A Week in Paradise-II

Gulmarg

On a bright morning full of promise of a glorious day ahead, we bid our hosts Bilal Hakroo and his father adieu and headed towards Gulmarg, a hill resort approx. 52 kms from Srinagar. We drove in the valley for about 40 kms to Tangmarg and than found ourselves winding our way through a beautiful pine and fir forest. As we drove up, magnificent vistas of snow covered mountains loomed before us and the drive soon took on a dream like quality.

In Gulmarg, we found our hotel amidst rolling meadows and dense woods of fir and pine. The weather in Gulmarg we discovered is very fickle. By the time we settled in, it had turned chilly with clouds hanging low and a drizzle making us stay indoors. Later in the evening we went horse riding on the meadows. Chatting with the locals, we discovered that in the winters, these meadows turn into fabulous ski slopes for, which Gulmarg is famous the world over.

The next day we set off on a walk in the woods and later rode up to Khilanmarg. From Khilanmarg, on a clear day one can see snow covered peaks in a huge 360 degrees ring. The distant hills look almost etheral, floating on air. Gulmarg’s greatest attraction these days is a Gondola ride, a ropeway linking Gulmarg to the Kongdoori Hill in two stages. The first stage transfers from the Gulmarg resort at 2,600 m (8,530 ft) to Kongdoori Station. The second stage of the ropeway, which has 36 cabins and 18 towers, takes skiers to a height of 3,747 m (12,293 ft) on Kongdoori Mountain, a shoulder of nearby Afarwat Peak 4,200 m (13,780 ft)). We rode on our horses till the Kongdoori Station through lovely woods and than boarded the Gondola for the stage 2.

The Gondola ride is an amazing experience. As the Gondola moved out from the station the snow covered mountain fell away beneath us. We slid by quietly on the rope, an elaborate system of metal ropes and pulleys kept propelling us higher and higher. The Gondola eventually disgorged us at the Kongdoori peak. Stepping out of the station we were mesmerised by the expanse of soft snow, stretching over mountain ranges as far back as the eye could see. We walked on the soft snow, sinking into it to our knees and keeling over and than pulling ourselves out to stumble on for a little more. A local Kashmiri youth informed us that right behind the snow covered hill in front of us is the Line of Control, the de-facto Indian border with Pakistan. The Indian Army patrols these mountains round the clock and the Gondola is also used to ferry supplies to them.

On our way back, we rode the Gondola right down to Gulmarg. It was indeed one of the most memorable day in our sojourn, a day one is unlikely to forget in a long long time.

Sonamarg

The drive to Sonamarg is more enchanting than the ‘golden meadows’. The river Sindhu (not to be confused with Indus) rumbles along the road all the way. The road too surprisingly does not wind its way up, it gently slopes up along the fast flowing river. We drove to Sonamarg on a bright sunny day through the Kashmiri countryside, along the river. Sonamarg is breathtakingly beautiful, with huge snow covered mountains, slopes densely covered with fir, pine and birch trees and the river Sindh flowing by. Nearby is the Thajwas glacier, accessible on foot or on ponies. As soon as we drove to the village square we were virtually assaulted by a crowd of pony owners inviting us to go to the glacier. As we were making up our minds, we spied an inflatable raft. Enquiries revealed that we could go river rafting in the Sindh. We immediately signed up and drove a few kilometres further up and on the banks of the Sindh.

River rafting on the Sindh in grade 2 and 3 rapids amidst huge mountains on either side is a uniquely exhilarating experience. Off we went on a 3 kms stretch, with expert guides directing the raft. The river flowed fast and furious and the water was ice cold. We shouted and screamed as we plunged into vicious rapids and came out drenched to the skin. Being on the river and flowing with it creates an illusion, where with a start one realises that the mountains too seem to be moving with the river!

We dried ourselves on the bank of the river in the hot sun that beat down on us. Driving back we took a detour and went towards Sumbal and than crossed Jhelum, driving along it to reach Srinagar by the nightfall.

Pahalgam

Kashmir is perhaps one of those places, where getting lost on the roads is a pleasant diversion. We set off from Srinagar on our way to Pahalgam and turned left towards Bijbihara. Soon we found ourselves in a village, where we asked for directions and headed on a narrow road, which soon turned into a dirt track. We went past tiny somnolent villages set in the valley amongst beautiful hills. Eventually we came across an old lady, working in the fields alongside, who told us to go back and take a right turn Soon we crossed the Lidder and found the highway to Pahalgam, with the river flowing besides us.

Pahalgam is located on the junction of the Aru and Sheshnag rivers, which form the Lidder. There is something completely enchanting about Pahalgam, which is so hard to define. If ever, one was to conjure up a perfectly beautiful landscape, than it has to be in Pahalgam. The snow covered peaks, the river, the forests, everything in Pahalgam is magical. In Pahalgam we just sat around the river and enjoyed the natural beauty, so generously spread around us. We went for walks and roamed the markets, buying gifts and souvenirs for family and friends.

Pahalgam was our last port of call in Kashmir during this sojourn. After having spent these days in the valley, I can only say that I can not agree more with emperor Jehangir. Even 500 years on, if there is a paradise on earth, it is here in Kashmir.

A Week in Paradise-I

The Mughal emperor Jehangir loved Kashmir and traveled often from his capital of Agra in the North Indian planes all the way to the valley beautiful. So much was he in the thrall of the valley that he called it the ‘paradise on Earth’.

Now having driven from Delhi to Srinagar in the Kashmir valley, I can only wonder at the difficulties he must have faced 500 years ago and yet he couldn’t resist the allure of the valley. Today, Srinagar is connected to Delhi (and Agra) by a modern 6 carriage highway all the way upto Jammu (the work is still on between Jullandhar-Pathankot and Jammu). From Jammu to Srinagar, the road is a 2 lane carriageway, well maintained by the Border Roads Organisation and is the lifeline of the valley.

We drove from Delhi to Jammu, a distance of approx 630 kms in about 11 hours, stopping twice at roadside dhabas for refreshments. The next day after breakfast we set off for Srinagar a distance of approx. 300 kms. Soon we were in the hills, passing by quaint towns, ascending to Patnitop at 2024 m and than coming down to Ramban, where we crossed the Chenab, flowing swiftly to our left. We than climbed to Banihal and crossed the Jawahar Tunnel to enter the Kashmir Valley. The Jawahar Tunnel is an engineering marvel. Opened in 1956 and named after Jawahar Lal Nehru, the tunnel connects the valley to the rest of the country and allows India round the year access to the valley.

Once across the tunnel we swiftly descended into the Kashmir Valley and drove to Srinagar approx 80 kms away. The first views of the snow capped mountains ringing the valley, the magical greenery and free flowing springs everywhere made me switch off the car air conditioning, lower the windows and breathe lungfuls of the clean air of the valley. The drive on the road leading to Srinagar is an exhilarating affair, the accumulated fatigue of the earlier days drops off, the road is lined with clusters of beautiful, erect tall trees, locally called safeda (they have white bark) and the green paddy fields on either side of the road are filled with water fed by small streams flowing from the mountains. We reached Srinagar by the twilight hour and settled down in our hotel on the Boulevard, on the Dal.

Srinagar

Srinagar, lies on the banks of the river Jhelum a tributary of the mighty Indus. Srinagar is an ancient city with a recorded history of more than 2500 years. In the 3rd century BC, the city was a a part of the Maurya empire and Asoka the great is credited to have introduced Buddhism in the valley. Subsequently it was ruled by the Gupta Kings, the Kushans and the Huns. The valley came under Muslim rule in the 14th century and Akbar the great assimilated it in the Mughal empire. in 1814, Maharaja Ranjit Singh conquered the valley after the fall of the Mughals and the valley came under the influence of Sikh rulers. In 1846, a treaty was signed at Lahore with the British, providing them control over the valley, a dogra king by the name of Gulab Singh was installed as the ruler of the valley. Gulab Singh and his progeny ruled Kashmir till the Indian independence, when the princely state was absorbed in the Indian union.

Srinagar today is a bustling city. Lal Chowk, its main market has shops full of exquisite Kashmiri handicrafts and dry fruits. Big malls are yet to arrive and the entire market has a quaint, old fashioned charm about it. The old city boasts of grand mosques, traditional eatries and a rich and vibrant culture of Sufiana Music. The shrine of Hazrat Bal on the shores of the Dal Lake attracts devotees from across the valley and beyond. We too visited the shrine and paid silent obeisance.

The Dal

The Dal is a mesmerising sight. The stately victorian era houseboats, the beautiful shikaras, the hawkers selling Kashmiri handicrafts, saffron, trinkets and baubles all add to its magic. The boulevard around the lake is lined with huge safeda trees casting a deep shadow on its placid waters and the reflection of the hills surrounding the lake gives it an aura of immense depth and tranquility. In the evening as we went on a Shikara ride, the setting sun bathed the lake in its golden glow, and all the world seemed to be at peace with itself.

We soon moved into a Houseboat called Shah Parie and spent a few days with Bilal Hakroo and his family the owners of the Houseboat. The houseboat has a balcony in the front, a living room, a dining room and four rooms along a narrow corridoor. It has exquisite teak wood carvings, embroidered curtains, linen and soft wall to wall carpets. My father spent a lot of time chatting with Bilal’s father on the balcony, watching the shikaras go by and enjoying the sounds and the sights of the beautiful lake. Bilal hesitantly talked about the turmoil of the last two decades and how it has ruined the valley, he blamed fellow Kashmiris and their Pakistani masters for fomenting trouble and driving away tourists. Bilal also talked about the humiliation of living under the shadow of the gun. The Indian Army seemed to be omnipresent in the valley and even on the Boulevard, every 500 metres or so one would see an alert soldier, armed to the teeth keeping a sharp eye on things.

While on the houseboat we discovered that the Dal also sustained a unique way of life. The kids go to school on the shikara, the faithfuls go for prayers to the mosques located on the lake, there is a busy market floating on the lake selling everything from vegetables, to groceries, toiletries, Kashmiri handicrafts, saffron, and flowers. We also saw a hotel now being used by the Central Reserve Police Force, restaurants offering Kashmiri and North Indian cuisine, nice houses with vegetable gardens at the back- all floating on the lake.

The Mughal Gardens

The world famous Mughal gardens in Srinagar are a sight to behold. Shalimar, Nishat and Chashm-e-Shahi are all located on the shores of the Dal, along the boulevard. Shalimar Bagh, was built by the Mughal emperor Jehangir in 1616 for his beloved wife Noor Jehan. The garden is symmetrically laid out along a stream, which flows into the Dal. The stream has beautiful fountains and each terrace is punctuated by a ‘baradari’. We visited the Shalimar on a glorious morning, with the sun playing hide and seek with candy floss clouds in an azure sky. The garden was a riot of colour with flowers in full bloom. (I counted at least 9 different colours and shades of roses, each flower the size of my fist or more). The massive chinars gradually recede into the hills at the back giving the impression that the entire garden is laid out in the lap of a gigantic mountain.

Nishat, though a little smaller than the Shalimar is just as breathtaking as the Shalimar. It is a lot closer to the Dal and has the entire lake spread out in front. The garden has 12 terraces with a stream running through the middle creating small waterfalls on different levels. Nishat was built by Asif Khan, Noor Jehan’s brother more than 400 years ago. The garden with a mountain in the backdrop, the massive expanse of the Dal in the front and huge Chinars presents an awesome sight.

Chashm-e-Shahi is the smallest of the Mughal Gardens and was built by Emperor Shah Jehan. It is set up the hill facing the Dal and has a natural aqua duct (chashma) flowing through the garden. Many people believe in the medicinal powers of the spring, though I must admit we refrained from having a sip.

Pari Mahal

As we drove up from the Chashm-e-Shahi the road became narrower and we went past hair-pin bends with dense foliage on either side. We pulled up at the door of the Pari Mahal late on a fine evening. Pari Mahal is a terraced arched garden built by Emperor Shah Jahan’s eldest son Dara Shikoh. The Pari Mahal overlooks the Dal and offers a monumental view of the city of Srinagar. The facade of the retaining wall of the Pari Mahal has 21 arches, in the descending order and on the sides are specious rooms. Sitting on the thick walls of the Pari Mahal, we watched the sun gradually slip behind the iconic Hari Parbat across the city and we witnessed the Dal change colours from blue to ochre, to golden and finally to inky black.

The Magic of Kausani in the Rains

This is a weekend break, which we almost did not have.

It seems the whole of Delhi had the same idea of heading for the mountains and that too much before it occured to us. We wanted to go to Lansdowne in the Garhwal, which is less than 6 hours away from Delhi. The other choices were Mukteshwar and Kausani in the Kumaon region of the Himalayas. After vainly trying on the net and through assorted travel agents we could find accomodation only at Kausani a good 10 hours drive from New Delhi. We decided to leave earlier, a night before, broke our journey en route at Moradabad and left for Kausani the next morning.

We drove in driving rain and stopped at Haldwani in the foothills, for breakfast.

The drive in the hills had a dream like quality to it. We were in the clouds, enveloped by a steadily drizzling gossamer curtain, which seemed to have descended upon us straight from the heavens. From this curtain emerged the hills and the vales of the magnificent Kumaon, covered in astoundiong shades of green. We drove up the side of a hill and than down to Bhowali and than took a right for Almora. We took the Almora bypass to avoid the bustling hill town and drove on to Kausani, which turned out to be no more than a hamlet with many hotels.

As we drove up to the town’s main square, we ran into a Janamashtami Mela, with thousands of people celebrating the birth of Lord Krishna at the town’s main temple. Men dressed in their very best, women in gaudy sarees and faux jewellery and young girls in salwar kurtas pressed against the car. The street vendors selling ‘bhuttas’, pakoris, sweetmeats, baubles and trinkets and cheap cosmetics were having a field day. After much shouting and blaring of horns, we were able to drive up to our hotel about 3 kms from the town square.

Kausani, at 1890mt. lies atop a ridge, surrounded by dense pine forests and affords a magnificent view of the Himalayan peaks of Nanda Devi, Trishul and Panchchauli. It also overlooks the Someshwar valley on one side and the Garur valley on the other side. From our hotel, perched right on the top, we could see clouds filled valleys and the distant peaks looked ghostly, almost floating on the clouds. We decided to spend the evening doing nothing, which is really the best you can do in Kausani. I settled down on a reclining chair in the hotel’s balcony and quietly watched the clouds flit by, changing by the minute the splendour spread all around us. As darkness gathered and the lights came on, we could see Garur glittering in the valley, the light filtering through the haze. We played chess and enjoyed a perfect evening, had dinner and went for a walk in the hills.

After breakfast the next morning we headed for a drive in the hills. The valley still shrouded in the mist had an unreal feel to it. We drove down from Kausani to the Garud valley. We stopped at the fabled tea gardens on the hill slopes and clambered up the mountainside surrounded by the tea bushes. As the day wore on the mist slowly dispersed, and we caught glimpses of the far away snow peaks, appearing surreal, almost suspended in air. We drove down to the temple town of Baijnath on the banks of the river Gomti. The drive is through majestic forests of Pine, Devdar and Fir. Often, we would stop and spill out of the car to look at and appreciate the vistas of Himalayan ranges spread out in front of us.

Kausani turned out to be the perfect place for getting away from the hustle and bustle of Delhi. Even during a long weekend, it did not attract hoards of tourist. It was a quiet and peaceful place with clouds filled valleys and forests, a place for a little solitude and reflection. A perfect getaway, if ever there was one from the madness and wild scramble of Delhi.

Pics by the author

The Fall of the Noble Peace Prize

Had Alfred Noble been alive today, he would indeed be a very sad man. The wise men who decide the winner of the peace prize named in his memory have done a great disservice to him by honouring Barack Obama. Strange as it may sound they have also done great injustice to Mr. Obama by bestowing upon him a prize that he does not truly deserve, certainly not as yet.

Like most people across the world, I have the greatest respect for the Nobles. They are the highest recognition for excellence, for real achievement untainted by parochial considerations of nationality, race, gender and politics. The Noble Peace Prize, is meant to promote peace amongst nations, communities and people and recognises efforts by individuals and organisations in that direction. Barack Obama without doubt is a great man. However, his achievements however lofty they may be today, still do not qualify him for the award of the Noble Peace Prize.

Mr. Obama is the president of the world’s most powerful nation. He is the supreme commander of the mightiest army on Earth, with a nuclear arsenal that can destroy the world several times over. He has also inherited an army, which is largely seen as an occupying force in Iraq and is in active combat in Afghanistan.

Mr. Obama has been in office less than a year. He is yet to resolve an international conflict, stop the proliferation of nuclear weapons in Iran and North Korea, ensure justice to the Palestinians, the Kurds and the Chechans. He is yet to engage with the world as a champion of peace, a harbinger of a different, more equitable world order. To be fair to him, what with the domestic economic turmoil and the healthcare reforms that he has been championing, he has had very little time to make a significant contribution to world peace. He is busy setting his own house in order, the world can wait for a while. One can hardly fault him for his priorities.

Mr. Obama has however spoken of peaceful co-existance amongst nations, about reducing and withdrawing American troops from the world’s trouble spots and of encouraging nations to resolve their differences amicably. He has talked about stopping human rights abuse and has ordered the shutting down of the Guantanamo Bay detention facility holding alleged Al Qaida terrorists without a fair trial.

I submit that Mr. Obama does not be deserve the Noble Peace Prize, for declaring his intent of promoting peace in the world. He has to do a lot more to reduce conflict in the world, promote harmony and peace amongst nations and peoples, before he can rightfully claim the prize.

Ironically, had the Noble committee waited a few years, Mr. Obama might have earned the prize on merit and he would have been saved the acute embarrassment of being the recipient of this great honour, which he knows he does not truly deserve.

If Only They Could Talk-Reading James Herriot

These days I am enjoying James Herriot’s omnibus collection ‘All Creatures Great and Small’. I must confess I am great fan of James Herriot’s writing and have read most of his books including the other omnibus collections ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’ and ‘All things Wise and Wonderful’. A few years ago, I also came across the authorised biography of James Herriot (by his son Jim Wight), in a London bookstore and without much ado picked it up.

I recall I first encountered James Herriot, almost 20 years ago when in school. The CBSE English Core Curriculla, that we were taught had a wonderful James Herriot story titled ‘God is Near’. Even after almost two decades I remember the old lady and her brood of aging dogs and how James Herriot, country vet practising the Yorkshire Dales took care of the dogs and the old woman, who wanted to know from the young and kindly vet, if animals had souls and will she be reunited with her beloved dogs in hereafter.

For the uninitiated, James Herriot’s books are wonderful stories of his experiences as a practising vet in the Yorkshire countryside. Herriot writes with a great and often self depricating humour and compassion about his life and its intersection with numerous farmers and their animals in the beautiful Yourkshire dales. The imaginary village of Darrowby, where Herriot’s practice is based, his senior partner, the curiously named and quirky Siegfried Farnon and his unflappable brother Tristan, their housekeeper Mrs. Hall and the accountant Mrs. Harbottle are characters I have come to adore. James’ wife Helen and her travails in the early days of their courtship and marriage, her stoic acceptance of life with the dedicated vet are hugely enjoyable reads.

The most wonderful thing about Herriot’s stories are that most of them appear to be based on real incidents and portray characters based on real personalities. He writes with such skill that they leap out of the pages, transport the reader in a different, kinder and a charming world. Herriot makes a lot of fun of himself, readily admits to his failures as well as the limitations of the veterinary medicine particularly in the early decades of the last century, shares the disappointments and the successes of his practice and above all highlights the most wonderful and humane nature of his work.

James Alfred Wight, took on James Herriot as his pseudonym, when he decided to try his hand at writing his experiences as a country vet. Wight, was born in 1916 in Sunderland and grew up in Glasgow. He attended the Glasgow Veterinary College and after training as a vet, he moved to Thirsk (Darrowby, in his books), a town in Northern Yorkshire. He worked with Donald Sinclair (Siegfried Farnon, in his works) for more than 50 years in Thirsk, attending to all manner of farm animals and pets. He took up writing much later and his first book ‘If Only They Could Talk’ was published in 1972. He has since than delighted and charmed millions like myself and a blurb on the back of the book I am presently reading informs that he has sold more than ‘14 mn copies in Pan editions’.

Alf Wight succumbed to cancer in 1995. James Herriot, continues to delight millions of readers even today. His books have a quality of timelessness about them. Pick one up today and if you are feeling a little low, it will surly make your day.

Sanjay Dutt MP

So the Supreme Court of India has thrown a big spanner in the works of M/S Amar Singh and Mulayam Singh, by ruling out Sanjay Dutt from the electoral fray. Sanjay Dutt, might be a popular filmstar but in the eyes of the law he is a convicted criminal (Munna Bhai not withstanding). The decision to disqualify him from the elections appears to be consistent with the laws of the land. Sanjay Dutt normally a resident of Mumbai has been convicted of heinous crimes going back to the infamous Mumbai bomb blasts of 1993.

To make matters infinitely more interesting Sanjay Dutt now claims that he has stealthily recorded a conversation with Hansraj Bhardwaj, the law minister of India wherein the minister apparently threatened him to withdraw from the electoral race, failing which he would face the wrath of the government! I am not sure if Sanjay Dutt understands the difference between the executive and the judiciary. Assuming the law minister of India is naive enough to threaten Sanjay, equating his utterances with the pronouncements of the Supreme Court of India would be taking things too far.

Sanjay Dutt, unlike his illustrious father is a a politician of convenience, a mere puppet in the hands of the wily Amar Singh. He is best advised to go back to Mumbai, put on the grease paint and maybe play a politician in a movie. I am sure he will fare a lot better.