All Things Kashmir

We arrived in Delhi, greeted by thick heat and humid air, and the peaceful vibe that only a nation full of Hindus could create. We met our fixer JP, who had organized most of this trip for us, and he took us to our hotel. After a hot shower and full meal of local cuisine, we married our fresh pillows early from Pakistani dilemma fatigue. Nothing much to speak of really, except for the fact that I have apparently developed a habit of talking in my sleep on this trip, which seems to be in an alarming manner, saying “did you hear that?” or “who is that over there?” Just general paranoia really. Perhaps dream Tyler thinks he is still in Pakistan near terrorist attacks.

The early morning came fast, and we were herded back to the airport to catch a flight to Srinagar, more affectionately known as Kashmir. This area is known by those who love it as Heaven on Earth, and is the birthplace of many things that have become famous in the Western World, such as cashmere sweaters, Kashmiri rugs, pashmina wool, Kashmiri wood carvings, and many, many other things Kashmiri. It has been a disputed area since India and Pakistan became separate countries in 1947, and their has been a lot of fighting and violence as a result in an otherwise peaceful area. As our local leader Habib said, Kashmir is a beautiful garden, and India and Pakistan are the two gardeners fighting over it. But the Kashmiri people want to be free, and self-autonomous, and have made this very clear through various instances of resistance. The result of these resistances is a highly elevated police and military presence, a show of force by India to quell any ideas of rebellion. It is also partly to protect the area from any Pakistani shenanigans that might be repeated. Either way, it seemed a striking contrast between the hum drum of heavily armored commandoes and the majestic backdrop of fresh water lakes and the snow capped Himalayas.

On the way into town, Habib took us by the rug showroom, a co-operative of 5-6 thousand Kashmiri families that hand make all of the rugs from local silk and wool. Needless to say, they were breathtaking handcrafted pieces of art that took years to make, and were striking to behold. We saw the whole process, from start to finish, and how much time and effort that goes into them. I ended up buying a beautiful antique silk rug, nearly 30 years old, that took two women two and a half years to make. Brady bought three larger ones with some very impressive and professional bargaining skills, and we both walked away with handmade Kashmiri rugs, masterpieces through and through.

We meandered through the township, talking with Kashmiri people along the way, and photographing whenever we saw an interesting face, or the light struck inspiringly. I asked an older Muslim man if I could take his portrait, and he said yes, but took me by the hand and started to lead me elsewhere. When we ambled around the corner hand in hand, I could see that he was taking me to a large white marble mosque. He wanted his portrait taken in front of that beautiful structure, and I cannot blame him. The man then proceeded to tell me how thankful he was that he met me, and how happy he was to have me take his portrait in front of the mosque. When I was done, he wrote down his address and asked if I could send him the photos, and when he could expect them. The address that he wrote down was hardly an address adequate for post at all, and literally had the words “next to” and “around the corner from” in the half arabic/half english scrawl. Even with the translation of Habib, it was hard to discern where we could send the prints. As I took my leave to rejoin the others, he embraced me, rubbed his prayer beads on my face and neck, kissed my forehead and cheeks, and then lowered his head for me to do the same. It is not very common to receive such genuine blessings in America on such a frequent basis, and they are wonderful gifts, no matter which religion they come from.

We were then taken to our lodging for the evening, which happened to be a floating, hand carved Kashmiri houseboat on Lake Nagin. These boats are probably what Kashmir is most famous for in lodging, are beautifully carved and decorated, and have numerous bedrooms, dining and sitting areas, all depending on the size of your party. Our hosts’ name was Ramazan, and he was as gracious and generous a host that anyone could ask for, helping us get situated, smiling and hugging us, and insisting that the Kashmiri tea be poured from his hand. I am quite fond of tea, and this Kashmiri tea, being a blend of locally grown green tea, saffron, honey and jasmine, is the best tea that I have ever tasted. That day, I bought nearly two pounds of the tea to bring home, as well as some fresh saffron. The lake we were on, Nagin, is one of the many surrounding lakes in the Kashmir area, some being hidden in the mountain heights, and are mostly from natural springs. These silvery lakes are clear and fresh, and serve as a perfect mirror of stillness to the surrounding Himalayas that loom majestically nearby. Sitting on the back porch of the houseboat and drinking in the stillness of the scene, I couldn’t resist a swim. It seems that it is very difficult for me to be around any body of water and not jump in, and so I did, much to the dismay of our new Kashmiri friends. The water was quite cold, as the winter was just ending and the snow had only recently melted. But that wasn’t anything that a little sprint to the middle of the lake couldn’t warm up. When I returned to the boat, muscles fatigued and shivering, there was a hot Kashmiri meal waiting on the table. If you haven’t already noticed, there was Kashmiri everything in Kashmir, and this is not one of my own literary devices. The boat was carved from Kashmiri walnut wood, the floors lined with Kashmiri rugs, walls adorned with Kashmiri tapestries. There was Kashmiri tea, bread, curry, and pudding. But the most important of All Things Kashmiri was the hospitality, which stood out above the rest.

After a short nap, our small Shinkara boats arrived, ready to whisk us around and gift a more meditative view. As the two men quietly paddled around the crystalline lake, passing other boats filled with grass shoots for weaving or villagers taking their homegrown produce to market, the sinking sun danced brilliantly off the waters’ surface, and provided for some excellent photographs. We silently glided through the small homesteads, farms, and villages, passing mothers hanging clothes to dry, kids debating who was to fetch the cricket ball out of the water, elderly characters just passing time, and even young girls who snickered and giggled as we waved to them. The area was so peaceful, and the houses so quaint, at times I felt to be in a familiar dream, one filled with canals, dark stone houses, and worn-in charm.

We gently shored our Shinkaras at a local wood carver’s shop, as we wanted to see the trade that his family had passed down for generations. We were gifted with Kashmiri tea, biscuits, and were led around the workshops and showroom. The woodwork was staggeringly intricate, and equally as impressive. After surveying the shop thrice over, we picked out some beautiful hand carved boxes, and even a large wooden elephant sculpture that took 15 years to carve. The hefty tusker was made from a single girthy log, and would often sit idle for months as the wood seasoned. After a celebratory smoke of Kashmiri tobacco, we said our goodbyes, paid for our beloved wooden acquisitions, and paddled silently through the dark night back to our floating palace.

We ate dinner by candlelight, Kashmiri candlelight of course, and exchanged stories of our lives and families. We all had a sense of urgency to get to know one another, as we were leaving in the morning, so we did as well as we could to get to the soul of things. Various boats paddled up to us, and took turns displaying their wares for sale. Brady and I had our pick of Kashmiri jewels and precious stones; rubies, emeralds, sapphires, alexandrite, pearls, and yellow sapphires, among others whose names I do not remember (Sorry Molly). There were cashmere sweaters and pashmina shawls, antique silver jewelry, and even fur coats, all while sitting on Kashmiri rugs, drinking Kashmiri tea, on our hand carved Kashmiri houseboat. After everyone had left, we sat in the tea room smiling and laughing at the beautiful reality that surrounded us. Being there on Lake Nagin in the care of such hospitable people, in one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen, it was all we could do to not burst with life and love, and give thanks to the blessings and opportunities that brought us there. Though my time there was short, it was genuinely moving, and will remain in my heart’s memory forever. I hope to return in September, and explore some of the peaks that I mused at during my swim and soiree on and around the hand carved Kashmiri houseboat.

This entry was posted on Sunday, March 15th, 2009 at 10:16 PM and is filed under India, Travel Tales and tagged with Asia, India, Kashmir, March 2009, Srinigar. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.