MARCH 1979, my first visit to Srinagar. We took a train from Patna to Jammu, via Delhi. From Jammu, a bus ride to Srinagar…
through the Jawahar Tunnel, around ‘KhooniNaala’ – longingly eyeing cricket bats lined on road-sides – all the time cracking walnut shells, popping in mouth the kernel. Had ‘pink tea’ for the first time at a place 60km before Srinagar – called Anantnag…!
Three days in Srinagar never enough; Dal Lake, the boat ride around Char Chinar, the long climb to Shankaracharya Temple, ChasmaShahi, Shalimar Bagh, NishatBagh. On yes, I also remember a sound-and-music presentation at Mughal Garden … Breathtaking!
And two days never ever enough to explore Kashmir Valley; Tobagganing at Khilanmarg, snowball-fights at Sonmarg, marveling the Lidder River in Pahalgam… Picturesque!
And shopping; carpets, knick-knacks made of walnut wood… my mother bargaining in a shop in the overcrowded market at LalChowk… She proudly held up the trophy afterwards – a white rug with bright, colourful patterns. Little did we know we would lose her to cancer a decade later!
Hazratbal siege
In 1993 I covered the Hazratbal siege in Srinagar. It was among the worst defeat an administration can suffer – with total failure of intelligence and weak-kneed leaders taking the wrong decisions – and a handful of terrorists walked away unharmed after almost a fortnight-long siege!
Most of you would probably be aware of this blunder, so allow me to recount an experience during this standoff.
During the operation, the Army used to escort journalists to the Hazratbal shrine. Every morning, a bus with five to six armed jawans would pick us up from near the Central Telegraph Office and drop us back around dusk.
Some of our esteemed colleagues termed it “censorship” till one day…
The bus was crossing downtown when suddenly there were sounds of gunfire. It appeared to be coming from the houses on both sides of the narrow street. The driver tried to accelerate, but the road ahead was blocked!
Jawans jumped down from an escorting vehicle and quickly started removing the objects that blocked our path. Our guards jumped down from the bus and took position all around.
“Lie down on the floorboard; don’t step down,” one of the jawans shouted at us in Hindi, even as windowpanes shattered around us.
The firing was over as suddenly it had started. The soldiers did a quick reconnaissance and urged the driver to step on the gas. They covered our back for at least a hundred yards before running and getting on to the vehicle in an orderly fashion.
One of our teammates, a ‘senior journalist’ from Delhi, screamed at our escort, “Why the hell didn’t you fire back? You almost got us killed!” One of them answered in Hindi, very politely: “We couldn’t shoot at houses… could have had civilian casualties… And… before I die, I’ll ensure your safety… That’s my duty…” In the background, the firing had started; we had been whisked away while the attackers were regrouping or rearming.
Changing times
I returned to the Valley off and on and witnessed changing times…
Those were the days that Kalashinkov or ‘AK-47’ guns were on every other militant’s hand. Media would be – on arrival –bestowed with an interview of a ‘commander’ surrounded by half-a-dozen AK-toting sidekicks. It needed the right contacts and lots of patience to get one such commander. But this assignment figured on top of ‘to-do’ list.
And us, visitors were strongly advised against travelling for pink tea to ‘Islamabad’ – Anantnag was being referred then by its former name! And in Srinagar, the once beautiful gardens looked like wastelands.
Why this brouhaha?
Today, I wonder why this brouhaha over ‘status’? Isn’t the Valley part of India? What is right? Should there be status quo, with some sabre-rattling now and then – which has bled us a hundred times – or do something to disrupt, destroy the enemy?
Perhaps the process should have been ‘polite’, ‘friendly’ and ‘allencompassing’? Isn’t that what we have been doing all this time? I wonder…!
