Diaries of a compulsive traveller

View from Jalori Pass

Katra katra milti hain
Katra katra jeene do

Zindagi hai

Behne Do

Pyasi hoon mai pyasi rehne do…

(I get it in drops/ Let me live it in drops/ It’s life/ Let it flow/ I’m thirsty, let me remain thirsty forever)

The last views of the Beas

Gulzar-Pancham’s immortal creation played on Eti’s phone as she plonked herself into the cosy bed in our hotel room in Rakcham. I had already made myself comfortable on the broad windowsill overlooking the mighty mountains in the distance. The late-afternoon sun was casting yellow and orange hues on the green hills topped with the last of the season’s snow.

“This is life man,” said Eti. “And there couldn’t have been a better song to capture it right now,” she gushed.

I knew what she meant and felt exactly the same. We had rafted on the Beas, trekked for four days in the deodar forests, meadows and snow-covered slopes of Kullu valley, and taken a 400km roller-coaster ride through the mountains of Kinnaur in three days. Another 260km the next day and we’d be in Kullu to take the flight back home the following morning to bring an end to what Eti now calls the “Himachal madness”.

But we were still thirsty for more. And that, my reader friend, is the magic of the Himalayas. No matter how much you see of him, he will leave you thirsty for more. Maybe forever.

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Manali to Sarahan (233km/8hours)

Through the pines and deodars

Our driver Vicky picked us up punctually at 8.30am from Manali the day after we returned from the Hampta Pass trek. Rita had already left for Kalka half an hour back and now, Eti and I were to do what few drivers agree to do in Himachal — an epic road trip to Kinnaur and back in four days flat. Most do it in six.

Our first destination, Sarahan, however, was not in Kinnaur district. It’s in Shimla district, but popularly called the ‘gateway to Kinnaur’. The district of Kinnaur — at the extreme east of Himachal Pradesh — is accessible either from Shimla or Manali in the west or from the north, through Lahaul Spiti, another gorgeous district of Himachal. But it’s not accessible in a day, whichever route you choose.

Terrace cultivation

Most people told us it wasn’t possible to drive to Sarahan from Manali in a day and a break has to be taken in Shimla. But Vinkal Hada, a driver popular among crazy Himalaya-lovers, agreed to do it and appointed Vicky for us. So, we knew it was going to be a long day.

An hour later, we stopped for breakfast at Behl Sweets on Manali Road. After our usual morning meal of aloo parathas, we bought a ration of dry sweets for the ‘emergency hunger pangs’ over the next four days. Being from a region in India famous for its sweets, I can say that the sweets we bought were worth savouring.

The famous Kinnaur apples

The lively Beas kept us company till Kullu, where our routes parted. She would go on to flow west, join her brother Sutlej somewhere in Punjab, together flow through Pakistan, join the Indus and then finally drain into Arabian Sea. Our destination was east, where, later in the day, we would meet her big brother Sutlej, the longest and mightiest of Indus’s tributaries. Originating in Rakshastal in Tibet, Sutlej carves the deepest of gorges in its valley and is a muddy, boisterous river, unlike his sister, the pretty Beas with her bluish-grey waters.

Ah! The heady scent of the pines!

Some may be wondering why I am referring to Beas as female and Sutlej as male. That’s because it is so in our traditional Sanskrit texts. Beas, or Bipasha in Sanskrit, is a female river (nadi), while Sutlej, or Satadru, is male (nad). Indus, or Sindhu, is supposed to be male as well though all his other tributaries, Ravi (Iravati), Jhelum (Bitasta) and Chenab (Chandrabhaga), are female.

Our route was lush green, snaking its way through giant deodar and pine forests. The pines were ripe and even as I write this 11 months later, I can still smell the heady scent of the pines that gave me a sort of high whenever we drove through them.

Meeting the Sutlej

We had lunch at a dhaba(roadside eatery) where Eti and I were the only women. Over the next four days, we got used to the gawking eyes as we wolfed down platefuls of vegetarian food (the post-trek hunger) in probably a very unladylike manner. But no one was ever discourteous or harassed us in any way.

The most beautiful part of our journey was perhaps the 10,800-foot-high (3120 metres) Jalori Pass. Not only is the view from the pass marvellous, there are rows of the beautiful Kinnaur violets on the route leading to the pass on each side.

By the roadside were apple orchards Kinnaur is famous for. In June, they were still green and those who go a little later enjoy the profusion of red amid the green.

The lushness of greenery, however, fades slightly as one drives towards Kinnaur. The mountains of Kinnaur fall somewhere between the verdant Kullu Valley and the rugged Spiti Valley. But there are some beautifully forested patches and Kalpa and Rakcham are two of them.

Wild roses

We reached Sarahan around 4.30pm. It’s most famous for the Bhimakali temple. Bhimakali or Bhimadevi was the presiding deity of the kings of Bushahr — a princely state during the British Raj. Sarahan, at 7,589 feet, was the capital of the Bushahr kings which was later shifted to Rampur, 38km away. While Rampur grew up by the Sutlej, Sarahan is some 7km above the river valley.

Locals claim Sarahan was the Sonitpur of mythology. Sonitpur was the capital of the demon king Banasur who was also a devotee of Lord Shiva. Legend says Banasur’s daughter Usha fell in love with Lord Krishna’s grandson Aniruddha and got married in secret, leading to an epic battle that Lord Krishna won.

Bhimakali temple

However, as it’s always the case with legends, there are several claimants to the title of Sonitpur. Assam is one; Ukhimath in Uttaranchal is another. Ukhimath even houses a temple dedicated to Usha and Aniruddha.

Bhimakali temple, however, has nothing to do with this legend. The temple building is not too old — at most 150 years. But it is adorned with rich woodcarvings. Cameras and cellphones are not allowed inside. The deity resides on the top floor but it’s difficult to figure her out in the plethora of flowers and other ornamentation.

The temple complex is clean, well maintained and has beautiful flowers. The tiled roofs of the structures in the temple complex are worth noting. Eti, who comes from another end of India, said they have very similar tiles in buildings in her state Meghalaya. There is also a small display of artefacts that were used to worship the goddess in the days of former glory.

Check out the woodwork

The temple has a guesthouse for tourists. However, it’s much sought-after and has to be booked in advance. (For more info on that click here.) We had no booking and could not stay in the temple, but we got a room very close to the temple — just outside the gates actually — in a lodge for a cool Rs 600 per day. It had all the facilities one can ask for.

Sarahan now has a lot of lodges coming up though previously there was not much option and people had to stay in Rampur. However, it’s best to book in advance if one chooses to go in the peak tourist season. We had been plain lucky.

After freshening up, we went for a stroll. Right outside our lodge was Diptesh Garments. The shop owner, Diptesh, is a local woman who sells Kullu and Kinnaur caps, shawls, jackets, scarves and other woollens. An elderly local woman was sitting in the shop.

Beautiful flowers in the temple complex

After a few of our queries about the stuff she sells, the topic veered to Eti and me. Who had we come with? Where were our ‘elders’? The women’s mouths fell open on hearing that we were on our own. Diptesh asked us about our age. It turned out that she was of the same age as us. And since then, she could not stop taking curious glances at the two of us.

“You are so lucky,” she kept saying. “I have never left my village… Look at you two…travelling on your own… so lucky…” she went on. We bought a lot of stuff from her. I bought a woollen kurti, somewhat like an achkan, which earned me compliments even in China. We also bought shawls, which were much cheaper than those in Manali.

We spent a comfortable night in the Sarahan lodge, though only vegetarian food was available in the village. We two hungry souls gobbled up our veg chow mien from the paper packets itself while I washed it down with the chhang I had bought at the end of the trek in Jobra. And I gulped down the rest over the next three days in Kinnaur.

And the next day, after bidding goodbye to Diptesh and the elderly woman who lived nearby, we drove off for the next destination — Kalpa— perhaps the most beautiful destination in entire Kinnaur. Watch out for the next post.

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A glimpse of Sarahan village

How to reach Sarahan: Drive down from Shimla/Manali or through Lahaul Spiti. It's 170km from Shimla

Where to stay:Bhimakali temple guesthouse; several lodges are coming up. Best to book in advance in peak tourist season

Famous for: Bhimakali temple, old palace. Sarahan is also the 'gateway to Kinnaur'

Food: Vegetarian fare

Driver's contact number for Kinnaur trip: Vinkal Hada (9459262520/9805473522)

The majestic Kinner Kailash peaks on way to Kalpa

Sarahan to Kalpa

(90km/5hours with a 2-hour break at Karchham Wangtoo HEPS)

The road from Sarahan to Kalpa is one of the most beautiful Himalayan roads one can encounter. It passes through the most verdant of stretches as well as some of the loftiest of mountains with the mighty Sutlej keeping one company, roaring along in its deep valley below.

The Sutlej keeps you company as the road leads
through some of the loftiest mountains

On some stretches, the road passes through ‘half-tunnels’, with the rocky overhangs sheltering the road from above. Sometimes it becomes a complete tunnel for a couple of metres.

The distance is not too long, but an invariable break happens at the 1000MW Karchham Wangtoo Hydro Electric Power Station on the Sutlej, 71km from Rampur. A permit has to be taken somewhere up the road and cars are released only at a one-way direction. For us, it got even more harrowing because the road was blocked on account of a landslide and we had to take a 25-km detour.

When we reached Karchham, a long train of cars was already waiting. The sun was harsh and I ended up getting more sunburns on my hand, over and above the ones that I had got at the trek and were yet to heal.

The wait by the Sutlej, at Karchham Wangtoo HEPS

The Sutlej flows a few metres below the road surface here and there are a few shops where one can pick up packets of snacks. Eti and I got off for a cup of tea and I struck up a conversation with our driver Vicky.

He asked me what I did for a living. When I told him that I hold a desk job with a newspaper, he said he had done it for a while at a newspaper in Mandi, his hometown, which we had passed on way to Manali from Kalka. “So why did you leave it?” I asked. “The pay was very poor. I earn much more now,” he laughed.

That came as a rude bit of shock. I wondered if he earned by driving cars more than I did by making pages and cleaning up other people’s copies. We white-collar workers have such overrated ideas of our work and ourselves!

The mountains are behind those winding roads

From Karchham, the road climbs further up the Sutlej valley and within about 10 minutes, the snow-capped peaks come into sight. The road comes down to meet the Sutlej once again about an hour later in one of the harshest of stretches. But once you cross over to the other side, the landscape turns magically green and stretched across the horizon, in all its glory, the mighty Himalayan peaks come into view.

It still takes about half an hour to reach Kalpa, but the mountains will never let you out of sight and no Himalaya-lover can look away either, even for a second, from its heavenly beauty. Our hotel, Rakpa Regency, was right on top of Kalpa, offering a grand view of the mountains, which the entire village offers anyway.

Even as we got off the car, Eti looked wide-eyed at the mountains and asked me, “What are those peaks?”

“Kinner Kailash,” I said.

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The last leg before Reckong Peo

Kalpa, which used to be called Chini till the early 1960s, is a small hamlet that was important because of its location on the old Indo-Tibetan trade route. Those days are over and Kalpa makes a living of apple orchards and tourism. Surrounded by ‘chilgoza’ pines — the nuts of which are eaten by locals too — Kalpa comes under Reckong Peo, the headquarters of Kinnaur, but is mostly famous for its second-to-none view of the 21,300-feet Kinner Kailash peaks.

Coming to myths, the tales of Banasur, which I narrated in my previous post on Sarahan, are famous here, too. [Source: Kinnaur Desh (Land of Kinnaur) by Umaprasad Mukhopadhyay] Legend goes that Banasur, who was a devotee of Lord Shiva, prayed to him atop the Kinner Kailash peak and summoned him through his prayers. Shiva appeared in his Nataraj (dancer) form and Banraj appeased him by keeping up with his ‘tandava’(dance of death) by playing a thousand musical instruments using as many hands. Umaprasad wonders if Banraj was actually a Kinnauri — who are famous to this day for their talent in and tradition of music and dance. But more on that in later posts.

And, the view after crossing those mountains. Kalpa is another half an hour

The legend continues that Banraj installed a ‘shivling’ (representation of Shiva) atop the Kinner Kailash. The reason why at least two peaks in Himachal Pradesh are named after the sacred Kailash peak in Tibet is that they are all shaped like a triangle, which represents the ‘shivling’. Hence they are considered Shiva’s abode. One is Kinner Kailash and the other is Chamba Kailash or Manimahesh.

These peaks are sacred to Hindus and Buddhists alike. And just like the kora or the parikrama(circumambulation) of Mt Kailash, it’s done at Manimahesh and Kinner Kailash, too. The Kinner Kailash parikrama trek is said to be one of its kind.

View from our hotel. The tiny hamlet below on the left is
Kalpa (the former Chini village)

Rakpa Regency tuned out to be a hotel run by Bengalis. Vicky, very thoughtfully, took us there because he knew I am from Bengal. The sad part was, I had to eat Bengali fare, which I eat round the year, at Kalpa too. Eti, who is extremely fond of Bengali food, enjoyed it immensely.

The hotel, however, was good. Our room gave an out-of-the-world view of the Kinner Kailash and the facilities were good enough. I spent the entire afternoon gazing at the beautiful Kinner Kailash, which is reputed to change colours at different hours of the day. Unfortunately, I saw only one colour. Maybe the treat is for the faithful, not for faithless wretches like me who run to the mountains only to soak in their timeless beauty.

And beautiful it was. Dazzling under the sun this moment… hiding behind a veil of clouds the next … playing hide-and-seek through the mist… turning golden by the light of the setting sun… I gazed at the mountain till it got dark and I could see no more. Regardless of the post-trek exhaustion, I set the alarm and caught the sunrise the next day. We sat on the balcony and watched and watched, till it was time to leave.

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Sunrise above Kinner Kailash range. The one at the centre is the Kinner Kailash peak

Before driving out of Kalpa, Vicky took us down to the old village of Chini. There’s a monastery there, which is reputed to be a century old. It is a modest structure and was closed and so we could not venture inside. As we inspected the monastery unhurriedly, we heard something breaking the inherent calm of the place.

Kalpa monastery

It was an ‘orchestra’ of sorts, combining horns, drums and cymbals. The monastery is located on a platform raised a couple metres above the road. On peeping out from the edge, we saw a procession of musicians following a man holding a decorated object reverently. It was obviously the procession of a deity.

I asked a couple of men at the monastery about the procession and they told me it was of “Lord Brahma Vishnu”. It was striking since Brahma and Vishnu are two different gods, two of the highest in the Hindu pantheon who make the Holy Trinity along with Shiva. But ironically, the only temple dedicated to Brahma lies in Pushkar in Rajasthan.

I felt the musical instruments used in the procession had striking similarities with those used by Tibetan Buddhists. But the two men denied it vehemently. “These instruments are all locals. There’s no outside influence,” said the younger of the two.

Lord Brahma Vishnu's procession

The procession snaked its way down the road and disappeared from sight. We came out of the monastery and walked a bit down the roads of the village. Somewhere down the road, we came across another small shrine with the emblem of a snake carved on the wall, above the door. The shrine was closed and Vicky had no idea who it was dedicated to. But Kalpa sure had some interesting things to offer.

Sitting outside, crushing stones was a Kinnauri woman. I remembered reading in Umaprasad’s travelogues that in Kinnaur, men are too lazy and the womenfolk do most of the physically demanding work. He wrote it sometime in the 1960s. I wondered if things have remained the same in these nooks and corners of the Himalayas, where external influence is still minimum.

Though we could not visit it, about 3km from Kalpa is Kothi, which has a temple dedicated to Goddess Chandika. Few venture there, but it’s certainly worth a visit if you have the time.

As our car left Kalpa, right at the edge of the village, we met the religious procession again. Some of the musicians looked at us as we drove past. Suddenly it all seemed like another country to me, so far removed from the chaos, commotion, madness and pollution of Kolkata. It was probably even more ‘distant’ for Eti, both geographically and culturally. But that exactly is the uniqueness of Incredible India. Every region is unique, with its own charm, its own stories and its own temptations for travellers like us.

A Kinnauri woman at work

The music of the devotees of Lord Brahma Vishnu kept ringing in my ear as the car wound its way out of Reckong Peo. And we kept watching the magnificent Kinner Kailash for as long as we could until it vanished from sight as the car sped towards our next destination, Chitkul, the last Indian village on the border with Tibet.

How to reach Kalpa: By road, 90km from Sarahan, 260km from Shimla

Where to stay: Several hotels. We stayed at Rakpa Regency

Famous for: Out-of-the-world view of Kinner Kailash peaks, Chandika Devi temple at Kothi, Kalpa monastery

Food: Vegetarian though eggs are available

Driver's contact number for Kinnaur trip: Vinkal Hada (9459262520/9805473522)

The Baspa in Chitkul

Kalpa to Chitkul (61km/2 hours)

The road to Chitkul is one of the most treacherous in the world.
It's also one of the most beautiful and adventurous

To go to Chitkul from Kalpa, one needs to drive back some 20km towards Sarahan and take the Sangla-Chitkul road at Karcham. Chitkul, the last Indian village before the border with Tibet, is some 40km south of Karcham and around 111km from Sarahan. It’s at Karcham that the Baspa — the prime attraction of Sangla and Chitkul — meets his elder brother Sutlej.

The landscape gets even more rugged in these parts and when we went, in the month of June, the slopes looked a mix of green and mud-grey, unlike the lush green of Reckong Peo. The road itself is said to be among the most treacherous of Himalayan terrains (though I’ve seen worse) and is certainly not for the faint-hearted.

Baspa valley

But for the ultimate-adventure-lovers and mountain-lovers, the road’s a treat.

The robust Sutlej kept us company till Karcham, where younger brother Baspa took over. The Baspa, a more modest river compared to big bro, is swift nonetheless and their combined strength is milked further downstream at the 1000MW Karcham Wangtoo HEPS, which we had passed on the way to Kalpa from Sarahan.

As we entered the Sangla-Chitkul road, the landscape got greener, and kept getting better and better as we went upstream of the Baspa. Around 19km from Karcham is Sangla, the largest town in the Baspa valley, where most tourists prefer to stay. But we had other plans.

A Kinnauri herdsman

Vinkal Hada, the driver who I had contacted for the road trip and who had appointed Vicky for us, had suggested that we stay at Rakcham, apparently a quieter and more beautiful place than Sangla. But we had decided to keep our plan open.

As we passed through Sangla, however, I did not feel impressed at all. It looked like any other hill town, crowded and packed with hotels and lodges. As we went further upstream, however, the pines and deodars grew thicker and human presence thinner. Just as I was wondering if we could somehow stay in a place like this, we entered a small hamlet with a few scattered wooden dwellings and on the left I caught the signboard — ‘Hotel Apple Pie’ — as our car sped past.

Baspa valley

Vinkal had suggested that we stay at Apple Pie. “It’s never too crowded and the staff are good. You will like it there,” he had said. We decided at once that on the way back from Chitkul, we’d stay the night at Apple Pie instead of staying in Sangla.

But it appeared that Vicky had made his own plans too.

Until then, Vicky had given us no reason to complain. But somewhere after crossing Rakcham, he seemed to have no idea of the way ahead. There was a village down in the valley and he seemed to be wondering if it was Chitkul. He called up someone, asked for directions and then drove on. As it appeared, Chitkul was still some 45 minutes away.
The landscape does not change dramatically after that, but the isolation is palpable. Though we met some tourists on the way — frolicking in the waters of a stream by the side of the road — signs of human presence were negligible. Fifteen minutes after we crossed a forest department signboard saying ‘The beginning of the border, Chitkul beat’, the road practically ended at a huge white hotel by the side of the road. Vicky said we had arrived.

Baspa valley

It looked nothing like what I had thought Chitkul would be. The river was out of sight and there was no ‘village’ to be seen. Vicky went inside and came out with a man — apparently a hotel staffer — and together started taking our luggage out of the car. We were totally taken aback. It then appeared that Vicky had made all arrangements for us to spend the night at this hotel.

Baspa valley

I was furious. “Did we tell you we wanted to stay in Chitkul?” I demanded. “We wanted to stay in Sangla originally but now we want to stay in Rakcham. Who told you to arrange our stay here?” I challenged him.

He started arguing that since we had no bookings, he had done what he had thought was the best. It appeared then that this hotel belonged to the same group as the hotel in Kalpa and he had obviously been tipped by them to put us up here.

“No, we’re not staying here,” I told him flatly. He tried to scare me, asking what we’d do if Apple Pie was full. Inwardly I had a feeling Apple Pie wasn’t anywhere close to being full — we hadn’t seen a soul while passing it by. So, trying to look as unruffled as possible I shot back, “If Apple Pie is full, we’ll stay on the road. But still, we won’t stay here.”

Baspa in Chitkul

That did it. He grinned stupidly and mumbled, “No, of course, you won’t have to stay on the road…” The hotel guy, who had been quiet all this while, interjected now. “Ma’am, it’s okay. You don’t have to stay here. But please have lunch.” He was evidently smarter than our driver. We agreed.

Belonging to the same group, this was also another Bengali hotel and the food, obviously, was Bengali fare. Eti again got the chance to have her favourite Bengali dish aloo-posto (potato cooked in a poppy-seed paste). But the whole experience had left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Chitkul Government High School

True, our hotel in Kalpa had given us no chance to complain. But then, thankfully, it had been largely empty. This hotel was teeming with Bengali tourists. And though they are perhaps the most well-travelled community in India, I have no qualms in admitting, despite being a Bengali, that the average Bengali tourist can also be the most annoying. He fusses about the weirdest of things, is dressed in the weirdest of clothes and can be tiresomely loud. The last place I wanted to be in on a holiday was anywhere with a bunch of garrulous Bengali families fussing over their kids at the top of their voices.

After lunch, we went towards the river. It was a short walk from the hotel and the afternoon sun was beating down on us. But the mountains were green and topped with snow and a cold breeze was blowing from the river. The Baspa — though not as much as the Sutlej — looked quite muddy as well. The bank on our side was rocky and looked very barren, but the opposite bank looked dramatically forested in contrast.

From Chitkul to Rakcham

There was no settlement nearby apart from the Government High School of Chitkul, where the students were busy in a game of throwball. We went and sat by the river for a while, walked up the road a bit and then decided to return. Apparently there is an ITBP signboard further up the road that marks the border. The manager told us that are several trails nearby where we could go walking (he had obviously got the news that we were trekkers) but we were in no further mood for Chitkul. We left for Rakcham soon afterwards.

For those who wish to do the Kinnaur trip, I’ll suggest that you definitely visit Chitkul, if only for the road. Though I personally thought Chitkul is overhyped as a ‘destination’, tastes can differ. Besides, the landscape can also vary according to the time of the year. Chitkul would perhaps have looked prettier to us had there been slightly fewer tourists and the heat been a little less.

Baspa valley

And, did we get a room in Apple Pie? Read the next and final post in my Kinnaur series to know that.

How to reach Chitkul: By road 111km from Sarahan
Where to stay: There are a few hotels and lodges. We did not stay in Chitkul
Famous for: River Baspa. Last Indian village on the border with Tibet
Food: Vegetarian though eggs are available
Driver's contact number for Kinnaur trip: Vinkal Hada (9459262520/9805473522)

Rakcham

Rakcham is only about 10km from Chitkul and just about the same distance from Sangla. The best part about Rakcham is that despite its proximity to the two well-known tourist destinations, it’s relatively deserted. Nestled in pine forests and with the Baspa flowing close by, it’s heaven for solitude-seekers.

The Baspa flowing by Rakcham

From what I could figure out during our brief stay, there are still only a couple of hotels in Rakcham. One is Rupin River View, which is closer to Chitkul. The other is Apple Pie, which is further towards Sangla. If rivers attract you, it’s better to put up in Rupin River View because it’s level with the river valley. Apple Pie is more uphill and the river valley is deep enough to be probably called a gorge at that point.

The beauty of Apple Pie lies in the pines surrounding it. Blue, chilgoza, chir — all kinds of Himalayan pines jostle for space to find a toehold in the slopes leading up from or down to the tiny hill hamlet. When we reached Apple Pie, there was probably no other tourist staying there, though we later saw a foreigner (probably European) trio out on a walk nearby and the next morning, we saw an elderly Indian couple having breakfast in the small dining space downstairs.

Our first-floor room had two huge windows — one of them, with a broad windowsill, overlooked the pine-swathed mountains topped with the last of the season’s snow. I spent the entire afternoon sitting on it, until it grew dark. And Eti discovered just in the nick of time that the other window was offering the view to one of the finest sunsets I have been able to catch in the Himalayas so far.

Pines at Rakcham

The door latch, however, was defective and as she had done through the trip, Eti pushed the centre table against the door and put our heavy rucksacks on it as a measure of safety. I did not stop her but did not point out to her either that if someone had the intention of creating trouble, the wood-and-glass windows were enough. It’d have been child’s play to climb up to them from outside and break in.

As night fell, the only lights to be seen were those of Sangla, far away in the valley. The lights of the hotel were dim — just about strong enough for practical purposes but weak enough to leave the mood of solitude undisturbed.

Thanks to the thick foliage all around, there was no dearth of wildlife. The walls of our bedroom and the bathroom were occupied by four different types of moth. There was nothing to be heard except for the sounds of nature — the gurgling of water, chirping of crickets, rustling of leaves or the whistling of the wind. Add to that the scent of the pines... Life couldn’t have been better.

Rakcham

Food at Apple Pie was vegetarian (not even eggs) but quite good. There were not too many staffers at the hotel and we met only a couple of them. One of them came as a pleasant surprise for Eti. Being two women travellers, we are usually asked by random people where we are from. And mostly every time Eti’s answer, “Shillong”, or “Meghalaya”, is met with the next question, “Where is that?” Most people in India seem to be happily clueless about our northeast. But this guy was a fantastic exception.

He looked very excited on getting Eti’s answer. It turned out that he had worked in Meghalaya for a few years and even spoke one of the major tribal dialects there, Khasi. Though Eti is Jaintia, she knows Khasi and had a delightful time talking to him.

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Wild roses in Rakcham

The next morning, we went out for a short walk after breakfast. Shrubs of wild roses and Himalayan indigo grew nearby. Pinecones lay everywhere. Eti started collecting some of the cones, which she said were different from the ones they have in Meghalaya. She chose a couple for me too and we managed to carry the fragile cones all the way to our respective homes in Kolkata and Meghalaya by flight.

Unlike our hotel in Kalpa, which was isolated on a hilltop, Apple Pie was surrounded by wooden Kinnauri dwellings. Some were in fact a mix of cement, wood and glass, and most had corrugated tin roofs.

One house was particularly interesting. It looked like a ramshackle one-room wooden structure resting on rickety wooden stilts. A narrow little wooden staircase led up to the front door from a little iron gate fastened to two short cement pillars on each side, only about a foot in breadth. After that, the boundary line had been marked in the traditional style — by a wall of loose rocks placed in a way that they stick together without any fastener like cement (though about a 2ftx2ft part of the wall at the bottom had been cemented). The corrugated tin roof looked sparkling new, but only one side of the triangular wall below the roof was covered by wooden planks. Several other planks were lying on the ground nearby.

A Kinnauri woman with her child

Evidently, the house was still being built, but it looked like it would fall apart any moment. But amid all this, proudly resting in a corner of the compound was a Tata Sky dish antenna (a direct-to-home television service provider in India). It seemed that the pieces of the ‘development’ pie were reaching all corners of the country. But somehow the dish antenna, which must be a prize possession of the owner, looked awkwardly out of place in the pristine surroundings.

We came across a few local residents while out on the walk. Though for daily purposes, many Kinnauris have given up their traditional attires for more convenient Western clothes, they have certainly held on to the ‘thepang’, the woollen cap with the green flap that is a popular souvenir for tourists too. Its shape is similar to the Kullu cap, which is usually embroidered in colourful geometric patterns. Both men and women wear it.

The traditional attire is still worn at festivals and special occasions though. Here is what Shiva Chandra Bajpai writes in ‘Kinnaur in the Himalayas: Mythology to Modernity’ about traditional Kinnauri clothes:

“The men wear woollen shirts chamu-kurti, a long coat (chhuba), woollen pyjamas (chamu sutan) mostly of grey colour. Ladies wear woollen sari dhorifull-sleeved blouse with a choli, chanli or shawl. This shawl is wrapped round the shoulders and its two ends are fastened together near the breast by means of a silver hook called digra. Women often wrap round their waist a scarlet coloured woollen or cotton cloth of about five to eight metres in length and about a metre in width. This is called gachhang.”

Moths that had made the walls of our Rakcham hotel room their home

Another part of their life that the Kinnauris are fiercely proud of and protective about is their tradition of music. Though not much is known about the origin of Kinnauris as a peoples, they have found mention as ‘Kinners’ or ‘Kimpurushas’ (both roughly mean ‘is that a man?’) in most of our traditional Sanskrit texts. The Kinners — sometimes described as half-human and half-bird, and sometimes as a human with the head of a horse — were supposed to be the divine musicians and entertainers of the gods. (Read my post on Kalpa for more on this.) In our myths, a Kinner is inseparable from his songs and his flute.

The ramshackle house with the Tata Sky dish antenna

Kinners also had an unusual custom — polyandry — until very recently, though they have given it up now. Apparently Kinners trace this to Draupadi in the epic ‘Mahabharata’ who had five husbands. Apparently the five brothers and Draupadi spent a year hiding (agyatvas) in the region that is now Kinnaur (source: ‘Kinnaur in the Himalayas: Mythology to Modernity’).

From our myths, Kinners are also supposed to be very pretty. It’s difficult to tell how they looked originally, but now they are a mixed race. Kinnaur is divided into three zones — upper, middle and lower. We were mostly in lower Kinnaur, just about touching the border with middle Kinnaur in Reckong Peo. Though people of lower Kinnaur are closer — both in terms of physical features and religion — to the people of Shimla district, those in the upper parts are said to be more like those in Spiti valley. The Tibetan influence there is apparent in physical features as well as religion. Not only does Buddhism gain prominence over Hinduism, some apparently even worship Bon deities — the traditional Tibetan religion that was replaced by Buddhism.

The view from our room in Rakcham

Personally, I thought even the people of lower Kinnaur looked very distinct from the people of Shimla or other parts of middle and lower Himachal. Whether it was the stone-crusher in Kalpa, the cultivator and the herdsman in Chitkul or the woman in Rakcham who walked past with her child on her back — they had distinct Mongoloid traces in their features. One unmistakable trace was the relief map-like creases on their weather-beaten faces — something that’s largely missing on those in Kullu and Mandi with the softer Punjabi-ish features.

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We left Rakcham around 10am. It was a long 265-km distance to Kullu. We were to take an early-morning flight to Delhi and then connecting flights to our respective cities from there. It was after 8pm that we finally reached our hotel in Kullu. I don’t remember the name but it’s right next to Bhuntar Airport. In fact, the airport literally looks like the hotel’s backyard. The next morning, we walked to the airport from the hotel.

Rakcham

Bhuntar is a quaint little airport beautifully decorated with flower plants and surrounded by green hills. As the flight took off began the yearlong wait for yet another rendezvous with the Himalayas. But the ‘Himachal madness’ had its after-effects. I woke up in my bed in the middle of three consecutive nights thinking I was lying in the middle of the road surrounded by lofty mountains. I could actually 'see' the mountains in my bedroom. So, my reader friend, beware. Once you’re in love with the Himalayas, there’s no escaping him. He will chase you in your dreams, dwell in your fantasies and, as I said in my first post on Kinnaur, leave you thirsty forever.

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Rakcham

How to reach Rakcham: By road 230km from Shimla, 10km from Sangla, 265km from Kullu

Where to stay: Hotel Apple Pie, Hotel Rupin River View

Food:Vegetarian

Famous for: Not famous. It’s for solitude-seekers who look to escape the madness of ‘civilization’ for a few days and rest in the lap of unspoilt nature

Our Kinnaur road trip route: Manali-Sarahan-Kalpa-Chitkul-Rakcham-Kullu

Number of days: Four

Total distance covered: 660km

Contact number of driver for Kinnaur trip: Vinkal Hada (9459262520/9805473522)

Click on the respective links to read my previous posts onManali, Sarahan, Kalpa and Chitkul

Fishy business

Our table, as usual, was brimming with food. Before the waitress could put the umpteenth dish down on the table, she had to first make space for it — picking up some of the leftovers and pushing the rest of the plates, glasses and bowls cheek by jowl, leaving us with little space to even move our arms.

This is what was left of our Mandarin Fish after one of the meals. The look
of the dish can vary, depending on the sauce. The best Mandarin Fish
we ate had a clear sauce with bits of coriander leaves floating in it

And then she put the platter down — right in front of me. I couldn’t stop staring at its occupant. It was what looked like a whole raw fish, floating in its watery grave, looking up at me with its round mournful eyes, its little mouth curled up in a sad smiley, perhaps terrified at the imminent danger of being shredded into bits and eaten up. But forget eating, none of my Indian team members had the guts to even touch it.

It was the famous Mandarin Fish, which my research had told me was a must-have in Shanghai. In fact, we had already tried it at a restaurant in Shanghai’s Chinatown the previous day. And, the experience had been quite harrowing. The fish had looked slightly more ‘cooked’ than this one and the sauce had been less watery. And yet, the fish had been horribly smelly. So, it was hardly surprising that there was no daredevil in our team willing to try it out the second time.

Street food being cooked in Shanghai

But our Chinese hosts could not be offended either. So finally, as it was usual with food in China, I decided to act the martyr (or guinea pig) yet again and dolefully picked up my fork to scrape out a bit of the fish. But I was in for a pleasant surprise. The flesh flaked smoothly off the bones. And when I hesitantly put it in my mouth, I got a relief. It wasn’t smelly; in fact it was very tasty — soft, juicy and bearing a subtle flavour of the sauce that had bits of coriander leaves floating in it.

Only after my teammates had shrewdly studied my reaction did they all cautiously scrape out their share of the fish. And then, within moments, the fish was gone with the whole lot of them singing paeans in its praise!

Luckily for us, the Mandarin Fish that we got served henceforth were all clones of this one and not the one at Chinatown. And every time, it would simply disappear off the table before we could say ‘Mandarin’.

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Vegetarians, beware

My teammates’ apprehension wasn’t without reason. Indian and Chinese food habits — and eating etiquettes — are poles apart. Take rice for instance. Though a large section of the Chinese and Indians eat rice, the way it’s eaten is vastly different. In India, it’s the staple and everything else — whether it’s daal (lentils), vegetables or fish or meat — is side dish. The daal, vegetables or curries are meant to be poured into the rice in a plate, mixed with fingers or spoon and eaten off the plate.

In China, the rice comes as a side dish (at least that’s what we were served). It’s the sticky rice variety that is meant to ‘soak up’ any sauce or gravy that any of the dishes may have been cooked in. And instead of a plate, the rice, mixed with the sauce, is supposed to be eaten off a small bowl — obviously to make it easier to scoop up with chopsticks.

A traditional Chinese dinner table laid out for eight persons

But this is only a minor dissimilarity. The worst comes in terms of meat. The Chinese — despite most being Buddhists — are voracious meat-eaters. And meat mostly comprises pork and beef. But two of India’s largest religious groups don’t eat at least either one of the two. Most Hindus don’t eat beef; some don’t eat pork either; some are completely vegetarian; and some are ‘eggtarian’ (i.e. they eat only eggs among non-veg food). Muslims, on the other hand, don’t eat pork.

What makes things even more complicated is that some of the orthodox vegetarian Hindu communities won’t even have vegetarian dishes cooked in the oil or utensil that was used to cook non-vegetarian items. Neither will non-vegetarians eat anything cooked in oil after beef was cooked in it. Forget oil, some won’t have food off the table on which non-vegetarian food is being served.

Here’s more. In Indian meals, people are served their portions on their own plate with a common ladle that no one will use to have their food or even touch while eating their meal. Diners at a Chinese table, on the other hand, keep picking their portions off the common platter through the meal. The revolving tabletop would be spun round and round and everyone would help themselves with their own chopsticks. Among Indians, this would be akin to defiling the food (jhootha; ayntoin Bengali).

Beef rolls being sold at a roadside stall in
Pingyao Ancient City. Some of my teammates were
certain these were 'snake' rolls (from the woven cover)

So, for the conservative vegetarians in our group, the only option was to carry their own food all the way from India, enough for those 10 days. They would join us at tables out of politeness and valiantly undergo torture for an hour, watching people eat ‘nauseating’ stuff. I remember one of them joking after the Mandarin Fish meal that every time the tabletop would be spun, the fish would come to rest right in front of him, looking up at him helplessly from its puddle of misery.

For the less conservative vegetarians, there used to be a veggie platter. But it was such a sorry sight that I’d wonder how they’d survive the trip. On most days, I would see a plateful of gram sprouts coming for the vegetarians. Fruits would come regularly too, at the end of a meal. Tofu, bok choy (Chinese cabbage), mushroom, lotus stem or seaweeds would come every other day; potato or eggplant occasionally.

Evidently, China is no country for vegetarians — at least not the Indian kind.

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Meat-lovers’ delight

I consider myself ‘inhibition-free’ when it comes to food. So, when my conservative Hindu teammates saw me happily polishing off a beef dish at our first Chinese dinner, they got a shock. Then, some gave me scornful looks, which they continued for the next few meals. Finally, they gave up.

So, I can tell you what the beef or pork dishes were like. Unfortunately, they tasted more or less the same everywhere. Except for a delicious pork curry that we were served on the flight from Shanghai to Taiyuan, most of the dishes were plain, dry preparations of processed meat, coming in bite-size or slightly larger pieces — again, possibly to make these easy to eat with chopsticks, with which you can’t slice things. There would usually be a dip to go with these. But there was no use of herbs or spices and nothing came in gravy or sauce — inherent features of Indian meat dishes which help set the preparations apart from each other.

Shanxi boasts of producing more than 100 types of noodles.
This was one kind we were served at the gala dinner

One exception was the ‘hotpot’ at Datong in Shanxi. Being only two and a half hours’ drive from Mongolia, Datong has a bit of Mongolian influence in its food. It is comparatively hot as well as sour, and suited Indian taste buds fairly well. Possibly a result of the harsh winters of the region, the hotpot is a meat-and-vegetable stew that is served on a low flame — much like a fondue. The meat can be anything — beef, pork, lamb, chicken — depending on availability I guess. There was a rustic feel to the dish and every time we had it, it was quite delicious.

Datong seemed to be quite famous among the Chinese for its food. At the Datong hotel, we were also served a lot of ‘seafood’ — clams, oysters, whelks, prawns, squid, fish... Since Shanxi is landlocked, I believe these are bred in freshwater. But the dishes were quite delicious.

We found some strange preparations on offer at the buffet — sheep’s hooves and rabbit’s head. I took a helping of both and battled them for 10 minutes, but could not make much headway. The hoof was hard as a bone and the head reminded me of the maachher muro (fish head) that we Bengalis are so fond of. Unless you know how to tackle them, it’s best to leave them alone.

A Shanxi chef demonstrates his acrobatic
skills, riding a unicycle while shaving off '
knife-sliced noodles off a lump of dough
placed on his head

I could not know the origin of such food, but from what our guide Phillip said, it could be the days of famine in the late 1950s and early ’60s. A less common form of greeting in China, “Ni chi le ma?” which is used even today, means, “Have you eaten?” and dates back to the famines. A very personal connotation of this greeting could mean, “Please eat with me.”

Apparently the Chinese eat a lot of bizarre stuff. Kolkatans, who have had a long association with the Chinese, bear very strange ideas about their original food habits. When it comes to eating out, I believe Chinese food still tops Kolkata’s list. On every street, at every nook and corner, you’ll come across shacks of street-food with chow mien being fried in the sootiest of woks and momos (dumplings) being dished out to scores of waiting customers. So all pervasive are these dishes that we have nearly forgotten that chow mien and momos are not our ‘own’.

But ask an average Bengali what the Chinese eat and he’s likely to screw up his nose and say, “Oh my god, they eat cockroaches!” I don’t know who was the first Bengali to see a Chinese gobble up roaches, but it’s something I’ve heard since childhood. Since the association between the two peoples goes back hundreds of years, it’s difficult to tell without some research how such ideas bore fruit, but it’s also true that during our stay in China we never got served any roaches. Much to my disappointment, actually.

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Noodle doodle

Another belief is that all Chinese eat noodles as their staple. In the plains of the south, rice is grown and eaten widely. It’s only in the cold north that grains like corn and wheat and dough-based food like noodles and dumplings take over.

Shanxi’s prides are its noodles and oat vinegar. We were told that Shanxi produces more than 100 types of noodles and at the welcome ceremony, a chef demonstrated his noodle-making skills — rolling out hundreds of strands of noodles with his bare hands from a small lump of dough, shaving slivers of ‘knife-sliced noodles’ off dough placed on his head while riding a unicycle, and blowing up a lump of dough like a balloon. At dinner, the transparent glass noodles particularly wowed everyone.

From a few strands of noodles to hundreds.
The chef demonstrates his noodle-making skills

Though the noodles preparations we had in restaurants and at the formal dinners tasted very different from the stuff we have here, the chow mien we had on a Shanghai bylane (see my post Shanghai Nights) tasted surprisingly like the one we get in Kolkata. The only difference is that in Kolkata, the ingredients are predetermined depending on what you’re ordering — veg, egg, chicken or mixed chow mien. The veg chow mien will have a few common vegetables like carrots, beans and capsicum. The egg chow mien will have scrambled eggs added to it, chicken chow mien will have shreds of chicken added to the vegetables and the mixed chow mien will have a few prawns apart from the chicken, egg and veggies.

But in Shanghai, we were asked to choose from a variety of chopped meat and vegetables. The rest looked fairly similar. The same old sooty wok, the energetic frying of the noodles on a high flame, similar sauces... It tasted quite spicy too, just like home. And the flavours were far more pronounced that what we were served at the restaurants. In Kolkata, the stuff we get at most restaurants is just a sophisticated version of the street-food, only with a lot more variety.

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For the sweet tooth

Perhaps I loved nothing in China more than the sweeties. The Chinese have their own version of Western pastries that are far less sweet than the conventional ones and come in some very delicate and unique flavours.

That's not a balloon. That's noodle dough

In fact, I felt that the hallmark of Chinese food is its subtlety. To mark the characteristics of Chinese regional food, there’s apparently a saying that the ‘north is salty, south is sweet, east is hot and the west is sour’. I found ‘north’ quite sour too, thanks to the liberal use of Shanxi’s famous vinegar. Datong was quite hot as well. But, neither was the hot too hot or the sour too sour. Same for the sweet — it wasn’t too sweet. Subtle.

The sesame cakes of a local bakery that we found in Shanghai were delicious as well. Some may find them a little dry, but I enjoyed them.

Sesame cake. Bought from a local bakery in Shanghai

But my favourite were the almond jellies that we had at a restaurant in Taiyuan, at the fag end of the journey. The dry climes of Shanxi had left me parched and when I saw the almond jellies soaked in sugar syrup at the ‘Desserts’ section I wanted nothing else. I remember I had only pastries and 4/5 bowls of almond jellies for lunch. Some of it came with bits of fruits too and was delightfully refreshing.

The Chinese make some nice candies but apparently the chocolates are not very good. Our Chinese host himself prevented me from buying chocolates to carry back home. But while buying candies, you have to be careful too because what you may believe to be ‘candy’ may well turn out to be something else. Most of the stuff written on the packs is in Chinese — which is true for all packaged food — and asking doesn’t help much either because hardly anyone speaks English.

And even if it’s written in English, it may leave you puzzled. I remember getting a packet of ‘Jujubes’ from someone and finding out that it contained dried dates. Technically not wrong, but not everyone’s idea of jujubes either, right?

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Spread the ‘Cheers!’

I believe the worst experience for Indians at mealtime was the lack of drinking water. Cold water, that is. The Chinese don’t believe in drinking cold water with their meals and one of our teammates found it out at the expense of scalding his tongue.

It was in Datong. There was loads to drink — juice, beer, tea, coffee... But being Indian, he wanted a simple glass of water. Unfortunately, there was no ‘water’ available at the restaurant of the five-star hotel. The staff looked perplexed on why someone should even ask for ‘water’ at mealtime. Finally, when he explained through frantic gestures he wanted to drink it, he was served scalding hot water, of which he took a large sip unsuspectingly. The rest is best left unsaid.

More sweeties from the local bakery in Shanghai

The Chinese people wash down their food with large quantities of green tea. This too has an extremely delicate flavour and to most of us, it smelled and tasted like nothing but hot water. But some of our teammates did seem to enjoy it and would down cups of green tea even in their spare time.

Personally, I enjoyed the baijiu immensely, which I have already mentioned in Shanghai Nights. It’s the most popular alcoholic drink made in China and has a very sweet flavour. It’s not very expensive either and comes in some pretty packages that look like vases. You can save the bottles as souvenir.

Baijiu has different names in different regions. The one in Shanxi is called Fenjiu, named after the local Fen River. Asking the hotel staff what it was made from was an adventure in itself. The first woman I asked did not speak English. She hurriedly went and found someone who did. But the second woman had no clue what it was made from. She ran to someone who apparently did. Then she came back to me and said, “milk.” “Milk?” I asked incredulously. “Yes, milk,” she giggled nervously.

My subsequent Internet researches have not corroborated her claim. Fenjiu is made from sorghum. In fact, no variety of baijiu is made from anything that comes remotely close to milk.

Baijiu, the most popular alcoholic
drink made in China. Its name changes
from region to region. In Shanxi, it's called
Fenjiu, named after the local Fen River

Anyway, the drink is a must-try if you are in China. And if you are out drinking with your Chinese friends, etiquette says you should raise a toast as many times as you possibly can. No number of ‘Cheers!’ is considered too many at a Chinese dinner.

So, let’s drink to that. Cheers! … Cheers!

… Cheers!

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Must-haves in China (suggested on the basis of my experience in Shanghai and Shanxi)

Mandarin Fish in Shanghai

Hotpot in Datong, Shanxi

Seafood in Datong, Shanxi

Glass noodles in Shanxi

Almond jellies (available in restaurants)

Sesame cakes (available in stores as well as restaurants)

Baijiu (Fenjiu in Shanxi)

The beauty called Dal Lake

It’s 7.30 in the morning, but Dal Lake — like the rest of Srinagar — is yet to fully wake from its slumber. The emerald-green lake and the surrounding mountains are awash in golden sunshine. A couple of shikaras languidly pass by my houseboat but none of them are tourist boats. They belong to locals out on chores or looking for an opportunity to sell their wares to a few ‘early’ risers like me.

Egret on Dal Lake

My ride is supposed to begin half an hour later. So when a colourful blue shikara with red floral-printed seats and awning gently drifts towards my houseboat, I get a surprise. “Madam, are you ready?” the shikara-wala shouts. “Yes, but I haven’t been served breakfast yet,” I shout back. Unperturbed, he calls out to the houseboat attendant himself.

The attendant grumbles that “bread comes late” and sets about to make my toast as my shikara-wala calmly lies down on the wooden platform that serves as the link between my houseboat and the one which serves as the kitchen and living quarters of the owners.

Time runs late here — like a slow, dreamy shikara ride on Dal Lake. No one is in a hurry. A moment of leisure and residents of Dal Lake will sit down with their fishing rods, come hell or high water. In its laidbackness, Kashmir reminds me of Kolkata. Be it to soak in the soft warmth of the morning sun, or to escape the searing afternoon heat, both the Kashmiri shikara-wala and the Bangali babu know how to enjoy their siesta.

Houseboats on Dal Lake with a hazy Hari Parvat in the background

Breakfast comes at 8 and I set off on my shikara ride 15 minutes later. The lake still looks mostly deserted and its winged inhabitants — ducks, swans, cranes, egrets and pipits — are a much busier lot, making the most of the hours of calm.

It's water world. The shops seem to float on the lake, their

stilts below the water level, and the customers are on shikaras.

On the left is the flower-seller who later invited me home

“Good morning madam, how are you?” comes the question in chaste English from a passing shikara. I am experienced enough by now to know that he will try to sell something — trinkets, saffron, wooden showpieces... I return the greeting and at once the offer comes: “I have very good silver jewellery madam…” I decline politely and the shikara rows off without further ado.

I ask my shikara-wala what his name is. “Mushtaq,” he smiles shyly. “Which part of Kashmir are you from, Mushtaq?” I ask him. “Dal Lake,” he smiles. I wonder if he means he lives somewhere near Dal Lake. “No, I live on Dal Lake,” he says.

Looking at my surprise, he explains that there are villages on the lake, in its interiors, where the floating vegetable market gathers — something I had wanted to visit but is shut right now, thanks to the September 2014 floods. “Will we pass by a village?” I ask him. “Yes, I’ll take you there,” Mushtaq assures me.

I ask him if he owns the shikara. “No madam, I work for the owner. He pays me a monthly salary of Rs 10,000,” Mushtaq tells me. “Are you happy with the pay?” I ask. “Yes, together with the tips that I get from tourists, it’s good income,” he replies.

The trade of waterlily leaves and stems

As we approach the Golden Lake — a part of Dal Lake that gets its name from the weeds that give the water a distinct ‘golden’ look — he points out the tourist attractions: The houseboats where movies like ‘Mission Kashmir’, ‘Kashmir Ki Kali’ and teleserial ‘Gul Gulshan Gulfaam’ were apparently shot.

Shortly after we enter the open waters, he takes a left-turn from Nehru Park and soon I find myself in a ‘creek’, hemmed in by shops of every hue and colour — provisional stores, tea stalls, ones selling leather goods, woollens and other garments, arts and craft… It’s water world — the shops seem to float on the lake, their stilts below the water level, and the customers are on shikaras.

The 'floating gardens' of Dal Lake

As I click away merrily, I attract the attention of a flower-seller who has stopped to buy provisions at a store. A while later, he catches up with me and after the usual exchange of greetings, he tells me, “I have a gift for you”, and makes a bunch out of a daisy, a peony, a few lilies and a waterlily. After I thank him profusely for his wonderful present, he asks me if I want to buy seeds. When I apologise, saying I don’t need any, he smiles, “Koi baat nahi (no problem),” and rows off cheerfully.

“Koi baat nahi” seems to be the most frequently spoken phrase in Kashmir.

“Sorry my shoes muddied your shikara.” “Koi baat nahi.”

“Sorry I broke your furniture.” “Koi baat nahi.”

“What if I don’t pay your money?” “Koi baat nahi.”

As my shikara glides on, the inner world of Dal Lake gets more enchanting. The houseboats get fewer and vegetation grows denser. The lake is teeming with waterlilies though the famous Dal Lake lotus is missing, thanks to the floods. This also denies me a taste of Srinagar’s famed ‘nadru’ (lotus stem) curry.

This is where the floating vegetable market usually gathers,
but thanks to the floods, it's currently shut

I spot a boat loaded with waterlily leaves and stems. Some kind of dealing seems to be on between a man and a group of three women. “People buy the leaves as fodder for their animals or to thatch their roofs. Here, women specialise in this trade,” Mushtaq explains.

He also points out the ‘floating gardens’ of Dal Lake — patches of shrubs that are actually floating on the surface of the water. “It’s on these patches that the vegetables that are sold at the floating market grow. But the floods destroyed everything,” Mushtaq says. “Every patch is demarcated carefully by the owners and separated from the rest of the lake,” he explains.

Scattered houses appear on the lake — part-cement-part-corrugated-iron structures partially hidden behind trees. One even sports a bright-blue dish antenna — possibly a pride of the owner but somewhat out of place in this world away from the world. We have entered Sofi Mohallah, Mushtaq’s village and also where the floating market gathers.

Houses on Dal Lake

After showing me the spot of the market, Mushtaq smiles, “You have come very close to my home. What would you like to drink?” “Anything that you would offer,” I smile. “Okay,” he rows on cheerfully.

After a moment I ask him, “By the way, what would you treat me to?” “It’s a special Kashmiri tea that we prepare with spices and saffron,” he explains. “Are you talking of kahwa?” I ask him and he looks happy that I know about it. “I’m yet to taste it,” I tell him and he smiles, “Fine, you’ll have your first kahwa at my house.”

As he rows away from the market, we meet the flower-seller again. Finding me still wandering about on the waters, he approaches me with a smile, “Come to my house. I have five daughters; I’d like you to meet them.” I agree at once, but Mushtaq tells him that he has already ‘booked’ me for a visit to his home. So, with the usual “Koi baat nahi”, the flower-seller moves on.

Mushtaq makes a waterlily bouquet for me

Mushtaq faces frequent questions about me from passing villagers. A lone woman traveller attracts a lot of attention. At a particularly dense patch of waterlilies, he stops and picks out the choicest of the yellow and pink flowers, ties them in a bunch with a strand peeled off its stem and gifts me with a smile.

His house turns out to be inside a narrow creek shaded with a canopy of trees. The house is like the rest — part cement and part corrugated tin with wooden doors and windows, built on stilts of cemented or bare bricks. The shikara rows as close to the veranda as possible and a pretty-looking woman — who turns out to be Mushtaq’s sister-in-law — helps me hop on to it.

On way to Mushtaq's house

I am invited into a room with neat wall-to-wall carpet and a few back cushions in a corner. As I make myself comfortable on the floor, two wide-eyed little boys come to visit their unusual guest. They turn out to be Mushtaq’s nephews. His brother and uncle keep me company as his sister-in-law goes to the kitchen.

His brother says he is studying engineering. “Do they go to school?” I ask about the kids, trying to befriend them. The older one does, the men say. The other is still too young for school. “All the children here go to school. There are some five or six schools near Dal Lake,” Mushtaq tells me.

“Everyone here speaks very good English, with varied European accents!” I point out. Mushtaq laughs, “Yes, it’s all the tourism effect. My employer speaks six foreign languages fluently. He has learnt it all by conversing with tourists.”

Approaching Mushtaq's house

My kahwa comes along with some homemade cookies. As I take the first sip, I feel its heat and strong aroma pervading my entire respiratory system. “It’s very good for cold,” they say. “It’s very good otherwise too,” I smile.

As I relish the kahwa, Mushtaq draws my attention to the wall. For about 4-5 feet from the ground, the paint has flaked off, baring the cement layer. “That was the level to which the water rose during the floods,” he says. “Where did all of you live then?” I ask. “We fled to higher grounds. Those who were lucky got to stay in tents. Many lived under the open sky,” he says.

“Have you seen such floods and heavy rain before?” I ask Mushtaq’s uncle. “Even my father and grandfather had never seen it,” he replies. “What do you think is the reason?” I ask. “It’s all the result of people’s bad deeds,” he says as Mushtaq nods his head in agreement.

My first kahwa and some cookies at Mushtaq's house

Two cups of kahwa over, it’s time for me to go. I’ve already crossed the two hours promised for the ride; and I have yet to return to the houseboat. But not before a quick photo session with Mushtaq’s family. They gladly agree to pose for photos — including Mushtaq’s mother, who runs inside to find a dupatta to cover her head.

This is very different from my father’s experience in the 1960s. He had only been allowed to photograph little girls and not women. Or maybe, it’s my gender that helps. Mushtaq later tells me, “Madam, we want tourists like you to come. I could invite you home because you are like us (though I was in a tee and cargos). Some foreigners come in skimpy clothes. We can’t possibly take them home. Some tourists drink and do drugs, which our youths are learning too.”

Mushtaq's family

As the shikara elegantly makes its way back to the hubbub of the ‘touristy’ side of Dal Lake, I still relish the sweet-yet-strong aftertaste of my first kahwa. It’s the best I have during my two-week stay in Kashmir. Some say it’s because they put saffron, which most people, including restaurants, avoid on account of its steep price. But I feel it’s the warmth with which my humble shikara-wala invited me home.

My first kahwa had a dash of Kashmiriyat in it.

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If you want a similar experience while you are in Srinagar, you can contact Mushtaq on 9858681847. Rate for shikara ride on Dal Lake (2015): Rs 500 per hour

The Rio and Venice carnivals, La Tomatina, Chinese New Year… I see very few Indian names — with the exception of Holi — on the list of the most colourful or amazing festivals across the world. I can’t comment on the grandeur of these world-renowned events since I haven’t seen most of them. But is there any festival in the world where an ENTIRE city is turned into one huge art gallery for five days? Can any festival boast of illuminating an entire city with innumerable colourful light bulbs, many of which are designed to depict themes through ‘animation’? Where in the world does an entire city reverberate with the sound of drumbeats for five days? Where do millions of people throng the streets of a city for 120 hours at a stretch?

A traditional Durga idol

I can just go on and on actually. And I believe the answer to most (or all) of these questions will be “No”. And yet, Kolkata’s Durga Puja is nowhere on the list of the most amazing festivals of the world. Perhaps we just lack marketing skills. Anyway, since Bengal’s biggest festival is only about 40 days away, I thought it’s time I did my duty as a Bengali travel blogger and let my non-Indian readers know about the most amazing ‘carnival’ they have probably never heard of.

World’s largest art gallery

Durga Puja — or the worship of the 10-armed Goddess Durga — is essentially a Hindu religious festival. But with time, Durga Puja has come to denote a lot more. It’s a social festival, a carnival, a time for homecoming, a time for bonding and much more, all thanks to the ‘community’ celebrations that started in Kolkata over a century ago. We now have over 4,000 community celebrations across the city organized with donations from the people or with the help of corporate sponsors.

You will find a makeshift pandal(a temporary structure made with a cloth awning strung up over bamboo poles) tucked in a corner of almost EVERY road, lane and bylane of the city. Their purpose is more than housing the goddess’ idol — because each one of them is unique in design.

The more prosperous of the organizers have theme-based pandals. So, you may see Konarak’s famous Sun Temple claiming pride of place by the side of a busy road; or the Titanic perched in a corner of a park; or maybe, Machu Picchu transported to a non-descript bylane; or better still, a German village coming alive in the middle of a quintessential Bengali locality. And trust me, some of the structures look so remarkably close to the original that you may have to rub your eyes in disbelief.

What you see is not a temple. It's a pandal, a temporary
structure that will be taken off once Durga Puja ends

So intense is the competition to grab eyeballs that in 2011, one of the organizers, Ekdalia Evergreen Club, appointed renowned German artistGregor Schneider to design the theme for their pandal.

Not only ‘location’-based themes, organizers go for ‘component’-based themes as well. So, you may have a seashell pandal somewhere, a safety pin pandalsomewhere else, a wire-mesh pandal right up the road or a balloon pandalhidden in a bylane. The list is simply incredible and endless. A few years back, someone even came up with the extraordinary idea of fashioning a pandalout of cow-dung cakes! Thankfully, the cakes had been ‘treated’ and did not give off a stink.

Themes are not only restricted to the pandal. Though most organisers still prefer the traditional idol (see box below), many have started innovating in this department, too, for some time. And, these statues are artwork par excellence, each one trying to beat the other in novelty. All a visitor has to do is walk into a pandalto enjoy this artwork. There are no entry fees, though you may have to stand in serpentine queues for hours to enter the most popular pandals.

Another area of grabbing limelight is lighting. Most of the bigger and medium organisers try to experiment with the theme(s) of illumination that’s mounted on either side of the road leading to their pandals. The themes may include mythology, current affairs, sports, art, politics — just about anything under the sun. And, the illuminations are mostly ‘animated’.

Innovative idols like these are quite the norm these days.
But many are merely art, with a smaller traditional idol
being used for worship

The most amazing part? All these crop up only for five days like the fabled palace of Arabian Nights. Then it’s all gone. The idols are immersed in the Ganges (only a few find a place in a museum nowadays), the pandals and illuminations are taken off — everything kind of vanishes into thin air!

Food fiesta

For Bengalis, no celebration is complete without food. We live food, we talk food, we dream food and we appreciate (good) food. So how can Durga Puja be complete without a little talk of food?

As it is, Kolkata is famous for its street food— that ranges from Mughlai to Chinese to north as well as south Indian and some things essentially Kolkatan fare. During Durga Puja, some of the smaller eateries are probably open 24 hours. I remember having a cold biryani at 5am in a north Kolkata eatery while out pandal-hopping all night with friends.

If I have to name a single childhood memory associated with Durga Puja and food, it would perhaps be having candyfloss at Deshapriya Park in between taking the many joyrides that spring up at the fair that is organized there. (Incidentally, Deshapriya Park is installing what it claims to be ‘the world’s tallest idol’ at 100+ feet this Puja). On the road leading to most of the bigger and medium-sized pandals, you will find ice cream, ice-lollies, candies, snacks, beverages and even full meals being sold at small makeshift stalls.

Don't forget to have bhog if you are in Kolkata
during Durga Puja. Many organizers hand it out
for a price or even for free. Just ask for it

But it’s not only about street food. The most endearing aspect of Durga Puja food for Bengalis is the bhog— the meal that is offered to the goddess and is later eaten by her devotees (people like you and me) as the ‘sanctified’ food. The menu is mostly the same — plain rice or pulao (a vegetarian version of pilaf), daal (legumes), a mixed-vegetable curry, five kinds of fried veggies, payesh (rice boiled in milk and sugar), sweet chutney and sweets. Sometimes, there’s fish and ‘sanctified’ goat meat — that is, coming from an animal that’s ritually sacrificed (boli) to the Goddess.

Somehow, all these items ALWAYS taste better as bhog than otherwise. Maybe it’s the combined flavours of the incense, flowers, camphor, smoke, etc. that go into the food that makes it so tasty. It’s best to have bhog at a household where Durga Puja is organized. Many community organizers also serve bhog to visitors at midday, sometimes for a price and sometimes for free.

Last but not the least, don’t forget to enjoy the sweets on Bijoya Dashami, the last day of the Pujas, after the idol has been immersed in the Ganges.

The magic of music

For Bengalis, Durga Puja begins in essence exactly a week before the celebrations actually commence. With music. Not just any music. It’s an assortment of compositions that can be made a part of music lessons across the world. Because, the popularity of this collection, which has stood the test of 84 years, will probably find no match on this planet.

Exactly a week before Mahasaptami (see box) is Mahalaya, which marks the end of Pitri Paksha (the fortnight of the forefathers) and the beginning of Devi Paksha (the fortnight of the Goddess). On this day, men offer water to their forefathers at the Ganges early in the morning. But Mahalaya has a much greater significance for Bengalis. It’s the morning when All India Radio airs Mahishasuramardini.

Radio? In the age of smart phones, tabs, MP3 players? Yes. Because it’s not only about the programme. It’s the nostalgia, the ‘feel’ of hearing those songs and religious chants at 4am (when it’s aired) that make generation after generation of Bengalis set an alarm to wake up at that hour and tune into AIR. Many probably use their radio only that one time every year. After all, Mahishasuramardini is no ordinary programme.

Illumination is a major attraction of Durga Puja pandals
(Image source: Wikipedia)

'Mahishasuramardini' is another name for Goddess Durga — the slayer of the buffalo-headed demon Mahishasura (mahish=buffalo, asura=demon, mardini=slayer). When it started being aired in 1931, it used to be a live performance. Every year, the singers and musicians would gather at the AIR studio in the wee hours of Mahalaya to perform it from 4am. In a television interview, one of the singers said she would bathe and put on new clothes in the middle of the night simply because the programme was related to the Goddess and hence, auspicious.

Since 1958, the recorded version has been aired. For some time now, CDs have been available (I myself own one) and it’s also available on YouTube (click here to hear the full version of Mahishasuramardini and here if you are interested in knowing more details about the programme). But, as I said, for millions of Bengalis, nothing matches the charm and nostalgia of tuning in to AIR at 4am on Mahalaya.

There’s more of music to Durga Puja, which cannot be complete without the beats of the dhaak(Bengal drums). In fact, the sound is so integral to Durga Puja that even if we hear the dhaak play at other times of the year, it brings to mind the memories associated with Puja. (To see and hear a dhaak play, click here.)

A plantain leaf is worshipped as 'Kala bou'

(the plantain-wife of Lord Ganesha)

The beats of dhaak may, however, sound way too boisterous. There’s a saying in Bengali that goes “dhaker badyi thamle mishti” (the sound of dhaak is sweet if it stops). So, Durga Puja on the streets of Kolkata is essentially cacophony par excellence. But that is all part of this extraordinary festival. A quiet Durga Puja cannot be imagined.

To add to the chaos, many organizers play music on loudspeakers and arrange live performances with singers, musicians and even magicians near their pandals (free for visitors). So, every turn around a corner brings new sights and even sounds, the strains blending into each other.

Five days of frenzy: Things to see and do

There is a huge list of things to see and do on Durga Puja. Watching the clay idols being made at Kumartuli(literally, the hub of potters) in north Kolkata (which goes on for months before the Pujas) is an experience in itself.

The rituals associated with the festival are fascinating to watch, especially if you are a guest at a household that organizes the puja (worship). Kala-bou snan(bathing of Ganesha’s plantain-wife) on Mahasaptami morning, pushpanjali(the ritual offering of flowers to the Goddess by devotees), especially on Mahashtami morning and on Sandhi Puja (see box), Kumari Puja (the worship of a little girl as the Goddess), the evening arati(prayers with an oil-lamp), sindur-khela (a ritual in which married women smear each other and the Goddess with vermilion) and the dhunuchi naach (dancing with a censer) on Bijoya Dashami and the subsequent immersions in the Ganges are spectacles and experiences not to be missed. With a little bit of planning, these can be enjoyed at the community pandals, too.

Sindur khela is as colourful as Holi

Pandal-hoppingis no less appealing. Everyone’s out in new clothes and shoes and people come down from the districts in droves to enjoy the Puja in Kolkata. You have to get used to the maddening crowds though, the chaos and cacophony, the serpentine queues and the pushing and shoving associated with them. Mornings are usually quieter and the less important pandals don’t attract so many visitors. So that’s the solution for those who’d like to avoid the crowds.

West Bengal tourismarranges some special Durga Puja tours. Click here for complete information on these (click on 'Packages').

10 facts about Durga Puja

· It is a Hindu festival to worship the 10-armed Goddess Durga — riding a lion and armed with a weapon in every hand — who defeated the buffalo-headed demon Mahishasura. It’s said to be the victory of good over evil. Along with Durga, her children — goddesses Lakshmi and Saraswati and gods Ganesha and Kartik — and her husband Shiva are also worshipped

· Durga Puja was originally celebrated in the season of basanta(spring). But according to mythology, Lord Ram, the hero of the epic Ramayan, woke up the Goddess untimely (akaal bodhon) to seek her blessings for defeating the demon Ravan. The Durga Puja celebrated at this time, in the season of sharat (a season, marked by a typical blue sky and fluffy white clouds, that falls between monsoon and autumn), corresponds to Lord Ram’s victory. Bijoya Dashami, the last day of Durga Puja, is also celebrated as Dusshera across India. It’s said to be the day Ram defeated Ravan — again, the victory of good over evil

· It takes 108 lotuses to worship Goddess Durga. At the critical hour, Lord Ram saw that one was missing (a test set by the Goddess), goes the myth. He then offered to gouge out one of his eyes, which were lotus-shaped. This pleased the Goddess

Pushpanjali (offering of flowers) on Mahashtami

· The festival begins on the sixth day of the lunar cycle from new moon on Mahalaya — Mahashashthi (6^th day), Mahasaptami (7^thday), Mahashtami (8^th day), Mahanabami (9^th day) and Bijoya Dashami (10^th day). Though the worship actually begins on Mahasaptami (7^th), some rituals begin on Mahashashthi (6^th), though it’s usually not part of Puja holidays. Sandhi Puja takes place at the auspicious conjunction of Mahashtami and Mahanabami. 2015 Durga Puja dates: October 19-22 (two days on the lunar calendar have merged into one in the solar cycle)

· Durga is not only a ‘mother’ to us Bengalis, but also the ‘daughter’ who comes home with her children — Lakshmi, Saraswati, Ganesha and Kartik — once a year from her husband Shiva’s abode in the Himalayas. There are folk songs called ‘Agamani’ (arrival) to mark her homecoming every year

· The traditional Durga idol is supposed to be made of clay. Many of the ‘theme’ idols are made of fibreglass and other materials. But these are merely art, and a smaller clay idol can be seen somewhere in the pandal. That is the one which is worshipped

· A pinch of clay from a sex-worker’s yard is a compulsory component in a Durga idol. I don’t know about the origin of this ritual, but I personally feel it depicts the inclusiveness of the festival. Everyone’s invited

· A little girl who hasn’t attained puberty (kumari) is worshipped as the Goddess on Mahashtami. Especially striking is the Kumari Puja at Belur Math, the headquarters of Ramakrishna Math and Mission founded by Swami Vivekananda

· There are two kinds of decoration for the Goddess — sholar saaj and daaker saaj. In the former, which is the more traditional, the Goddess’ ornaments are fashioned out of the locally available shola(pith). Sometime during British rule, the devotees found out about rangta(tinfoil). They started importing it from Germany and it would arrive on mail (daak). Hence the name daaker saaj

Kaash phool (kans grass) is integral to the 'feel' of Durga Puja,
mainly because it blooms at this time of the year

· Lastly, don’t worry for your safety because thousands of policemen and volunteers are out on the streets for 24 hours on Puja days. Many buses ply overnight, cabbies are more than happy to get clients for whole-night pandal-hopping trips and Metro, Kolkata’s underground railway system, plies nearly the entire night

It’s tough to express the madness of Kolkata’s Durga Puja in words, or even through photographs. To experience it, come down to Kolkata on October 19 and stay on till the 22nd. If you haven’t seen Durga Puja, you haven’t seen Bengal. And, you have missed one of the most colourful and amazing festivals of the world.

Srinagar city from view point on way to Shankaracharya temple

Agar firdaus bar rue zameen ast, hamin asto, hamin asto, hamin ast

(If there is a paradise on Earth, it is here, it is here, it is here)

Mughal emperor Jehangir is famously believed to have said this about Kashmir valley. After crossing over from the barren wildernesses of Afghanistan and especially the Khyber Pass, it’s hardly surprising that the lush meadows of the Valley looked like paradise to him. Unfortunately, when I landed in Kashmir’s headquarters Srinagar in July, it could hardly justify the legendary ‘Paradise on Earth’ tag.

The River Jhelum flows by Srinagar city,
but hardly justifies its beautiful name any longer

Srinagar airport was a fascinating picture of utter chaos. The luggage of two flights had been put on one conveyer belt, leading to a mad rush by the passengers, all of whom seemed to think that their belongings would be looted. I and another female tourist were simply shoved back by a huge group of rustic-looking men. The first impression was not at all nice.

I had been suggested a driver by an acquaintance and had appointed him to pick me up from the airport. Though he had never seen me and we had only spoken on the phone, he recognised me amid a sea of people. I found him waving at me from a distance of 50 feet! Maybe my rucksack helped.

A man washes his animal on a Dal Lake ghat

The 30-minute drive to Dal Lake was hardly pleasant. Where were the greenery, the mountains, the paradise? It was all smoke and dust and construction — exactly the things I want to avoid when I run to the mountains once in a while. A flyover was coming up, leaving much of the road in a shambles.

Even the Jhelum, the renowned tributary of the Indus that flows past Srinagar, hardly justified its beautiful name. It looked dirty and sluggish, probably too tired now to carry on with its journey after serving the plains of Punjab for eternity. Together with Sutlej, Beas, Chenab and Ravi, Jhelum forms the quintet that gives Punjab its name (panch=five, ab=water; Punjab=land of five rivers).

We got stuck in traffic jams, though not for too long. My driver Tanveer said I was lucky. “It was terribly hot and dusty today, but right before you came it rained. So, it’s cooler now and yet, you’ve managed to avoid the downpour. Usually there are longer jams on this road, but today it seems light,” he tried to cheer me up.

Houseboats (left row) and shikaras (right row) on Dal Lake

A home away from home

Everything changed, however, once we neared Dal Lake. The road got wider and cleaner and one look at the lake had me mesmerized. After the rain, the sky was a clear blue with fluffy white clouds floating about. The entire reflection was caught in the lake, making it look like those images we made as kids, smearing paint on one half of the paper and then folding it so that the exact pattern got printed on the other.

HB Hong Kong, where I put up

The houseboats had fascinating names — New Sydney, New Australia, New Melbourne, Paris group of Houseboats, Solomon & Sheba, Sansouci… My houseboat was called HB Hong Kong, and the owner, Adil, who was Tanveer’s friend, was waiting for us at Ghat No. 10.

From my experience in Himachal Pradesh the previous year, I knew that the best person to turn to for lodging is the driver. They always arrange something if the tourist has not booked accommodation. Personally, I don’t like to book things because it allows me the freedom to change my itinerary at will. I stay and go where I like.

I had asked Tanveer if he could arrange a houseboat and had threatened him that I wouldn’t pay anything more than Rs 1,000 per night. He had assured me I wouldn’t have to. I was now helped on to a shikara (boats typical to Dal Lake) because there’s no other way of getting to the houseboats. Tanveer also promised me now that I wouldn’t have to pay for the frequent shikara trips to get to the road and back either (though I was expected to pay a baksheesh [tip] at the end of my stay).

My bedroom in HB Hong Kong

I always enjoyed the shikara trips. The lake has a natural emerald-green colour, more so because of the wildly growing weeds underneath, and I would watch them fascinated through the crystal-clear water and run my fingers through them.

HB Hong Kong was right opposite Ghat 10 and looked quite impressive — newer and bigger than the others nearby. I had to leave my shoes outside, in the balcony (or deck). The woodwork both outside and inside was quite exquisite.

The living room and the two bedrooms were adorned with wall-to-wall rugs, heavy wooden furniture and intricate woodwork on the ceilings and door and window panels. The washrooms had both Indian and Western-style toilets, a washbasin and a bathtub with running hot water 24x7. What more can one ask for?

I was shown both bedrooms and though the one inside looked a bit humbler than the other, I chose it because it offered more privacy. I used to even leave the door unlocked when I went out for sightseeing, but never ever did a single item go missing from my luggage. In those three days — two before I left on a 6-day trek and one on return — the room became like my second home.

Sunset on Dal Lake

A city where no one goes to theatres

It was really a surprise that I got an entire 4-bed room to myself in HB Hong Kong for a mere Rs 1,000 ($15-16) per night. Initially I had bargained thinking it would be off-season. I later realised every season is off-season for Kashmiris nowadays. First, the stigma of terrorism hit them bad. Then came the floods.

“Ten years back, forget tourists, even we wouldn’t be able to venture out to the streets for days, so acute was the terrorism,” Tanveer told me. “Then the army took over. Now, 80-90% of the army has left the Valley and things are crawling back to normal,” he said. But not everything is exactly ‘normal’ in Srinagar.

One of the cinema halls turned into army barracks

People of Srinagar haven’t seen a movie in a theatre for ages. That’s because all the cinema halls have been transformed into army barracks. Cordoned off with barbed-wire fences, these are still out of bounds for locals.

Neither is terrorism gone from the Valley. The day after my arrival, when I was out sightseeing, I got a WhatsApp message from one of my trekking group members claiming there had been a blast in Srinagar. I asked Tanveer and Adil if they knew about it. Both were equally clueless.

“I am right now in Srinagar and out sightseeing. I am getting to know about a blast from you guys!” I messaged back.

The next morning, the day I left for the trek, I got a frantic call from my parents, who had read about the blast in the newspaper. I told them I still had no idea about it. But the blast HAD happened, apparently only a kilometre from my houseboat! Adil told me about it later. A mobile phone tower had been blown up and the city had been shut down for the day (though we reached our base camp without a hassle).

Old City of Srinagar

“This is life in Srinagar now,” Tanveer told me. “Blasts have become so commonplace that nobody even cares. Police cordon off the area or a curfew is imposed. Then everything goes back to usual,” he said.

Roadblocks are equally common. As I was out sightseeing, Tanveer had to take a detour once because some people were protesting on the road and police had cordoned off the area. “What is the protest about?” I told him to ask the policeman. He did and replied, “He doesn’t know. No one ever does actually.”

‘Flooded’ with trouble

Just when Kashmir had been settling down to normality after years of bloodshed, the devastating floods of September 2014 struck. I have already said a little about how it has affected the lives of people in my post ‘Kahwa, and a dash of Kashmiriyat, on a hidden Dal Lake’. But the biggest victim has been tourism — the mainstay of Kashmiris.

“There are only 20% the usual number of tourists in Srinagar right now,” Tanveer told me and that’s when I realised why Adil had agreed to give me the room for only Rs 1,000 per night. Kashmiris are struggling to keep afloat.

'Floating' shops on Dal Lake

They blamed the media for “negative publicity”. There were heavy rains in Kashmir right before I went. There were several cloudbursts and newspaper reports said cars had been “washed away”. It gave the impression that the cars had probably landed in a gorge and people had gone missing. Later I heard the cars had landed in the roadside fields and there had been no casualties. I myself crossed that area later.

Flood warnings had been issued, but the floods had actually never taken place. But a very popular news channel irresponsibly showed footage of the September 2014 floods along with screaming headlines: ‘Floods in Kashmir again’. A furious Srinagar resident apparently went ahead and filed a case against the channel.

Some even alleged that tourism stakeholders in neighbouring Himachal Pradesh were bribing the media! After all, Kashmir’s loss is Himachal’s gain. (However, I cannot confirm the veracity of these claims.)

A people in love with fishing rods

One of the victims of Kashmir’s endless plight is Dal Lake. The weeds grew to such an extent in the years of terrorism that the people are still struggling to clean it up. Though machines are used in the open areas of the lake, these can’t be employed near the houseboats because of the complex network of water and sewer pipelines.

Fishing is the favourite pastime of Dal Lake residents

So, the houseboat owners have to clean it up themselves, manually. It is a slow, painstaking process. They row the shikara to a spot, pull out the weeds with a hook fitted with a stick, pile it on the boat, and after one spot has been reasonably cleared, row on to the next. Apart from keeping the lake clean, they also have a small personal interest in clearing the water of the weeds. These are an impediment to fishing!

I haven’t seen a people more in love with their fishing rods than the Kashmiris. As I also mentioned in ‘Kahwa, and a dash of Kashmiriyat, on a hidden Dal Lake’, a few minutes of leisure will have Dal Lake residents sit down with their fishing rods, either on shikaras or on the wooden platforms adjoining the houseboats.

Tanveer was a complete fishing addict. He even invited me to fish when I had free time. Unlike in Bengal, where earthworm is used as bait, they use only a bit of atta(whole-wheat flour) dough. I had no patience for the sport — which disappointed Tanveer immensely — but it was fascinating to watch the locals at it.

Fish of Dal Lake

The morning after I returned from the trek, it was rainy but there were a couple of fishing enthusiasts — one of them an elderly man — squatting in their respective shikaras right in the middle of Dal Lake, balancing the umbrella over their head with one hand and the fishing rod with the other. It was raining reasonably hard, but they remained where they were, enraptured in their sport. From time to time, they even folded the umbrella because they needed to use both hands to fix the bait, getting drenched in the process.

Where doctors don’t charge fees

From what I saw in those few days, Kashmiris are an extremely laidback people. Their day begins late — probably because being in the western part of the country, daylight remains in Kashmir till 7.30pm. As a result, I never got my breakfast on time though dinner would always come sharp at 9.30pm (I always lunched outside, in between sightseeing). Apparently bread comes late to the market.

Srinagar has a very old-world charm — groups of people squatting on their shikaras, by the ghat or the roadside, chatting and smoking, not a bother or hurry in the world; men and women slowly rowing by in their shikaras piled with household equipment; people lazing under the shade of the famed chinar trees at one of the many Mughal gardens…

No one is usually in a hurry in Kashmir. People love to spend time
chatting and smoking on their shikaras or at the ghats or roadside

I can’t comment on everyone, but Tanveer and Adil were extremely helpful and courteous. I returned from the trek with blisters on my upper arms from sunburn. I asked Tanveer if he could bring me an ointment and wrote the name down on a piece of paper. He returned with another cream, which, he said, a skin specialist had prescribed! I was surprised and asked him how much the doctor had charged. He and Adil started laughing. “No one charges fees here for such small things,” Tanveer said.

By the way, the ointment worked wonderfully.

Beware of drivers!

So very laidback are the Kashmiris that they don’t even argue with each other for long. I saw several incidents that, in a city like Kolkata, would have led to a first-rate brawl, followed by a lawsuit. But not in Srinagar. Many of these were related to driving. In fact, most Kashmiris seemed to be awful drivers.

I was returning from Shankaracharya temple when we stopped as another car turned up from the other direction and there was not enough space for both. Tanveer had just started reversing the car when there was a shout from the back. There was a bike right behind us and Tanveer had somehow missed it in the rear-view mirror!

My drive Tanveer and houseboat keeper Adil clean the lake
of the weeds. The man behind them is doing the same

He and Adil patiently went out, had a few words with the bikers, but that was it. No fights, no argument, just a polite exchange of words with either a smile or a frown. Tanveer was much embarrassed about it and I used to tease him whenever he offered to reverse the car to let me take a photograph.

“Please don’t. You may just knock someone down,” I used to say, leaving Adil in splits and Tanveer red in the face. “The bike just came in my blind spot,” he would insist. However, he never gave me another chance to complain.

Another time, I saw a young man driving his SUV like a maniac within the narrow streets of Srinagar Old City. He nearly mowed down an old man, who jumped out of his way just in the nick of time. The youth stopped the car and glared at the old man, who glared back. That was it. After that, each went his own way!

It reminded me of Syed Mujtaba Ali’s ‘Deshe Bideshe’ (At Home and Abroad), where he describes the Pathan’s sense of freedom and total lack of concern for road rules: “Even if someone loses a chunk of flesh from his foot in a whack of the (tonga) horse hoof, he won’t curse, fight or call the cops. He will simply glare at the coachman with disdain and say, “Can’t you see where you are going?” The coachman is also an independent Pathan. He looks at the man with equal contempt and says, “Don’t you have eyes? That’s it. They go their own way.”

There seemed to be little difference between the Pathan of Peshawar in the 1920s and the Kashmiri of the 21^st century when it came to road sense!

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Where to stay in Srinagar: There are several hotels and lodges in Srinagar and, of course, houseboats on Dal Lake. I can suggest HB Hong Kong where I put up because I liked their service as well the houseboat itself. Location is good (right opposite Ghat No. 10) and so is the view of the lake. Food was vegetarian though they got non-veg food for me from outside when I asked for it. If you wish to put up there, here is Adil's contact no: +919086952102.

I can also suggest Tanveer as a driver for sightseeing though there are plenty of drivers in Srinagar. If you wish to hire him, contact him on +919858505585 / +918715886668 / +919596367337

Travel, they say, teaches more than you could ever learn in school. I would say trekking — especially of the multi-day Himalayan kind — teaches you more than you could ever learn from ‘ordinary’ travel. This post is an attempt to share what I have learned during my brief career as a Himalayan trekker, not it may not exactly be an exhaustive list.

1. The value of teamwork

If I learned one thing from my latest trek in Kashmir — Tarsar-Marsar — it’s the value of a good team, a good team leader and effective teamwork.

A young first-time trekker in the team brought back not-so-happy memories from my own first trek of Goecha La two years back. Ill prepared and out of shape, he was struggling to complete the hike every day — just as I had done in Sikkim in 2013. On Day 1, the fastest ones reached the campsite two hours before the slowest ones, that too after plenty of rest on the way. On day 2, the gap increased by another hour.

Tarsar-Marsar trek, Kashmir, 2015

The trek leader then insisted that all of us walk together “as a team” and the faster ones slow down because, he pointed out rightly, that the slower ones were simply not in a position to speed up. Some of the experienced trekkers objected vehemently, saying that the team be broken up in two — fast trekkers and slower ones — and the latter be sent out an hour in advance.

The trek leader first tried to reason with them politely, but when he realised some were beyond gentle persuasion, he simply put his foot down and ‘ordered’ that everyone was to walk with the team and any defiant trekker — no matter of what age and how much experience — would be sent back.

“Trust me,” he said, “do what I say and all of you will reach on time.” Though I never argued with him, I doubted that we would “reach on time”. But we actually DID. Maybe not exactly “on time” but no doubt in good time. It gave the laggards more confidence but best of all, it helped us get acquainted with each other and build the team spirit. Very soon, we were all playing games together as part of an incredible age group of 18 to 67.

The Goecha La trek leader had done exactly the opposite in my case. On Day 1, I would have been left behind all on my own had some experienced trekkers not stuck by my side. Then, the trek leader himself started insisting every day that I set off an hour before the others — which I never did simply because I just did not have the energy to do it. Instead of understanding my troubles, he would try to bully me into submission, which never worked either.

Gujjar huts. Tarsar-Marsar trek, 2015

We never walked as a ‘team’ in Sikkim, as we did in Kashmir. And I have been fortunate to see and experience the dramatically different results of these two treks. It’s not only about a trek. I can safely say that even in life — especially the workplace — the results will be the same.

2. We don’t really need much of what we possess

The dwelling of Gujjars — a semi-nomadic community spread across vast stretches of northern India, Pakistan and Afghanistan — is a one-room hut carved out of a side of a knoll, a layer of earth being its roof which is held up by roughly chopped planks of wood and stones coarsely planted in the surrounding mounds of earth. We met several Gujjar families during the Kashmir trek, on the way ahead from Aru, which is 12km from Pahalgam, upstream of the Lidder. In winter, these families migrate to warmer climes and abandon their huts, which are frequently occupied by bears. In summer, they are back, rearing their livestock and making a living out of selling ‘milk-rotis’ — chapattis made of thick cottage cheese — in Srinagar. It’s also what they eat, with salted tea, and what they offer to tired and hungry trekkers.

Gujjar kids. Tarsar-Marsar trek, 2015

Yes, humans can survive with just as much. And be happy too. Looking at the smiling faces of Gujjar kids, I wondered if their more affluent, city-bred, gadget-toting comrades are capable of exuding such unadulterated joy. Not that I’m saying everyone should live like the Gujjars, but think. Do we really NEED everything that we possess?

Himalayan trekking teaches simplicity. It teaches us the absurdity of owning all that we do and showing them off, too. A seven-star hotel suite can never give the sheer bliss and sense of freedom a 7ftX7ft alpine tent can give.

3. To appreciate the things we take for granted

Have you ever wondered what an incredible machine the tap is? Or the geyser? What’s the big deal about a TAP, right? Try to wash your plates squatting by a little stream in the dark and you will start appreciating a tap. Camp in freezing temperatures for a week and you will realise the importance of a geyser.

Water is extremely scarce in Ladakh, So the next time you
visit it, remember to use water economically

Himalayan trekking teaches us to appreciate such little wonders of life that we take for granted — running hot water, the comfort of a bed or a chair, the ‘luxury’ of public transport and all the facilities we city-dwellers enjoy. Hospital 2km away, school 6km away, railway station 10km away, airport 15km away...

There are thousands of villagers in the interiors of our country who have to trudge miles to reach a road that will take them to the nearest hospital. Kids trek 20km daily to get education. We all know this, right? But trekking brings you face to face with these ‘nameless, faceless’ people. And you start appreciating all that you have.

4. To adapt to any condition

Hampta Pass trek, Himachal Pradesh, 2014

Anyone who has used a toilet tent for a week will, if not anything else, never complain about any other toilet in the world. All I ask for in any accommodation now is a clean bed and a clean washroom. I don’t even see what else the room has. Everything else looks superfluous.

If my family ever complains of, for instance, fewer water supplies for the day, I just laugh and point out that there are several peoples who do with much less every single day (Ladakh, for instance).

I have also become a less fussy eater. Everything has somehow started tasting good now!

5. The virtue of patience and persistence

Hampta Pass trek

Himalayan trekking is not easy. It takes regular workouts to keep fit and even then, it’s not exactly a stroll in the park. The terrain is harsh to begin with and it can worsen suddenly in the event of rain or snow. There can be injuries, unexpected detours and unimaginably difficult stretches, testing the ultimate levels of one’s endurance. But I always remember this: Every road has an end if you just keep going.

Trekking is more a ‘mind game’ than a physical sport. It can toughen one mentally and help cope with unforeseen adversities. If you can tell your mind to keep walking, you will reach your destination, no matter how far it is, how tough the path or how painful the going.

6. To believe in myself and my abilities

Goecha La trek, 2013. Pic: Eti Kynjing

I returned from the Goecha La trek with a sprained ankle, swollen feet and knees, and bruises all over my upper arms. I struggled badly through the eight days of the trek. But the ‘high’ I got from completing that trek is till date unmatched.

“If I could do Goecha La, I can do ANYTHING,” is a phrase I use often. And it’s something I truly believe in. That trek gave me the confidence to do many a crazy thing after that — including leaving my desk job in pursuit of doing something happier.

Mountains teach us to dream and give us the courage to pursue them. One of my favourite scenes in Satyajit Ray’s ‘Kanchenjungha’ is where the unemployed protagonist refuses to accept the job he is offered by the rich, arrogant patriarch. “It’s probably the mighty mountains,” he tells the patriarch’s daughter later on. “Let him be the ‘roybahadur’. I don’t have to submit to his every wish.”

The Himalayas give us confidence and self-esteem. Oodles of it.

7. To respect nature

Hampta Pass trek, 2015

Mr Himalayas is exceedingly good-looking. To people like me, he’s the most handsome man in the whole wide world. But, he’s also incredibly moody and can unleash his fury on anyone on one of his grumpy days. And you don’t want to mess with him on such a day. Bow before him and turn back.

I had to, on my first two treks. He did not let me or my team go till the end. But he was kind to me on the third. So, wait patiently for his benevolence. Love him, stalk him, but more importantly, respect him.

And it holds true for Mother Nature as well. Respect the terrain, respect the weather and respect all living beings — even the tiniest ones — that are a part of their world. I hate it when someone even plucks flowers for worship nowadays. Because I firmly believe that if God exists, he or she resides in nature. And every child of nature deserves to live. That’s what Himalayan trekking has taught me.

Look at any list of must-visits in Srinagar and the Mughal Gardens will be right on top. Four gardens in various locations and altitudes around Dal Lake are together called the Mughal Gardens because they were all built during Mughal rule in India. While Jehangir had Shalimar Bagh built, the rest, Nishat Bagh, Chashme Shahi and Pari Mahal, were built during Shah Jehan’s reign.

Though the Mughal Gardens, following the model of Persian gardens, are no doubt very beautiful and well maintained, personally I felt they are not for the ‘rush through’ kind of visit. To many an ordinary tourist, they may seem all the same — meticulously planned layouts, neat rows of flowers, trees and fountains planted in carefully measured distances from each other, water flowing down the middle, a few arches here and there... Particularly, Shalimar and Nishat gardens look quite similar.

If you really want to enjoy the Mughal Gardens, it’s best to do it in the way the locals do. These are good places for enjoying a day off, for sitting in the shade of a chinar (sycamore), for instance, nibbling on some snacks (without littering the garden of course) and relishing the views of the distant mountains or the Dal Lake.

If you do not have so much time, which most travellers don’t, you may actually consider skipping one or two of the gardens, unless, of course, you are the ‘checklist’ kind of tourist or are genuinely interested in the individual architecture and history of the gardens and their flora.

I will share some facts and photographs of the four gardens in this post and you can choose your destination(s) when you visit Srinagar. The gardens are open from 9am to 7pm and the entry fee for each is Rs 20 per head. To visit them, you may hire a cab or an auto, or hop on to a minibus.

If you put up in a houseboat, you can also take a shikara to the Shalimar and Nishat gardens, but I won’t recommend it. For one, shikara rides are expensive (Rs 500 per hour) and it takes longer then the other modes. I would say there are better uses of the shikara (click here to read more on that).

Shalimar Bagh

Location: Northeast of Dal Lake, on the main road

USP: Largest of the Mughal Gardens, known for the arches with niches, called chini khanas

Jehangir built Shalimar Bagh in 1619 for his wife Noor Jehan and both of them were extremely fond of Kashmir valley. Apparently ‘Shalimar’ was the name of the resort that king Pravarsena II (AD 79-139), who founded the city of Srinagar, built for himself. This resort gave its name to the village, which in turn lent its name to the garden Jehangir later built at this spot.

Like all the others, Shalimar is also a terraced garden, though it has the least number of tiers — only three — originally categorised on the basis of status. It has as many as 410 fountains and something the other gardens don’t — arches with niches (chini khanas) where in the old days oil lamps would burn, as I heard a guide tell a couple of tourists. Some of the garden’s chinars are said to be over 400 years old.

I visited Shalimar Bagh after all the other three and felt I could have skipped it, especially because it looked quite similar to Nishat Bagh in design and layout. This is, of course, my personal opinion.

Nishat Bagh

Location: East of Dal Lake, on the main road

USP: Second largest of the gardens, but looked to me the best maintained of all and prettier than Shamilar Bagh. The backdrop of the Zabarwan Mountains and view of Dal Lake make it very special

Nishat Bagh, or the ‘Garden of Gladness’, was built in 1634 by Mirza Abul Hassan or Asaf Jah, the younger brother of Nur Jehan and father-in-law of Shah Jehan. The latter was the reigning Mughal emperor then.

The garden has 12 terraces, representing the zodiac signs, and each terrace has a distinct design. Go a little higher up and you’ll get nice views of Dal Lake and the Hazratbal mosque on the other bank.

Like Shalimar Bagh, here also a central canal runs through the length of the garden. Fountains dot the canal in both cases.

Pari Mahal

Location: Southwest of Dal Lake, on top of Zabarwan range

USP: The walls and arches; views of Srinagar city, Dal Lake, helipad, golf course and the surrounding mountains that no other Mughal Garden offers. My personal favourite of the four

Pari Mahal (Fairies’ Palace) is perhaps the worst maintained of the four gardens. And yet, it’s my favourite. There was an air of mystery to its arches and walls that I can’t really explain, and the 360-degree view of the blue mountains, lush greenery and the vast expanse of the Dal Lake is simply out of the world.

For one, it looked less ‘regimented’ than the other gardens. Kids frolicked in one of the tanks in the seven-tiered garden, which Shah Jehan’s son Dara Shikoh apparently built for his tutor. Dara is said to have used it as his observatory.

Locals believe fairies dance and sing in Pari Mahal every Thursday night. Incidentally I was there on a Thursday. I told my driver-cum-guide that I’d love to stay back to enjoy the fairies’ dance. He was not amused.

Srinagar golf course and helipad seen from Pari Mahal

Chashme Shahi

Location: On Zabarwan range, a little below and to the west of Pari Mahal

USP: The natural spring around which the garden was built and after which it was named

Chashme Shahi (Royal Water/Spring) is the smallest of the four Mughal Gardens and built during Shah Jehan’s reign, as a gift for his eldest son Dara Shikoh. Like Nishat Bagh, the backdrop of the Zabarwan range makes it look very pretty.

But its prime attraction is the natural freshwater spring that many believe has medicinal properties. It cascades down the terraces along the centre of the garden, traversing its length, much like the canals of Nishat and Shalimar gardens.

Though I’m no botanist, I somehow felt the flora of Chashme Shahi is different from that in the rest of the gardens and has more unique varieties. The layout is also a bit different from the others, with paved roads trailing out in all directions from the centre. That makes it more interesting to explore.

I got effectively only two days for sightseeing in Srinagar — an afternoon, an entire day and a morning. So it was one hectic affair and I missed some spots like Verinag, which I had wanted to visit. But I covered most of the places that were on my wish list and some more suggested by my driver. I have already shared a post on the Mughal Gardens. In this post, I will share my experiences at three of the other six places that I visited. The rest will come in the next post.

Jama Masjid/Jamia Masjid

This 600-year-old mosque is the oldest and grandest in Srinagar, the imposing brick structure lying snug in the middle of Srinagar Old City.

There are several extended awnings outside for people to offer prayers. Especially on Fridays and Eid, even the massive mosque, with its capacity of 33,333 prayer mats, is not enough to accompany everyone. So, many people offer prayers outside, under the awnings. Together, a lakh people are said to offer prayers together under this entire arrangement.

The pillars are said to be solid deodar trunks

My driver Tanveer accompanied me inside. Like all Islamic holy places, visitors are supposed to cover their heads while going inside. I was in a tee and cargos, with a cap on my head. It did not cover my hair. So, under Tanveer’s expert advice, I put a hanky on my hair and put the cap on to keep it in place. He himself went inside with his head happily uncovered.

Right outside the mosque, a man sat with some grey phirans (the loose knee-length top Kahmiri men and women wear over their trousers). He smiled and offered me one, saying, “This will cover your arms.” So, in this immensely bizarre garb, I went inside one of India’s holiest mosques.

Thankfully, there were not too many people inside. Though I was there on a Friday, it was still not time for the prayers.

The beautifully carved ceiling

The massiveness of the structure struck me the moment I was inside the first prayer hall. Even more so the pillars, which, Tanveer said, were solid deodar trunks. The doors were of heavy wood with solid metal bolts. The ceiling was of beautifully carved wood and identical rugs that serve as prayer mats shrouded the ground.

There are four prayer halls surrounding a massive courtyard with a fountain in the middle for ‘wazu’ (ritual ablution). The top of Hari Parvat can be seen from the courtyard. Overall, I had a nice experience and I’d suggest that tourists don’t give it a miss.

The central courtyard

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Shankaracharya Temple

This Shiva temple can truly be called the crown of Srinagar — simply because it rests on a hilltop 1,000 feet above the city, offering a breathtaking view from the top. The saddest part? You are not allowed to take your camera or cellphone and have to either leave these wherever you have put up or in the care of your driver.

There are, however, viewpoints on the way, from where you can take your shots. But the best view comes from the hilltop.

Shankaracharya Hill and the temple (circled) seen from my houseboat.
Tourists are not allowed to carry cameras and cellphones to the temple

I had heard from my father and uncle that they had climbed all the way up to the temple from Srinagar itself, not up any stairs but the bare side of the hill. I don’t know if that can be done any longer. As I said, I was short of time, so had to go in the car to the base of the final flight of some 250 steps that lead to the temple.

The 8km road that leads to the temple is guarded at the entrance by the CRPF and no car is allowed to pass after 5pm. The drive is absolutely stunning, passing through some lush greenery. You have to get off the car at the base of the stairs, which is also guarded by CRPF and visitors have to undergo a security check.

Then starts an arduous climb. I was on way to a 6-day Himalayan trek, so this was good workout for me. But it’s definitely not for weak knees and/or lungs. It’s beautiful at the top, with a courtyard, a tank in the middle, trees all around, and clean seats in the open for visitors to rest.

Inside, the temple looks very much like a lot of other Hindu temples. The Shivling rests in the middle and devotees can circumambulate it. Prasad (ritual offering to the god that is given to devotees as sanctified food) is given to all who ask for it. It’s not very spacious and you can’t expect to be inside for too long in peak tourist season.

Srinagar city seen from a viewpoint on way to Shankaracharya temple

The Jyoteshwar temple (another name for the shrine), though not a very grand structure, has a very grand history involving Hindus, Buddhists, Persians and Jews. Though the temple is named after the Adi Shankaracharya (788-820), who was largely responsible for the resurgence of Hinduism in India after a long Buddhist era, the temple predates him by at least a millennium, though no one seems to know for sure when exactly it was built and by whom.

I will try to present a short account of the various theories about the origin of the temple though these are results of my Internet research and I can’t guarantee that these are all correct. In fact, it’s highly likely they aren’t. But they can give a basic idea about the temple’s incredible past.

A brief history of Shankaracharya temple

Some give to credit for the temple to a King Sandiman (could be a version of Suleiman or Solomon) who is supposed to have ruled over Kashmir from 2629-2564BC. Another record — supposedly supported by the great scholars Kalhana and Abul Fazl — says King Gopaditya (426-365BC) had it built, to be subsequently renovated by various rulers. The current structure is definitely not 2,000 years old.

Dal Lake seen from another viewpoint on way to Shankaracharya temple

Some apparently also claim it was originally a Buddhist shrine that Shankaracharya changed into a Hindu temple. Whatever the reason, the site is revered by Hindus and Buddhists alike. The latter apparently call the hill ‘Pas Pahar’.

The hill has supposedly been known by several names through the years, though now it’s popularly called the Shankaracharya Hill, after the temple. From Gopaditya, the hill was said to have been named Gopadri, changed from the original Jetha Larak.

Jews and Persians apparently revered it as the Bagh-e-Suleiman (Garden of Suleiman) or the Takht-e-Suleiman (Seat of Suleiman). And, this is what it was called even until the mid-19^thcentury. There apparently used to be Persian inscriptions on the walls of the temple.

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Badam Vaer (Almond Garden)

This beautiful garden is located a bit far from Dal Lake and not frequented by too many tourists, who largely stick to the Mughal Gardens. The plaque inside says it was Mughal emperor Akbar who originally walled off this plot at the foothills of Hari Parvat in 1597 and named the 3.5-mile-long, 28-foot-high, 13-foot-wide stone wall Faseel-e-Akbari. Inside was the small city of Naagar Nagar.

Almond tree in Badam Vaer

After the fall of the Mughal Empire, the city fell into ruins. In 1876, Dogra king Ranbir Singh turned the plot into an almond garden and it became the hub of festivals and fairs before once again losing its charm, especially during the turbulent phase of Kashmir. In 2007, it was revived yet again by the J&K Bank and now it’s meant once more for cultural programmes and fests.

There is an amphitheatre at one end of the garden where 4.30pm onwards every Sunday, musical programmes sponsored by the bank are held to “celebrate the richness” of Kashmiri culture.

The amphitheatre where musical programmes are held every Sunday

In Kashmir, the almond blossom is said to herald spring, and that is the time the garden looks its best and is mostly visited. When I went in end-July, the blossoms and almonds were long gone, but the garden looked pretty nevertheless. Like the Mughal Gardens, its also has rows of roses planted on either side of the central pathway.

There are brick arches at regular intervals on the pathway, a tank in the garden, a bridge and a small podium surrounded by brick pillars. Overall, a very pretty place, but local youths can sometimes be seen doing drugs here, taking advantage of its isolation. They were there when I went. “Effects of bad tourists,” Tanveer said, shaking his head.

All the gardens in Srinagar have arrangements for your photos to be taken in Kashmiri clothes. It’s outrageously expensive at the Mughal Gradens where the dress-wallahs insist on taking the photo on their own cameras and selling it for a premium. I had asked them if I could take it on my own camera and they had refused. So I had refused their offer flatly as well.

At Badam Vaer, I was allowed to get clicked on my own camera and the dress-wallah charged reasonably. So, if you have any plans to get yourself clicked in Kashmiri clothes, do it here.

The shrine of Sufi saint Makhdoom Sahib

On the way to Badam Vaer, you can also visit the shrine of Sufi mystic Makhdoom Sahib. I couldn’t though, owing to shortage of time. Maybe I’ll do it some other time.

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To read the next part of this post, covering Kheer Bhawani Temple, Manasbal Lake and Hazratbal shrine, click here

Also read my other posts on Srinagar:
Kahwa, with a dash of Kashmiriyat, on a 'hidden' Dal Lake
Life in Srinagar
The Mughal Gardens

In the last post I covered three attractions of Srinagar — Jama Masjid, Shankaracharya Temple and Badam Vaer (Almond Garden). This post is about three other noteworthy sites that I visited during my brief stay in Srinagar — Kheer Bhawani Temple and Manasbal Lake in Ganderbal district near Srinagar and Hazratbal shrine on the banks of Dal Lake.

Roadside scenery in Ganderbal district

There are several other things to see in and around Srinagar, notable among them being the Tulip Graden (in spring), Wular Lake and the several springs or ‘nags’, including Verinag, which is said to be the source of the Jhelum, but I could not visit these because of shortage of time. Most of these can be visited on J&K tourism buses that ply on fixed routes. Just remember to keep enough time on your hands.

Kheer Bhawani Temple

This temple lies in Tula Mula village (what a lovely name!) in Ganderbal district, around 25km from Srinagar. Though the actual shrine is a modest structure, the complex, shaded by huge chinars (sycamore), is quite huge, with accommodation for pilgrims.

The temple in the middle of the spring

My trip had coincided with Amarnath Yatra — the annual pilgrimage to Amarnath — and since most of these pilgrims also visit this temple, I found it quite crowded. My houseboat-keeper Adil, who had also accompanied me, was particularly keen on the ‘kheer’ — a dessert cooked by boiling rice in sweetened milk — that’s served in glasses for free to visitors.

Adil took the initiative to go and fetch three glasses for himself, my driver Tanveer and me. Later, as I was exploring the complex, a woman came and offered it to me again. I later realised that the kheer is probably meant more as an offering to the Goddess than to humans! But by then, it had already disappeared deep into my alimentary system!

Langaar at Kheer Bhawani temple

I saw many pouring the kheerinto the holy spring, in the middle of which lies the temple. I later learnt that it’s the kheer offered by devotees that gives the temple its name. No one is allowed into the main shrine — dedicated to Goddess Bhawani, a form of Shakti (Durga) — and only a priest carries the devotees’ offerings into the sanctum sanctorum.

In fact, the spring is probably more sacred than the temple itself. The temple is not a very old structure — only around a century old — built by Maharaja Pratap Singh in 1912. The spring, however, apparently found a mention in both Kalhana’s ‘Rajtarangini’ (12^thcentury) and Abul Fazl’s ‘Aain-i-Akbari’ (16^th century). Legend says the spring changes colour and its turning black is taken as a bad omen for Kashmir.

Walnut tree in Ganderbal. My driver Tanveer cut it with a knife,
took out the raw walnut inside and showed me how to
peel off the white layer on top before eating it

Thankfully, I found it in perfect colour — a bluish white because of all the kheer and milk in the water — and enjoyed a sumptuous meal at the ‘langaar’ that was on offer by the J&K Dharmarth Trust. Langaar is free food offered to devotees at temples and Sikh Gurdwaras and Tanveer said the langaar at Kheer Bhawani is arranged every year for Amarnath yatris by the Kashmiri Pandits.

Though I was not an Amarnath yatri, I happily had the food at the behest of Tanveer and Adil. No questions were asked.

Manasbal Lake

This is also in Ganderbal district, around 27km from Srinagar. Manasbal is an interesting site because it is recorded as India’s deepest lake (13 metres/43 feet). It is probably for this reason that local legend terms this lake ‘unfathomable’.

Apparently, Manasbal was named after the holiest of Hindu lakes, the Manas Sarovar in Tibet (Manas + Bal, which means ‘place’ in Kashmiri). I don’t know exactly how holy locals now consider it to be, but when I went, it was largely deserted though the Kheer Bhawani temple 2km away had been teeming with pilgrims. Only a few men, who looked like workers of the tourist facilities, lazed around.

Bounded by some hills, trees and grassy knolls, Manasbal looked like just another tourist attraction to me, whatever glorious past it may have enjoyed. There were shikaras on the water, just like on Dal Lake, apart from what looked like a pink zorbing ball.

The path surrounding the lake was lined with willows — a noticeable change from the usual chinars — and lotuses bloomed in the water, which was crystal clear. I could see the fish right through it. I can’t say that the lake wasn’t pretty but after Dal Lake, it looked a bit ordinary.

Manasbal Lake see from Jharoka

There is a Mughal Garden called Jharoka right across the road from the lake complex. Built by Jehangir’s wife Noor Jehan, it’s nothing in comparison to the Mughal Gardens of Srinagar. But it offers a fine view of the lake. Overall, a nice site to enjoy a day off.

Hazratbal shrine

This was one of my prime interests in Srinagar. But unfortunately, I ended up there on a Friday, that too, right after the main namaaz (prayer) of the day. It was so crowded that I did not want to venture inside.

Besides, the entire area was full of men (Muslim women don’t offer prayer in public) draped in white from head to toe, and I stuck out like a sore thumb in my red tee and black cargos. Even as I stopped to take some photographs outside the mosque, people stared at me so much that I fled as fast as I could.

This white-marble shrine, which took 11 years (1968-1979) to build, is one of the most beautiful edifices in Srinagar. It lies on the left bank of Dal Lake, bang opposite Nishat Bagh and as I’ve already written in my post on the Mughal Gardens, the garden offers a magnificent view of the mosque and it must be vice versa, too.

Hazratbal shrine clicked from Nishat Bagh

Hazratbal has a very special religious significance — it’s said to house a relic (apparently a strand of hair) of Prophet Mohammad. One of the Prophet’s descendants is believed to have brought it to India.

His son later sold it to a Kashmiri businessman named Khwaja Nur-ud-din Eshai. The latter’s only daughter Inayat Begum was married into the Banday family of Srinagar, which is now the custodian of the relic.

This shrine is a must-visit in Srinagar. Just remember to avoid it on Fridays.

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For the first part of this post, covering Jama Masjid, Shankaracharya temple and Badam Vaer, click here

Also read my other posts on Srinagar:
Kahwa, with a dash of Kashmiriyat, on a 'hidden' DalLake
Life in Srinagar
The Mughal Gardens

And it's that time of the year again for us Bengalis. Durga Puja, our biggest festival — and one of the grandest in the world — is here. (Don't know much about it? Read my post here to know what Durga Puja is all about.) There are three more days to go before Durga Puja officially begins. But in Kolkata, the festivities have already started. Here are glimpses of some of the most popular — and some not-so-popular — community celebrations in south Kolkata.

This is the star attraction this year. The 88.5-foot idol of Deshapriya Park is the tallest in the world

Look at the tiny heads below and you'll have an idea of its size

Badamtala Aasharh Sangha has brought a slice of Rajasthan to Kolkata

The decor at Badamtala Aasharh Sangha

The idol (inside) at Badamtala

The decor at Badamtala's neighbour, 66 Palli

66 Palli's theme is Santhal (an Indian tribe) culture

The idol at 66 Palli

The 66 Palli idol

Illumination on the way

A traditional idol at a not-so-known community puja

There are hundreds of such not-so-popular pujas across the city

At every nook and corner, you'll find a 'pandal' like this

Another nice piece of work I found on the way

Taj Mahal comes to Kolkata

I hadn't exaggerated when I had said in my earlier post that the entire city is illuminated.
This is just a nondescript lane. Look how it has been decorated

Mudiali Club, one of the eternal stars

The idol at Mudiali

Mudiali's neighbour Shib Mandir has based its theme on the Bengali almanac

The Shib Mandir decor

Shib Mandir idol

Tridhara Sammilani. It took me 20 minutes to reach the 'pandal', thanks to the crowd. And Durga Puja is still 3 days away!

Tridhara Sammilani

Tridhara Sammilani. Can you see the diol inside?

Another star, Ballygunge Cultural, which became famous across India after the movie 'Kahaani' was shot here

The idol at Ballygunge Cultural

The beautiful decor at Ballygunge Cultural

Ballygunge Cultural's neighbour Samajsebi Sangha

The idol at Samajsebi Sangha

The lovely decor at Samajsebi Sangha

The illumination at Singhi Park, another original star

Illumination at Singhi Park

More illumination at Singhi Park

Approaching the Singhi Park 'pandal'

Singhi Park pandal

The idol at Singhi Park

Illumination at Ekdalia Evergreen Club, right opposite Singhi Park, and another giant of the south

The Ekdalia Evergreen 'pandal'

The Ekdalia Evergreen idol

The Ekdalia Evergreen idol along with the decor

64 Palli, a recent star in the south

The 64 Palli theme is the kite string spool!

The beautiful idol of 64 Palli

Madness, thy name is Kolkata Durga Puja. I have already posted several photographs of this madness. Here are some more pictures of famous community celebrations in south Kolkata. Officially, Durga Puja starts tomorrow. Already, the star attraction, an 88.5-foot idol, has been 'banned' (covered with a sheet) after a stampede at the venue, Deshapriya Park. The sheet was later removed. I already posted the idol's photograph in the previous post (click here to view those).

The Chetla Agrani 'pandal', one of the biggest attractions these days

Decor at Chetla Agrani Club

The beautiful Chtela Agrani idol

The ceiling of the Chetla Agrani 'pandal'

Leaving Chetla Agrani

Decor outside the Chetla Agrani 'pandal'

Chetla Agrani entrance

Illumination outside Chetla Agrani club

Illumination on the way

Can you find the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building there?

Towards Suruchi Sangha, another star attraction in the south. They claim to have started the 'theme puja' wave

A nice idol I found on the way to Suruchi

Entering Suruchi Sangha

The Suruchi Sangha idol

Decor at Suruchi Sangha. This image is a version of Chamundeswari Devi of Chitkul,
Himachal Pradesh (click here to read my post on Chitkul)

The Suruchi Sangha idol. Sorry, it's slightly blurred. Photography is not easy when you are wrestling with hundreds of people!

The Suruchi Sangha 'pandal'

On my way back from Suruchi

A nice idol I found on the way back

Jubamoitri, one of the oldest organizers near my home. This year, they replicated the Kalighat temple

The beautiful idol of Jubamoitri. The rituals had started, so I couldn't go in. I managed to take this from outside

The nice traditional idol of Jubamoitri's neighbour Forward Club

The Forward Club 'pandal'

Sahajatri's unique idol

The 'pandal' of Sanghashri, a bygone star

Inside the Sanghashri 'pandal'

The Sanghashri idol

This is what the road near my house looks like during Durga Puja

Babubagan, another famous name

The idol at Babubagan

The ceiling of the Babubagan 'pandal'

The Babubagan 'pandal' decor

Entering 95 Palli

The 95 Palli 'pandal'

The 95 Palli idol, crafted by well-known visual artist Sanatan Dinda

Jodhpur Park looked a bit tacky this year

Jodhpur Park

The Jodhpur Park idol

The Jodhpur Park idol and 'pandal'

Jodhpur Park decor

The Selimpur 'pandal' looked nothing from outside

Still nothing

But inside, the Selimpur 'pandal' looked absolutely stunning

The Selimpur idol was placed inside a revolving glass wall

Leaving Selimpur

Click here to view Glimpses of Durga Puja (Part I)
Click here to view Glimpses of Durga Puja (Part III)
Click here to know all about the festival of Durga Puja

After extensively covering south Kolkata, I move to the north. Here are some famous community celebrations in north Kolkata. Unlike in the south, I did not find a single traditional idol in the so-called 'conservative' north. The idols ranged from unique to outright weird. Used teabags seemed to be a favourite for decoration this year! Found these in two 'pandals'. Enjoy!

The Pallishri idol near Ultadanga

The Pallishri 'pandal' was a bit weird

The Pallishri decor looked okay though

Inside the Pallishri 'pandal'

Nearby, the Karbagan 'pandal' looked nothing special either, though it's a big name in the north

The Karbagan 'pandal' looked quite tacky

The Karbagan idol

Yubabrinda was perhaps the worst of all

Loved Yubabrinda's concept of the 'bhanr' (earthen teacups) decor though

The Yubabrinda idol looked weird, to say the least

Entering Telengabagan, perhaps the most famous name in that cluster

The Telengabagan idol

Nabin Palli near Hatibagan

Entering Nabin Palli 'pandal'

Nabin Palli decor

The Nabin Palli idol

Loved the Nalin Sarkar Street idol. Thought it was the best of the north Kolkata lot

The Nalin Sarkar Street 'pandal' was beautiful too

Nalin Sarkar Street 'pandal'

The Hatibagan 'pandal'

Hatibagan decor

Hatibagan idol and decor

The Hatibagan idol

Hatibagan's unique decor with used and unused teabags

The Kashi Bose Lane 'pandal'

The Kashi Bose Lane idol

Leaving Kashi Bose Lane

Want to enjoy more Durga Puja 2015 pics? Click on these links:

Glimpses of Durga Puja (Part I)

Glimpses of Durga Puja (Part II)

To know more about the festival of Durga Puja, click here

Durga Puja is not only about the community celebrations. In fact, the community celebrations started only around a century ago. Before that, it was more of a religious festival, arranged with pomp by the wealthy families of Bengal.
Many of these families still perform the puja (worship) of Goddess Durga, following their own unique customs and rituals for centuries. The West Bengal tourism department arranges tours of some of these heritage houses during Durga Puja and I joined one of these on Nabami, the penultimate day of the festival. You can also download the list from the WBTDC website and do it yourself, as one of my friends did. The tours are named 'Sanatani'.
WBTDC's arrangement is also good. They take tourists around in buses — both AC and non-AC — and end the tour with bhog (ritual offering to the goddess which is eaten by devotees as the 'sanctified' food) at Sovabazar Rajbari. Overall, it was a good experience and I will share some of the photographs of the houses and their respective celebrations along with some information about the houses and their history in this post.

Rani Rashmonir Bari (Queen Rashmoni's house), Janbazar

This house was meant for the queen's tax collection. Today, no one really knows who the house belongs to. The puja is apparently arranged from the money earned as rent from the various shops that run from the outer side of the premises

Ramakrishna Paramhansa is said to have performed this puja sometime in the mid-19th century

The hallmark of the house is its courtyard style of architecture

Chandra Bari (House of the Chandras), Nirmal Chunder Street

In 1781, Bharat Chandra came from Nadia district and settled down in Calcutta.
The house he built was extended from time to time

It was Ganesh Chandra who started the puja, but the date is not known

This is the only house where we faced a bit of hostility and rudeness. Tourists can be a bit rowdy, but the family members must have thought about that before allowing WBTDC to bring tourists. An elderly woman was roughly spoken to right in front of me for a very simple reason. I won't recommend this house if you go on your own

Thanthania Dutta Bari (Duttas' house in Thanthania)

This house has an interesting history and is perhaps the most well maintained of all the houses we visited. It's apparently called the Hazarduari of Kolkata. Hazarduari literally means 'thousand doors'. The original Hazarduari is in Murshidabad. This house probably got this sobriquet because of the size of its courtyard

The idol is unique because here Goddess Durga is seated on her husband Lord Shiva's lap and they are riding a horse instead of Durga's usual ride, the lion. Apparently the reason is that in the 19th century, Brahmins, the highest in the Hindu caste system, declared that only they could perform Durga Puja. To bypass this rule, the Duttas modified the idol from its traditional form. They are still continuing with it

The puja is 150 years old. The family owes its wealth to Dwarikanath Dutta who apparently did business with Manchester. This beautiful courtyard is said to be only a tenth of the entire house

Chhatubabu-Latubabur Bari (House of Chhatubabu-Latubabu), Beadon Street

This family's name started with Ramdulal Dey Sarkar (1752-1825), who is said to have started business with the USA. The family claims he was the founder of trade between India and the US. He also started the puja

An interesting feature of this idol is that instead of her daughters goddesses Lakshmi and Saraswati, Goddess Durga is flanked by Jaya and Bijaya. Her ride is Debsingha, an animal with the head of a lion and body of a horse

The house gets its name from Ramdulal's sons Asutosh Deb (nickname Chhatubabu) and Pramatha Nath Deb
(nickname Latubabu). Apparently Ramdulal owned 19 houses in Kolkata once.
An interesting feature of the courtyard is that it has a ceiling unlike the usual open ones

Khelat Ghosh's house, Pathuriaghata

Going by the guide's account, the history of this family is not something to be very proud of. Like many other wealthy Indian families of British era, they too had sided with the British. Khelat Ghosh earned India's first governor-general Warren Hastings's favour by hiding him when Bengal's ruler Nawab Siraj-ud-Daula attacked the British forces in 1756. The very next year the nawab was defeated and killed and Hastings apparently gave Ghosh a lump sum in gratitude. With this money, Ghosh started business and became so rich, he was apparently called the 'Banker of India'. He owned 108 houses in the city

The puja is 166 years old

This house has a huge open courtyard and the Thakurdalan (literally,
the 'corridor of the Goddess', where the puja is done) is massive

Sovabazar Rajbari

This is probably the most famous of all the heritage house pujas, but again, theirs is not a history to be very proud of. The history of this family dates back to Raja Nabakrishna Deb, who was the dewan (sort of finance minister/secretary) of Lord Clive. The house originally belonged to Shobharam Ghosh, after whom the area Sovabazar was named. The British declared at that time that those who could not show proper papers would lose their property. That's how Ghosh lost his house, which came to Nabakrishna Deb, who was later given the 'Raja' title by the British

The puja was started in 1757, in commemoration of Nawab Siraj-ud-Daula's defeat by Clive in the Battle of Plassey.
Goddess Durga rides a horse instead of a lion

This is the second house of the Debs, right opposite the 'original' Sovabazar Rajbari.
It was built by Nabakrishna and inherited by his adopted son Gopimohan. The 'original' Rajbari
went to his biological son Rajkrishna. It's in Gopimohan's house that tourists can have bhog

The bhog was served to us on the rooftop. It was a sumptuous meal with all kinds of
Bengali delicacies included. Overall, nice end to the tour

To enjoy community Durga Puja photographs, click on the following links:
Glimpses of Durga Puja (Part I)
Glimpses of Durga Puja (Part II)
Glimpses of Durga Puja (Part III)
To know more about the festival of Durga Puja, click here

Aru campsite

It was pitch-dark outside the tent — except for those occasional flashes of lightning. The roar of rain and thunder had drowned the song of the Lidder, which flowed a few metres past our campsite. The world seemed to be getting washed away.

I could hear a pitter-patter somewhere inside the tent. After searching with a flashlight for a few minutes, I detected the source — a steady drip through a seam near the door of the tent. The tent was leaking. I put a plastic bag under the drip and lay down with the daypack under my head.

Pahalgam

Thankfully, only I had occupied the tent so far, so there was a lot of space. Suddenly it occurred to me all my belongings — my camera, backpack, jacket — were pushed against the wall of the tent. I felt the wall next to me and my suspicions were proved correct. It was wet; there was a leakage somewhere in those seams too.

So I pulled all my belongings to the middle of the tent and lay down amid them. Not a welcome beginning to the Paradise Trek, I thought. As we had feared, driving rain had welcomed us to Aru, the base camp. And the Lidder’s catchment area had already been lashed by cloudbursts over the past month or so.

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The day had been highly tiresome. I started it early, completing my Srinagar sightseeing with the last two of the four Mughal Gardens. We were supposed to be picked up from the Tourism Reception Centre (TRC). But the vehicle operator who was assigned to take the trekkers to Aru asked me to wait near a hotel.

Road to Aru from Pahalgam

Instead of dropping me off, my driver Tanveer waited until the vehicle operator arrived to pick me up — 30 minutes behind schedule. By then, two of my trek-mates — a couple — had called up and asked me if I wanted to have lunch with them. They were already on their way to the city from the airport. I had agreed.

First the vehicle operator took me to TRC and told me to wait there for a ‘tempo traveller’, whatever that meant. I asked him instead to drop me at the restaurant the couple had mentioned. Thankfully he agreed. The restaurant was supposed to be “right opposite TRC”. It turned out to be somewhere behind it.

It was a small eatery actually. And it was shut. There had been a blast somewhere in Srinagar the day before. And all establishments had been shut the next day. There were a few people nearby who told me I could go in through the backdoor!

Road to Aru from Pahalgam

I went in through the backdoor — essentially the kitchen — with some trepidation and found myself among a few staring men seated at tables. No one looked like a trekker. Neither was this the eatery I was supposed to be in. I had my rucksack on my back. I asked them if someone like me had come in. They said, “No.” The car had already left by then.

I called up the couple — Ankit and Nandita — who said they were still on their way. After a wait amid four–five gaping men, they arrived. And we drove off for another restaurant the driver suggested. We released the driver there.

Ankit called up the operator and told him to pick us up from the restaurant. After we had had our lunch, the same car returned to take us to Aru! We wondered why he had left in the first place. There seemed to be no coordination between the operator, the driver and the trekkers. And this was only the beginning.

Morning breaks in Aru

We picked up three more trekkers from TRC and left for Aru. But midway through the journey when we had already hit the highway, the vehicle operator called up the driver and asked him to wait. Apparently we were supposed to go in the ‘tempo traveller’! So why had the car picked us up anyway?

After a two-hour wait, the ‘tempo traveller’ — a small bus — arrived. It turned out then that it was already nearly full; there was no space for the six of us. We had wasted two hours for nothing.

Finally, both vehicles left for Aru. Our car reached the village around 7pm, slightly before it got dark. And within an hour started the pouring rain. There was still no sign of the ‘tempo traveller’.

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Before I move on with the trek story, let me tell you something about Aru. I’m sure most travellers know about Pahalgam, the immensely popular pine-swathed retreat by the Lidder in Kashmir’s Anantnag district, around 95km from Srinagar.

Aru campsite

Incidentally, very recently I came to know how Pahalgam got its name. It used to be the first (‘pahala’) village (‘gaon’) for pilgrims on their way to Amarnath. Another 12km upstream of the Lidder from Pahalgam, with its rich carpets of lush-green meadows, hills shrouded in deodars and pines, and the Lidder roaring past, lies the village of Aru.

The 30-minute drive from Pahalgam to Aru was one the best roads I have encountered in the mountains so far. The altitude gain is quite perceptible, Aru being around 1,000 feet above Pahalgam (7,000 feet). The pines and deodars gradually got denser as we went up and the scent of the forest was unmistakable.

The best part, of course, was that Aru is far away from the maddening crowds of Pahalgam. One reason is that, being part of the Overa-Aru Biosphere Reserve, Aru enjoys the status of a protected forest. And so, there aren’t too many places to put up in, the number of constructions being restricted.

Aru campsite

I took a liking to Aru the moment I saw it. It was the best base camp of all the three treks I had joined so far. The first two — Goecha La and Hampta Pass— had been left incomplete, thanks to excessive rain and excessive snow respectively. Would I complete this one, I wondered. The weather had been excellent the two days I had spent in Srinagar.

And then, perhaps to drown my hopes, the rain came pouring.

====================

The day had indeed been tiring for most of the trekkers. The tempo traveller arrived with the rest of our group in the middle of the rain. In the dark and the downpour, they were huddled up inside the dining tent. We met them once the rain stopped. They looked grim and weary, perhaps more so in the dim light of the battery operated lamp.

The Lidder flowing by Aru campsite

We were briefed about the trek over dinner, which was quite delicious. The next morning’s hike — the first day — was to be a long one to Lidderwat, the source of the river. The gradient was gentle — only about a thousand feet — but spread along 11 km. So the climb wasn’t hard; the walk could be.

After dinner, however, pandemonium broke out over allotment of tents. In fact, it looked like one of those classic permutation-combination problems that I had racked my brains over in maths and stats classes way back in school.

We were a group of 22, with five women, one of whom was part of the couple. Apparently the trek leader did not know that there was a couple in the group. There were eight tents and a spare; three persons were supposed to share one. Generally, men and women don’t share tents.

If the couple were given a tent, four women would be left. Three wanted to share one. I happily agreed to take one for myself, but the trek leader apparently couldn’t allot one tent to one person. He was answerable to the organizers.

The Lidder

Besides, that would leave five tents for 16 guys, plus the trek leader, who was not keen to use the spare so soon. My tent had been covered with sheets. If any tent showed an even worse leakage, the spare would have to be used.

One option was for one person to share a tent with the couple, which, understandably, no one wanted to do. After a lot of brainstorming, the couple were ‘broken up’ — obviously very unhappily — and Nandita shared the tent with me.

It was quite a hellish beginning to the ‘Paradise Trek’.

====================

Thankfully, the morning broke with a gentle light, washing away the grimness and bitterness of the night before. It was slightly cloudy, but sunlight was peeping weakly from somewhere and cast a pale golden hue on the western mountains.

Aru looked even prettier in the morning. A gently sloping path went directly down to the Lidder from near our campsite. Shrubs of white flowers greeted me by the river. And we kept meeting more of them through the trek.

Aru

I went down and spent some quiet time with my camera next to the Lidder, soaking in the scent of the forest, and listening to the roar of the river — heightened amid the surrounding quiet.

I went up the path back towards the campsite, only to meet a smiling gentleman at the top of the track. He seemed to have been watching me closely. “You are an introvert,” was the first thing he told me. “Very much so,” I laughed.

I did not know then that I was meeting the oldest of our teammates. Arvind was 67 but one of the best trekkers I have met. Not only because he is technically sound, but because he always stayed around to help anyone who needed it.

Leaving Aru behind

It was good talking to him. He knew a lot of things and it’s always a pleasure to learn and hear about stuff from people like him.

After breakfast, we were given packed lunch. Ankit, the trek leader, told us we should be able to reach Lidderwat by 2pm. And around 9am or so, we packed up and left Aru. I only said a silent prayer to the rain gods before setting off.

I obviously did not know then what high drama was waiting for me later that day.

To be continued…

Lidderwat

Continued from previous post…

Day 2: Aru (8000 feet) to Lidderwat (9,100 feet): 10km

It was nearly 2pm and the Lidderwat campsite was nowhere in sight. Darshan, a young fellow trekker, and I were sitting in a shaded spot in the Lidder valley near a small stall where a few men and boys chatted. With a few packets of chips and other snacks, it was most ‘well stocked’ stall we found on the entire trek.

A rough map of the Tarsar-Marsar trek

I had expected to reach the campsite by 2pm—in five hours as the trek leader had said. But here we were, sitting where exactly we did not know for half an hour, with none of the other trekkers or even the guide and other staff members in sight.

The men at the stall had told us we were on the right trail and Lidderwat was close by. But where was the rest of our team? Had they already crossed the river over the bridge we had left a kilometre or so behind?

“I wonder if we are lost,” I told Darshan. “Well, I wouldn’t mind getting lost in a place like this,” he laughed. I couldn’t agree more. But then, were we indeed lost?

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Four of my teammates pose on a log. Shortly after leaving Aru for Lidderwat

We had left Aru around 9am for Lidderwat, the meadow of the Lidder valley. The guide—a young Kashmiri guy named Safzar—was leading the way. I was ahead with Sanjay, a well-experienced trekker, and we were chatting our way up from Aru.

After an initial climb, we reached level ground, and we could see firs up ahead. The trail went through the woods in a semicircular fashion, and we could see that starting a little to our right in front it had gone only slightly up all the way to our left and disappeared behind the trees.

“Why should we go all that way?” Sanjay said. “We can simply climb up to the trail from the left. It will be a little steep, but we can do it. Urmi, do you want to come with me?”

Meadows on way to Lidderwat

More than avoiding the winding walk, I was curious to find out whether I could handle the steep climb. So I agreed. Sanjay told the guide that we were going up that way. After mildly forbidding us a couple of times, he let us go.

Low barbed wire fences demarcated the grassy ground and we’d have to climb over them. Sanjay, being taller, did it easily. I had some trouble, but he held the wire down with his foot and helped me cross it. But before we could escape, we saw trek leader Ankit running towards us, shouting at the top of his voice. Adventure over.

Ankit was particularly concerned about me. “Sir, please don’t do it. These are sensitive regions. It’s not safe for you and particularly for her,” he said. So we crossed the wire again—with the two men holding it down for me now—and ambled back to the trail, sulking like naughty little children who had been trying to bunk class.

Up ahead, near the entrance to the forest, we came across an extremely muddy stretch—result of the previous evening’s rain. I muddied my shoes completely, and the bottom part of my trousers, too. One of the staff members later said there had not been a single lucky soul in the previous batch who had not slipped on that patch. Our batch escaped without any tumbles.

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Somewhere on the way to Lidderwat

We had just entered the woods when we came across the first Gujjar hut. I had written a bit about the Gujjars in my post ‘What three years of Himalayan trekking have taught me’. I’ll just say a little more about them now.

The Gujjars or Gurjars are a big community spread across much of western, central and northern India. In fact, the Indian state of Gujarat is supposed to have got its name from the Gurjars.

The Gujjars I’m talking about here are a semi-nomadic sub-sect of this community spread across the mountains of Kashmir, rearing their livestock and selling ‘milk-rotis’ in the markets of Srinagar. They share their territory with the Bakarwals (literally ‘goatherds’), another similar community of the region.

A Gujjar hut

I had read on the site of the trek organizers that we would come across ‘Gujjar huts’ on the way. This hardly says anything actually. The Gujjar hut is an amazing piece of architecture and is so well blended into its natural surroundings that many of us actually missed it even when we were walking right over it!

The hut is a one-room dwelling carved out of the side of a knoll, the grassy top layer of the hillock being its roof, which is held up by logs and stones planted in the surrounding mounds of earth. And the Gujjars have their world in this one-room hut.

In summer, the Gujjars are mostly concentrated around 8,000–9,000 feet, while in winter they come down to lower altitudes. And then, their summer dwellings are apparently often taken over by bears.

The hut is not the only unique thing about the Gujjars. The ‘milk-rotis’—bread fashioned out of very stiff cottage cheese—they make and sell in Srinagar is a basic form of cheese that is one of its kind. They survive on these milk-rotis along with salted tea and also serve these to trekkers.

Some of the enterprising ones have set up tea stalls on the trail where they serve the usual milk tea as well. We had tea at one such stall later.

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Lidder valley

The trail was never too steep and shortly after the woods, we entered the meadows. The walk was easy and soon again, the trail disappeared into thicker pine forests. Worse, it got cloudier and Safzar told us to be prepared for rain.

I put the raincoat on but had some trouble stuffing my camera and jacket into the daypack. Sanjay was waiting for me but I told him to move on. “I’ll catch up with you,” I said. As I struggled with my bag with my back to the trail, I could sense quite a few trekkers passing me by. After around 5–10 minutes, I was on my way.

Gujjar girls

It drizzled for about 40–45 minutes and I kept walking at my own pace, hoping to catch up with Sanjay and the others. Three young guys were walking along with me. A little while later, they veered off the trail towards a knoll and through the corner of my eye, I could see there was a Gujjar hut on top of it.

But by then, 4–5 trekkers around 500 metres ahead had caught my eye. Believing they were the rest of our group, I went straight ahead without giving the hut a second look. I was certain the trio had stopped there to take pictures.

Sanjay had a blue tee on and carried a small red daypack. It made him conspicuous and I could clearly see him up ahead. I guessed the others were Arvind, Nandita and Ankur. I quickened my pace but they seemed to be walking at top speed! Not surprising, given that all of them were experienced trekkers.

After trotting behind them for about half a kilometre, I lost them at the top of a knoll. Below, I could see our team of horses with our entire luggage, resting in the middle of the field. But where were my teammates? They seemed to have disappeared into thin air!

Then I heard voices, coming from somewhere on my left, towards the ravine. I followed the voices to find out to my utter shock that they were not my teammates at all. It was a group of foreigners and one of them had chosen the exact combination as Sanjay—blue tee, red daypack!

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View from the spot where Darshan and I waited for the others

It was funny to say the least, but I was also worried. Where were the others then? Apart from the horse team, I could see no one of our team up ahead. And I knew that no one could have crossed the meadow so soon, given the superb pace at which I had been running in the hope of catching up with my ‘teammates’!

Then it dawned on me that the others had probably stopped at the Gujjar hut I had crossed without as much as sparing a glance. The trio had gone into it and probably it was the lunch spot. The rest were there.

Lidder valley

But I did not feel like going all the way back. This was the trail and the rest would come sooner or later. I wasn’t hungry enough for lunch either. It was barely 11am or so. I was certain I would reach the campsite by 2pm and have lunch there. So I sat down on a rock by the roadside and took out a bar of chocolate.

Within 5 minutes, I saw a teammate approaching. It was Suvir, a jovial young fellow with gleaming, happy eyes and always looking to make some music. He literally ran past me with a cheerful “Hi!” Still nibbling at my chocolate, I wondered what his hurry was all about. Shortly after that, Sanjay and Darshan came by.

“I saw you pass the hut and told Ankit. He told me to go fetch you,” Sanjay grinned. “Should we go back then?” I asked. “Forget it. Let’s go on,” Sanjay said, eager to play the truant schoolboy again. Suvir had already passed, so we could not be blamed for being the first ones to go ahead of the guide! So I agreed.

The road followed the course of the Lidder upstream, so we were not in the risk of losing our way. After walking for around 20 minutes or so, we came across a crude bridge over the river. It was only about 2.5 feet wide, fashioned out of three logs placed side-by-side, and terribly wobbly. After some photo sessions—with me strictly refusing to climb on it—we walked on.

The tea stall where we took a break

In another ten minutes or so, we found a crude tea stall run by Gujjars in the middle of the meadow. We wanted to keep walking but the elderly man running it would not let us go.

“One of your team members also stopped here to have tea,” he claimed. That would be Suvir, I thought. It was a blatant lie though. Suvir later told me they had offered him tea, too, but he hadn’t accepted.

Anyway, we knew the rest of the team was behind us, so we could afford a little rest. So we had tea, took lots of photographs and Sanjay even ordered a hookah to be lit. It was only around 1pm then and the Gujjars said Lidderwat was only about an hour away. The two men wondered if we should have our lunch but I said I would have it at the campsite. They agreed as well.

After about 15–20 minutes, when I saw Sanjay was in no mood to get going, I asked Darshan if he wanted to move and we set off, thinking Sanjay would catch up. We walked for another 10–15 minutes, reached the stall I had mentioned at the beginning of this post, and waited and waited, but there was no sign of either Sanjay or any of the other team members.

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Lidderwat campsite

After waiting for 20 minutes or so, I told Darshan we’d better have our lunch. As we ate, we saw someone coming up from the other end of the meadow. First I thought it was Sanjay. Then I realised the person was wearing something black. I had a bad feeling it was the trek leader Ankit, coming to give us a good dressing down for leaving the team and losing our way. But at least someone had found us!

Darshan did not even have an idea who the trek leader was and what was the name of our campsite! Anyway, it turned out to be Ankit indeed. First I thought Darshan and I had gone completely invisible. Even 20 feet away, Ankit simply ignored us and seemed to be going on his way. He was nearly running in fact. Then, nearly as an afterthought, he turned towards us.

“Is anyone ahead of you guys?” he asked me straightaway. “Yes!” I said eagerly. “Suvir is ahead of us.” “The guide let you go?” he asked again. “We haven’t seen the guide in a long time,” I said truthfully.

Lidderwat campsite

“Do you know I have been running for 4 kilometres to catch up with you guys? The last person of this group is at least 2 hours behind you. I can’t find the trekkers and neither the guide,” he said now.

Both of us were stunned. I couldn’t believe my ears in fact. I had thought the team was at the lunch-spot hut, which I had crossed by mistake. It was barely a couple of kilometres away. And together with our break at the tea stall, we had delayed ourselves by nearly an hour.

I asked Ankit about Sanjay. He said he had met him on the way. He was still at the tea stall. “You guys are on the trail alright. I’ll just go ahead and see if I can find the guide,” he said and left.

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After waiting for another 10 minutes, I told Darshan we’d better get going. We asked the men at the stall for directions. They had first told us we would not find the bridge to cross the river. It was a little below the trail and we would miss the path through the trees which led to it.

Now, seeing that we had made up our mind to go, they sent a little boy with us. After walking for another 15 minutes, he showed us the trail to the bridge. We were just about to go down, when the rest of the men caught up with us. “You won’t be able to go down this route,” they told me. There’s an easier way down,” they said and took us further up the trail.

The route they showed us now was far worse than the first one. “The other one was better! Why did you bring us here?” I whined. “Madam, horses go down this way,” one of them said helpfully. “So what? I am not a horse,” I glared at him.

Top view of Lidderwat

It was a terribly muddy and slushy trail, made worse by the horses. We made our way slowly down and managed to reach the bridge without too many hassles. The campsite had seemed only at the other bank from this side. We reached it only after climbing up two hills and walking another 300 metres.

Suvir greeted us. He told his story now. He had somehow thought several trekkers were ahead of him and had rushed to catch up with them. To his utter astonishment, he had reached the campsite to find no one there apart from the horse team. So he brilliantly went off to sleep! Ankit went and woke him up.

Even better, the guide was nowhere to be found.

After we had shared our comical experiences, I went to the river to wash my raincoat. I had taken off the trousers of the raincoat with my muddy shoes on. So the pants were all muddied. As I washed it, the rest of the team started appearing in ones and twos. The first to arrive were Sanjay, Nandita and Ankur. True to Ankit’s claim, the last trekkers arrived only two hours later.

I have no idea when the guide turned up, but thankfully he did!

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The Lidderwat campsite was a beautiful one. In fact, this village can make a very good two-day trek from Aru. There are a couple of huts run by Pahalgam Development Authority huts for tourists. Or, you can carry your own tents, spend the night at Lidderwat and return to Aru the next day.

It’s a beautiful valley surrounded by mountains and the Lidder flowing right behind the huts. You’ll find horses and flocks of sheep grazing nearby. It’s one of the prettiest campsites I have stayed in over these three treks that I have done.

That night, Ankit solved the tent allotment problem (see last post) by finally taking out the spare. He allotted one to me and another young woman called Manasa. But he asked us whether in case of an emergency we would be able to accommodate one of the men in our tent. Neither of us had a problem.

Over dinner that night, Ankit made a recap of the day’s total chaos. “Tomorrow is a tougher hike and we will all walk together,” he said. The next day would take us to Shekhwas at 10,700 feet, but the distance was only 5.5 km. So the climb was likely to be steeper. But it could get worse in rain.

Apart from that hour-long drizzle, the rain gods had spared us on Day 2. Would they continue to be merciful to us?

Continued in next post (click here)

Shekhwas campsite

Continued from previous post…

Day 3: Lidderwat (9,100 feet) to Shekhwas (10,700 feet): 5.6 km

So near, yet so far. I had had few occasions in my life when I had felt so close to this famous saying. The Shekhwas campsite was barely 200 metres away. But there I was, stuck exactly in the middle of a sea of boulders, too scared to go on ahead, too scared to turn back and go all the way to the ‘safety’ of the grassy patch.

Lidderwat to Shekhwas

The organizers’ website said, “Hop over a few boulders…” A FEW? Who were they kidding? This was an OCEAN of boulders. Some of the rocks seemed 3–4 feet in height, with what looked like deep dark abysses in between. One misstep, and a broken leg, or neck, or both, was guaranteed.

The boulders were probably the result of some landslide or mudslide a long, long time ago. They had remained where they were, coming down in a stream from the top of the hill, all the way to the river below.

The spot the guide and the four trekkers ahead of me had chosen to cross the boulders was perhaps the longest stretch. And, I had brilliantly followed them instead of climbing a little to the top and crossing a narrower one. The four had reached the campsite by then. And the rest of my team was yet to arrive.

Through the white wildflowers

And so, there I was, frozen in the middle of this rocky ocean like a statue of stone. Had I held up my trekking pole over my head, I could have looked like a unique version of the Statue of Liberty—in a tee and track pants, with a backpack slung on my shoulders, showing the way to liberty with the pole.

Unfortunately, there was no one to liberate me!

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When we left Lidderwat that morning, our trek leader Ankit said we would walk together to avoid the chaos of the previous day. He put the laggards in front and strictly said the rest should never overtake them.

So we did the first ascent in a straight line, several people took happy group photographs of the entire team, and we got plenty of breaks because the ones in front took frequent rest. So far, so good. But then, after the ascent was done, some of us just kept walking—slowly—because the laggards seemed to be in no mood to get up. We thought they would catch up.

Crossing the snow patch

Personally, I don’t (and can’t) walk too fast but I prefer to keep walking at my own pace, without stopping too many times. In the long term, I guess it makes me a fast trekker nowadays, at least on the ascent, though I never really feel like it. I walk slowly and take lots of photographs; long breaks make me impatient.

So, we started walking behind Safzar, the guide, and very soon, without even realising it, we left the laggards behind by a long way.

The trail, like the previous day’s, was not very tough. It was either flat or on a gentle ascent, winding its way around the hills, with a river flowing in the ravine alongside. Around an hour later, Safzar told us to stop, as he had been told by Ankit to do.

A patch of speedwell and Indian hawksbeard

It was a spot shaded by trees and we sat down and waited for the others to catch up. They started arriving in ones and twos. However, as trekkers would know, long breaks can make the muscles get ‘cold’ and it can take a while before they warm up again and the walk seems easier. So, a long break was not welcome. Besides, the trail ahead looked quite inviting.

So, once some had arrived, one of the senior trekkers started off again slowly and I followed him. Not surprisingly, some of the others followed me.

But half an hour later, Ankit caught up with us and told us to stop. The laggards were having trouble keeping up, he said. “I told you to stop there, at the shaded spot. Why did you start off again? Now wait here under the sun,” he fumed.

No one seemed to mind. It wasn’t too hot, and the scene was grand. Horses grazed on the grass on the slopes above us, and below, the river flowed, with pines and firs flowing down the hills on either side. So we sat down on the slope.

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I don’t remember exactly, but it must have been at least 30 minutes before everyone caught up. We started off again, the trail going fairly straight, towards some distant green hills, playing hide-and-seek from behind fluffy white clouds. The weather had been sporting that day and it had been bright and sunny since morning.

The rocky trail follows the river

The trail went up and down, passing through thick shrubs of some white wildflowers that I had seen in Aru, too, by the Lidder. Funnily, I photographed some 30 wildflowers on the trek and forgot to take one of these white ones which we had perhaps met the most on the way. Sometimes, I’m capable of doing incredible things!

Anyway, around half an hour later, the trail went steeply down to the river, where there was an old, hard patch of snow for us to cross. Crossing the patch wasn’t too difficult for me, because I had done it several times on the Hampta Pass trail. The trick is simple: Take one step at a time and place your foot exactly on the footmarks of the previous trekker. I crossed the patch without a hassle, though a few of the inexperienced ones did slip.

Wildflowers grow in number as we go on . Seen here are buttercups (yellow),
forget-me-nots (blue), and tube lousewort (purple)

On the other side, however, the trail was slightly horrific. It wasn’t really very difficult, but it was something to be handled with patience. It was narrow, uneven, pebbly, and went slightly up and down. The key was to maintain balance. However, this again I did without a hassle.

The trail led to a level, grassy patch dotted with boulders small and large. Wildflowers like speedwell and the Indian hawksbeard grew nearby and within a kilometre or so, I found other varieties like forget-me-not, buttercup, silver cinquefoil, tube lousewort and sage.

We had entered what I thought was Kashmir’s very own Valley of Flowers.

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Despite the flowers, however, the trail was rocky and looked barren compared to Aru and Lidderwat. One reason was the altitude. We were now at 10,500+ feet. Following the rocky trail that wound its way next to the stream, we found ourselves overlooking a vast valley—green yet rocky—and far away, somewhere amid the rocks, was our campsite.

The final stretch lies ahead

Four young chaps led the way from here and I was slightly behind them. My tent-mate Manasa, who had had a lot of trouble the previous day, was doing great today, mainly because she had chosen to offload her backpack. She was right behind me. We went down towards the campsite and then, like a bolt from the blue, barely 200 metres from the campsite, came the vast stretch of boulders that I wrote about at the beginning of this post.

I saw the guys cross it more or less easily, though one of them had a little trouble. I followed them unsuspectingly. It was difficult for me right from the beginning, but I thought I would handle it. As I went on, I kept losing confidence little by little. And then, right in the middle of the stretch, I lost all of it and simply froze.

A rainbow right above our head

Manasa had chosen to cross it at the river. She shouted out to me and gestured frantically. But I had no clue what she was saying. She later said she was asking me if I could see the tents. I could, and that made it all the more painful.

When I was wondering what to do, I heard a voice from behind. It was Sanjay, who I had walked with most of the previous day. He saw I was in trouble and came promptly to my aid. He held my hand and led me out from that rocky hellhole, and though I gradually got increasingly comfortable on boulders through the trek, I never could do it as easily as the other did. It was my Achilles heel.

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The Shekhwas campsite welcomed us with a rainbow exactly ninety degrees above our head—and a sea of wildflowers. I made it a habit to spend some time with my camera around every campsite. As I said, I clicked some 30 wildflowers on the trek, and most of them came at Shekhwas.

Shekhwas campsite

At the campsite, I was surprised to see Manasa missing. I was a little worried because she was following the river, which was slightly off the trail. Then Suvir arrived said very calmly, “Manasa is taking a bath.”

This was on the next day, while leaving Shekhwas. But the stretch of boulders
before the campsite was very similar to this, only a lot more menacing

“A bath?” one of the other guys asked open-mouthed. “Yes man, a bath. Haven’t you ever taken a bath?” Suvir said even more coolly.

I felt like laughing but I was also worried she would catch a cold. The walk seemed to have been pretty hot for her. When Manasa arrived finally, water dripping from all over, she said the river had made a natural pool at a place. On seeing it she couldn't resist herself and plunged.

She later popped a paracetamol simply as a precaution. That is, however, not advisable for any trekker who may be taking the trouble to read this post.

That day, the last trekker reached the campsite three hours after we had arrived. A young woman had fallen on the boulders but had luckily escaped without an injury. Ankit was simply furious. He gave us a good dressing down at the dining tent where he recorded our BP, pulse rate and blood oxygen rate every day.

Shekhwas campsite seen through a cluster of wildflowers

“I knew there was the rocky stretch where may trekkers have trouble. Why did so many of you go ahead?” he growled. I pointed out then that we were with the guide, who had simply rushed ahead to the campsite without being around to help us. Safzar protested feebly, but did not really have much to say.

For several reasons, the trek was going a bit rough—just like the trail. The next day, we would be leaving for Tarsar, the prime attraction of the Paradise Trek. Would things get better from now on?

Continued in next post (click here)…

Tarsar

Continued from previous post…

Day 4: Shekhwas (10,700 feet) to Tarsar (12,400 feet): 5 km

Almost all the way to Tarsar from Shekhwas, the landscape hardly changes—boulders of varying sizes dot the grassy knolls, and instead of the pines and firs of Aru and Lidderwat, it’s the bare rocks that coat the slopes in alternating layers. In a way this starkness is good, because it helps maintain the surprise element. Nothing prepares trekkers for the sight that Tarsar is.

Leaving for Tarsar on a foggy morning

The morning we left for Tarsar was misty and overcast, with layers of clouds sweeping over the hills in a continuous stream. And, the weather reflected the mood of the team very well.

Before we left, our trek leader Ankit held a pretty serious pre-hike meeting. “Today, we’ll all walk together because the time difference between the first and the last trekkers’ arrival at the campsite has progressively increased over the last two days,” he said.

He gave a solid reason, too—safety. Ankit said he was the one who carried the advanced medical kit and this difference meant that he would have to run back and forth to ensure that every one of the 22 trekkers was under his watch. He had already done it on way to Lidderwat, as Darshan and I had seen. Needless to say, it was a tall task.

However, there were a few experienced trekkers who immediately opposed the idea. They felt the team should be divided into the fast and slow trekkers, and the latter should be sent out an hour in advance.

Crossing the meadow. The stream is the one that originates from Tarsar

I immediately made up my mind that if indeed the team was broken up, I would join the slow trekkers. At least I wouldn’t have to run across the mountains behind the guide! However, Ankit rejected the idea at once, pointing out that he would not be able to accompany both teams in turn and that would pose a big medical risk.

After a big war of words, Ankit took a tough stand. “Everybody will do as I say. Trust me; do it and you will all reach the campsite early. Anyone who does otherwise will be sent back,” he barked. After that, the dissenting voices quietened, but most people looked quite unhappy.

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The guy under the spotlight—as I had been on my first trek, Goecha La—was a young chap called Mandar. He had been the last person to reach the campsite on both days. Having been in his shoes only two years back, I understood his problem perfectly. He was underprepared, but he was learning. And he was eager to go on.

Snow line begins. This is close to 12,000 feet

The previous evening I had got to know him a bit and had asked him how he had prepared himself. “I couldn’t jog. So I walked regularly,” he said. It was like hearing a recorded version of what I had told someone at Goecha La!

“It’s not good enough. And now you can’t do anything about it,” I told him. “But trust me, if you just keep walking at your own pace, whatever that pace may be, you will complete the trek. I can tell you because I have done it. But you have to keep walking without taking too many breaks,” I had shared with him.

So when Ankit said Mandar would ‘lead’ the team that morning and no one would overtake him, I decided to help him in whatever way I could.

The bed of silver-leaved cinquefoils

I am writing all this because trekking is not all about grand landscapes. It’s a big form of sport and involves a lot of risks. Like me and Mandar, many people overestimate their fitness and face trouble on the ‘stage’. Mostly it happens because of inexperience. So if reading this post prevents anyone from making the same mistakes, I would consider my job done.

But most importantly, I also hope that my trekker readers learn a thing or two about selflessness, sportsmanship and teamwork.

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We all set off together, just like we had done the previous day. And after the first ascent, we all stopped unlike the previous day when some of us had continued on our way. It was only a gentle climb, but Mandar already looked tired. I could see he was having trouble with his breathing. His lungs were not trained for such a task.

The last leg to Tarsar campsite

A 30-minute walk on level ground after that took us to a Gujjar tea stall. From here, Sanjay took charge of coaxing Mandar to go on. While some of the trekkers stopped for tea, some of us went on with Mandar after a very short break.

Within another half an hour, I met my bête noire—boulder crossing. It seemed slightly easier compared with the previous day, but I needed someone’s help to cross it. I realised gradually that only if someone held my hand—even if it was only a child—I could do it fairly easily. But on my own, I somehow froze.

Hurdle crossed, the walk was easy. We soon reached the next tea stall, where most trekkers sat down for a long break. Mandar had reached crawling speed by then. Only a few of us went on walking with him.

First view of Tarsar

While Sanjay took on the selfless task of pushing (literally) him from behind, I would just go on about 300–400 metres ahead and set a ‘target’. Once Mandar reached the target, I would walk another 300–400 metres and set the next target. Sanjay was pretty strict with Mandar and if I tried to be a little gentle to the poor fellow, I would invite a sharp talk from Sanjay as well. It was thoroughly enjoyable.

The walk was mostly level—slightly undulating at the most. Another half an hour and we could see patches of snow in the rocky creases of the surrounding mountains. Another five minutes and the ground beneath our feet changed. All of a sudden, wildflowers seemed to crop up everywhere.

Isn't it a beauty?

The first variety I stumbled upon was a pair of everlastings—growing almost as if by mistake in that desolate landscape. But soon, they were followed by a sea of silver-leaved cinquefoils. Even then, I did not realise what they signalled. But another 15 minutes, and the campsite was in view.

Though I could not yet see the lake, which was till behind the slope of a hill, the meadow ahead was carpeted with the yellow wildflowers (I also found some clustered rhodiola). The narrow trail wound itself through this verdant blanket, with the rivulet born of the Tarsar flowing in a slim stream alongside. We had followed it all the way from Shekhwas.

The day’s hike had taken us 3.5 hours. We had indeed arrived in good time as Ankit had promised. I’d say that experienced trekkers can do the trek from Lidderwat to Tarsar in a single day. It will take at most 7–8 hours and there are no tough climbs.

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This is a cropped and corrected version of the photograph that fetched a
Nat Geo India Photo of the Day. It was taken right before it started raining

Tarsar looks like a sapphire in a pile of pebbles. After the desolateness, its blue waters can seem almost surreal, especially if the weather is clear. We arrived amid dull weather but there was something magnetic about the lake that drew us to it at once. I simply dropped my backpack at the campsite and ran to it.

It was windy and quite chilly. The horses lazing and grazing on the meadow covered with cinquefoils, the howling wind, the crystal-clear water splashing on the rocks—it was all hypnotizing. The sky was already overcast; within 90 minutes, dark rainclouds came looming over the lake. I got a fantastic shot of the lake with a mass of menacing thunderclouds, which became a Nat Geo India Photo of the Day.

Tarsar campsite

Rain came pouring soon and lasted for about an hour. When it seemed to have stopped, I unzipped the tent door to find a grand sight. The lake looked a dazzling blue and almost like a fairy tale, riding a horse in this backdrop was our trek leader! I left at once with my camera.

When I returned to the campsite, I found Ankit still about on his horse. “Do you want a ride?” he asked me. “Yes!” I replied eagerly. “Do you know how to ride?” he asked. “No,” I said truthfully. “Then it’s better if you don’t. This horse is pretty moody. You may hurt yourself,” he said, dashing my hopes. I still hold the grudge against him (despite his pleas that it was for my own good)!

But soon we all got what could have been the fittest gift from nature in such a stunning landscape—a double rainbow. Though it was ‘broken’ in the middle, it was enough to lift everyone’s mood. But good things don’t last long.

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A herd of sheep crosses the campsite

At dinner, Ankit had some bad news. The weather was not good. It was likely to rain heavily that night. Locals believe that if something—even a pebble—is dropped into Tarsar, it rains. Our horse team, which consisted of locals, was furious. They were certain one of us had dropped something in the lake.

I kept mum. While out taking photographs, I had seen some foreigners taking a bath in the lake! Following the superstition, it was likely to get flooded then! Here I should also mention that even if one doesn’t believe in such local superstitions—which most of us don’t—it’s better to honour local beliefs. It does nobody any harm.

A double rainbow after the rain

However, the next part of Ankit’s speech was even more depressing. If the weather did not clear the next morning, we would have to drop the idea of crossing the 13,000-foot Tarsar Pass—a direct 1,000-foot ascent from the lake—to go to Sundersar, the next campsite. We would then have to return all the way to Shekhwas and hike another 8km to Sundersar—a total of 13–14km. If it seemed undoable to someone, (s)he would have to return to Aru.

I was more or less sure I’d be able to manage the 13–14km trek, but the prospect of another ‘incomplete’ trek was disheartening to say the least. I had looked forward to crossing the pass. It was tempting to the photographer in me because it would surely give some grand shots.

So, just like the previous treks, for the first time on the Paradise Trek, I went to bed with the big question—would I ‘complete’ this trek? Or would Mother Nature play the spoilsport yet again?

To be continued…

Tarsar campsite