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The Kashmiris’

Kashmiri folks love to talk. They can strike a conversation with you in the bus, taxi or even if you ask them for directions. They belong to an immensely warm, cheerful and friendly tribe of people who shall extend their hospitality to make sure you feel comfortable and more importantly safe. For a community that has been for over six decades living under the shadow of constant uncertainty, this cheer and optimism can be infectious.

On my journey across Kashmir valley, I met numerous locals whom I can speak of till cows come home. Of them folks, there were two individuals who were not only friendly, but they also opened their home and heart to me.

Yousuf Bashir

I was in the quaint village of Aru, near Pahalgam and it was the day of Eid; ‘Bada Din’ as the local people call it. Aru has no mosque and therefore, the namaaz was undertaken on an open ground in the meadows. Along with the villagers, the gypsies living in the valley made a beeline to offer their prayers to end the holy month of Ramzan on a happy note. Chatters of children and recital of the morning prayers filled the valley. Soon the prayers were over, and I decided to go for a lazy stroll. While trying to figure out from where can I climb down to the Lidder river, a bearded man with his teenage son, both of them dressed in traditional Kashmiri dress (Afghani kurta -pajama) began to walk with me. Shy smiles were exchanged and thus, began our conversation about my whereabouts, of the festivities, introductions and so on. We walked together a few kilometers, and it was at that moment the father-son duo invited me to have a cup of tea and Eid goodies at their place. They wanted me to be a part of the Eid celebrations at their small but comfy home with the rest of their family. Although overpowered to say no, their hopeful smiles made me utter the exact opposite. 

Mr Yousuf Bashir had a humble house on the banks of Lidder river. He owned several cattle, had a small farm of vegetables and few other essentials in his front yard. On entering his cosy home, I was instantaneously welcomed with friendly smiles and Eid greetings from his family members. He lived along with his wife and five children – two girls and three boys. His oldest son was married and senior Bashirs’ had recently become proud grandparents. Mrs. Bashir began to get the tea ready while their younger daughter Nida, who was back home for Eid, put together a plate full of assorted festive sweets for me. She worked in a small handicraft manufacturing unit located on the outskirts of Srinagar. I ate every one of those sweets on the plate, not to be rude to leave a few out, but because they were positively scrumptious. And with this delicious treat and over a freshly made pot of tea, Mrs. Bashir cheerfully spoke of the late yet timely arrival of summer. Her voice had a tone of displeasure when she complained of the sweltering heat the region has been experiencing since past few years. Mr Bashir calmed her down and mentioned that soon their preparations for winter months shall begin, and explained how the pristine white snow-covered landscape can get gloomy and boring when living in this part of the world. To make her parents stop grumbling of their problems which I might find dull to listen to, Nida jumped in. She compared the way of life in Srinagar to that in the villages as Aru (she preferred the latter) and was very keen to know how different is it to live in a big city. 

As we conversed more, I found that both generations of Bashirs’ were perfectly aligned on one thought, and the emotion that thought led to -  the unconcealable joy they feel to see tourists, travellers, who are for them a window to the world outside of Kashmir.

Ghulam Mohammed

In Srinagar, Jammu and Kashmir’s capital for summer, I met Ghulam Mohammed. Aside from the owner of the homestay I was living at, Mr Mohammed is a man of stories. A Kashmir born boy, he had lived in and travelled to varied cities and villages across India for work. He was fluent in many Indian languages and had the capability and nuances to fool anyone that he belonged to a particular region of the country. With over three decades of hard work and living in numerous towns of India, he finally decided to retire and come back to Kashmir - his home. In Srinagar, he set up a small homestay that housed a wonderful library of the books he had collected during his journeys. Amongst these were a few which were gifted to him by the travellers he hosted. It was the day after Eid when I was in Srinagar. The festivities were extended to the next day as well. After a brilliant discussion about a book and a few excerpts from his stories living in Bombay and Madras, he insisted that I should join him on a small tour of Srinagar on his scooter.  

We passed through the narrow lanes of the Lal Chowk bazaar which looked wider than usual with the shops closed and no pedestrian traffic. As deafeningly quiet it was, it did feel splendid to go through these tight lanes without being shoved, pushed or honked at. A little further, Mr Mohammed pointed out the auditorium building which ones hosted performances of well-known Indian and international artists, but is now occupied by the Indian Army for its everyday operations. During our excursion, we played a little game to observe expressions of people who pass by when they see a grey-haired Kashmiri man in his mid-fifties riding on a scooter with a young girl who doesn't remotely look related to him. Surprise, confusion, oddity, whispering were few of the reactions we caught upon. 

At some point during our game, Mr Mohammed exclaimed how Kashmiris’ are one of the most misinterpreted people because of the region they belong to. The conflict between India and Pakistan has made them susceptible to tourists – not alone Westerners, but Indians as well. Moreover, the militia which frequently moves within the region for civilian protection can also be a cause of intimidation and a matter of worry for few. It is therefore, many locals from Kashmir like Mr Mohammed feel the need to pacify and underline again the safety within the valley to travellers like I who come in every season. 

Soon, we crossed the city museum and Mr Mohammed in a saddened voice narrated how many of the ancient priceless artifacts were stolen during curfews and riots. Thereafter, he expressed a feeling of frustration every Kashmiri has hidden inside them. The aggravation of being crushed between the tug-of-war India and Pakistan are dealing with for decades now. This tug-of-war has not only given rise to a constant war-like situation, but also a mood of uncertainty; a kind that stays close every moment of the day, and which appallingly has become a way of life for many in the valley. I was able to gather a sense of helplessness and fragility when he spoke of the safety of his family back home - a hamlet located close to the India-Pakistan border. Mr Mohammed is one of the many natives’ from the small villages of Kashmir who have migrated to Srinagar (and to other cities) for better opportunities so that their families can live a decent and safe life. 

Further, he added that the conflict has over the years led to the loss of innocence and simplicity amongst the Kashmiri people: Kashmiriyat (culturally unique identity of a Kashmiri, at the heart of which is inclusivity) has slowly declined in the past few years. Also, the urgency to resolve the status of Kashmir has taken a backseat. As we rode by the ever peaceful Dal Lake, he fumed with anger on the disorganised infrastructural set-up not only around the lake, but also in Srinagar and other tourist circuits to accommodate visitors during high/peak season. The unplanned monstrosity had lead to environment degradation, migration of birds and animals from their natural habitat and decline of the Dal from a sprawling twenty-four kilometer to a mere half at present.

It was through the kindness and openness of these charming men, I was able to garner insight into the ordinary yet uncommon life this paradise of a place has to offer.