By God's Hand

A short piece on my eventful trip to Kashmir

 

I opened my eyes to see snow outside the window. Wait a second, that couldn't be right?

I clearly remembered the weatherman mentioning the temperature in Srinagar was to be 6 degrees centigrade.

I couldn't have possibly missed the minus sign, could I?

A glance down at my attire was enough to convince me, my first step onto Kashmiri soil was going to turn me into an icicle.

As I watched my co passengers disembark, draped in a minimum of four layers of clothing, a not so brilliant plan began to form in my mind.

Now, I've never prided myself at being much of a sports aficionado.

Any form of exercise I got was the result of pure necessity of movement.

I have had to on numerous occasions, admit that my stamina does not exceed a sprint of fifty meters. The distance between the airplane and the warm safety of the airport sadly appeared to be more.

I was however determined.

So after a small warm up session in the plane amidst curious glances from my fellow travelers, I tightened the laces on my shoes and was off.

The sprint itself was of little significance but as I entered the magical double doors of the airport, I could swear I felt myself defrost.

From the Srinagar airport I was headed straight for Gulmarg, a small town located at about a one and a half hours drive from the capital.

I was greeted at the arrivals gate by Abdul, who was to be my driver and tour guide throughout my stay.

He was a plump, joyful sort of man with pink cheeks, salt and paper hair and a thick Kashmiri accent. He spoke a little hindi, absolutely no english and was fluent in urdu. I on the other hand, spoke fluent english, a little hindi and absolutely no urdu. The conversation between us therefore was barely one of sense. It involved us trying to guess the meaning of what the other was saying and responding accordingly.

The road to Gulmarg is scattered with small settlements of locals, who are invested in micro businesses like tire making and woodwork. I had the chance to stop by and watch them hard at work. Sadly I was not in need of any tires or birdhouses and so had to leave empty handed.

My home for the two nights stay at Gulmarg was to be at Hotel Heaven, a cozy resort nestled in the interiors of the town, an easy distance from the local market, Gondola and Golf course.

It is home to some of the best staff I have ever encountered and its kitchen houses the most delicious Rogan Josh and Kashmiri pulao my palate has ever tasted.

The manager of the hotel was a boisterous man named Bashir, who loved to hear of stories of foreign lands. Every guest he encountered taught him a few new english words and so his sentences were often broken and it was absolutely hilarious to hear him speak. He had no ill humor about his language barrier, but used it as an ice breaker during meal times to help know his guests better. He loved his homeland and considered it his duty to give his guests tit bits of information about the surrounding land and its history. One such seed of knowledge that gave me a bit of grief was the fact that we were only 7 kilometers from the Line of control. There was a spark of excitement in his eyes, as he recounted the fact to me, one that I could not honestly reciprocate. After a scrumptious dinner and two servings of desert, I turned in for the night eager to get an early start to exploring the town the next day. 

Ordinarily while on vacation people boast of waking up to breathtaking views and the sounds of exotic birds or animals. On one of those accounts, I will have to sadly leave you unsatisfied. There was no doubt that the view from my room was like a picture straight out of a postcard. The sounds that I woke to the next morning were however far from idyllic.

Gunshots sounded my alarm, the sound of firing from a disturbingly close range rose me out of my slumber. You have of course heard of the phrase 'almost died of a heart attack,' well, at that moment I really almost did.

While I was contemplating a move under the bed as a strategically safer option from under the blankets where I lay, there was a loud thumping on the door of my room.

I nearly jumped out of my skin, but was gladdened by the loud voice of Bashir informing everyone that the noise we heard was simply a training exercise carried out by the Indian army stationed near the LOC. I wasn't really comforted by that fact but wouldn't let it dampen my spirits. After a quick breakfast I was off for the day.

 

Gulmarg is known world over for its spectacular ski slopes and attracts hundreds of foreign tourists each winter. It boasts of Asia's highest and longest cable ride. Not really having a fear of heights, I decided to ride the Gondola to its highest point. It was a funny feeling for me, riding in a cable car for the first time, being suspended 150 meters above the ground. As I looked down I could see skiers and skateboarders navigate the treacherous mountain, it was a mesmerizing sight. I didn't delude myself into thinking I could ever conquer the slopes I saw, but once on the top I decided to try my hand at skiing for beginners. This basically involved skiing down a slope that couldn't have been at more than a fifteen degree angle. You might think I felt foolish at the act, but the truth is I felt a weird sense of accomplishment.

As the day progressed and I fell for what must have been the hundredth time, the weather began to get a little wild. It forced the less experienced of us to sadly leave and move to ground level for the day.

While on my way back to the hotel I encountered a group of 3 Americans, along with 2 Kashmiri tour guides and 2 Military men all in a heated discussion. On further inquiry I learned that they were a search party. A girl from their group had gone missing. She had been separated from the rest while skiing down the mountain and was no longer responding to radio contact. The rescue group was in quite a hurry to get up on the mountain, as night was setting in fast. Darkness meant a drop in the temperature and one foot outside the designated safe area could leave the rescuers in need of rescuing themselves. Flash lights and walkie talkies were being passed around and everyone was to wear florescent jackets so as to be visible in the dark. It was a grim atmosphere but one that shone with determination. I was sorely tempted to offer to join them in their endeavor but the truth was I would have been more of a liability than a help. I was glad to learn three hours later that the girl was found and was well, if only in a little shock.

On that bright note I took leave of Gulmarg and headed towards Pahalgam my next destination.

To call Gulmarg a beautiful place would be an understatement of epic proportions. The pure and unadulterated natural beauty this place has is unmatched by any other that I have ever visited. It has a charm of it's own and can be defined as nothing less than a painting by God's own hand.