Stranded in Srinagar
With only two days having passed since the agonizing waits to get into Gulmarg were ingrained into our frighteningly short memories, this time we were clever enough to leave the sleepy village at exactly 4 AM for a two-hour ride into Srinagar, the capital of the state.
Pediatrics came alive as we left Gulmarg when one of our party fell ill with a tummy bug and vomited all over the expensive rugs in the hotel room and I had to use all my diagnostic prowess to rule out other serious diagnoses that would require better quality medical care than I could provide.
Our drivers drove at a mad speed all the way to Srinagar because of the overhanging fear that protests would start quite early in the morning after fajr (pre-dawn) prayers, although it baffles me why anyone would destroy their sleep to patriotically throw stones at passing cars (or even to pray).
We reached the banks of the lake on which we'd be spending the next two days, the Nageen Lake. We were transported from one side to the other in a gondola-like boat called a shikaara. Instead of being ~ordinary~ and staying in hotel rooms, we had hired out houseboats - leviathan boats with rooms and most conveniences provided.
The front of the boat had a captivating view of the Nageen Lake and the neighboring mountains. The warm Kashmiri sun made the water gleam and the cloud-topped mountains radiate with a warm beauty. But the serenity of this scene belied the unholy violence that had overtaken the central bits of the city, and which was now being shown on telly.
We learnt half-empathetically from the news channel that eight people had died in protests on our first day in Srinagar. Everything from tourist spots to grocery stores were shut and the rabidity of the protests had driven most decent folk indoors, presumably making the economy fall face-down.
Sitting in the open bit of the houseboat, I could hear the calls coming from the local mosque on the other side of the lake.
"Naaray Takbeer" ("the call of greatness")
Followed by a chorus of "Allaho Akbar!" ("God is Great!").
And then a catchy melody echoed across, telling people why they should do jihaad. If, God forbid, I had any doubts about the dirty involvement of organized religions like Islam in stirring up shit, this experience has dispelled all of them.
The reason why I've included this political rant in this description of my holiday in Srinagar is because with nothing else to do, political discussions dominated our dinner-table chit-chat and a sense of being stranded pervaded all our limited activities over the two days.
We did go on a long shikaara ride from our houseboat, through the lotus and water lily 'garden', winding through villages of bored yet active children and their parents and pet farm animals, and finally to the other lake, the Dal Lake. I rowed our shikaara for a bit on the way back.
The abject poverty, rampant unemployment and rapid dwindling in tourist numbers had forced many of the souvenir and goods traders to come very close to begging their customers to buy something off them. Their despair was obvious without being expressed verbally, and you felt a subconscious need to buy something off them. I bought a few souvenirs and a fine bedsheet off various tradesmen but had to turn a lot of them down (e.g. Mr Bulbul Flowerman, whose flowery services we did not require).
I simply regret coming to Srinagar at the wrong time of the year.. we could've seen so much more of it had it been politically calmer. Maybe it's a sign to say I should come back to see what I missed this time around.
Pediatrics came alive as we left Gulmarg when one of our party fell ill with a tummy bug and vomited all over the expensive rugs in the hotel room and I had to use all my diagnostic prowess to rule out other serious diagnoses that would require better quality medical care than I could provide.
Our drivers drove at a mad speed all the way to Srinagar because of the overhanging fear that protests would start quite early in the morning after fajr (pre-dawn) prayers, although it baffles me why anyone would destroy their sleep to patriotically throw stones at passing cars (or even to pray).
We reached the banks of the lake on which we'd be spending the next two days, the Nageen Lake. We were transported from one side to the other in a gondola-like boat called a shikaara. Instead of being ~ordinary~ and staying in hotel rooms, we had hired out houseboats - leviathan boats with rooms and most conveniences provided.
The front of the boat had a captivating view of the Nageen Lake and the neighboring mountains. The warm Kashmiri sun made the water gleam and the cloud-topped mountains radiate with a warm beauty. But the serenity of this scene belied the unholy violence that had overtaken the central bits of the city, and which was now being shown on telly.
We learnt half-empathetically from the news channel that eight people had died in protests on our first day in Srinagar. Everything from tourist spots to grocery stores were shut and the rabidity of the protests had driven most decent folk indoors, presumably making the economy fall face-down.
Sitting in the open bit of the houseboat, I could hear the calls coming from the local mosque on the other side of the lake.
"Naaray Takbeer" ("the call of greatness")
Followed by a chorus of "Allaho Akbar!" ("God is Great!").
And then a catchy melody echoed across, telling people why they should do jihaad. If, God forbid, I had any doubts about the dirty involvement of organized religions like Islam in stirring up shit, this experience has dispelled all of them.
The reason why I've included this political rant in this description of my holiday in Srinagar is because with nothing else to do, political discussions dominated our dinner-table chit-chat and a sense of being stranded pervaded all our limited activities over the two days.
We did go on a long shikaara ride from our houseboat, through the lotus and water lily 'garden', winding through villages of bored yet active children and their parents and pet farm animals, and finally to the other lake, the Dal Lake. I rowed our shikaara for a bit on the way back.
The abject poverty, rampant unemployment and rapid dwindling in tourist numbers had forced many of the souvenir and goods traders to come very close to begging their customers to buy something off them. Their despair was obvious without being expressed verbally, and you felt a subconscious need to buy something off them. I bought a few souvenirs and a fine bedsheet off various tradesmen but had to turn a lot of them down (e.g. Mr Bulbul Flowerman, whose flowery services we did not require).
I simply regret coming to Srinagar at the wrong time of the year.. we could've seen so much more of it had it been politically calmer. Maybe it's a sign to say I should come back to see what I missed this time around.