A Mosaic of Memories - Kashmir Travelogue [Part 2]

The sound of chirping birds greeted me when I woke up in the morning. My parents were nowhere to be found; they had wanted to watch the sun rise from the Dal Lake. I got up and had some leftover tea from an old-fashioned green thermos kettle before making my way out onto the deck.

It was barely seven thirty in the morning, but the sun had already risen fully. I walked around on the deck for a while, exploring the area around the houseboat. An enclosure full of lotuses was the houseboats version of a garden. A fence around the garden separated it from the other two houseboats flanking it on both sides while a quaint wooden bridge divided the lotus garden into halves. I made my way across this bridge.

A green net separated me from the water. Through the tears in the net, I saw a gaggle of ducklings making their way through the lake. Stepping on lotus leaves, diving, and swimming into water, they seemed to be having the time of their lives. It seemed like something straight out of a children’s story book. I had hardly ever seen ducklings, much less wild duckling having fun out in a lake. It was one of the most adorable things I had ever seen.

I settled on an outdoor settee, basking in the sunlight. I saw a schoolgirl making her way across the lake on a shikara. An older man, presumably her father, was the one at the helm, rowing the boat. For someone who had only gone to school by bus, (and car when I woke up late and missed the school bus) this was something truly incredible. I could never imagine making my way across a lake to get to school. I stared at the shikara, until it had disappeared beyond the horizon. Then I made my way inside for breakfast.

We got dressed, packed our bags, and checked out from the houseboat. We made our way back to the dock and set off to Yusmarg. The driver told us that it might rain in the afternoon, but the weather was so sunny and warm, that it seemed highly improbable. To be honest, it was a little warmer than I had expected. The whole premise behind coming to a hill station was to cool off during the summer. I had brought my best coats and sweaters, all of them rendered useless by the summer sun lashing down on us.

The road to Yusmarg was beautiful. We stopped at a river to take photos and saw a herd of goats crossing the shallows. Wild poppies and soldiers were found at every turn of the mountain road. If you strained your eyes hard enough, you could even see the silhouettes of the Himalayas peeking through the clouds.

I hadn’t really pinned down Kashmir as a place where I’d have to do any strenuous work. From what I had seen online, it seemed like a place surrounded by idyllic scenes of flowering trees and mountains. It was surprising when the driver dropped us off at the bottom of a hill and handed us over to guides who took us on a trek to see some ‘points’.

Now, here’s the thing I hate about popular tourist places. They always have a few ‘points’ which most tourists frequent, because that is where the guides lead you to. But these ‘points’ are often extremely uninteresting, and quite overhyped. I’ve discovered that I have much more fun just wandering by myself, even if I miss out on a few good spots. There was not much scope for wandering in a deeply forested mountain, so we took up the guide’s offer to take us to see a lake and a waterfall.

He offered us some horses, as the trail was said to be perilous, and horse rides are an easy cash grab. We declined since we wanted to walk up the hill. I was a bit apprehensive of the idea, as I hadn’t exactly dressed up for a hike. I hesitated a bit but later conceded. How difficult could the trek really be? I didn’t realize at that time that my hubris would lead me to one of the worst experiences of my life.

We walked across sprawling green fields, with ambling horses and grazing cows. We passed by a herd of goats coming down the hill, stopping to graze at the fresh leaves of some unknown plant, before being rudely whisked away by the goatherd in charge of them. Our path was littered with dried up pine leaves and cones. We came across the occasional stray rivulet and animals. Our trek was silent but for birdsong and the chance gusts of wind.

After almost an hour of walking, we finally reached the lake. Or should I say, ‘lake’. I expected a majestic water body of green and blue, with some fishes and maybe a boat to ride. Instead, we came to the edge of a cliff overlooking a lake that was miles away. The guide explained to us that the view from the mountain was the prize for all our perseverance. He insisted that the view from up above was even better than if we had been standing right beside it. We were angry and disappointed, but there was hardly anything we could do. This was the guy who knew the way back to the foot of the hill, we could not risk getting into a fight with him.

We sat down and enjoyed the view as much as we could from that great a distance. The edge of the cliff was covered with dandelions. I sat there for a while, blowing the seeds off. Dandelions are weeds, but in the temperate concrete jungle that is Mumbai, it is impossible to find them. So, whenever I end up finding them, I play with them to my heart’s desire. It may seem childish, but I don’t want to let go of things that make me happy just because they are deemed immature.

After sitting there for a while, resting from our long walk, we started to make our way towards the water