Firdaus

Taaq and dhaaji Diwari Architecture,

Persian style, vernacular houses, 

culture-curated wazwan (Kashmiri feast)

Buddhist, Hindu, Turkish, Mughal, Afghan, and Dogra rule. Turkish rule (from the 14th to the 16th century) left its impressions on brick and wooden architecture (pinjirakari, hammam, etc. khatamband (woodcraft in which wooden pieces are fitted into one another) was initiated by Persian and Central Asian craftsmen in Kashmir. The wooden and stone architecture (khatam band, pinjirakari) was also emphasized by the Mughal and Afghan rule—Zoone Dab (a cantilevered balcony designed to view the moon). 

on deboarding our flight we were greeted by ayub ji, who accompanied us to srinagar circuit house, church lane. Early in the evening, Iqbal rowed our shikhara in dal lake. The iconic Dal Lake. thunder, middle in the lake, life was existing. Life existed in markets selling and making capitalism alive, life existed in the houses, subsistence, and settlements. Rahula Pandita, one of our many drivers whom we met in Kashmir. I draw parallels between the person he was and the other drivers who accompanied us in srinagar, pahalgam, and other places in kashmir. Pandita was more into making money, out of everything he offered, not the kashmiris had these intentions and motives. Pandita was more close to us all for genuine reasons. 

With the vast meadows, snow-capped mountains, lush green stretched roads and highways, and spring knocking at every door, one could absorb the air and go on listening to kashmiri wan wan. In pahalgam, I landed late in the evening, we drove around and through villages, the day ending, loud mosques, arzaan, and the light wind flowing through. At the kashmiri wedding, the group choir, I heard ladies singing in praise of the bride, initially one of the ladies would sing a starting line followed by all in a choir, I observed it all through the window of my zostel, pahalgam.

There are farms, and people show up before the sun does, he sits back in the crystal-white mountains. People in their long kashmiri traditional attire (pheran) men and women around, it keeps all warm.

we were on the srinagar jammu highway the other day when we decided to visit kishtwar, which comes under the state of jammu, the long stretch of 8 km, the banihal pass. We were on the packed road, the ranges were criss-cross and crosscut, exploited, dug, and drilled. Loaded our car with all the luggage, google Maps showed we would reach our destination by late in the evening, the time kept on increasing, armed personnel kept inquiring, and the car moved a little and stopped for an hour. I feared rolling stones which through dust came next to my window. We landed in ramban. I  found a hoard of hindus, temples, people alike, red bangles, girls adorning bindis, and restaurants named shree mata vaishno dhaba, coexistence or a stark contrast. The Kashmiri observer of 30th April 2024 mentioned land subsidence due to heavy rainfall and flash floods in ramban, people reallocated to maitra, ramban. Maitra, where I had my visit. I bowed my head at every temple on my way back through banihal to dewatoo, pahalgam. 

Aru, Betab, and Chandanvadi, 30 km away from the holy cave. Turns, sharp turns, treacherous roads, elevated and snow gazing. The ride was scheduled with a new driver, he was a local from pahalgam. Somebody got in my shoes and bombarded me with questions on my ride for the first time. I am sure he hated the corps and the military. He questioned me about free media and the reports on the Kashmir. Probably, my experiences in Kashmir were best, independent, independent of choices, religion I followed, clothes I chose to wear, and cuisine I decided to eat,  maybe I was insecure of my thoughts and beliefs, I had choices to make and that's kashmir, kashmir of an independent India, kashmir of its own culture and heritage. The part of kashmiri pandits kept invoking me, on my visit to the sheikpura migrant colony, I realized the fear. Through the barbed wires and an area turned cantonment, I saw fear. I rushed back to my residence in Srinagar, My residence at the government state circuit house, a house of perfect architecture, an abode for the servants placed in the security of central reserved police personnel. I sipped a gulp of tea, bread, and butter, and locked myself in room 323. Two percent of the total population, families migrated to jammu in nineteen ninety, in the pockets of anantnag and baramulla of today’s kashmir, exodus, families of families left kashmir valley, mass conversions, that's what I read from google. The valley was once dominated, by harmony, peace, shared spaces, and common lands. I was the last running for dinner that day. The roofs, spaces, inner homes, tables, plates, chairs, and carpets are worth noticing in Kashmir. There is an influence of persian architecture which has been taken up by colonial architecture with time. The ceiling of the dining hall of the government guest house featured Khatambandh and spaces packed with people beyond adults, of more serious straight faces, golden glowing lights filled it more in government aesthetics, where a man in a collared shirt and pants kept moving taking new orders and making old reach its destination on time, the other made a note of all orders and room numbers. 

I attended prayer at maa kheer bhawani, tulmul, gandherbal. Before this early morning, at sacred shanakarcharya on a hilltop. Faisal bhai accompanied me from today. After Nishat, Shalimar, and Mughal gardens he realized my taste and assured me the best ride with him. Arvind who helps his father in the shop at kheerbhawani answered my questions, questions which kept invoking me. I talked for a good twenty minutes, at times Arvind was more into getting customers for his shop, and a few he missed that day in detailing me with his life stories. Life at anantnag, life now in udhampur, yearly visits to the home, prime minister special package for kashmiri pandits, the governor jagmohan of the 1990s, the exodus of 1990s. There was hate in his speech. He hated the people his father lived with and called it all an internally planned mass murder of kashmiri hindus. On interacting, I drew parallels between faisal bhaiyya, faisal my driver bhaiyya, who didn’t hated kashmiri Hindus anytime during our travel. In his speech, there was pain, pain, and memories that he shared through speech, he remembered kashmiri pandits for their intelligence, called them one of the most beautiful, and said, sir if there would be anyone who’d be intellect in this state of Kashmir, Kashmir could ever have were kashmiri pandits. The exodus of 1990 was motivated, and planned externally, the anti-India elements and the governments of that time were more into politicizing. From the two stories that day, I concluded one thing, that it was a failure, a failure at the central and state levels. The hopes, and dreams of a nation, state, and culture were rubbled down.

We spent the other half of the day with faisal bhaiyya accompanying us to markets, mentioning to me all the places of the Srinagar, Pathan, spore, and Baramulla. He wasn’t a kashmiri, but a muslim who was brought up in kashmir. The down town of srinagar, the houses, lanes, srinagar's jama masjid. There is a common feature that was being followed in the structure of houses, wooden windows, most of them featuring Taq architecture. Markets selling local and imported toys and pieces of jewelry, delhi and other states. Varieties of snacks that usually kashmiris had, the boiled pea with some masala, which we saw people selling on scooters in baramulla. The kashmiri bread which most of them prefer to consume with local tea, tea which is usually salty. 

I brought a copy of Rasul Mir's poems before taking off, and one of them says:

Where everyone shall have work to do, 

Where none would be idle, 

Where disease, ugliness, and falsehood Shall not come in the way of development of human mind, 

Where people shall have neither less nor more Than what is needed, 

Where guns shall not blast smoke and terror, 

Where bombs shall not rain from the sky, 

Where none shall be our enemy, 

Where no armies shall fight each other, 

O rower of my boat! 

Take me to that world.

-Zinda Kaul (Translated)