A Vacation In Kashmir in the 1950s

Last year I spent the winter break in Lake Tahoe, California. Looking at photos of snow-covered mountains, and turquoise blue waters of Lake Tahoe, I was reminded of another vacation I had taken many years ago.

In the summer of 1956, my parents took my brother, sister, and me to Kashmir on a vacation. We had visited other cities in India but this was the farthest we had gone from Hyderabad. I was happy our favorite aunty was coming with us on this trip.

At the Nampally Train Station, we boarded the train for Delhi. We hadn't gone far when my mother realized she had forgotten to bring her “paan dan” (a case for storing betel leaf and other dry paan ingredients) prepared especially for this trip. Luckily my uncle found it at home and brought it to the next station in Secunderabad.

We stayed in Delhi with our close and dear family friends for a few days before resuming our journey to Srinagar, Kashmir. At the bus station, I watched as our luggage was strapped to the roof of the bus. It looked quite precarious to me but the guard assured my parents the luggage would be safe.

The scenery around us as the bus wound its way towards Srinagar was stunning. The fast-flowing rivers, the sound of rushing waters, and the green valleys we passed were breathtaking. Looking down I could see logs floating on the rivers. My father told me they would be picked up by loggers further ahead.

At a hotel in Srinagar.

The roads were narrow and winding. We traveled during daylight hours and spent the night at lodges, stopping only for meals at the roadside food stalls. I can never forget the taste and aroma of freshly made daal and hot parathas (fried flatbread) cooked in real ghee followed by a cup of hot, sweet, chai.

Oncoming bus drivers warned us about rains and flooding further ahead. Almost in sight of our lodge, we came across a wooden bridge overflowing with water. Part of the bridge appeared to have given way. The bus driver hesitated. It was then we realized it might turn out to be a dangerous situation. Passengers shouted at the bus driver to stop, and in a panic, everyone got out of the bus. We could see fallen rocks all around us.

Some families thought it was safe enough for the bus to cross the bridge, while others wanted to wait till help arrived. My parents decided we would walk over since waiting on the roadside was risky.

In Pahalgam

Thankfully all the passengers reached the lodge safely. Fireplaces were lit, and there were bright lanterns everywhere because of a power outage. The lodgekeeper served hot chai and we settled down in our rooms till it was time for dinner. In the morning we found out a goatherd crossing the bridge the night before had lost many of his goats but he was safe.

We arrived at our destination. Houseboats moored on Dal Lake with majestic snow-covered mountains behind them and the shimmering blue waters of the lake in front. It was like a dream.

Climbing onto the deck of our houseboat we entered the living room. Behind the living room was the dining room and then a corridor that led to bedrooms and bathrooms. Upstairs was a roof terrace.

The crew of our houseboat included the owner who also cooked for his guests. He lived with his family in a smaller boat right behind ours. He was very polite and efficient. He said he had learned to cook Western-style food from a British lady who visited Kashmir every year. She had gifted him the houseboat when she left for England.

Every morning, shikaras (small boats) passed by bringing fruits and nuts, toiletries, gift items, and fresh flowers. These were mobile shops and often the sellers brought their young children with them. It was a beautiful sight as the shikaras moved slowly on the waters of Dal Lake. The children were quiet and shy as they watched the tourists buying their wares.

My father fishing under the watchful eye of his guide.

A trip to the famous Shalimar Gardens which Emperor Jahangir built for his wife Nur Jehan in 1619 was first on our sightseeing list. There are three terraced gardens with beautiful waterfalls, fountains, and chinar tree-lined vistas. On the third terrace is the Black Pavilion made from black marble. It was said the famous couplet attributed to the poet Amir Khusro was inscribed somewhere on the black marble, though we didn't see it. Translated from Farsi it means: “If there is paradise on earth, it is here, it is here, it is here!”

Kashmiri papier mache craft is an art passed down from generation to generation. We visited a papier mache workshop to see how these artifacts are made. There were beautiful boxes, trays, vases, lamps, and even furniture painted with intricate designs on display.

My father had reserved one day for trout fishing in Pahalgam. So he left accompanied by a guide while we enjoyed the fresh crisp air near the lakes and streams with snow-clad mountains as a backdrop.

On the train back to Hyderabad, we had the company of an Urdu poet who was also returning from Kashmir. When asked to describe her visit she recited a beautiful poem she had just written. I remember her poem started with the description of a crow sitting on a wall and then in a flow of words she went on to describe the breathtaking beauty of the valleys and rivers and all that she had seen and felt. I was too young then, but I realized each one of us would remember Kashmir in their way, the poet in hers and I in mine.