Visiting as a Tourist
Long back when Dad was transferred to Srinagar, I was too young to feel anything. What I loved there was everyday picnics and outings and visit to all the relatives’ place with mom. Staying two years at a place where every house was some Nani, Masi, Mama or Bua and no worry for the parents. We used to go to school and wander here and there without any tension. Then dad’s transfer to Agra and we left that place. I did not understand why mom was crying badly, and Dad too was not very happy to join. But now when I go back and think I know that was the pain of leaving the place where their roots were. In those two years we kids also saw and felt so much that, automatically we also started referring Kashmir as ‘Our home.’
When my sister and me were sent for the summer holidays to Kashmir, whole school in Agra knew that we were going home. Staying twenty days at that place changed the whole perspective about Kashmir, That time I realized that we belong to this place, and our ancestors lived there from ages. I was surprised to know that Kalidas and Kalhan, belonged to Kashmir. I was excited to see Avantipur, where Pandvas stayed. That was the time when I fell in love with the poetry of Habba Khatun and Lal Ded. That was the time when I was amazed to see the handicraft of Kashmir. The exotic and precious Pashmina Shawls, artistic pieces of paper mashie, and the awesome hand embroidery is world famous.
Terrorism was like a shock and we almost stopped talking about Kashmir. Whenever someone talked about Kashmir, it was always negative. The pain of relatives’ sufferings and their plight was a nightmare. I saw my elders praying for their safety every time. The wish to visit was becoming a distant dream day by day. We virtually lost the hope of even seeing it.
I never stopped talking about the fond memories of Kashmir to my kids. It’s heavenly beauty and rich culture, delicious and scrumptious cuisine was discussed at length whenever I got the opportunity. I always dreamt of visiting with them at least once, to show them their roots, the place where they originally belonged to. Finally they too started dreaming about this trip. My dream became our dream. And one fine day when I saw air tickets in my hand, I was crying with joy. Our dream was coming true.
Amongst the heavy rains five families left from Delhi to Srinagar. Unknown fear was in the hearts but excitement was higher than that. After landing at Srinagar airport, I could not believe that we had reached. Nostalgic I was and sentimental too. We went to freshen up to the wash rooms. I saw one old kashmiri lady, who was attendant there. Maybe my intense gaze at her face made her smile and she came to me and asked….
‘Kasher chakah?’ (Are you Kashmiri?)
I could not speak anything but nodded my head. After ages I heard a Kashmiri woman speaking Kashmiri in Kashmir. The happiness, wonder and so many feelings evolved in that one-minute. Her face resembled the Ghashi, the woman who sold milk and curd, when I was small. The face resembled many relations I made in my childhood. She smelled of native. Suddenly she was crying, the big drops of tears were falling from her eyes, she was hugging me, patting and caressing my head at the same time and giving blessings. She was cursing the times, which separated people, she was equally happy to see us, as she was sad to loose us.
‘My heart bursts with pain when I see you people coming to your own home as tourists, but it makes me happy too that you are coming back.’ the pain was genuine and transparent in her tear-filled eyes.
I held her hands, wiped her tears and desperately tried to check mine. Holding my head on her chest, she wept like a mother. This was the loveliest welcome to home. With a heavy heart I bid her goodbye and came out. People who were watching us were stunned and girls, including my daughter were bewildered to witness this scene.
This was not only once, we saw many people, shopkeepers, pony wallas, Shikara man, vendors and local people, stopping us, blessing and welcoming. While shopping, prices were slashed by 50%, when we spoke in Kashmiri. In hotels too we were served complimentary dishes with lots of love and respect. When my daughter spoke in Kashmiri to one vendor, who was selling paper mashie knick-knacks was stumped. The boat that he was selling for seventy rupees was given to her in twenty! And she bought ten. Later he said that when people speak in Kashmiri they just could not control. They sell their products for the real price without taking any profit.
‘Paneyan Lukan neesh kya kamawun! (There is no fun in earning from our own people)
We were staying in Broadway, and our kids lost one of the movie cameras. It was around four PM. When we finally remembered it was 1AM. With a frantic search we checked all the rooms. After a fruitless search my dear son remembered that he forgot it in the coffee shop. We connected reception at that unearthly hour and told about the camera. They said that they don’t have any information regarding this and no one can tell us anything at that moment because staff has left and coffee shop is closed. We can again check in the morning. We were sure that it is gone. We were in for a pleasant surprise next day. Early morning around seven AM, manager came and gave us the good news that it is indeed with the staff people and we can collect it around 11.
Our five-day stay in Srinagar was worth millions. It was not that we as tourist were afraid or fearing but the people who are staying there are living the danger every day. One evening while standing on the Boulevard Road, I heard a small blast, and saw people running around. Then some boys started laughing and beating a balloon seller, whose one balloon was blasted while he was blowing it.
‘We are already frightened and you are killing us with these blasts.’ One of them smiled. It thankfully passed as a joke but real blasts made them fear for their own lives too.
We returned back to Delhi, with numerous memories in our hearts. Kids promised that they would definitely like to visit it again. I was more than happy to see them referring Kashmir as Home. My young son spontaneously said when we were leaving for airport that Kashmir is the most beautiful place in whole world, as if he has seen the whole world!! Now I know that the roots enchanted them and they will return someday.
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Hi Jaijui
It really is janaat...
thanks a bunch for droppin in.
promilla
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Hi Juneborn
A warm welcome to my space!
A very valid question you stated....wonder what ails the place why a peaceful solution eludes. Only politicians can answer that.
It was wonderful to see the affection they showered on us.
Thank you so much for droppin in and your wonderful comment.
Keep visiting.
Promillaq
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Hi Soumya
Thanks a bunch for understanding.
Keep visiting:)
Promilla
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hi promilla , nice
its been a long time since i visited ! well Kashmir is a jannat isnt it ..heaven on earth as someone called it . jaijui
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Unbelievable, the love and affection that they showered on you people because you belonged there.If such is the love ...wonder what ails the place why a peaceful solution eludes.
A very touching tale which open up hidden perspective to whole problem .
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A touching post-- not a mere travelogue.
The reader shares the pain you feel.
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Hi Nidhana
Yeah sometimes it happens...but good that I got it now on my blog.:))
Only a sensitive heart can relate to these destructions and epathies.
Thanks a bunch for droppin by and appreciating.
Love
promilla
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Hi Promilla, I tried posting a comment in the morning, but never succeeded. hopefully this time, it is will get posted. Loved your writing and was very touched by your love for your hometown. My heart breaks for places and Srilanka where families are torn apart and beauty lost due to unnecessary violence etc.
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Hi DP
You are right Kashmir is really very beautiful and I wish your dream come true one day!!
It really is heaven. :))
Thanks for droppinng by.
promilla
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hey promilla,
Its been my dream to go to Kashmir! I had two kashmiri friends in college, and i used to hear them talk about kashmir! beautiful. Heaven! I have a lot about the Dahl Lake...
Cheerio
Dp
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