The Devastated Chinar
It’s a pleasure for avid tourists when they get an opportunity to visit Kashmir. But it was not that pleasant with me when I was on a holiday to the valley. Much because of an off season tour and more because of the dilapidated landscape.
The flight from Mumbai to Jammu was not as tiresome as the last phase of 40 mins from Jammu to Srinagar. The only silver lining was the aerial view of Himalayan Ranges with cream like ice, covering the clustered mountains. Little did I know then that it could be one of the Gulmarg Hills that I was to visit soon. These ranges also included Pakistani territory as there was no boundaries drawn by nature on its scenic beauties. I could not determine which was an Indian Hill and which one belonged to the neighbouring country.
A five minutes wait outside the Airport in that chilling atmosphere was enough to tell me that the norms of 15 kg baggage by AAI should be relaxed for flights to Srinagar. The yellow leafed ostentatious tree outside the airport welcomed me in the dim sunlight which provided no respite. The atmosphere gave a feel of 7am on a January morning in Mumbai but which really was 3 pm of mid-November afternoon in Srinagar. On my way to my temporary abode I found more greenery on the uniforms of the personnel around than on the trees. Almost all the markets that I happened to pass during my sojourn had been guarded by the men of world's largest paramilitary force i.e. CRPF, seen on QAT (Quick Action Team) or the BSF which claims to dominate border at + and - 50 degree centigrade and also the state police force in their own forte while their Officers on round commuted in bullet-proof vehicles, keeping a vigil on the slightest movement in the nook and corners of the Valley having no Sundays, no public holidays, no festivals and devoid of the heart and hearth of home. Really the True Heroes!!! Truly the real Heroes!!!
All along my way; whether road side or streets in the residential colonies; sacks of cement and other construction materials were lying in order to resurrect the vibrant Valley back.
I always boasted of having the habit of bathing with cold water even in winter season. When my hostel mates used to queue up for hot water, I would grin and proudly go for bath without bothering the weather temperature or water temperature. The fact is, I have lived most of my life in southern India. But all my heroism vaporized as soon as I placed my hands under the tap and I frantically went in search of a geyser; a facility which thankfully was restored after the cruel attack of nature on our modernization.
I felt safe inside this room against nature with two halogen heaters, geysers and thickly carpeted walls and floors. Any kashmiri would have felt the same a few weeks ago. Moreover as I am penning my valley holidays; this valley is resounding with 7 terrorist attack, taking lives of our warriors.
But the irony is that we cannot stay away from nature for long. However unsafe it is; we recourse to her lap. So did I and set foot out. People clad in ‘feran’ with disappeared arms were blowing hot vapours as if carrying some invisible cigarette in their mouths while the market was all clad with colorful banners of forthcoming elections. Almost all the places that I was to visit were situated encompassing the most encaptivating Dal lake.
To begin with I took up the two hundred step journey to the shrine of Shankaracharya temple, one of the highest point in the valley. I found it tiresome. However the wise decision of setting foot early in the morning on these steps helped me to step up more speedily than it would have had at the afternoon but on the other hand the early morning mist marred the beautiful scenario I could have had while circumambulating the shrine.
I was happy and felt victorious for having covered those 200 steps which were marked at regular intervals to keep aware of our goal. But after dissipating all my energy on these 200 steps I was left with no energy to step up another 17 steps I found inside the premises of the temple leading to the main shrine.
I rested a while till everyone took out their belts and shoes which was prohibited to the main shrine. This was the first ever Shivling where I was made to go back on the circular path around Linga without completing a full circle.
After taking a proper darshan of the Linga; I decided to take a round of the temple in order to take view of the city landscape from this height and take a few snaps as well. But alas my camera and mobile lay 217 steps down with the CRPF personnel while the beautiful scenario of Dal lake was ruined by fluffy sheets of fog.
The peace I carried with me from here continued with me to HazaratBal; distanced from Kashmir University by a small but heavily thronged street market. But the silence inside the huge monument provided the perfect prerequisites for a prayer.
The hoards of pigeon outside the premises gave me a feel of being in the old city of Hyderabad near Charminar, but the huge prayer hall brought me out of this illusion and the hall also contained the imprints of Kashmir, right from the carpets to the chandeliers and wooden partitions with beautiful minute and colourful carvings. These carvings were so ubiquitous in Kashmir that I found them even at airport security check cabins for ladies.
Moreover the imprints of being in Kashmir was not spared even in the plate of South Indian Vada which carried almonds inside. In the hustle-bustle and completely sonorous world that we are living today we hardly find such peace where we may get lost while meditating. But this hall of Hazarat Bal is a perfect Hall of Peace, to say.
While moving back I found the big, huge, magnanimous parathas on the end of the street leading to Kashmir University. I was so engrossed in capturing it in my camera that I created a traffic Jam and chaos on that narrow junction.
I left the place in search of more elegance in the beautiful city of Srinagar, which took me to Parimahal. A beautiful garden built on six terraces by Dara Shukoh.
Standing on the top tier I could view the next three tiers only while rest two tiers were hidden from my eyes. Chasing the next two terraces of garden I had to go down the stony steps which resembled the ones in Agwada Fort (Goa). The garden was well guarded by the BSF personnel but the water bodies were not well maintained by the concerned authority. However the beauty of flowers and the greenery lying amongst high hills increased my appetite to look for more gardens and to quench it, I reached Chasm-e-shahi (the royal geyser).
Many of the Kashmir returned couples show their pictures in traditional Kashmiri dress. Now I know that the credit goes to all prevalent photographers who do not miss to stock the tourist right from parimahal to chasm-e-shahi, Shalimar, Nishat and also to the chaar chinar situated in the middle of Dal Lake and I was flocked by them at almost all these places. The hawkers of little accessories and souvenirs were so mild in offering their items that putting their offers down was a heart rending gesture. The politeness that is offered by these sellers to foreigners definitely adds to the impression of Incredible India and also our income.
The chasm-e-shahi was a perfect sample of a mughal garden with a natural geyser at the culmination point of the garden. It was natural fresh water coming down from mountains that most of the packaged drinking water advertisements claim for.
Nishat and Shalimar garden had similar features and if you visit for just the second time you tend to mix their identities. The huge chinar trees posed in all its magnanimous built adorning these gardens.
It being an off season, the garden were not well maintained. Water streams had no water and most of the plants were pale. But still it gave a clear idea that what its elegance would be while charming the tourist in season.
Same was the scenario at Chaar Chinar situated in the waters of Dal lake. The four chinar trees situated on the four corners of the Char Chinar were almost bare with no leaves left on two of them; while the other two with bare minimum leaves were saying “We are Chinar”. The desolated Char Chinar stood firm on that patch of mud claiming loudly having witnessed tha sailab.
The houseboats, the floating gardens and the desolated floating market stood unattended waiting either to overcome the grief of sailab or for the new season of tourists like the migrant birds who have already started settleing on the waters of the lake; the lake which would freeze soon, leading to a playground for the little chubby cherubs who were right now carrying loads of school bag and crossing the lake in their family boats.
The lined up shikara at ghat no. 18 flashed a number of bollywood song on the mind’s screen and the one’s which skipped the memory were reminded by the captions like ‘Phir vohi dil laya hoon’ or ‘Dil ne fir yaad kiya’ on those shikara. The off season omen did not leave me their but continued to Dachigram National Park as well which was closed for “till further instructions”. Going to the Indira Gandhi Memorial Tulip Garden situated beside Nehru Botanical Garden had the same fate as it was the harvesting season of 90 thousand Tulips (as per the worker whom I found tilling the garden).
The sailab has crippled tourism industry. I had a chance to talk to a doctor from paramilitary forces who had come all the way from his place of posting - Delhi; to Sringar during the sailab. He had worked in the rescue camps curing flood victims. Most of them had diarrhea, motions and skin diseases along with depression. So they were not to be cured just by body but by soul as well.
I also happended to see CRPF Jawans cementing a fallen wall. Their company commander showed me their guest house which had fresh paint smell while the patches of paint coming out; the wooden flakes chipping out of the doors and furniture; the frequently sparking plugs; newly planted circuits gave a glimpse of attempt to resurrect the valley. In the ruins of the garden in front lay remains of a chinar tree, perhaps not belonging to the garden but laid here by the cruel and destructive hands of nature which told me half the story.
The Commander briefed me that the room, we were standing, was half filled with slush and debris a month ago. During the flood, for around 14-15 days people stayed on the third floor of this building, surviving the Act of God. Amazing is mother nature; she discriminates none. Abodes of all were equally destroyed; without considering rank and file. Kashmir already had no good neighbours; now more so because no one has good fences.
A local narrated me how his wooden house was submerged in water and for three days they waited over the terrace for the water to recede. As the water receded a little on the third day, they ventured out to shift to a nearby pucca house whose tenant was a banker.
Away from the valley; on roads which led to Pakistan, I started my journey towards the most famous shooting sights of Hindi cinema – Gulmerg. The dead and crisp leaves of Chinar; perhaps not so crisp for the dews might have damped them; had carpeted the roads. This carpet of nature was no less beautiful than the carpets displayed in the Kashmir Emporium; situated not far from the heart of the city i.e. Lal Chowk.
On my way before the end of valley I was shown a place by the locals where nearly three hundred and odd cattle went dead in the sailab.
Technically the valley ended at Tungmarg and the serpentine uphill journey soon began. Those who feel giddy or dizzy and nausea during their rides to Tirupati or Massourie must carry avil or other suitable tablet on these roads. As we turn closer to the Ice topped hills we come across scenic places like the one shot in “Jai Jai Shivshankar” song of Kaka and Mumtaj. This spot faced High Altitude Warfare School.
Beyond a point you aren't allowed to carry your vehicle and you are bound to hire a pony for the journey further. So they have discovered another aspect of earning from tourism.
Before the cable car ticket-office we found sale of sunglasses and hiring of snow boot and snow overcoat; and mind it no Kashmiri guide of yours will be allowed to guide you in these matter like what to buy and what not to buy and also for how much to buy; because these vendors have a union of their own and if they catch a glimps of your guide telling you even by way of signs that not to buy snow overcoat because its needed only during snowfall then he will be taken to task by the union.
We have to be judicious in these matters. I was told that we have to go by Gondola to the ice clad mountains. I was surprised thinking what Venetian gondola do in these mountains, while the sailab has passed two months ago. But the Gondolas here meant a set of cable cars built using French technology to run over 40 electric towers in two phases.
Before the gondola could begin its regular run it was to carry some army personnel. I was told that they were on duty to the border.
We went upto first phase while those interested in skiing went upto the second phase. The ice which looked like vanilla ice cream from far seemed like salt rock from near and the child in me enjoyed digging boots in it. Here I discovered that making a snowman or even a round ball out of this ice is an art like sand sculpture.
I wondered how the ice balls when thrown on each other dispersed into minute sand like particles and entered our hairs and clothes. The only difference was that ice melted away soon while sea shore sand would get carried in our clothes to our home.
These snow embraced mountains provided alot of adventure sports like skiing and the scenic beauty had provided backdrop for many films from Saira Bano's debut ‘Jungle’ to Ranbir Kapoor’s ‘Jawani Deewani’. The Ice-play provides enough exertion to get hungry. But then we had a cluster of Kashmiri dhabas where we were served with traditional Kashmiri dishes with a lot of courtesy and warmth while the owner unfailingly took feedbacks from his customers.
I recall that one of my friends used to feel giddy in the lifts and inspite of her ardent desires she was unable to participate in activities in the auditorium at 25th floor. I then wondered that if she were to visit this place; how will she carry herself in Gondola?
Lo! there I had the answer. Some tourists were seen coming on pony. Another question which was in my inquisitive hornet - where from these restaurants get ration and other materials of their needs because any vehicle here would be caught in ice quite similar to wheels caught in sand.
But I soon found the answer by observing a truck in that iceland with its wheels tied in iron chains which would cut the ice on its path while the wheels rotated. My holidays were exhausting soon which did not allow me to further explore the valley, but then this was sufficient to carry the rich memories of Kashmir; as rich as kehva made up of cinnamon, kesar and badam and I preserve these kehva like memories in my heart like kehva is preserved in samovar and thus I returned back Mumbai for my morning drills in mumbai's local gondola i.e. local trains.
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