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 waterfall. We had hardly walked a few steps, when suddenly my foot felt lighter than it was a moment ago. I looked down and discovered that my boots had come apart. Immediately, as if on cue, thunder started rumbling from a distance. All the misfortunes were raining down upon us all at once.

Our guide, who had been indifferent so far, looked for a string to tie up my shoe. He managed to find some, but it was not enough to fix a broken sole and my shoe broke again after barely three steps. Still, I was touched by the sentiment. We found a stray plastic bag and put the sole of my boot in it. I tried walking with the remnants of my shoe on my foot. It was a bit awkward, but not impossible.

The way down to the waterfall was much more treacherous than before. We made several stops, the fear of the thunderstorm and the anxiousness from my unfortunate footwear situation adding to my exhaustion. To be honest, I was not so worried about the thunderstorm or having to walk with a broken shoe. I could have walked down on my bare feet if I had to. I was devastated at the destruction of my prized pair of boots.

Halfway along the path, we decided to just go back to the starting point as the thundering clouds started drumming harder. After an hour of walking, I finally saw the familiar green pasture full of horses. I almost cried in relief. My relief was short lived, because it started pouring as soon as we made it to the bottom. We jostled into a nearby tea stall, and had some tea, waiting for the rain to subside. When it turned into a mere drizzle, we rushed out towards our car.

The first thing I did after getting into the car was changing into a new pair of shoes. It hurt me to see the state of my favourite boots, but there was nothing I could do to fix them. Aching all over, due to the walk, the cold, the rain, I fell into a fitful slumber.

A sudden jerk woke me up, and I looked out of the car window to see that we had stopped in front of a restaurant. We had told the driver that we wanted to try some traditional Kashmiri cuisine and he had brought us to a place that served traditional Kashmiri Wazwaan. We went in, hoping to find something warm and comforting to fight the cold rain. The food was warm, yes, but not too comforting. The waiter brought a bunch of meat dishes onto our table; we had not even ordered anything. They just brought everything on the menu and urged us to try it out. It seemed very different from anything we had ever had before so we were a bit wary.

The food might have been comforting for some, but it just didn’t do it for me. To satiate my appetite, I just had some rice and pickled onions, with a tiny bit on curry drizzled on top. Mummy tried to have some of the mutton stew, but even she gave up after a few bites. The food was not bad, our palates were just not acclimatised to it. We hurriedly made our way back to the car in case the waiter brought out some more dishes. Thankfully, they only asked us to pay for what we had eaten (it wasn’t much) and took back the rest of the food.

Exhausted, we made our way to the hotel we were staying at for the next few days. After washing up and resting for a while, we decided to go to the market and buy some food. Our experience with Kashmiri Wazwaan had taught us that we had better play it safe, and just pack some sandwiches for lunch. It was around eight in the evening when we reached the market, and to my surprise, most of the shops had begun to close. We hadn’t expected this; in Mumbai most shops do not shut down until much later.

In the few shops that were still open, we asked for bread and cheese. We came across a chemist shop, which doubled as a clinic. We went in there to ask for some lotion and saw the doctor talking to an elderly lady and her granddaughter. They were both crying. Maybe they had heard some terrible news that had turned their life upside down. I tried not to stare, but as I left the store, I couldn’t help but glance back. We were out here enjoying our vacation, but there were actual people who lived here and were going about their everyday lives. This place is home to a lot of people, who pass all their sorrows and their joys right in this city. This city will just be a memory for me, while it might be someone’s entire life. It seems like an obvious thing, but at that moment it seemed like a particularly profound thought.

Eventually we found all that we had been looking for, we even bought a few baked goods from a local bakery. It was around nine when we decided to go back to the hotel, but then we encountered another problem. There were no taxies or rickshaws. We asked around and understood that apparently even the public transport stops running early in the evening. We thought that we might have to walk the entire way back, but fortunately a kind shopkeeper hailed an auto rickshaw for us. What wasn’t so fortunate was the fact that the rickshaw driver asked for a hundred rupees for a one-kilometre ride. Apparently, he had been going back home and the only reason he had agreed to give us a ride was because the shopkeeper was his friend. It seemed a little unfair, but we paid the amount and went back to our rooms. 

That night I went to bed, happy and satisfied. I had travelled more in this one day than I had travelled in the entire last year. Every experience felt new, every day that I got to breathe in the fresh air without any restrictions felt like a blessing.