skies and vast sections of brilliant lupins and daisies growing wild, flocks of sheep grazing, green roofed cottage in the neighbouring meadow,  the outline of an old church in the distance and the snow capped Pir Panjal range looking down. Cliched as it may sound but it is pretty as a picture. So difficult to wean one's eyes away. One ask the gardener at the heritage boutique hotel, Nedous what Lupin is called in Kashmiri. Arre, lupin is Kashmiri he says.  

Gondola in Gulmarg? For some strange reason the cable car is called gondola! Gulmarg can boast of the second highest and the second longest cable car ride in the world. There are two phases to it, the first from Gulmarg resort to Kongdori and the second from Kongdori to Apharwat Peak. While the Kongdori station is at 2,990 m,  Apharwat Peak is at almost 4,390m. Kongdori is also from where skiers can zoom down and the more adventurous can go for horse rides.

When we start the first phase ride, its mostly cloudy outside and one can barely see through it. The excitement comes during the second ride when  suddenly, the cable car rises above the clouds and its all sunny and blue skies with wispy white clouds. We keep rising higher and higher over the tree tops. Down below we pass over some brightly painted shepherds homes and dozens of sheep grazing. A local couple riding the same car inform us that depending on the season the shepherds decide at what altitude to set up base.

Step out of the cable car point at Apharwat Peak and the senses go into one heart stopping moment overwhelmed by the headiness of the scenery around. A mixture of rocky terrain, snowy patches and the circle of snow streaked Pir Panjal all around.  There is a small army outpost inaccessible to visitors. Pristine is the word that comes to the mind. But then, when hundreds of tourists go there are bound to be side effects too and here it is a cafe which claims to be the highest pizzeria in the world at 4200m. The  hard to believe aspect here is the 'jal muri' seller!  For the unacquainted, jal muri is a mixture of puffed rice, minced onions and green chilli, spices, seasonings and generous dollops of cold mustard oil, the origin of which can be traced to the east Indian state of West Bengal. The only ingredient missing here is mustard oil, but Adil the enterprising Jal Muri wala makes it up with fried peanuts. It takes him more than four hours daily to trek up and down to Apharwat Peak from his home at Tangmarg lugging up all the ingredients.  Literally high up in the mountains and reality pulls you down with a thud.

The little church on an uphill meadow, like a page out of  an old storybook needed to be checked out and we trudge uphill to its entry gate.  Locked gate and not a soul in sight. We figure out that it can be approached from the Gulmarg golf club side. We trudge down. No way, say some club employees, we don't want our golf course spoiled. There's an overgrown path on the side, we will take that, we say. It takes a bit of throwing weight around before we are allowed entry. Red tape-ism sigh!

As the church, St Mary's Church in the valley of shepherds is said to be one of the oldest church in Kashmir built somewhere around 1902. The architecture is totally British and would have looked at home anywhere in Britain but for its state, dilapidated, everything falling apart telling a sad story. The main door has thick wooden beams nailed on it. The windows, in all probability at one time might have held stained glasses, today dirty polythene sheets are nailed on top covering them all. Untrimmed lawns, wild random plants indicate total neglect. There is a caretaker sunning himself on a chair.  No one comes here, he says, surprised at the two visitors. Last Christmas the 'padre', in the caretaker's' words, with a couple of others had come from Srinagar and conducted a lonely service. Today it is a forsaken forgotten history.

Gulmarg market is a small pocket of couple of shops, a cafe or two and a few restaurant more across the line of dhabas. Ubaid, the young manager at Beans and Buns, a cute little cafe, tells us that  no stays in Gulmarg except for some staff at the hotels. A statement seconded by everyone one we talk to. Tangmarg is where they all go after shutting shop. The T20 World Cup cricket matches are on, but don't seem to find many followers. It's only skiing that matters here.

At the other end of the meadows diagonally opposite the market, there are steps leading to what appears to the remains of a structure. A sign on the locked gate of the steps leading to it says that the temple is temporarily closed for repairing and renovation. From below one can only make out some walls still under construction and tall fencings. This is the more than 106 years old Maharani Temple gutted last year. Also called the Rani temple, the original was said to be a wooden structure built by the last ruler of Kashmir, Hari Singh. For Hindi movie aficionados this is where the song, 'Jai Jai Shiv Shankar' from the Rajesh Khanna- Mumtaz movie 'Aap ki Kasam'w as shot. A short circuit was said to be cause of the fire. The idols -Shiv, his consort Parvati and a Shivling- were immersed in the river. The caretakers of the temple has always been and still is a Muslim. A pleasant coincidence of people of different faiths taking care of two places of worship on both ends of the meadows

Srinagar it was next. Incidentally, when we had driven out of the airport on landing, the presence of security forces at close intervals had seemed somewhat incongruous but the human eye and mind accepts and adapts quickly it seems to new situations. The rains from Gulmarg decides to accompany us for quite a distance. Tanmarg is a short drive away and its breakfast break with piping hot buttered girda and kehwa. Then we get waylaid and one is glad for it. Another enterprising youngster convinces us that it would be a mortal sin not to  see the gorgeous Drung waterfall. I don't know about gorgeousness because what passes for it is like a modest trickle flowing down a tall rocky face into a stream. Wait for the heavy rains or better still wait for the winters when the water freezes, the youngster tells us.  He shows the frozen fall pictures on his phone. It does look awesome. The stream, the trickle merges into, gurgles down from another direction and it is then one notices the sign warning of sudden upsurge in the water flow that could sweep away those too close.

The Drung waterfall in its present state might have been somewhat of a downer but that is immediately forgotten when we drive up further into the interiors. Under the grey drizzling skies we arrive at what looks like the ruins of a small temple from the past. Our 'way-layer' claims that is several hundred years old. The interiors of the small structure has collapsed and what remains area some thick stone.  The standout factor is the size of the stones used, they are enormous.  Further up there is a village that is fast acquiring urban elements with old traditional wooden houses giving way to concrete ones. There is just one old one left but unfortunately, it's demise is near as it appears to be in the process of being pulled down. On the way back, the village Mahim far down on the right flank, seem to have retained the basic look and build of the old houses quite a bit.

To some carpets and Kashmir are a twosome and to see them being woven is a pleasure. What is comforting is that unlike most of the sari weavers of Benares who work on ancient looms in the most distressing environ enough to make one weep, here it  seems to be a  different positive story.

If it is Srinagar it is only given that one first marks one's attendance at the historical Lal Chowk with its tall clock tower. It is also given that a shikara ride on the Dal Lake is mandatory. How many times one may have done it before (two visits actually), the excitement remains the same especially when it is that time of the day when the sun is packing up to go home. This time however, there was a tinge of resentment because despite all our requests not to do so, he manoeuvres the boat to the floating Meena Bazaar. That was definitely not nice.

A little miffed, go eat something! The meaty aromas  from the Makai Point nearby is a hard to refuse invitation. There are kabab joints, open and roofed, with busy grills, cars lined up and takers milling all around. The Dar Brothers really do a professional job especially the packing.

Since it was within walking distance from our rooms, we decide to say hello to the Chashme Shahi, the mid 17th century Mughal garden. Spread over just one acre and overlooking the Dal lake, it is the city's smallest garden built around a natural spring. Harsh as it may sound it charms cannot in anyway match up to the stately and elegant Pari Mahal, a seven terraced garden on the Zabarwan range overlooking a part of the Dal lake and quite a stretch of Srinagar city. Despite the continuous flow of visitors and the ubiquitous costumes-on-hire, artificial flowers in a conical cane basket for photographs and selfies, there is a an impressive air of calmness.

The information board says that the Pari Mahal was laid by Dara Shikoh, the eldest son of Shah Jahan in the 17th century as a residential school of Sufism. A natural spring from the hill above it supplied and it had probably had a hamam too. Its not hard to imagine what it must have been like in its prime. The present day appearance and maintenance speak of a gracefully aging beauty. The Shalimar Garden is undergoing renovation for the last three years and all fountains are shut. 

Another ambush! This time by a silver tongued S. Claiming that he was both owner and chef of the restaurant  he leads us to a terrace overlooking the Dal Lak.  Up pops a tray with the most colourful dry fruits sugared to death. Not just owner-chef but S also conveniently has a dry fruits shop too. What ensues is almost farcical. The chef is a young harried looking youngster who seems to be doing everything in the kitchen single-handedly. The order goes haywire and the sequence of dishes virtually has us clutching our heads. The omlette comes just as we were leaving.  The dry fruits shop is downstairs and there is S serving behind the counter!

Old Srinagar with its well planned layout and roads despite a touch of shabbiness in some sections retains its charms.  The first stop is of course Ark-i-Gulab Dukaan, the more than 400 years old with its handmade rose water. A narrow small shop, on the ground floor of an old building, with shelves on the walls and the base beneath holding hundreds of  dusty old empty bottles of every shape and size. The rose water are in plastic jerrycans and sold in plastic bottles! Aziz Ullah still holds supreme in the shop. His age, incidentally, seems to be a mystery. The rose water, he claims require nine hours of manual labour. Earlier they sold rose sherbets too but now its just the rose water. After years of being called the last rosewater maker and ominous reports of it shutting down, a new one has opened next door. Ejaz the proprietor  says he is a nephew of Aziz Ullah.

The belief is that Moi-e-Muqqadas or the sacred  hair of Prophet Mohammad's beard is houses at the Hazratbal Shrine in Old Srinagar. (https://www.jktdc.co.in/hazratbal-shrine.aspx)  Its history however, is said to go back to the 17th century and where the mosque is today was the site of Ishrat Mahal and a garden built in the times of Shah Jahan. There is a separate section for women and one can just about get a glimpse of the huge interior. In the women's section a curious young teenager wants to know where we are from and then tells us you can ask for any 'mannat' (wish fulfilment) and if your prayers are sincere it will happen.  Her parents, she says, were childless for quite some years and she was born only after her mother came to the shrine to offer prayers. She is from Jammu and is there in gratitude.

The market around the Hazratbal Shrine is quite fascinating. Portions of it have bright yellow tarpaulin roofs. There are rows of eateries displaying giant deep fried parathas, giant plates of semolina halwas, fried fritters etc. Then there are rough wooden ladles shaped like the oars of the Shikara! A rich red embroidered pheran hanging outside a small tailoring shop acts like a magnet. Suddenly the lone elderly worker behind an old sewing machine signals one to enter.  A sales pitch, one presumes. Very far from that - he wants to know where one is from and how come one doesn't look like the general population of the place one names? Before an answer can be formulated, he chips in, 'look at me, I am from Ladakh and don't look like the way people from here do. So come one, tell me where you are originally from?'  One left him curious as ever! 

The eye catching Shah-e-Hamadan Mosque also called Khanqah-e-Moula is said to be one of the oldest mosque in Kashmir. Built on the right bank of Jhelum River, it was said to be first built in 1359, then demolished a decade or so later and rebuilt as a two-storey mosque and and then rebuilt again after a fire destroyed it. The mosque was said to be constructed first by Sultan Sikandar in dedication to the memory of Mir Sayyid Ali Hamdani, a saint from Hamadan, Persia. The architecture is very interesting and rather unusual. The first impression is one usage of the traditional wooden architecture and as per historians writings influences of Buddhist and Hindu elements are also present. The first storey has a verandah all around with intricate wooden arches over the railings. The atypical aspect is the roof somewhat like a obelisk tapering to a point ending in a golden crown  feature. Colourful and striking wood work small panels cover the entire entrance wall of the masjid. As per customs, one is not able to enter the prayer hall and have to peer inside from the tiny window openings from the small section on the right side from where one is allowed to do so. The prayer hall also has all walls lined with similar woodwork panels and huge chandeliers hang from the high ceiling. A local walks up to say that within the periphery there is another small prayer site for Hindus and would one want to let him take us there.  We walk out.

Remember Dan Brown and his book, Da Vinci Code which turned the Collegiate Church of St Mathew into the Rosslyn Chapel, near Edinburgh into a tourist magnet. In Kashmir it is the Rozabal shrine. There are some who give credence to the claim that Jesus Christ survived the crucifixion, travelled  to the Indian subcontinent, died in Kashmir and was buried in what today is the Sufi shrine of Pir Dastgir Sahib, also known as the Rozabal. A visit to it is therefore compulsive. The Rozabal theory believers say that there is a rock carving inside the shrine showing marks of feet with wounds  probably caused by the crucifixion and that the tomb is laid in an east-west direction as per Jewish traditions. One tries desperately to get a closer look at the crypt and rock through the glass panels to work out the direction and the so called marks and fails. No photographs are allowed.  Maybe, some things are best left in the mystery domain. 

From a distance itself it exudes a sense of quietude. Inside its a universe of calmness despite being surrounded by busy markets.  Jama Masjid, the 15th century mosque in Nowhatta, Srinagar,  embodies tranquillity. It has a central courtyard with a water body and 370 wooden pillars wooden pillars in the prayer halls. The architecture of the mosque is Indo-Saracen. There are three entry gateways - east, north and south - the main entrance being the southern one. The inscription on the black marble block there is said to be that of a decree of the Mughal ruler Shah Jahan. Inside, on one wall is a black framed chart of Adam's Genealogy researched by A R Janjua. However, the print is too small making tracing the genealogy a difficult task. And if one is permitted to say so, the word genealogy looks misspelt. Lynne Truss anyone?

Before saying Alvida to Kashmir, it has to be the over hundred year old (found in 1918) restaurant Ahdoos much spoken about for its Wazwan dishes apart from the regular Mughlai etc. The first floor restaurant with its wood and stone interiors still retains an old world charm and genteel atmosphere. The amazing thing is that the original menu still continues. It's a rich lavish spread rounded up by phirni that was so the homemade kind. Loved it.

Srinagar has a Sunday Market on Regency Road, Regal Chowk and its endless rows and rows of temporary shops with just about everything on display from arts, crafts, garments, kitchen essentials, food stuffs and just about everything. Never shop here, warns our driver, they hike up the price whereas people think its cheaper than the regular markets. And there goes one's shopping plans!