DAY 98 – In Delhi

Friends,

All Zonal Railways, Production Units and the Railway Board have rooms in the Rail Niwas. The room I am allotted is from the Railway Board pool. After 6.30 am I opened the door of the room to survey the situation outside and located the canteen boy. I asked him for a cup of tea and then I heard the familiar voice of the Newspaper man. When he came within sight I realized that it is the same man who has been doing this business for the past many, many years. I tried to exchange some pleasantries, but he had a job to do. Suman had insisted on sending me breakfast. The peon arrived with Poha, stuffed parathas, pickle, halwa and tea. To say that the helpings were polished off is a polite way of describing the act of ‘gulleting’ them!

I have completed 17000 kms over the past 97 days and I wanted to service the car before hitting the roads for the home run. I may have just another 5000 kms to do before the entire journey is over. Ashok had located a Maruti Service Station near Connaught Circus. I asked Prateek to do a comprehensive check up and servicing to facilitate the rest of the journey without any hassle. Sometime later he took my permission to change the brake pads and do a ‘jugad’ on the front bumper. By 4 pm the car was serviced and ready to be retrieved. Ashok and I could not believe the transformation the car had undergone. It almost looked new. Apart from the oil and filter change the interiors were given a thorough turning over.

After parking the car for service I reached the Railway Board in Ashok’s vehicle. It was a strange feeling moving around the corridors of the RB with no business to transact other than to meet friends. Some time back many of my batch mates from various departments were in the RB. Now they are either heading Divisions or are Heads of Departments in Zonal Headquarters. I met those I wanted to and reached Ashok’s office in time for lunch. He had arranged for Kulcha and Chole from the Bikaneerwala outlet. The Kulchas were delectable and I had a share of Ashok’s portion too.

Mukul had ascertained from Boota Singh that the body of his son would be taken to the cremation ground at 1500 hours. Even though we reached Boota’s house ahead of the appointed time the entourage had already left for the Lodhi cremation ground. Mukul, Ashok and I went there and paid our respects to the departed soul and did what we could to console the grieving parents. The greatest tragedy for parents is when their children predecease them.

I met Ujjwal Khanna in the St Stephen’s College Residence in 1978. He was staying in Residence despite his family being located in Karol Bagh. He wanted to concentrate on his studies without any interference or disturbance. During the weekends he used to head home and resurface every Monday. How exactly I met him I do not remember now. But I vividly recall the crate of beer he lugged to the Residence one Friday evening after he ascertained from me that I am not averse to an occasional ‘session’. The friendship blossomed in a short while and I became a regular visitor to his Karol Bagh home during weekends, where I was virtually adopted as a son by Uncle and Aunty. I used to go out with Ujjwal and his friends on long drives, sipping a few in the rear seat, and ending up after midnight in a Coffee Shop for a portion of Black Forest Cake. The two families became close friends and my father used to visit Uncle and Aunty, whenever he was in Delhi. Ujjwal and his pretty wife, Miki, were among the few friends to attend my wedding in 1985. With the passage of time and official and personal engagements the contacts reduced but the relationship remained alive. Thus, it was only apt that I spend an evening with Uncle and Aunty in their Ashok Vihar home during the stay over in Delhi. Ujjwal picked me up and on the way appraised me about the health condition of Uncle and Aunty. However, all through the three hours I spent at home Uncle and Aunty were full of conversation and attention. I was happy to see them thus. We discussed many subjects and I was humbled by the knowledge, understanding and wisdom of Uncle. He shared with me the formula his father had for a civilized citizenry – Fear of God, Fear of Government and Fear of Society. Absence of any or all (as is the case now) makes for a boorish and shameless society, which does not live by any positive principles or norms. Phulkas with a liberal dose of desi ghee on them and homemade pickle, rajma, a host of vegetarian fantasies made of potato, cauliflower, peas, and carrot plus rice reduced the gap between the table and the ever expanding belly. To top it all, hot and irresistible carrot halwa chased the previous helpings down the gullet. I relaxed some with Miki’s pugs (‘network follows’ types) before taking leave of Uncle and Aunty. It was not easy. As I was leaving Uncle told me, “Bete, tension math lena” (Son, do not fall prey to tension). Ujjwal and Miki dropped me back at the Rail Niwas and there I took leave of them too. One of the things I thank God for every night before turning in is the wonderful friends He has given me.

DAY 97 – Amritsar to Delhi

Friends,

The NH1 is a comfortable drive. The initial phase from Amritsar to near Jalandar is superb. After that many intersections and bridges are yet to be completed. The good road conditions are negatived by the drivers religiously adopting the ‘middle path’, which is a good philosophical pursuit but is annoying to a road user. In Jalandar I stopped for breakfast to experience Haveli. The atmosphere, even on a cold winter morning was enjoyable. I opted for the fast food centre at the entrance in the open, rather than use the restaurant. I ordered Chole with Batura and a cup of tea. The tea arrived earlier and the masala was special. While I started on the Batura a bus load of passengers arrived for their breakfast. One of them, while munching his sandwich, looked at me as if the Batura was the last thing that was made yesterday. The more I ignored him the more curious he was to look into my plate. “We are like this only”!

As I was nearing Ludhiana a Sikh gentleman on a bike zipped past me and wove his way at high speed through pedestrians crossing the road. From his attire he looked much like Zorro on a bike, as he had masked his face and a cape billowed in the air. But what he did on the bike was nothing short of the magical skills of Mandrake. How he missed the pedestrians, or avoided them, is a mystery that lingered on in my mind long after witnessing it. What perplexed me more was the possible motive behind the ‘dare’. It had to be either to minimize his exposure to the harsh winter morning or a concern to get to work. If it was the former one can forgive the young man, but not the latter. As far as work is concerned, as a good friend once told me and practices to perfection, “there is nothing that need be done today that can be postponed to another day”! I know what my batch mates are thinking; they feel they have identified the source I have quoted. Banish the thought, it is NOT Mukul Jain.

When one passes through Kurukshetra one cannot but wonder what the place would have been like during the time of the Pandavas and the 18 day Mahabaratha War. It is same with Panipat, which has seen numerous strategic and critical battles for the control of Bharath. Thanks to Vijay, the brother of Ashok Kumar, my batch mate, I did some shopping in Panipat. With the blankets, bed sheets, towels and other knickknacks loaded in the car it looked as if I had driven all the way just for the shopping.

I was a bit apprehensive about driving into the city centre of Delhi – my accommodation was arranged in Rail Niwas by BN Shukla, a batch mate. But the drive was surprisingly smooth and easy. The new flyovers and intersections have made it so. I was in the State Entry Road without any difficulty and Ujjwal and Miki were waiting to ‘receive me into the Capital City’. With their help I settled into the room allotted to me and went with them for a hot cuppa’ coffee and a bite to the Cafe Coffee Day outlet in Connaught Circus. After coming back I had to empty the car to get it ready for service tomorrow. It took me six trips in the Rail Niwas lift to cart the ensemble in the car up to my room. By the time it was done I warmed up sufficiently to discard the jacket and roll up my sleeves. When Mukul Jain and Ashok Kumar found me in this state they must have felt colder!

The news of the death of the son of my batch mate, Lt Col Boota Singh, overshadowed all the other meetings and events. Sunnybir Singh was an alumnus of NID and had recently returned home after higher studies in Germany. His young and promising life was cut short by an irresponsible driver on NH8 near Gurgaon. When we drive negligently (low tech discipline, as Mukul calls it) at high speeds on the high tech roads the grief that we could cause to others is seldom remembered or thought about. I take this opportunity to pass on the condolence of the 1981 batch of IRTS Officers, serving and retired, and of those who read these lines to the grieving family members. We pray to the Almighty to give the family members strength in this hour of trial.

The evening with Ashok, his wonderfully enterprising wife Suman and their three gifted sons was a delight. I suspect if I sermonized too much for the kids to get bored, but then who can stop a few shots of Glenfiddich from talking? Mukul had attended Maya’s wedding with Ritu, his wife. He showed us the superb photographs he had taken during the functions. The dinner was fantastic and the jalebis fantabulous. I was dropped back to the ORH and I just about managed to crawl into my sleeping bag and blanket.

DAY 96 – In Amritsar

Friends,

I had to meet the Station Superintendent to arrange my visit to the Wagah Border and get a testimonial from him of my visit to Amritsar. I was told yesterday evening that he would be available only after 10 am. I gave it another hour for him to finish the morning meetings in the office. When I met him at 11 he wanted me to get both done through the Assistant Traffic Manager – a classic case of red tape. When you have a level functioning above you the tendency is to ‘glove the ball to him’. Rather than be annoyed with such guys I feel sorry that they under perform. When I told him to check if the ATM is in office another worthy seated with the SS vehemently asserted that he was. I reached the office of the ATM and was told that ‘Saab’ has not yet come to the office and could be busy making arrangements for the visit of the CRB. While waiting outside the ATM’s office I met Jai Singh, the Office Superintendent of the ATM. He made me comfortable in the ATM’s room and sought to know the purpose of my visit. I told him why I was there and that I did not want a reservation. He immediately contacted someone in the Border Post and arranged my entry to the VIP enclosure. He suggested I wait and meet the ATM for the testimonial as it would be more ‘valuable’. I acquiesced and waited for the ‘Saab’ over a cup of tea graciously offered by the OS. Even by 1230 there was no sight or news of the ‘Saab’. Hence, I requested Jai Singh to give me the testimonial, failing which I would be wasting all my time in the office. He agreed and I left after thanking the OS. A simple job, but the attitude matters; rejected by the SS I was assisted by the OS.

I walked outside the exit arch of the railway station and took refuge in a small eatery for a breakfast of Parathas and dal. After a cup of tea I took off for the Ram Thirath Temple and the Wagah Border. The former is 13 kms from the station. The legend of Valmiki, Sita, Luv & Kush and Sita’s sacrifice is the theme of this location. There is a ‘Prachin’ (Old) temple, which is supposed to be the house of Sita and the birth place of the twin sons. Next to it is the Ashram of Valmiki. Another enclosure is supposed to be the place here the children were imparted training. There is a huge tank in front of the ‘complex’ which, according to a Sadhu in the Valmiki Ashram, was created when Ram ordered his soldiers to dig and reclaim Sita. There is a well near the Ashram with steps leading to it, known as Sita Kund, which is where Sita used to bathe. I found this confusing since Sitamarhi in UP claims the same legend and locations of it. The Sadhu rebutted the claim of UP. I wanted to know why this ‘complex’ is run down and not ‘dressed up’ to attract tourists. He said that the residents in the locality have taken an injunction from the Court preventing the development of the ‘complex’ since they have vested interests in promoting the other temples around the tank. A very complex ‘complex’ indeed!

I took the highway to the Wagah Border and reached well in time and waited for the scheduled time of 1545 hours when they let the ‘spectators’ in. The arrangement made by Jai Singh worked perfectly. My car was registered to go into the parking lot. I went past the Customs gate, entered the BSF location and parked in the designated area. All along BSF personnel check your credentials. The place where the ‘spectators’ sit is called ‘Stadium’. The Indian side was full, with people decked out in colorful winter clothes and scarves. Before the start of the ‘Beating the Retreat’ patriotic songs are played loudly and people on either side of the border run up and down with the National Flags. Photography sessions with the decked out BSF jawans are another attraction. An official photographer snaps 3 copies for Rs.100 and mails it to your address. Just prior to the start of the Parade the PTDC bus moves through the gate to Pakistan. The Parade itself is a magnificent affair and an event to be savored. The emotions that spill over are so patriotic; if ever a symbol is required to reinforce patriotism it is the Parade and the atmosphere. The shouts of ‘Bharat Mata Ki Jai’ and ‘Vande Matharam’ that rings and reverberates in the air make the hair stand on its end. It was a great experience, which is rounded off with buying of mementoes from the BSF souvenir shop. As I was driving out of the Border Post I could appreciate the elaborate ‘art’ works on the Pakistan trucks. They have a slanted projection over the driver’s cabin and it is ornately carved and/or painted along with the sides of the truck.

On the way back I went to Lawrence Road, an upmarket location of Amritsar. While walking about I came across a vendor selling ‘Aam Papad’ and many preparations of mango. He sells his delectable preparations from beneath a Pipal Tree and that is the address given in his card too. He made me sample many new mango based preparations and I bought a huge bundle from his display. He told me that he could send me any preparation by Post, whenever I choose to have them. The ‘Mattris’ and Laddus of Amritsar are popular and sought after too.

Back in the ORH I settled the charges and loaded most of the luggage into the car. The stay in Amritsar also has come to an end. I am now well and truly homeward bound.

Day 95 – Jammu to Amritsar

Friends,

My original schedule was to spend an additional day in Jammu on return from Srinagar. To recover the lost time I lopped this off and decided to curtail the stay in Amritsar to two instead of three days. I started early from the Jammu ORH to ensure that I do not miss out on the sights to see and things to do while in Amritsar. By 9 am I was into Punjab territory and soon spotted a Narula’s food joint next to a HP outlet. While I feasted on a MahaBurger and Coke the car got its full quota of fuel. I expected the NH15 to Amritsar to be top of the line. It is not so. In most places the roads are two lane.

One of the major issues while touring the north East and J&K is the communication and connectivity. I have two phone connections, one a Reliance CDMA and the other a BSNL pre-paid. Both are useless in the two regions. Fortunately Mathew Philip had got me a BSNL data card which came in handy, not for its intended use but as a post paid mobile connection. Thus, during my tour of the North East and J&K my blog posts have been behind schedule – at least, from now on I will not have recourse to connectivity as a punching bag for late posts. As soon as I crossed over into the State of Punjab my BB on Reliance CDMA spat to life and the pre-paid BSNL connection became valid.

Instead of going to the ORH in Amritsar first I decided to head for the Golden Temple and spend as much time there. Vehicles, other than with special permission, have to be parked in Parking Centres not very far from the Temple. I gathered my guide book and camera and set out for the Temple after locating a parking lot. The streets are congested and tourists and pilgrims jostle for space on the streets and attention of the shopkeepers. Turning a corner, on the way to the Temple, I came to the Jallianwala Bagh Memorial. As one enters the Memorial and goes through the narrow path leading to the wide open garden ground the feeling is special – one cannot but ‘feel’ the moment when Gen Dwyer ordered the firing on a peaceful, unarmed gathering on 13^th April 1919 protesting against the Rowlat Act. The ground, which belonged to many, was purchased by the Congress and converted into a Memorial as a standing tribute to those brave Indians who were butchered; 1650 rounds are said to have been fired and many bullet marks are still visible on the walls in the Memorial. The Martyr’s Well in which many perished while attempting to flee the bullets is also grilled and protected. An Eternal Flame to venerate the sacrifice of the many hundreds who fell to bullets is maintained by the IOC. A Museum houses paintings of important persons involved in the events leading up to the unfortunate firing and thereafter. Another has important documents and other relics of the incident. During the tour of the Memorial I came across two very distinct types of visitors to the historic site. One was a Punjabi family, evidently located somewhere in the West (going by their hybrid accent!), capturing the Memorial on a camcorder. The ‘Father’ was doing the voice over at a wall with bullet marks. He focused on a bullet mark and narrated its significance. He got stuck about the year of its occurrence. The ‘Mother’ supplied it: “two hundred years ago” and the ‘Father’ recorded it as such! The two small children tagged along. The second type I met near the Martyr’s Well. The ‘Father’ hoisted his small child to face the grill and told him about the ‘Mauth Ka Kuah’. He further told the child with passion in his voice that when he grows up he will learn in detail about this and it should inspire his life in this country. I left the Memorial wondering if these unfortunate people would have braved bullets if they would have known what we would do with the ‘freedom’ that such martyrs won for us.

The Golden Temple is not a site or a sight, it is an experience. After depositing the shoes and socks at the designated counter it took me some time to get adjusted to the cold marble walkways inside the Temple premises. You forget about the cold when you get into the Parikrama. The beauty of the gold gilded double storeyed marble Temple and its reflection in the ‘Pool of Nectar’ transports you into a world of awe and respect. It took me more than three hours to walk around the entire complex, appreciate the historical, religious and cultural nuggets, visit the large ‘Guru Ki Langar’ (where more than 60,000 people are fed daily) and get a reasonable idea of the evolution of Sikhism (from the Central Museum). The Pir and Mir outside the Thakt symbolizes the spiritual and temporal powers. Priests keep up chants from the Holy Book throughout the day which is clearly audible in the Complex through an excellent Bose system. Stories of extreme valour, supreme sacrifice and astonishing deeds are described through a series of paintings inside the Central Museum. The attack on the Akal Thakt by the Indian Army is very vividly described and so is its rebuilding by Kar Seva. When I retrieved my shoes after three hours of walking barefoot inside the Temple Complex I could not sense my feet; circulation had ‘ceased’.

My nostrils caught the alluring aromas of delicious foods wafting from the adjoining streets while leaving the Golden Temple at a quarter past four. I looked around for Kulcha and Chole. My hunger exaggerated by the wafting aromas refused to explore any more. I settled into a small eatery and ordered mixed Pakoras. He said something about Rs.30 and I approved. He did look surprised. When it arrived in ten minutes I had a huge plate full of pakoras of different types. The chutney was exquisite. While waiting for the pakoras I had a cup of tea. Another abetted the extermination of the pakoras. My ‘roving’, greedy eyes locked on to the hot, hot jalebis in the adjoining shop and 150 gms were polished off after the pakoras. The entire feast set me back by Rs.60 and I decided to skip dinner. But my body and brain refuse to comply with such resolutions. Out on the street I found a vendor selling Chikkies. I picked up a kg of different types. At the entrance to the Parking Centre were vendors with Sweet Potato baked over hot coals. I could not let this pass. I had one freshly baked potato with lime and masala. It was softer than butter. Ah ha.

Locating the railway station and the ORH was not a problem. Crowded streets, annoyed road users and exasperated pedestrians do not scare or bother me after these many days of ‘experience’. It was too early to retire and hence, I took to a walk. While walking back to the ORH after about an hour I came across a shop selling winter garments. I walked in to check some pieces and the prices. I found a few lovely jackets priced at Rs.750 each. Peter aka Balwinder Singh, the salesman, commented that the jackets were probably made for me. He had me hooked. I thought I looked good in it too! He asked me where I am from. I told him to guess, with the caveat that he would have to accept my offer for the jacket in case he was wrong. He said that I look and talk like a Maharashtrian. Having failed to guess correctly he accepted my offer of Rs.500. I then told him about my journey and he was fascinated. He introduced me to the co-owner of the shop, Deepak, and wanted my thoughts on the people here. When I told him that I found them to be rough and illustrated it, he felt genuinely upset. He said that I should not go away with this impression as ‘a few bad apples’ are there but have not spoiled the rest.

Further down the road I came to a shop selling ‘ready to eat’ meat. I picked up Tandoori Chicken, Chicken Seekh Kabab and Malai Chicken Tikka for dinner with the companion, ‘Celebrations’. Had I decided a few hours back  to skip dinner? I do not think so.

DAY 94 – Srinagar to Jammu

Friends,

Despite been advised to leave after 8 am I took to the NH44 at 0645 hours. This time I was not stopped anywhere with bad news of the roads ahead and in the first hour I did 60 kms. Then the traffic changed. Trucks were all over the place and a thin layer of ice on the surface of the road made navigation tricky. Speed had to be sacrificed for safety and there were delays near Quasigund, Banihal and Patnitop for traffic to clear. The delays also gave me an opportunity to get some magnificent photographs of the snowy peaks, slopes and villages. The terraced farms look like rich dark chocolate cake with yummy snow white sugar icing.  Men and women ventured out in their Fairans holding the Kangri within. It looked as if all the trucks in India were either lined up to go to Srinagar or they were on their way to Jammu.  One must admit that the drivers of these trucks were extremely disciplined in the way they used the roads. Immediately after the Banihal Tunnel very strong winds blew about dusts of snow and icy cold water drops. To lower the window and feel them on one’s face was delightful - a child all over again? I tried to locate the shop where I had eaten boiled eggs with tea on the way to Srinager five days back. It was closed. The entire landscape of the region had changed in the past five days. Barren fields and trees that looked like forlorn sentinels were entirely cloaked and bejeweled in snow.

Deepak, SP Dhubri District in Assam, had told me to try out the Rajmah/Chawal in Peerah on one of the journeys between Jammu and Srinagar. While going up I was in between meals and hence, marked the spot mentally for the return trip. And today I was in time for lunch. I recognised that the Khajuria Vaishno Dhaba was the busiest and the most populated. I walked in and ordered Rajma/Chawal with desi ghee. In a short while I was served a large plate full of long grain rice with rajma and desi ghee almost spilling at the edges of the plate. The aroma of the rice, the curry and the ghee was enough motivation to start the wolfing act. An accompaniment to this combination is a chutney made of dried pomegranate seeds. I had two helpings of the chutney. This is possibly the best vegetarian meal I have ever had and ties for top spot with the dal/roti on Khyber Pass in Delhi University.  The thought and taste of the feast lingered on and made me sleepy during the remainder of the drive to Jammu.

Patnitop was filled to capacity with tourists, mostly from Jammu. The snow and the Sunday combined well for the parents and the children. Getting across Patnitop took me more than an hour and vehicles were queued up for almost ten kms on either side of the Resort area. Once I got past this last hurdle I accelerated to arrive into the Jammu ORH by 5 pm – 10 hours for 300 kms on a congested and slippery road was a good drive full of experience.

I had to meet Khajooria Uncle before leaving Jammu. Without any prior announcement I reached his house by 7 pm with the thought of leaving soon, as I did not want to upset his routine by staying long. He would have none of it. Topic after topic was discussed and time marched on along with a couple of drinks, dry fruits and specially cooked food. Uncle is a much in demand expert on J&K issues in the media, given his rich experience and wide exposure. He maintains his unequivocal stand on sensitive issues in public fora and ruffles cozy feathers in studiously built up nests in the echelons of power. All the time I listened to him I felt as if I was in the presence of my own father. But he echoed it while I bid him goodbye, when he said, “I feel as if my own son has returned to me.” I found it difficult to hide my moist eyes from this wonderful human being.

DAY 93 – In Srinagar

Friends,

Imagine having a cold water bath in Srinagar in winter. The very thought of it will give you a cold! I had risen early to switch on the geyser. Trusting that the geyser would have heated the water I poured a mug of it on the body and froze. Having started the routine I could not abandon it halfway. Watching late night movies had become a habit by the time I joined St Stephen’s in 1978. To save on pocket money I used to walk back to Residence. A bath became necessary after the long walks. Winter nights were no different. As there was no hot water supply in the Residence at night the only option was a cold water shower. The payback was restful sleep that extended well into the morning sessions my worthy classmates attended in the lecture theatres of Delhi School of Economics.

I was ready by 7 am, after an early breakfast, to leave for Jammu. On the way I noticed a huge ‘colony’ of birds moving in the general direction of Jammu. I appreciated the company. But, my getaway to Jammu lasted all of 8 kms. I was turned back by policemen who said that it had been decided to give preference to Srinagar bound traffic from Jammu today. I tried to reason with the guys, but they would have none of it. I phoned my host to find if he could help. He advised me not to attempt the trip if the convoy system is envisaged. Hence, I had no option but to return to the Guest House. Thus began my 2011 – the first day of a new year and that of a decade. Cheers to the New Year.

The type of construction of the GH where I am staying, situated in one of the prime localities in Srinagar, is of the ‘exposed timber’ variety. It is a traditional earthquake resistant construction of Kashmir and is called the ‘Dajji Dewari’, or ‘patch quilt wall’ in Persian.  The timber, soft earth and lime mortar helps to avoid sudden failures such as quakes. This type of construction is seen in Italy, Turkey and Mexico City as well as in Kulu and Uttarakhand. The British Chartered Institute of Building has accepted the sturdiness of the construction technique and considers it as a possible solution for quake prone areas.

In the GH I made left over calls to wish New Year. One of the persons I called up was Khajooria Uncle. He asked me to take a drive to Chashmeshahi and Pari Mahal, if I had not been there before. I noted them as possible activities for the day. After completing the telephone calls I had to make I called on my host in his office. I had more than an hour of informative and eye opening discussion with him on J&K affairs over a cup of Khahwa and biscuits. The Khahwa is a ‘tea’ brewed with spices and is totally shorn of caffeine. The Almonds provide substance to the golden brew.

After lunch I accepted the offer of my host to provide a chauffeured car to visit the places suggested by Khajooria Uncle. With the ice having melted, many tourists were around in Chashmeshahi. I came across an animated lot from AP getting photographed in traditional Kashmiri attire. Perhaps jealous of the red-cheeked Kashmiri women one of them made a loud comment that her cheeks would also become red if she stayed on in Srinagar for a month! The Chashmeshahi has a perennial spring from where potable water flows all through the year. It is reputed to be operational since 600 AD and the source of the water is not known. The Pari Mahal, or the Abode of Fairies, was built in the mid-17^th century by Dara Shikoh, the eldest son of the Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan. The six terraced structure is atop a hillock overlooking the magnificent Dal Lake and offers unmatched views of the Valley and Pir Panjal Range. The sun beating down on the mountains, covered in large part by snow, is a sight to behold from the Pari Mahal. The beauty of the Dal Lake is appreciated better from the hillock. The BSF guards the heritage monument. I met one of them who hails from Theni in Tamil Nadu and has a farm in Kattapana in Kerala.

On the way back to the GH I took a walk in the Mughal Gardens. As I entered the Garden I met Firdaus, a photographer. When he came to know that I have come from Cochin his eyes lit up immediately. He said that Fort Cochin is an excellent place and that he has a shop selling Kashmir Art in Varkala. Being a professional photographer I got him to use my camera to click a few pics. He bemoaned the state of affairs in Kashmir affecting tourism and his trade. Despite the entire area being covered in snow that is melting fast, one can appreciate the symmetry of the well laid out Garden. The mini lake within the Garden has boating facility. Since tourists were keener on walking around than boating, the still waters of the lake provided excellent reflection of the mountains and Chinar trees.

Walking in the snow without rubber shoes has its downside. It gets wet and the icy water soaks the socks too. After getting back to the GH I switched on the gas heater in the living room and sat down to write this post. The feet felt very cold and I took off my shoes to discover that the shoes and the two layers of socks had got extensively wet. I had to dry them before the dinner appointment with my host or get another pair from the car. I settled for the former and took the shoes off and set them against the grill of the gas heater, the smarter way to dry it faster. I got absorbed in what I was writing till I smelt burnt rubber. The toe of one of the shoes had stared yielding to the heat of the gas heater! Fortunately, I was able to minimize the damage and the pair is still in wearable condition for the dinner rendezvous. I was reminded of something similar that happened to me during the trek organized by the Academy as part of our training in Mussoorie. A group of about 15 probationers, including 5 ladies, opted for the relatively tougher Yamnotri/Gangotri trek. On one of the legs we were to halt in a Forest GH at the edge of Dodi Tal. Through the day we had to trek through rain and had also lost our way a bit. Only when one of us actually walked into the Lake did we realize that we had arrived at our night halt. Water had seeped in through my backpack and the sleeping bag was thoroughly drenched. To warm up before dinner and dry the wet clothes many of us sat around the fireplace and kept the spirits high singing to high heavens. Eager for a good night’s rest I brought my sleeping bag to the fireplace and held it not very far from the fire and joined in the singing to keep the shivers away. After a while some of us noticed a feather floating near the fireplace and wondered where it had come from. We did not have to wait for long since many more joined the ‘pilot’ feather. The source was detected as my sleeping bag, which was soon reduced to a few pieces of melted plastic. I had to make do without a sleeping bag for the rest of the trek, but the age was such that one could rough it out in the biting cold. So, today history almost repeated itself.

I have just heard on TV that traffic on NH44 has been normalized late this evening. I go for the dinner tryst reasonably assured that I will be able to resume my journey tomorrow. The two extra days I have spent in Srinagar has to be adjusted by suitably reducing the halts in the next 27 days.

DAY 92 – In Srinagar

Friends,

It was like an obsession. I got up at various parts of the night to check if it was snowing. When I saw that the snow on the trees nearby had started melting I felt some comfort. When the sky was lit up enough by a quarter past seven there was enough reason for a few sparks of hope. The haze was much less than the previous day. In a way it is sad to see the snow melt from the trees and fall off to the ground. It looked as if they had been decked out in winter fineries for a show, and now, with the show over they are being shorn off the jewels. From early in the day avian life was more visible and audible; a couple of parakeets flew past my window and the chirping of birds sounded like they are happy with the ‘mausam’ change. Pigeons are up and about and mynas hopping from branch to branch hasten the dislodging of snow from the branches. The positive was that the birds, who are better predictors of climate change, are possibly signaling a better day.

In the morning I was told that if the Border Roads Organisation gets a clear day today the NH44 will be opened for traffic by tomorrow. I hope they do. It is colder when it does not snow. Despite the room heater I froze in the room. The pitter patter of melting snow could be heard constantly from the window. Large chunks of snow fell off from roof tops. I kept myself busy playing Solitaire on the laptop and in between games I kept looking out of the window for signs of improving weather. I heard that the highway is likely to be opened in the afternoon and was advised not to leave earlier than tomorrow morning as the pending vehicular traffic on the road is heavy.

Like a shy bride (they are out of fashion now; today’s brides are ones with ‘attitude’) the sun managed a few peeps from behind a strong haze. When I saw these ‘sunny’ attempts I exhorted the Sun mentally: Peep, Peep, Don’t Sleep (plagiarized from a warning sign on the NH44). I watched a lonely bird preening its feathers on the branch of a tree near my window. When I travelled through Bihar and Uttar Pradesh I found that cattle and dogs were ‘clothed’ to protect them from the cold. What about birds? They must take consolation in the fact that when they hop from branch to branch of the trees, with the Sun in alliance, they dislodge the ‘mighty’ snow from them.

By 3 pm, for the first time in 72 hours, the Sun was out in ‘full strength’. Bits of blue sky were also visible as against the dour grey clouds that hung low just a few hours back. I thought it a good time to move outdoors and try to locate a cybercafé to upload the blog posts. As I got out of the gate I was surprised to see the roads absolutely clear with the left over snow moved to the sides. I located an internet café on the way to the Dal Lake and completed the upload in quick time. With the sun out shopping activity was also in full swing. The locals and tourists, keen to utilize the fair weather, were out on the streets in strength. I went to a bakery and picked up a few ‘Sheermal’, which looks like a bun but is actually a puff. I headed for the Dal Lake and found it absolutely gorgeous. Shikaras were back in business. Seekh kebabs were being sold by street vendors around the Dal Lake. I sampled the delicious, juicy kebabs and got back to the GH. I am packed and ready to leave early morning, weather permitting.