For more than a quarter of a century I had never ventured beyond South India. When a friend of mine suggested I visit him in Kashmir I took it up without a second thought. The date was set to coincide with the tulip blooming. Spring in Kashmir is unlike anything in India. As I gaze out of the tiny window from the plane a whole new world unfurled in front of me. A realisation that the cloud mass is actually just a line of clouds stopped by a massive range of snow-capped mountains brings geography lessons on the might of Himalayas to mind. The huge carpet of yellow sesame flowers is like watching nature's own version of the famed kashmiri carpet. The crisp mountain air rejuvenates the soul in a manner no medicine ever can.
The tranquil mood as I get out of the airport is disrupted by the heavy military presence and the constant undercurrent of fear. However, a drive around the centerpiece of srinagar - the serene misty mystical Dal lake - instills a state of surreal existence. The overpriced ride on a Shikar suddenly feels priceless as I float along on the mirror finished surface. A walk around the Mughal gardens is like a sneak peek of the opulent times of the mighty kings.
For a flavor of the local, there is the famous Rogan Gosht for the meat eaters and the lotus stem for the herbivores. While the kashmiri Kwava - a delicate saffron infused golden yellow tea with almond flakes - is a treat to the senses, the salty herbal tea refuses to go down without a fight. The coveted Pashmina, the hand woven carpets and carved walnut furniture are wonderful heirlooms. The saffron and walnuts need to be savored in the short run of life as is a visit to the valley at the head of the mighty nation.
As I sit in the theater watching the movie "I Am" it suddenly dawns on me the enormous void in the hearts of 300000 odd kashmiri pandits who were forced into a mass exodus. Working in IT and watching people relocate all the time and a thought floats, "My roots". Are childhood roots important or can we grow new ones like the aptly named runners of plants? I guess each individual has his own behaviour. Yet, on reflection, roots are still needed no matter what.
The tranquil mood as I get out of the airport is disrupted by the heavy military presence and the constant undercurrent of fear. However, a drive around the centerpiece of srinagar - the serene misty mystical Dal lake - instills a state of surreal existence. The overpriced ride on a Shikar suddenly feels priceless as I float along on the mirror finished surface. A walk around the Mughal gardens is like a sneak peek of the opulent times of the mighty kings.
For a flavor of the local, there is the famous Rogan Gosht for the meat eaters and the lotus stem for the herbivores. While the kashmiri Kwava - a delicate saffron infused golden yellow tea with almond flakes - is a treat to the senses, the salty herbal tea refuses to go down without a fight. The coveted Pashmina, the hand woven carpets and carved walnut furniture are wonderful heirlooms. The saffron and walnuts need to be savored in the short run of life as is a visit to the valley at the head of the mighty nation.
As I sit in the theater watching the movie "I Am" it suddenly dawns on me the enormous void in the hearts of 300000 odd kashmiri pandits who were forced into a mass exodus. Working in IT and watching people relocate all the time and a thought floats, "My roots". Are childhood roots important or can we grow new ones like the aptly named runners of plants? I guess each individual has his own behaviour. Yet, on reflection, roots are still needed no matter what.
1 comment:
Hey Sundar... simply awesome. Mow I wish that I too visit Kashmir... the heaven on earth :)
Cheers
Sowmya
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