There had been several devastating targeted killings that had upset the calm in the valley two weeks before to our departure for Kashmir. We thought about postponing our eagerly anticipated trip because we weren’t sure if it would be safe to travel.
I messaged our Srinagar Airbnb hostess to inquire about the situation there in order to assist make a decision. With great insight, she retorted that while problems exist worldwide, media coverage of them is primarily limited to Kashmir.
The counsel I received from others in Kashmir was comparable. Therefore, we made the brave decision to travel to Srinagar on a chilly fall evening.
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I’m glad we did, because over the course of almost a month, I realized that Kashmir is more than just the two stereotypes that the media unduly promotes: the overly optimistic one about “jannat” (paradise) and the extremely negative one about “trouble.”
There are many layers to Kashmir
We drove to the outskirts of Srinagar with a local buddy on our second day in Kashmir. He drove into a barren, abandoned military compound with barbed wire and no signs of human habitation after swerving off the main road onto a by-lane.
Just as my heart skipped a beat, I heard the muted guitar tones emanate from an ordinary, Stalinist-style barrack. As it happened, we had found one of the few music academies in Kashmir, operated by the vocal duet Irfan-Bilal! We listened to women from remote parts of Kashmir play the guitar to Sufi rhythms and ambitious young musicians perform the traditional rhubarb over the course of the next few hours. The school is revitalizing devotional Sufi music by presenting it in a way that appeals to the younger generation, who have witnessed years of unrest in the valley.
We discovered how little information on Kashmiri history, culture, music, environment, and politics truly makes it onto national news networks and travel blogs as we removed layer after layer of information every day while we were there.
Fear, not hope, is the dominant emotion
I went into Kashmir expecting a heavy military and police presence, having read a lot about the region. To put it mildly, it is unsettling to witness armed police personnel stationed in bushes and bunkers around crowded areas like Srinagar, constantly monitoring the streets and frequently stopping young guys riding bikes and scooters.
We had to cram our car up against a barricade on a day excursion from Srinagar when an unexpected convoy of military vehicles sped by. Taking advantage of a brief break between cars, our friend squeezed farther to the left in the hopes of making more room for them. However, a military guard with an armament across the street saw, approached our window, and began berating him severely. With a terrified expression on his normally composed countenance, he apologized sincerely after attempting to clarify but failing miserably.
Everybody has a tale about someone they knew thirty years ago or later—a relative, acquaintance, or neighbor all scooped up. So, it should come as no surprise that fear is the main emotion for the average Kashmiri. I had the impression from meeting businesspeople, students, artists, farmers, and guides that fear, not hope, is what ultimately motivates their choices.
Most people are kind to travelers, regardless of their origin.
We engaged in lively conversations regarding Kashmir’s relationship with India with the people.
Notwithstanding the multifaceted feelings that Kashmiris harbor towards their homeland, we, as Indian visitors, were greeted with extraordinary kindness. Many folks welcomed us to stay or just have a cup of kahwa, from taxi drivers to Gujjar families. Friends who became acquaintances went above and beyond to introduce us to fascinating locals, take us to off-the-beaten-path locations, and feed us delicious vegan meals! Every day while I was in Kashmir, I received messages from a local that we met on Dal Lake asking how I was doing.
This place is the only place on Earth where I have experienced the same soul connection as Iran.
By choosing our accommodations and points of interest, we were able to mostly protect ourselves from domestic tourists in Kashmir during the first ten days of our visit. I kept hearing from those working in Kashmir’s sustainable tourism industry about the problems caused by unmanageable crowds and overtourism, but I started to wonder where all the visitors were going.
At last, we arrived in Gulmarg, right in the center of them. I had anticipated a breathtaking, serene, immaculate location, but instead we found ourselves interminably crowded lines of people waiting to ride a gondola up into the upper regions to see the snow (so lengthy that we eventually sold our tickets and explored alternate hiking paths). We were irritated with rowdy selfie-snappers, endured persistent harassment by guides hoping to make an easy profit, and we were saddened by the small horses being ridden by people who were more than capable of walking.
At that moment, it dawned on me that this is probably the only aspect of Kashmir that most visitors see. The anxiety that the media incites forces them to travel on the Gulmarg – Pahalgam – Sonamarg road like an island in taxis or tour busses, barely engaging with the locals and, as a result, departing with the same distorted viewpoint.
It’s unfortunate because traveling is meant to extend our perspective and make us reevaluate our assumptions about new places and their inhabitants.
Autumn in Kashmir is like poetry
In Srinagar, we had numerous peaceful and reflective afternoons strolling, reading, or having picnics beneath the 400-year-old chinar trees. As autumn approached, we observed the leaves of the trees gradually changing from green to orange to red.
Kashmiri men and women go about their daily lives under the whirling chinars, holding a burning kangri (a basket filled with smoldering embers to stay warm) underneath them. After class, university students hang around in the Chinars, talking or playing cricket. To smoke hookah, older men congregate on pyends, or elevated platforms.
Old Kashmiri willows and walnut groves in the neighboring woodlands turn a vivid yellow, casting a strange radiance over the surrounding area.
Autumn conveys with it the idea that, despite appearances, things will change and the leaves will change color. That’s also what I wish for Kashmir.