My first experience with indian domestic flights was when M and I flew from Bangalore to Delhi then Srinagar, Jammu / Kasmir. Yippie.
Kasmir is so beautiful that in the mind’s eye, Srinagar’s hypertouts become faded colors and shrink to dried flowers. They don’t in reality. They whine, they sneer, they snivel and snort. They just want to be friends.
Actually, we made many friends in our walking and bus rides from Dargah to Mosque to Moghul garden. Srinagarians are very sweet and generous if they are not trying to sell you something and we found many that weren’t. The city itself sprawls around the edges of Dal Lake. The story is that years ago, folks were prohibited from owing land, so they started building houseboats that stay a short canoe ride away from the shore. Now the stretch of the lake adjacent to the town is sick with houseboats (2000 some) and houseboat waste.
M walked me through incredible crumbly architectures, intricate repetitive painted patterns, exquisitely eclectic chandelier collections, bricks, wood and tin roofs (rusted). I was very happy. We sat and stared at ancient grounds of moghul royalty come alive with school childrens and families both kasmiri and indian. People actually frolicked in the genius features and fountains controlled by the kinetic energy of downhill flowing mountain spring water. We saw it.
Folks we met shared too many conversations about Kasmir’s heavenly status: “Is this place not paradise on earth?”… “Beautiful does not begin to describe these mountains.”… “When people ask how Kasmir was, you’ll have to say it is like your wife.”
Although we were nothing but secure, security forces were a ubiquitous reminder of the regions contentious unrest. Checkpoints, flak jackets and Indian soldiers with automatic weapons were the norm. Indian soldiers provided M with many opportunities to speak hindi and practice her mad interrogation skillz.
Kasmiri’s equally resent the indian army presence and appreciate the safety that they provide, although most have horror stories to share about the soldiers’ abuse of power and mischief. The whole scene reminded me of best case scenario outcomes for the US occupation in Iraq. An occupying force that is relatively integrated into the occupied society. They are not loved, they are not loathed, they are tolerated. It is a question of cultural familiarity and respect I thinks. Everyone wants the occupation to be over – That’s not exactly true as some of the solders we talked to enjoyed their time in this heaven-like war zone. If only Iraq was more beautiful, the occupation would be less sticky.
There is a reason that this region has been so hotly contested. So much history, impressive scenery and access to natural resources. We suspect that this will be ground zero for world war four when the access to fresh water grows scarce. Until then, there is always a houseboat to stay on.
